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allbark-no-bite · 5 months

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marriage and honor.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.5k)

summary: the Navy has already taken two people from your life, and you don’t intend to let there be a third. that is until Jake Seresin walks into your life

warnings: severe plot holes, mentions of character death, swearing

authors note: based off of the movie Purple Hearts. it’s a great movie and i highly suggest watching it! please bear with me in the beginning of this, the plot holes fix themselves, i promise lol. i literally threw this together because i wrote one scene for shits and giggles and had to commit to it

(read parts two and three here: december and devotion, cats and christmas)

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No one ever expects to have to bury their brother at fifteen. Kinda just like no one expects to have to bury their other brother at eighteen. But you do it the first time and then you do it again three years later. It's a bit like deja vu the second time, like you're reliving the actual nightmare all over again. Except this time there's no one to hold your hand and tell you it's all going to be alright because he's dead and buried too.

They both die honorable deaths in service to their country. At least that's what they say at the memorials. You're not so sure there's anything comforting about dying honorably. They're both still dead, honored or not.

Raised by your grandparents, you'd grown up the youngest of three on a military base smack dab in the middle of San Diego, better yet known as Fightertown USA. True military brats, your old brothers enlisted straight out of high school, one after the other. As their young and impressionable kid sister, you worshiped the ground they walked on and had your heart set on following in their footsteps. That was of course, until they both went and died.

'Sometime these things just happen', is what you were told. And you know, freak accidents do happen. Engines fail, training exercises go awry, safety precautions are ignored. But that doesn't make up for the fact that lightning has, against all odds, stuck the same place twice.

So after the Navy takes away not one but two people from your life, you swear off all things to do with military life. The moment you graduate high school you pay out of pocket just to move off of the base into a shitty the-bedroom-and-bathroom-are-in-the-same-place apartment. You go to college and get the kind of degree that looks good on paper but you can't really get a job with. But it's fine because it helped you to put the past behind you and move on. So much that when your grandmother passes away unexpectedly, leaving your grandfather widowed, you're able to stomach moving back closer to home to take care of him.

At least, you'd thought that you had moved on.

Now, standing in the middle of the courthouse wearing what had been your college graduation dress (the only white dress you could find on such short notice) and watching the man before you slip a ring on your finger, you're not so sure. As a matter of a fact, you actually feel sick, queasy like you might have to bend over the nearest trashcan to get the blood rushing to your head again. That might would be a good idea because what the hell were you thinking.

Jake must take notice of the expression on your face because he offers you a weak smile, his pink lips pressed together. The same thought must be running through his mind too because he also looks like he might be sick at any moment.

What the hell were either of you thinking?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Thankfully the minister is too bored looking with his own job to notice that both of you are looking worse for wear. He also completely forgets to say 'you may now kiss the bride', which is another thing to be thankful for. That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back and sent both you and Jake running for the hills. Instead he mumbles a unenthusiastic congratulations and departs from the room, leaving you and Jake standing numbly side by side.

In the following seconds after the minister leaves the room, silence settles between the two of you, partially due to shock and partially because you don't even know what to say. It's a sight, Jake in his pristine navy dress whites and you in your too short college graduation dress.

Finally, Jake clears his throat, swallowing. "Well, there's no turning back now."

*queue rewind noise*

You may be wondering how we got here.

*six days ago*

"C'mon baby, you didn't think that was funny? Girls usually love that line."

He'd been after you all night, smiling, cracking jokes, buying you beers. You had to admit, he was nothing if not persistant.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't date funny guys." Despite your tone, you're actually genuinely amused by the situation. He's trying so hard, and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.

He's handsome, without a doubt the most attractive man at the bar, but he could be the most attractive man in the world and you still wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Not with that smile and defiantly not with that uniform on.

"And why is that?" he laughs, undeterred by your blatant disinterest. His friends are watching, have been watching the two of you do this dance all night, and he's not about to back down now.

You watch the smile lines that appear on his tanned face, the way his eyes crinkle in amusement as he awaits on your answer. He's probably a few years your senior, early thirties if that's anything to go by.

"Funny guys are dangerous. They make you laugh and laugh and then boom you're naked."

His smile twitches and yeah, you can be funny too, wise guy.

"Is that where you think this is going?" he asks.

"Where else would it be going?"

And that's how it all started. The beginning of the end.

"You know navy spouses get a monthly stipend and are allowed to live on base?"

You remain facing the bar, peeling at the label on your bottle, not bothering to glance to your side. "You know, I really fucking wish Natasha would keep her mouth shut."

"(Y/n)—"

"It's no one else's fucking business what—"

He grabs the seat of your stool, nearly jerking it out from under you as he pulls it closer to his own. "Listen to me," he growls, a stark change from his usual demeanor.

Stubbornly leaning away so that you're not so close, you regard him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. You raise an eyebrow as if to say he's got your attention, however unwillingly.

"Right now, we're both in a tight spot, okay?"

You knew about his dad. Heard the whole spiel from Natasha— who you're learning that while, your best friend, cannot be trusted to keep her mouth shut— about how they weren't on good terms, hadn't talked since Jake got into the academy, and suddenly he calls out of the blue to tell Jake that he'd had enough of his son's playing around and that it was time for him to start thinking about getting married. That if he didn't within the next few months, he'd arrange the whole thing himself.

"You need a place to live—" You shush him, eyes darting to the people around you. You don't need anyone knowing that you can't exactly afford to pay your rent. Jake rolls his eyes because he doubts anyone could hear him even if he was yelling with how loud it is in the bar, but he lowers his voice regardless. "You need a place to live, and I need to get my old man off of my back..." He trails off, as if you should know where he's going with this.

You don't. You're just staring at him with an increasingly annoyed expression on your face, wondering how soon you can get out of this conversation.

He takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Hear me out, okay? What if we get married?"

You had actually laughed in his face at first, and Jake was so dead serious about it that he didn't even dwell on the fact that it was the first time you had laughed at something that he'd said.

"Not a chance in hell, Seresin," had been your second response. But that's the thing with pretty guys, they can be awfully convincing.

It all happens so fast that you have metaphorical whiplash. Next thing you know, you're wearing a brand new diamond on your finger and going out to the bar with his entire squad the night before their deployment.

Of course, they're all a bit shocked at first. You would be too. You and Jake hadn't exactly been even remotely civil with each other just a few days prior. But if any of them are suspicious of your's and Jake's sudden union, they don't let on, all too happy to have something to celebrate before they ship out. Fanboy and Payback have each brought their wives and Natasha her girlfriend as well. You suppose you're expected to mingle with them, maybe shed a tear or two over the shared bond that your partners are going across the country, but you can't really find a way to connect with them so you kind of just avoid them altogether. You do feel bad, sitting there without a care in the world while they all try to offer comfort and reassurance to each other. But you don't really know what else to do because it's not like you're exactly sad.

Thankfully Javy, or as he's known, Coyote, stands up and raises his near empty bottle of beer in the air and saves you from anymore uncomfortable sitting. "I'd like to make a toast! To the newlyweds!" You spoke too soon. The table cheers and raises their bottles in response, all of the attention turning to where you and Jake are sitting. Cheeks immediately flushing, you have to refrain from sinking down in your seat. Jake is grinning, accepting the few rough pats on the back that he receives from Rooster beside him.

And just when you think that's the worst it's going to get, it gets worse.

"Kiss!"

You're not sure who starts it, but like teenage boys, the entire squad parrots in unison.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

At first Jake just laughs and shakes his head good naturedly, shrugging off the insistent urging of his friends, and you think that's going to be the end of it. But the chanting doesn't stop and finally Jake turns towards you. Your face is probably red hot and undeniably panicked. Heart racing, you try to read him in the half second that you're given as he leans and wraps his arm around you. Is he going to kiss you? Are you supposed to kiss him?

Neither option happens. Jake's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side and at the last moment, he turns to press a kiss to your cheek. A series of disappointed boos follow but they are drowned out by clapping for the most part. He's uncomfortably close, closer than you ever would have liked to be to Jake Seresin, but you have to remind yourself that it's all for show. When Jake does turn away, you can still feel the warmth of his lips smeared against your cheek. Even so, he hasn't let go of you pressed into his side.

Your heart still racing, you reason with yourself that if Jake can play the part, you might as well too, and under that pretense, allow yourself to hide your face into his shoulder to conceal it's redness. The smell of his cologne washes over you, and oddly enough, you don't hate it. It's subtle, with a hit of what might be amber, and nothing like the overwhelmingly masculine scent that you would have pegged him for.

If Jake finds your sudden willingness to touch him strange, he doesn't comment on it, likely assuming that you're just trying to make this thing between the two of you seem real. You somewhat reluctantly pull away when Coyote's voice raises again.

"And here's to shooting down some fucking MiGs!"

Again, the table erupts into a chorus of cheering and hollering. You still, allowing Jake to fully pull away from your side while the proclamation rings out in your head. It's a very grounding moment, and suddenly you feel very alone sitting at the table. No one seems to have noticed your shift in mood. Maybe you're the only one put off by Javy's statement because this is their reality. There are people who are not coming home from this mission; everyone just likes to assume it won't be them. You know better.

You can't help it, the words just come out of your mouth. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

It's the first time you've really spoken up the entire night and all heads turn towards you. Based on the look in Jake's eyes, which is a bit apprehensive, as if he knows this is headed nowhere good, you realize you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Payback shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the rest of the crew glances around the table wearing varying states of confusion. Their gazes shift from you to Jake, as if waiting for some sort of explanation.

Coyote is the first to break the silence. "Look, sweetheart, that's just the way things are. Here in the Navy, that's a badge of honor. Your boy Hangman here is the only one of us with a confirmed air-to-air kill."

"(Y/n)—", Jake attempts to interject, but you're not about to let him explain himself to you in front of all these people.

You set your jaw and swallow back the anger threatening to rise up in your throat. "Yeah, because killing people is so honorable."

Coyote scoffs. "We're just doing our jobs. And if that means taking down a few planes while we're at it, so be it."

"Your job is to protect people," you snap. "There are people out there who have families—"

"Alright, that's enough—" Jake begins to interject for the second time, but this time it's Coyote who interrupts him.

"Come on, man. You're really going to let her say that kinda shit—"

You stand up. "I don't need his permission to—"

"I SAID ENOUGH." This time it's startling enough to cut both of you off. "(Y/n), what is your fucking problem?" Jake snaps.

You flinch at the harshness of his question.

Your eyes travel around the quiet table, where everyone is holding their breath, and then back to Jake. His green eyes reflect a type of pissed off what would be terrifying if you weren't so angry yourself.

A small, logical part of you knows that he has a right to be angry. You've picked a fight for no apparent reason in front of his friends and he hasn't the slightest clue why. It's not his fault your brothers are dead and you blame the Navy for it.

Regardless, that doesn't make up for the fact that you're pissed off by his defense of what Coyote has said. Even though you probably owe him an explanation, you're not about to answer him when he's just yelled at you. You also know that if you don't say something, he's going to and you'd rather die before letting him tell you off in front of all these people. You abruptly push away from the table and storm off for the bar top. You can hear Jake chasing after you.

"(Y/n)."

You ignore him in favor of heading towards the back door of the Hard Deck, pushing past people regardless of whether they're in your way or not. Being slightly more considerate, you can hear Jake moving much slower as he excuses himself through the crowd.

"(Y/n)—"

You come to a stop once you reach the door, spinning on your heels with a fire in your eyes.

"What's my problem?!"

Behind you, you can hear the loud jesting and jeering of his friends back at the table. They're still ruffled with excitement from your outburst, and Coyote's voice follows your retreating back. "Jesus man, get your girl under control."

I'm not his girl, you want to snap. He doesn't own me.

Jake has stopped a few feet away from you.

"What's my fucking problem?! My problem is that your friends are sitting over there calling murder honor."

Jake sighs harshly though his nose. Shaking his head, green eyes looking up, he begins, "He didn't mean—"

"No. I know what he meant, Jake. You're all a bunch of cowards. You're all too goddamn scared to admit that maybe you're not doing as much good as you thought over there, and so you just justify it by saying all killing is good killing, right?" you spit.

His vibrant green eyes harden but he doesn't respond. "That's some real goddamn honor, right, Jake?" you repeat, angrier this time, wanting more than just some watered down reaction from him. If there's one thing that pisses you off about Jake, it's that you've never gotten anything more than what he's conditioned himself to respond with. It's like he's locked up in this stupid box of his and the most you can ever get out of him is a glance. You want him to be angry with you.

"That's enough." His jaw is tight, and you can tell that even despite his lowered voice and rather subdued demeanor, you've hit a nerve.

"Admit it. Admit that you—“

"(Y/n)." His voice adopts a seriousness that you've never heard from him before. It sounds almost dangerous.

Jake steps towards you and for a moment you think you've won. And then in the moment following that, you actually think that he's going to get physically angry with you. Your heart stalls. Jake's a big guy, a naval aviator, and no matter how good he sells himself to be, he could hurt you if he wanted too. You would never have pegged him as someone who would put his hands on a girl, even after only knowing him for a week, but a man is a man, perfectly ironed uniform or not.

Only he doesn't. Instead he steps into your space and leans in closer than you've ever been before. His hand presses into your back, firmly pulling you into his chest so that you have no choice but to shift closer to him, your bodies molding together. "I said that's enough. They can see us arguing."

The press of his mouth to your ear conceals the exchange of your conversation from the listening table. You can smell his cologne on the starched collar of his uniform.

"I don't care if they see us—" Pushing your palm into his chest, you try to reestablish the distance between you, but like a brick wall, Jake doesn't budge.

"You realize that we have to make this look real?" he hisses. "From here on out, they're watching everything we do. The government is watching everything we do. Do you understood that?" His voice is tense, and it sounds more urgent than angry now.

Standing there, you realize his heart is thumping heavily beneath your palm. His body is uncomfortably rigid, like a scared dog waiting for its owner to show up and see the mess he's made. Behind you, the table has gone relatively quite. Rooster murmurs something along the lines of, "It's a little early for there to be trouble in paradise already."

Someone—Coyote—responds, "I don't think he thought this through, man. They won't last two weeks."

Jake's eyes meet yours, and you know he can hear them too. You swallow, trying to relax a little in his grasp. He's right, you have to make this look real, and fighting right off the bat doesn't exactly look good.

"Are they still looking at us?" You finally ask, leery now to even speak too loud.

Jake breathes a sigh of relief beside your ear, taking your sudden quiet as cooperation. "Yeah, just keep talking, okay? Act like we're working it out."

Despite trying to appear more comfortable than you are, you don't move your hand from his chest. The coarse material of his dress whites rises and falls steadily beneath your palm. It's calming in a sense, and you try to focus on its rhythm rather than the fact that you're so close that you can feel the heat of his mouth beside your ear.

"Still looking?" You ask after a few moments pass.

He hums. "Yep."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just stand like this forever." The longer you stand together, the more details you become aware of. Like the fact that his face is freshly shaven against your cheek and that he must have brushed his teeth before this because his breath smells like Listerine.

"Look at me."

"What?" You ask, your brow furrowing as he pulls away. His hand that had been holding your waist firmly in place lifts to grip your jaw.

"You're going to have to kiss me," he explains, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

"What?" Before you can even protest, he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Without the time to process what exactly is happening given your state of alarm, all you can do is go along with it. His lips mold against yours in what might be the most borderline tame kiss you've ever had. Despite this, you are reluctantly surprised to note how good of a kisser he is. It's just forceful enough to let you know he's in control but not so much that it's unpleasant. His lips are full and taste vaguely of his mouth wash.

You don't kiss him back.

It makes no difference to the group behind you whether you actually kiss or not; they can't tell from this distance and all they have to do is believe it happened. It's more for your own self preservation than anything. It's one thing to play the part, it's another thing to get caught up in it and catch feelings. And with Jake Seresin, that was a dangerous game to play. You'd already felt it, him prying his way under your skin when he'd held you at the table and the smell of his cologne filled your sense. It would be that easy.

To his credit, Jake lingers just long enough to make the kiss believable before pulling away. Even si, it still feels uncomfortably long. He leans back and you don't miss the fact that he wipes his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Jake..." you begin, immediately feeling bad, but he stops you.

"Whatever, (Y/n). It's fine." He won't look you in the eyes now. You turn to look over your shoulder, desperate to get yourself out of this increasingly bad situation .

"They're not looking," you say, finding the table now amicably chatting with each other rather than focused on the two of you. The sudden PDA must have finally diverted their attention. "...you can step away now."

"Right," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. Jake drops his hand from your waist and steps back like he's glad to finally put some distance between the two of you. So much for making this look natural.

You return to the table shortly after, in hand to make it appear as if you've made up and smiling tightly when Bob cheerily welcomes you back to break the awkward silence. Once seated, you drop each other's hand beneath the table immediately. The rest of the evening is spent avoiding contributing to conversations that involve the other. If anyone notices, they don't comment on the fact that the two of you hardly look at each other for the rest of the evening, and somehow you manage to put up an otherwise happily married front.

When a few of the guys finally get a little bit too drunk, specifically Rooster, you're all too happy when Natasha calls it a night. Because they ship out the next day, Jake drives you back to the hotel where all of the married couples have rented out a room for the night. Apparently it's a tradition or something. You make the drive in silence. You let him check into the room and carry both of your bags up, disappearing into the small bathroom to splash cool water onto your face. It helps to ease some of the tension from this evening. Leaning over the sink, you watch the water swirl down the drain.

Is this crazy? This is crazy, right?

Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands when you step out. He's taken off his hat and suddenly he seems a lot more fragile than he was a few minutes ago. There's a softness to him, something having been previously concealed by the precise styling of his hair and tense pull of his set jaw. Before you can break the silence, he sucks in an uneasy breath.

"Hey, we need to talk about something. Um, you know... in case I..."

In case he doesn't come back.

You swallow, looking down at the ground. After tonight, after he's kissed you, all of this is starting to feel a little bit to real. What the hell happened to pretending? This was all supposed to be pretend. "Jake, please don't do that—"

He stands up from the end of the bed, and you notice the folded paper in his hands. "This is all of my personal information, you know, bank accounts, passwords, phone numbers... Anything you might need if something happens to me." He says it all as if it's so normal, but you can hear the apprehension in the thinness of his voice.

Already, you're shaking your head as he hands you the letter. "Jake, please. I don't want that." Your heart is pounding and all you want to do in the moment is go back in time and never have agreed to do this in the first place. This was insane. What were you thinking? Like you were going to put yourself through this again?

"(Y/n)—“ Jake tries, interrupting your spiral of thoughts.

"I said NO, Jake," you snap, stepping back from him and the letter. There are tears burning at the backs of your eyes, like you might burst into a hit of hysteria at any moment. "I change my mind. I can't do this..."

Jake's eyes glance from you to the paper in his hand and then back to you, and then he drops his outstretched arm with what sounds like a laugh. "Right. Not like we're fuckin' married or anything." He releases a puff of air from his cheeks and runs his hand through his hair like he's contemplating pulling it out. "Do you know how screwed we are if anyone finds out about this? Do you, (Y/n)??" he asks, his voice rising to a concerning level. "We're done!"

"Jake, I—"

He tosses the letter onto the bed and sits back down with a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. When he finally speaks again, his voice had lowered to a more acceptable volume. "It's a bit too late for you to back out now. If the Navy finds out about this— if anyone one finds out about this, I could lose my job. We could both go to jail."

Silence settles over the two of you as Jake sits on the bed, staring at his feet, and you stand there in the middle of the room, willing your heart to stop pounding in your chest. You need to get out of here before your heart implodes. You turn and grab your coat from by the door.

"Where are you going?" Jake asks, his voice tired and annoyed.

"I need some air," you say, shrugging on your coat and opening the door. He doesn't try to stop you on the way out.

You regret the decision the second that you walk out the door. Now that the sun is gone, it's freezing outside. Your original plan had been to go for a walk to clear your head but you doubt now you'd make it very far. Walking down the stairs and out into the nearly empty parking lot, you look around, considering whether or not you would survive the trek to a gas station. When you realize you've left your phone back in the room, you decide against it. You aren't dumb enough to walk in the dark alone. Instead you head towards Jake's truck, which is parked out by itself at the end of the lot. To your surprise, you find it's unlocked and the door swings open when you tug on the handle. You climb in and the switch to lock the door behind you. Even the inside of the car is cold but at least it's out of the wind. You hug your knees into your check and tuck your chin into them, curling up in the driver's seat to keep warm.

And then you just sob.

It's the kind of sobbing that starts long and drawn out and then escalates into the rapid breathing that happens when you can't get enough air into your lungs and it feels as though there's an entire golf ball stuck in your throat. You haven't cried this hard since you were a kid—since your first brother died. You didn't cry the second time, didn't allow yourself to feel anything the second time because you knew there wasn't going to be anyone to pull you back together if you did.

At least being away from all of this had allowed you some time to forget, even if for just a moment, that they were gone without having to be constantly reminded. You had moved to put as much distance between yourself and the Navy as possible. Because that way life wouldn't get the chance to take another person from you in the same way. Looking at the ring on your finger now, that's exactly the opposite of what you had just done. This was just supposed to be until you could get back on your feet, and if it helped Jake out in the process then great. Now that you think about it, it was stupid of you to think that you would be able to make it through this with out catching feelings for him.

Now you're going to lose him too.

You cry until you almost make yourself sick and then some more. Your sobbing is interrupted every few minutes when you choke on your own air and have to swallow the golf ball that is lodged in your throat so that you can breathe. You're not sure how long you sit there just crying. Surely at least an hour has passed. By the time your sobbing has slowed, your head hurts and your chest aches enough to be sore.

Knock knock knock

You jump at the noise, head shooting up from between the bracket of your knees. It's dark outside, the parking lot just barley lit in a wash of grey by the moon. Even so, you can make out Jake's broad figure in the darkness.

"Open the damn door." His order comes out in a puff of frosty condensation that warms a spot on the window, his voice only partially muffled by the barrier. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, the upturned collar of his coat doing little to protect him from the brutal conditions.

For a while you just stare at him through the window, swallowing back the spit in your throat.

"Open the door," he repeats, knowing better than to think that you can't hear him. If only locking yourself in his car was the solution of all of your problems. Reluctantly, you reach over and click the lock, slowly rolling down the window.

After it stops, you stare at each other through the open car window, separated only by the frame of door that he could now easily reach out and open. His soft brown hair is mushed and in disarray, nose and cheeks tinted pink form the chill. The pleasant green of his eyes is mostly hidden as he squints against the wind.

Finally, you suck in a breathe, your chest shuddering. "I cannot do this," you stress, all of the fear that you've been shoving down now presenting itself in a singular sentence.

Jake sighs, his face softening to reflect a look of sympathy. "Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. You'll come with me to the carrier when I ship out tomorrow, we'll hug each other goodbye, and then you won't even have to see me for a couple of months. It'll be like none of this ever happened. And when I come back... we'll figure it out. Okay?" His voice is soft and understanding, like he's talking to a child.

You stare at the dashboard, your stomach still churning anxiously. "That's not what I'm... It's not you, Jake." Quite the opposite. "I lost my brothers to the Navy. Both of them. And I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

Immediately Jake's face falls as he puts everything into place. Your initial distaste for him, your furious outburst at Hard Deck, your reluctance to have have anything to do with the Navy... "I—God, I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I had no idea."

You shrug, calming down now that you've finally let go over everything that you've been holding in. "I asked Natasha not to tell you. I just thought that I could get over it so what was the point in even telling you?"

The wind blowing into through the open window is bone chilling and so you can only imagine how cold Jake is standing outside the car. For a while there's only the sound of his quiet breathing.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, (Y/n)," he says into the darkness.

"How can you be so sure?"

Hands shoved into his pockets, body braced against the wind, he shrugs. "I'm not. But if I didn't tell myself that every morning, I'd never get out of bed."

Sighing, you pull the handle on the inside of the door. "C'mon, it's fucking cold out there."

Jake huffs as if to say, you're telling me, and grabs the handle to pull open the door. Only instead of climbing in, he steps further inside the door and grabs your head in his cold hands so that your faces are mere inches apart. "I mean it, kid. I'm not going to leave you, alright? You just gotta trust me."

Looking into his eyes, you know he means it. For the second time since you've known Jake, you really see him. Standing before you is the same man that you saw in both of your brothers. Granted, they were much younger than he is now, but you get it. You'd been trying to see him as anyone else other than the brothers you lost, praying that it would hurt less, but you can't make someone into something they're not.

"Okay," you whisper. "I trust you, Jake."

You're awake hours earlier than what you're used to in the morning, but that's only because you had glanced at the alarm clock at half past three and realized that you only had few hours left with Jake. The both of you had returned to the hotel room and changed in comfortable silence, slipping into the single bed together without a word. Jake had reached over and pulled you into him without so much as a second thought. Now his body is draped heavily on top of yours, his nose tucked into your hair as your fingers trace along the bare skin of his exposed back.

You switch between staring at the ceiling and watching the numbers change on the alarm clock, trying to think about anything other than the fact that Jake would wake up in about an hour, you'd drop him off at the carrier at six, and that would be it. You'd only just gotten him and now you were going to have to let him go.

When Jake's alarm does go off, you're more emotional than you thought you would be, but Jake seems to be fine, dutifully putting on his uniform and carefully packing all of his bags, so you try to put on a brave face. You move slowly, dragging out the process of getting dressed as long as possible just so that there's no excuse to leave for the dock any sooner than you have too. After you're done getting ready, you watch him shave once and then again for good measure before he ultimately decides that you've both wasted enough time putting off the inevitable.

The drive there is silent as well and would have been unbearable had Jake not reached over the consol to reassuringly squeeze your hand. He doesn't let go of it until you pull into the crowded port. Between people trying to get their things on board and a bunch of teary goodbyes, it's beyond you how you manage to find the Dagger Squad in the midst of the chaos. Fanboy and Payback are saying goodbye to their families while Rooster and Natasha chatter excitedly with an older man also dressed in naval attire, the name plate on his uniform identify him as 'Maverick'. It's all so overwhelming that only when Jake squeezes your hand again do you realize that it's time for you to say goodbye.

Reluctantly, you turn towards him, interlocked hands swinging between the two of you. He does his best to smile, and to his credit, it's not entirely fake. "Well," he sighs. "This it it."

"For now," you add, returning his soft smile as you look up at him.

"For now," Jake agrees, his smile brightening now that you seem to be okay also. He pauses, just staring down at you for a moment before he adds, "Are you going to let me kiss you?"

You smile, answering him this time without hesitation. "Only if you keep your promise."

Jake's large hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling your chin in his palm as he leans down to you. "I promise," he murmurs before pressing his mouth to yours, perhaps even more tender than he did the first time at Hard Deck. Only this time you reciprocate it, chasing his mouth as you lift up on your toes and run your fingers through the back of his hair. Groaning, Jake sighs into the kiss. It's dizzying and you don't know how it's possible to put all of the passion that you've been holding back into one kiss, but somehow you do. His lips are soft and you have to shove down the urge to grip his hair and demand him for more, because it by some miracle occurs to you that you're on a ship in front of hundreds people.

Jake's the one to pull away, his eyes shining and pink lips slightly more swollen than they were a minute ago. You can't help but laugh, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his mouth with your thumb. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, (Y/n). And don't forget, I'll see you soon."

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n

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chiara-klara-claire · 1 year

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funny ways to say “in the middle of nowhere”

Collected funny ones under this post + contributions to this one (my selection). Most involve ass(holes), have god/the devil, (nonsense) names of villages…

🇩🇪German: in the ass of the world/ the pasture- am Arsch der Welt/der Weide; where Fox and Hare bid each other good night - Wo sich Fuchs und Hase Gute Nacht sagen (old-fashioned), where the dead dog lays - Da liegt der tote Hund, in Buxtehude/ (Kuh)kaff, in der Pampa, in Timbuktu

🇮🇹Italian: in assland - in culonia/culandia, in the wolves’ ass - in culo ai lupi, in the ass of the word - in culo al mondo; 🇫🇷 French in the asshole of the world - dans le trou du cul du monde

🇨🇿Czech: Where foxes bid good night to one another - Kde si lišky dávají dobrou noc

🇩🇰Danish: where the crows turn around - Hvor kragerne vender on Lars diarrheas field/on the field of Lars Shitpants - På lars tyndskids mark

🇳🇴Norwegian: far damn from violence - langt pokker i vold, “huttaheiti” (gibberish)

🇸🇪Swedish: out (there) in the spinach - ute i spenaten,“tjotaheiti” (see above, maybe originally from Tahiti)

🇪🇸in Spain: in the fifth hell/pine tree - En el quinto infierno/pino, where Christ lost the sandal/hat/lighter - Donde Cristo perdió la alpargata/gorra/mechero;

🇲🇽 Mexico: Where the devil farts - Donde el diablo se echa un pedo, and sometimes someone answers: “Y nadie lo escucha” And no one hears

🇹🇼in Taiwan: where birds don't lay eggs and dogs don't shit - 鳥不生蛋狗不拉屎的地方

🇵🇱Polish - where crows turn around - Gdzie wrony zawracają, where dogs bark from their ass - gdzie psy dupami szczekają 🐶; Where the devil says goodnight - Gdzie diabeł mówi dobranoc, where (black) pepper grows - gdzie pieprz rośnie, (mostly in the context of running as far away as possible or chasing someone away)

🇦🇺Australia: woop woop or "in the middle of woop woop' 🇳🇿 NZ: wop wops

🇻🇳Vietnamese: holy forests, poisonous waters - rừng thiêng nước độc / where mountain passes are windy/cloudy and winds swirl in vortexes - đèo heo hút gió or đèo mây hút gió (rarely used)

🇨🇦🇫🇷 Québéc: Saint clin clin des meuhs meuhs (actual village name…)

🇸🇦 Arabic (Saudi dialect): in the castle of wadren في مقلاع وادرين (an old castle in the middle of desert)

🇮🇱 in Israel: Israel: at the end of the world, take a turn left - סוף העולם שמאלה

🇫🇮Finnish: behind God’s back - jumalan selän takana, in the devil’s ass - helvetin perseessä;

🇬🇷 Greek: at the devil’s horn - Στου διαόλου το κέρατο;

🇧🇬 Bulgarian: on the ass of geography - На гъза на географията

🇮🇸 Icelandic Out in an asshole - úti í rassgati;

🇧🇷 in Brazil: in cock’s house - na casa do caralho;

🇦🇷 in Argentina: in the pussy of the parrot- en la concha de la lora 🦜;

🇪🇪 Estonian: in the bear's ass - karuperses 🐻

🇺🇸 USA: bumfuck Egypt

🇧🇪 in Belgium (Dutch): in a farmer’s asscrack - in een boerengat

🇺🇦 Ukrainian: in the devil's swamps в чорта на кулічках, where the crow won't carry bones куди ворон кісток не заносить

#langblr #language blog #idioms #funny idioms #foreign languages #language facts #my selection #my fav is the german one <33333 #polyglot #have had this in the drafts for more than a year i guess #mine #my lists

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didhewinkback · 1 year

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Something Old

Written for @harry-on-broadway's fic challenge.

Written prompt used: "What's this, then?"

Watching your childhood best friend (& the man you've been in love with for half your life) get married proves to be harder than you thought. Will you be able to make a quick getaway to avoid further heartbreak? Or is it finally time for the truth come out?

A/N: the pic represents more of an overall vibe rather than a definite representation of what he is wearing. but the vibes of the pic are absolutely accurate. some liberties have been taken with accurate chronology of his dating life bc this is fiction town usa baby. takes place during the fine line era, in a world with no covid. dream world. please let me know what you think!

-----

There was a huge water fountain, right in the middle of the hotel courtyard, making criss-cross patterns into the pool below and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. It was soothing, in a way. Or at least you were trying to force the concept of being soothed upon yourself, trying to focus in on the sounds of the water and the lights reflecting off of it. Anything to not think about the background noise of the party, of the clinking glasses and what that sound would mean, to think of him – nope. Back to the fountain.

Your mother cleared her throat. Her eyes had been burning holes into the side of your face but you couldn’t face her or that look of pity in her eyes. Your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase as you kept your eyes on the water. Just keep staring at the water.

“Did you call an Uber or…?”

“I’m just going to take the rental back to the city and go from there.”

“You could always take it back to the house. Bit of a drive but…”

The thought of walking into your childhood home, alone, while his own childhood home sat right next door was too much to bear. “I don’t,” you cleared your throat as your voice caught, “I don’t think I can be surrounded by all those memories. God, Mum, this is so embarrassing –”

“Oh, baby, no. Come here” Your mom rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around you in a death grip as you let yourself collapse into her arms, feeling 8, 15 and 26 all at once. The tears which you had been trying to save for the drive poured out of you, your mum shushing you as you buried your face into her shoulder. She stood there and held you tight, letting you release all the emotions you had pent up since you got here. You had never had an explicit conversation with her about your true feelings for Harry but with the way she was holding you, you knew you never had to. She knew. The thought made you tighten your arms around her, burying your head a little deeper as the tears flowed. Just a few more minutes.

“I’m getting your dress soaked,” you said, trying to pull your head away and pull yourself together before your mum tightened her arms around you, holding you in place.

“Could give two shits about my dress.” “Mum!” “I’m serious, I don’t care. Not when my baby is weeping in my arms.”

“Okay, I’m hardly weeping,” you huffed a laugh as you took a step back and wiped your face, looking into your mum’s kind eyes, glassy in their own right.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? Tell him what’s on your mind?”

You shook your head before she even finished her sentence. You had tried that, years ago. Winter break 2013. He had been gone almost two years, touring and traveling the world while you watched from afar at uni. You had walked down your stairs, rehearsing your big speech in your head while smoothing down the new skirt you bought for the occasion, only to look up and find him in your living room with the most famous pop star in the world in his arms. He had brought her home to “meet the family” he said. Which included you. You were just family. And he dated pop stars now. A gut punch that you quickly healed with copious amounts of tequila. And a drunken hookup with a boy from sixth form. It was fine. You were fine.

You had been best friends since you were 8, neighbors since you were 6, and for years you brushed off your crush, chocking it up to an extension of affection for your first male friend - the boy who made you laugh until you cried, who always needed help with math homework, who dragged you onto the dance floor when everyone else was too nervous to at that first school dance. The boy who stood in front of you in his bedroom, nervously singing along to a Youtube track before asking you if this was something you thought he could do, for real. The boy who invited you to join him a few weeks each summer, riding bikes through muggy Colorado streets for late night froyo or hiking those Hollywood hills. The boy growing into a man who called you when you were studying at the library, in the middle of the night halfway across the world, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure and needing a piece of home to slow his exhausted, racing mind.

This crush was something you thought you would grow out of. Except you didn’t. His life had become drastically different than the one you two had shared in your small hometown but whenever you were together, it was like no time had passed. After that fateful winter break, you had tried to keep your distance but each time you saw him, you were sucked right back in.

There had been more moments - falling over yourselves during a drunken McDonalds run, or during a screaming match in the middle of a very competitive round of charades, or when he bounded off stage after that first solo night at MSG, wrapping you in his arms and holding tightly - moments where the words were about to burst from your chest, overwhelmed by the love you felt for him. But you knew it would never work - he wasn’t interested. And, even if he was, you were nowhere near his league. Even his one night stands were straight off the Forbes 500 list. Not that you were ashamed of yourself or who you had become, you just knew, for many reasons, that there was a disconnect there. He wasn’t interested. You were family. You had to keep it that way.

You steeled yourself to get over it, to be okay with just being his friend. And you had convinced yourself it worked. You had met his girlfriends over the years; no longer tearing yourself apart in comparison as you blossomed into that confidence that comes with getting older and finding your place in the world. Falling into relationships with some really great guys, guys that you really cared for, who made you laugh and met your family on your birthdays. But no matter how hard you tried, those relationships always seemed to fizzle out because you never felt that spark. That once in a lifetime spark. That spark you felt the second you saw him yesterday - a smile blooming across his face as his arms lifted up in a cheer when he locked eyes with you. All that hard work shot to shit in an instant.

You snapped back to reality, shaking your head more fiercely, desperately trying to get those memories to fall out of your head forever. “That’s not how he sees me, Mum. It’s not - this is just something I have to get over. But I can’t do it here.”

Her face fell, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Okay,” she said, looking at you with new determination. “So, what’s the story? Work emergency? Appendicitis? Stomach virus? Uncontrollable pooping?”

“Mum! Oh my god!”

“What?!” she shrugged, her eyes glowing with a playful twinkle as she watched the smile grow on your face. “I just feel like the more details we provide, the more believable it will be.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you said, rolling your eyes as you pulled her into another hug.

“It’ll be okay, lovebug,” she whispered in your ear. “This pain won’t last forever. He’s not the be all, end all.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” you said softly, tightening your arms around her, unable to stop yourself when more tears began to fall. “I really have to get going, I don’t want anyone to see -”

Suddenly, the sounds of the party got progressively louder as the doors swung open. Your stomach sank as you heard the last voice you wanted to hear. “There you are! Been looking all over for you two. Ang? - Oh. ”

“Yeah?” Your mom turned to face him, blocking you from view as you furiously wiped away your tears.

“Mum’s been looking all over for you. Something about a bet involving tequila shots…”

“Ah, was hoping she’d forget about that. Tell her I’ll be in in a bit, just need to help this one -”

You cleared your throat, keeping your head down as you nudged her forward. “No, Mum, it's fine. Go in. I’ll be okay.”

She turned to look at you, eyes searching. “But you’re not feeling. well.” She emphasized her point by placing her hand on your forehead. Oh, god. No Oscar in her future then.

You looked at her, feeling his eyes on you, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Really. Have fun”.

“Love you.” She kissed you on the cheek as she squeezed your hand, whispering, “Be brave”.

You kept your eyes to the ground as you heard her walk inside, closing the doors behind her. Enveloping the two of you in silence. You looked up, taking him in for the first time all night. He knocked the wind out of you.

His white suit was tailored to perfection, the dress shirt open in a deep v down his chest, revealing the smattering of tattoos that you swore he’d regret one day, but that only looked perfectly in place as his muscles grew more defined. His hair, curls tousled just the way you liked it. The smattering of scruff along his chiseled jawline, held tightly as he took in the scene in front of him. He looked good.

You can’t imagine what you looked like. Tear tracks streaking down your face and hair messy from how often you had been nervously running your hands through it. Dressed for a cocktail hour while wearing your sneakers for the quick getaway. You had to get the fuck out of here.

“Thought only the bride was supposed to wear white.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. This was not the time for banter. You should be in the car already, leaving all this behind you. You snuck a look at his face, his green eyes locking with yours, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He looked right at you, his deep voice rumbling as he shot back, “Wanted to be dramatic. It’s my day too.”

“Classic H.” you said. You could not get your feet to move. Your car was no more than 10 paces away and yet here you were, frozen under his questioning gaze.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, as he took in your suitcase, the car keys fiddling around in your hand. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Uh, a work emergency came up.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it’s not -”

“Your mum just said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shit. “Both things are true. H, please just - I have to go.”

“No, I think I have the right to know why my best mate is leaving my wedding weekend early. Why you’re standing out here with your mum and - are you - were you crying?” He looks desperately confused, eyes searching your face. “Need you to talk to me.”

He takes a few steps towards you when he notices your hands visibly starting to shake. “Hey, hey…” He reaches his hands towards yours as you quickly put your hands on your suitcase, pulling it towards you. You take a few steps back and try to take a few steadying breaths.

“Please,” your voice was barely a whisper. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice when you're gone. Haven’t been able to find you all night, I’ve been trying to hang out with you. Wanted to spend time with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the look on his face, trying to not think too hard about those words. Trying to be casual, nonchalant. Trying to be anything but the crumbling mess you were in front of him. “C’mon, I’m not even in the wedding party it’ll be better -”

“Is that what this is about? You knew we were keeping it small on purpose, didn’t think you needed to be in the bridal party to know how much y’mean to me but I guess–”

Anger suddenly swirled in you, turning your cheeks warm, eyes blazing. As if you’d be out here having a full mental breakdown over something so trivial. You scoffed, “You think I’m out here crying because of some arbitrary fucking title? You know that’s never mattered to me when it comes to you.”

“Then WHAT is going on with you?”

“Can you please just drop it and let me –”

“It’s my fucking wedding, you’ve been avoiding me ever since you got here. I need you here and you’re just standing outside with your car keys and your fucking suitcase like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing–

“Oh my god, how can you even say that – ”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? I’m flying blind here you won’t TALK to me–”

“I CAN’T WATCH YOU MARRY HER!”

The words were loud, louder than you meant them and out faster than you could stop them. Fuck. This was. Not. How This. Was supposed to go. You shut your eyes. Your mind was racing, mouth trying to move to make an excuse but you couldn’t think of anything and then you hear a derisive snort, your eyes flying open to see his, suddenly colder, taunting.

“‘S that what this is about, then? Never did like her, did you? Always wondered when we’d have this conversation. Thought you may have been a little more fair and try to do it before my wedding weekend but hey, guess I’m not the only one who can be dramatic.”

You stood there, gaping at him, tears pricking your eyes as he glared back at you.

“Let’s hear it, then. What’s so wrong with her?”

Oh, he misunderstood. You could let him think this is the truth, that you’re just some bitchy childhood friend who never approved of the fiancée and waited until the last moment to make a dramatic exit. You could leave right now and let him think that. But he needed to know the truth, as painful as it may be. You began to shake your head, the tears seconds from pouring out.

“No, that’s not - you’re not understanding me.”

“Am I not? Seems pretty clear to me” His tone was still taunting, angry. He had every right to be. This was supposed to be the biggest weekend of his life and here he was, out here with you, instead of partying with all of his loved ones mere feet away. The thought of it made the tears spill over, a small sob escaping you. Through the tears you saw his face drop, his brows furrowing.

“It’s not her. She’s lovely. She’s so lovely and you should be in there with her. You could be marrying fucking Beyonce and I wouldn’t be okay with it. I … I can’t watch you marry someone else without - without wishing it was me instead.”

You watched as he froze, his eyes widening. In shock? Anger? Pity? You weren’t quite sure.

You took a deep breath and kept going, continuing to dig yourself into the grave of your own making. Every part of you was screaming at you to stop, but now that you got started, the words kept coming, “I’ve been in love with you since we were like 15. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I…god, I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes. You’re the first person I want to make laugh with a new lame joke, the first person I want to share good news with. The first person I want to do anything with. You’re kinda it for me. Always have been. You’re just my favorite person in the world. And I –”

You shook your head, cutting yourself off. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your cheeks burning. You stand there, slightly panting, watching him watch you, his own eyes glassy, his own breath coming in fast spurts. Neither of you dared to move.

You stand there, watching as your confession explodes between the two of you, helpless to do anything but stand in the carnage. It is deadly silent. A minute passes, then another. It could be five, it could be twenty. What did you just do?

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry.”, you said frantically, your brain finally catching up to your mouth. “You should go back inside. I’m –”

He inhales sharply, head shaking in disbelief, “Y’think - y’think I’m going to go back in there right now? After–? Fuck.”

He drags his hand down his face, bringing his other hand to meet it and standing there with his head in his hands. You wish you could get a good read on him, to tell how he’s feeling, but you just stand there, heart beating wildly, in disbelief of what you have done.

“I’ve got a reception hall full of people here.”

“I know.”

“People traveled for this.”

“I know.”

“Why - why now? I had no fucking idea. Why’d you never tell me before?”

“I tried, but the timing was never right – ”

“Yeah, well, your timing right now is impeccable,” he deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes, though his sense of humor reappearing made a zing of hope run through you. Maybe he won't hate you forever. Maybe, one day, the friendship could be salvaged. Maybe you didn’t just embarrass yourself beyond belief - though your burning cheeks indicate otherwise.

He clears his throat, pulling you out of your racing mind. “This whole time…you’ve felt this way? This whole time?”

You had been expecting to confess and run. For him to smile politely at you, let you down easy. You had spent your whole life believing this was a one sided thing. But here he was, looking utterly wrecked, his green eyes never once wavering from yours.

“Yes, H,” you told him. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

You watch as his face crumbles slightly. He brings a hand up to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, a mumbled, shaky “fuck” leaving his lips.

You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes, praying your waterproof mascara is doing its job. As much as you want to live in this fantasy of possibilities, you can’t let yourself make more of a mess of this than you already have. He was getting married. Tomorrow.

“H, the last thing I ever wanted to do is ruin this for you”, your voice shakes the more you look at him, “I will be fine. You should go back inside. I’m going to go.” You grab your suitcase and keys and start to make your way to the car. The sound of his voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice cracking.

You turn to face him, finding him staring right back at you. His glassy eyes ablaze, his jaw set. You don’t make a sound.

“Please.” He closes the distance between you in a few quick strides. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand to your jaw. You’re sure he can feel the warmth there, blooming at his touch. You lock eyes with him, both of you barely breathing. After a second, his thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans his forehead against yours and you can feel his hot breath on your lips, the smell of mint and tequila filling your nose. You might pass out.

“This is a lot to process,'' he whispers.

“I know.” You try to pull your head back a bit to give him space, but he holds you steady in his grip. His other hand falls to your waist, both of you inhaling sharply at the contact.

“I have to go back in there. Supposed to get married tomorrow,” he whispers as his thumb starts to draw circles on your hip bone. You’re sure even he can hear your heartbeat at this point, the way it’s thundering in your ears.

“Y-you don’t owe me anything, you know”, you whisper back, his brow furrowing as he feels your breath on his lips. “Just because I told you. There’s no pressure or anything. I know, like… I’m not….I’m not expecting - I should -”

He takes a step closer to you, pulling you flush against him, effectively cutting you off. “Don’t. You can’t. ‘S not pressure, I just - I don’t know”, he takes a deep breath, “I need time. Please. Don’t leave. You don’t have to go back in there but don’t leave tonight. Please.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“Please.” His words fall across your lips as he moves to kiss your other cheek.

“Fuck. I wish…just - please don’t go.” He leans in slowly, kissing you once on the neck, right below your ear, inhaling deeply. His forehead falls to your collarbone, resting there. “You can’t go, not yet. Not until…Please. I need time to think. I don’t know. Promise me you’ll still be here later tonight.”

He lifts his head, holding eye contact with you until you nod, bringing your hand up to wrap around his wrist, moving your thumb in soothing circles. He stares at you, eyes dropping to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. His grip on your hip tightens, his eyes dropping to your lips once more.

You hear glasses tinkering, calls of his name. Shit. You take a step back, his hand sliding from your jaw to your wrist, holding a loose grip. Your cheeks burning at how caught up in the moment you got, head reeling at what this could all mean.

“I have to -” “I know.”

He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead, not once letting go of your wrist.

He steps back, his glassy eyes flitting all over your face before meeting yours once more and holding your gaze. “You’ll be at the hotel later tonight? You promise?”

“I promise,” you say, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

He nods sharply, walking backwards towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. He stops right before the entrance, quickly wiping at his eyes, shaking his head. You can see him physically brace himself as he pulls the door open, a tight smile on his lips as he gets pulled into the party once more.

The doors close, once again surrounding you with silence. With your own thoughts. The feeling of his lips on your neck playing over and over again in your mind.

Holy. Shit.

#harry styles fan fiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles angst #would u believe this was supposed to be posted 3 hours ago but i got so hung up on one detail that i couldnt iron out #i am a gal who loves run on sentences with commas and for that i will not apologize #fic rec #babys first fic #cant believe we are here #harry styles fic #i have read this so many times i started to hate it thats when ya know its time to post #just losing it in the tags over here #something old

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gabigabigabby · 11 months

Text

so aggressive | c. pulisic

christian pulisic x fem!reader

a/n: i am in the rabbit hole and there's no getting out. i am obsessed y'all 🫡 btw i literally have zero inspo rn so if you want to request something, it's open! enjoy! ⭐️

synopsis: only christian 'has his way with words' pulisic knows how to neutralize his girlfriend

content/warnings: city fans slander (as a city fan it was difficult to write), fist-fights, christian slander (it's for the story to work okay i dont mean the stuff i said ab him). if i missed out anything lmk ⭐️

—

you didn't expect jokes to be a source of calm for you, but it was. christian proved it to you.

christian is very lucky to have a girl like you; overprotective, loves so hard, pretty aggressive as well. your snappy attitude would apply when watching chelsea play too. most of the time, you'd need to have somebody, whether that be mason if he's injured, to corral you back down to your seat and stop screaming at the opps.

speaking of watching chelsea, you're the most unpleasant person to watch a football game with. you'd already known prior that football can get dangerous, where players get tackled left and right, the way they are all more prone to injury on the pitch. it didn't help that christian had come back to the pitch tonight and mason's out for a couple weeks.

before christian left home, he'd expressed to you how excited he was to get back on the pitch and finally start a game after months. you'd started to get excited for christian too, until he told you mason tore a ligament in his ankle last game. and just like that, your excitement seemed to fade away.

your instincts seemed to have pried its way onto the surface because you told christian you were worried about him. "babe, what's wrong?"

"what if you get hurt again?

"i won't... get hurt. i promise," christian says, holding your face in his hands. "do you trust me?"

"more than anything."

"that's all i need."

so now you're here at stamford bridge, sitting next to mase nervous as shit for how you're going to react to all of christian and chelsea's chances, waiting for the officials to commence kick-off. "man city are rough, aren't they?" mason makes conversation with you after he notices how tense you look.

"yeah," you finally turn to look at him, flashing a haste smile. "harsh dudes."

"you got any friends there?"

you don't know why you have to think about answering that question. yes, you do have friends at city. "yeah, there's kalvin, walker, foden, jack. yeah, all those guys."

"i like how we have the same friends." mason nods coolly.

"you introduced them to me at the world cup, my guy!" you scoff, watching as mason realises that he did. he did just that before the game against the usa at the world cup. he shoots you with an oh yeah!. "big joker man, huh, mase?"

"yeah, don't even mention it." mason shrugs with a wave as the music begin playing. you and mason watch as both teams emerge from the tunnel, finding their spot on the pitch. listening to the squad announcements, you can't help but find christian in the line-up.

you worried. you worried and worried and worried. what if chris gets hurt again? what if he tears something like mase did? or worse, what if he breaks something? and when you worry, your legs begin to bounce, unbeknownst to you.

"ay. ay, ay. calm down, alright?" mason holds both your legs down, hoping it'll stop from nervously bobbing again. "that man has been in the gym day in and day out trying to get better so you can sit here and yell his name again. you have to give him the credit he so desperately needs tonight. for the name on your back, y/n. okay?"

mason's assurance definitely did take the edge off of you, but just a little. for the name on your back, said mason. the name pulisic above the big number 10. you know damn well you confidently threw on that shirt. not enzo's, not joão's, but christian's. you gotta give him the credit he deserves.

"okay, i'll stop doubting him," you give in to mason. "but whatever you did earlier, holding my legs down and all, you have to do it again when it happens."

"that's what i'm here for. and look, big man's finding you in the crowd." mason says, waving at christian's direction hoping he'd catch a glance of you. you inch left and right trying to find christian's eyes, and when you did, you had leaned over mason's legs, shooting christian a supportive smile as he sends you a sly wink seconds before kick-off commences.

and when it did, a cacophony of let's go christian!'s and come on chris!'s start flying out of your mouth. "if he can just get the ball in already!" you hear mase express his emotions next to you. of course, your heightened sense of excitement were jumbled up with the nerves, not knowing whether the ball in christian's possession had made it to the back of the net or not.

but it all disappeared, the sense of protectiveness and anger coursing through your veins now, when the away fans start insulting christian's style of play — and christian himself. you flash a are you hearing this? look at mase, and he only puts his index finger up to his lip and shakes his head, indicating to you that you should keep your mouth shut.

"that pulisic guy... mid, if you ask me."

"yeah, no, i know right? but i mean it's perfect, you know. mid guy in a mid club." her friend says.

"mase," you slowly turn to face mason. "i'm about to snap, mase."

"not right now, y/n. please hold it in." mason's eyes grow wide.

"i'm sorry in advance," you whisper, before turning in your seat to face the two girls behind you and mason. "hey! you girls city fans?"

"proud to represent!" one of them answers.

"who's your favorite player?" they both respectively answer grealish and haaland. "and i can't help but eavesdrop, but you think they're better than pulisic?"

"oh ten times better," the first girl brags. "put grealish and pulisic in the same room, i'd go to grealish any day."

the expression on your face slowly becomes insincere, with the second girl slowly realising who you are. "you're pulisic's gi-"

"yeah i'm pulisic's girl, this is mason mount," you point to mason with your head. mason only waves shyly. "so before i snap and give you girls black eyes, time to leave."

the girls look at each other like the answer's in each other's eyes, and back at you again. "no. we're only speaking the truth. and if you can't handle that, maybe you should leave."

you wanted to laugh at the girls' attempt to argue with you. but you had enough, and before you knew it, you had broken one of the girls' nose as your fist went flying towards then. you wanted to tug on the girl's hair, probably yank out a couple strands, give her a bald spot; you don't know, just something, when you feel yourself get held back, not only by mason, but somebody else.

you want to turn your head to look at the person who held you back from behind, but you didn't have to. "took you this long, huh, pulisic?" mason breathes sarcastically.

"shut it mount," christian almost growls. "babe, baby? i need you to calm down for me. got it? they're not worth it."

"they were insulting you!" you were still trying to fight off christian's death grips on your biceps even though you knew he'd overpower you.

"i don't give a fuck about that y/n, i give a fuck about your safety." you were sure he intended to whisper everything to you but because of how much you were trying to resist his grips, it came out as a low growl almost.

goddamn it, he always has his way with words, you thought. you finally give in and turn to face chris, your eyes beginning to water. "baby there's no need to cry."

"you're a good player, okay. just remember that." you reassure him, trying to silence the sobs slowly pouring out of your throat.

"i know. i'm pretty good huh?" christian scrunches his nose, wiping off your tears at the same time. and during the period where you and christian wouldn't quit staring into each other's eyes, jack grealish approaches the commotion, asking one of the chelsea guards to do him and his club a favor.

"lad, get these girls out of here." jack points at the two.

"what? wait, why?!" one of them starts throwing a tantrum.

"because you made my friend cry," jack raises his voice a little. and so the chelsea guards didn't waste no time escorting the girls out of stamford bridge. "you deserved that broken nose, by the way." jack shrugs as the girl you punched slowly walks by, a chelsea guard right behind her.

"hey thanks, man." christian says, giving jack a pat on the back.

"thanks jack. you didn't have to get involved." you grin thankfully at him.

"when it comes to city fans," jack air-quotes. "i will always involve myself."

christian turns back to you, watching you wipe the remaining tears on your face. "you and mase should watch the game from the lounge from now on. don't want a repeat of this next week, do we?"

"i love you, pulisic." you grin, scratching his beard.

"and a very aggressive i love you more to you, my girl."

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