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pucksandpower-tags · 4 months ago

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Tag-list (III): @smooth-raikkonen @bratstappen @fictional-duchess @saturnbloom77 @nikfigueiredo @kobababysblog @1loveleclerc481 @crispysoup318 @thatsusbitch @myescapefromthislife @heartsforang3l @roseforme00 @sumlovesjude @chaotic_version @woozarts @chaoticversion @starry-havilliard @sunshine-and-midnight-rain @screamcuz @ln4norizz @cloud-55 @saachiep81 @iloveyou3000morgan @zetasaturno99 @sbyaay @allthings-fandoms @amalialeclerc @amatswimming @rarepairmoods @armystay89 @pxppey @unstablecaffeinatedmind @daddyslittlevillain @hrlzy @houseofhauntedescapes @maeratched @jiggly-puff-12 @ftdtcmlovr @ahreumnim @slutforaz @squirreljoe @moonliightbabes @landossainz @meadhbhcavanagh

Have My Baby

Day 8 → Breeding Kink 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The sound of your laughter, bright and unguarded, echoes through the garage. Max watches from the other side, just close enough to see you kneel beside Checo’s daughter, the little girl’s giggles rising as you hand her a toy car. It’s a small moment — insignificant, even — but it lands in Max’s chest like a stone dropping into a still lake, sending ripples outward.

The race weekend buzzes around him, mechanics and engineers in perpetual motion, but for a second, all he can focus on is you, surrounded by Checo’s kids, your hair slipping from behind your ear as you make some silly face that sends them into peals of laughter.

“You’re good with them,” Max says later, sliding into the seat beside you in the car. He’s not looking at you, eyes instead fixed on the road, but his hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Hmm?” You ask, distracted as you scroll through your phone. You don’t look up, but your fingers tighten around his just a bit. It’s small, but he notices.

“Checo’s kids,” Max clarifies, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re good with them.”

You shrug, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “They’re sweet. Just being kids.”

“They love you,” Max insists, a little more forcefully than he intended. Your eyebrows rise at his tone, curiosity flickering across your features, but you don’t push.

“They’re just kids,” you repeat, softer now, like you’re trying to placate him. “They don’t need much to be happy.”

Max falls silent after that, though his mind is far from quiet. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, the warmth of your skin beneath his palm grounding him.

He’s been thinking about this for a while now — longer than he’d care to admit — but today, watching you with those kids, it’s like something clicked into place. A plan, half-formed but persistent, starts to take shape in the back of his mind. He squeezes your thigh absentmindedly, as if to reassure himself that you’re real, here with him.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, breaking the silence as you lean back in your seat. You tilt your head to the side, studying him with that familiar, unflinching gaze that always manages to strip away whatever walls he thinks he’s put up.

“Nothing,” Max lies, and you know it’s a lie, but you let it slide. He sees the way your eyes narrow, the briefest hesitation before you hum in response. But you don’t push further, instead turning your attention back to the passing cityscape as the car winds through the streets.

When you finally get back to the suite, the evening’s warmth lingers in the air, the low hum of the city just outside the windows. Max lets you walk in first, watching the way you kick off your shoes by the door and stretch your arms over your head. The hem of your shirt lifts just a bit, revealing a sliver of skin that he can’t help but stare at. You catch him looking, a smile tugging at your lips.

“What?” You ask, feigning innocence as you walk toward him. Your hands find their way to his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “You’re staring.”

��Can’t help it,” Max says, not bothering to hide the hunger in his voice. His hands come up to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles against your skin. “You’re beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your eyes that betrays how much his words affect you.

Max doesn’t reply, just pulls you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. He feels the way your breath hitches, the way your hands grip his shirt a little tighter, and it only makes him want you more.

“You’re tired,” he murmurs against your skin, though he doesn’t slow his kisses.

“Not too tired,” you reply, your voice a little breathless now as your fingers thread through his hair. You pull him closer, and he takes that as permission to lift you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed.

When he lays you down, he does it slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. His hands are steady as he undresses you, taking his time, savoring the sight of you beneath him. There’s a reverence in the way he moves, like he’s committing every detail to memory.

“You’re being gentle tonight,” you observe, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

“I like taking care of you,” Max replies simply. His voice is calm, but there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you shiver.

“I like it too,” you admit, and the sincerity in your voice sends a warmth through his chest. You reach out to him, pulling him down until he’s hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head. Your lips brush against his, soft and teasing. “But you’re holding back.”

“I’m not,” he lies again, but this time, you don’t seem to notice the hesitation in his voice. He kisses you deeply, his hands tracing the curve of your body, and it’s enough to distract you, to make you forget the way he’s been acting strange all evening.

Max is careful, though. He’s calculated, making sure you’re so lost in the sensation of his lips against your skin, his hands exploring every inch of you, that you won’t catch on to his plan. He slides a pillow under your hips, and when you look up at him in question, he just smiles, pressing a kiss to your stomach.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your head fall back against the mattress, your body sinking into the softness of the bed. Max takes his time, kissing his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. When he reaches your stomach, he lingers there, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to the soft skin.

“You’ll look beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, his voice so quiet that you almost don’t hear it.

“What?” You ask, half-dazed, your mind foggy from the pleasure he’s been giving you.

Max doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he continues kissing your stomach, his hands holding your hips in place as he murmurs against your skin, “You’ll look beautiful all full.”

You blink, trying to process his words, but your thoughts are hazy, your body too lost in the moment to fully comprehend what he’s saying. Max’s lips move lower, and any questions you had melt away as he pulls you deeper into the sensation, your mind going blissfully blank.

Max’s voice is soft but firm as he murmurs against your skin, “We’re going to have a baby.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even a statement. It’s a command, one that leaves no room for debate. His tone, so certain and unyielding, sends a shiver through you. Your mind tries to catch up, tries to process what he’s just said, but it’s difficult. The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable.

You blink, trying to shake off the fog that’s settled over your thoughts. “Max, we can’t-”

“We can,” he interrupts, his voice still gentle but carrying an edge of finality. He looks up at you from where he’s still kissing your stomach, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re perfect for it.”

“But I’m too young,” you protest, though your voice falters as he starts to rub slow circles over your clit. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

“You’re perfect,” he repeats, his fingers skillfully teasing your most sensitive spot, drawing a moan from your lips despite the confusion clouding your mind. “You’re perfect for this, liefje.”

“I don’t know,” you try again, though the words are barely audible now, your body betraying you as it reacts to his touch. “It’s too soon.”

Max’s hand moves lower, his fingers brushing over your entrance, spreading your slickness with deliberate, teasing strokes. “It’s not too soon,” he coos, his voice dripping with reassurance. “I know what’s best for you. For us.”

His thumb returns to your clit, pressing down just right, and you gasp, your hips bucking up toward his hand. Any resistance you had starts to melt away, your body responding to him in ways your mind can’t seem to control.

“You’ll look so beautiful,” Max continues, his tone soothing and hypnotic as his fingers work you over. “All full and round with my baby. Your pussy …” He trails off, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit again, sending a rush of warmth through your core. “It’ll be so puffy and pretty for me.”

You’re lost now, any coherent thought slipping through your fingers like sand as his words and his touch weave a spell around you. All you can do is feel, every nerve in your body attuned to the pleasure he’s giving you, the heat building steadily in your belly.

“Max …” you breathe, your voice trembling, unsure if you’re pleading with him to stop or to keep going. It doesn’t matter; he’s already made up his mind.

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him. He lines himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing against you, but he doesn’t push in yet. He wants you to feel it, to crave it.

“Tell me you want it,” Max demands, his voice low and rough with desire. “Tell me you want to be full of me.”

You bite your lip, torn between the part of you that knows this is happening too fast and the part of you that’s completely under his spell, desperate for more. His fingers return to your clit, stroking in slow, torturous circles, and you whimper, the last of your resistance crumbling.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it’s enough for him.

Max doesn’t waste any more time. He pushes into you slowly, filling you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. The stretch is delicious, the fullness overwhelming, and you moan loudly, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you.

“You’re so tight,” Max groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to move, each thrust deliberate and deep. “So perfect for me. You’ll be even better when you’re carrying our baby.”

The thought of it, the image he paints with his words, sends a thrill of arousal through you, and you can’t help but arch into him, meeting his thrusts. Your mind is a haze of sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure as he takes you, owns you.

Max’s pace quickens, and you can feel him getting closer, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he drives into you. “You’re going to take all of it,” he growls, the intensity of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to be so full, schatje. So full of me.”

He pushes deeper, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, and you can feel your own climax building, the tension coiling tight in your belly. You’re teetering on the edge, so close, and then Max reaches down, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing it with just the right pressure.

You come undone with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Max follows you over the edge, groaning your name as he fills you, his release hot and overwhelming inside you. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop thrusting until he’s sure every drop of him is deep inside you.

When he finally stills, he leans over you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. His hand moves to your lower belly, pressing down gently, and you gasp as you feel the fullness inside you.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “I can’t wait to see you, all full and round with our baby.”

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the emptiness, at the way his seed threatens to spill out. But Max is there, his fingers quickly pushing anything that dares to leak out back in, making sure nothing is wasted.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your trembling thigh. “I’ll make sure you stay full.”

***

The room is bathed in the soft, golden light of the late afternoon, and the curtains flutter slightly from the breeze coming through the open window. It’s peaceful, quiet, but the atmosphere is thick with anticipation.

You’re propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed, your swollen belly stretching the fabric of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It’s one of Max’s shirts, soft and worn from years of use, and it drapes over you, barely containing the fullness of your body.

Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes dark and intense as he looks at you. He’s shirtless, his skin glowing in the warm light, and there’s a possessive hunger in his gaze that’s never really gone away, not since the day you first told him you were pregnant.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your belly, his fingers tracing the curve of it with a reverence that makes your heart skip a beat. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

You smile, though it’s strained, the weight of the baby pressing down on you making every movement feel like an effort. “I’m huge,” you say with a breathless laugh, trying to deflect the intensity of his gaze. But Max shakes his head, his hand still resting on your belly.

“You’re perfect,” he insists, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

Your heart flutters at his words, but you can’t help the slight wince that crosses your face as the baby shifts inside you, pressing uncomfortably against your ribs. Max notices immediately, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, though your voice is a little tight. “Just … ready for this baby to be out.”

Max’s eyes darken even further at that, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “Soon,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And then …”

He trails off, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile as he looks up at you, his hand sliding down to rest between your thighs. “And then I’m going to fill you again,” he continues, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Again and again, until it takes. And then I’ll do it again, until you’re always full with my child.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a shiver running through you despite the warmth of the room. The sheer possessiveness in his voice, the certainty with which he speaks, sends a rush of arousal through you, even as your body aches with the strain of carrying his child.

Max notices the way you respond, the way your body tenses and relaxes under his touch, and he smiles, that slow, satisfied smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His fingers tease along the edge of your panties, just barely grazing your skin, and you can’t help the small whimper that escapes your lips.

“Do you like that idea?” Max asks, his voice deceptively gentle. “Being full of me, over and over?”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice, but it’s difficult with the way he’s looking at you, with the way his hand is slowly inching higher, closer to where you need him most. “Max …”

“Tell me,” he presses, his fingers finally brushing over your clit through the fabric of your panties. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips jerking involuntarily toward his hand. “Tell me you want it.”

“I … I want it,” you whisper, your voice trembling. Your body is aching, every nerve on fire, but he’s barely touched you, barely given you anything. It’s maddening, and you can feel the desperation building inside you, the need for release, for him, growing stronger with every passing second.

Max’s smile widens, his thumb circling your clit slowly, teasingly. “What do you want, liefje?” He asks, his tone almost mocking in its sweetness. “Tell me.”

You bite your lip, trying to resist the urge to just beg him to touch you, to give you what you need. But he’s relentless, his fingers moving in slow, agonizing circles, keeping you on the edge but never quite pushing you over.

“I want … I want to be full,” you finally gasp out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate rush. “I want to be full of you, always.”

Max’s eyes flash with satisfaction, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your swollen belly. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride and something darker, something possessive. “You’ll always be so beautiful, all puffy and swollen with my baby.”

His words send another shiver through you, your body responding instinctively to the promise in his voice. He slides your panties down your legs, his hands gentle but firm, and you can feel your pulse quicken, your heart pounding in anticipation.

When he spreads your legs wider, his eyes fixed on the sight of you, so wet and ready for him, you can’t help but squirm, the need for him almost unbearable. “Please, Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

“Not yet,” Max replies, his voice a low growl as he watches you, his gaze heated and intense. “I want to hear you say it again.”

You bite back a frustrated whimper, but you know he won’t give in until he gets what he wants. He never does. “I want to be full of you,” you repeat, your voice a little stronger this time. “I want you to fill me, Max. Over and over.”

He seems satisfied with that, and he finally, finally, slides his fingers inside you, his touch both gentle and commanding. The sensation is overwhelming, and you moan loudly, your body arching up toward him, desperate for more.

Max watches you intently, his fingers moving in and out of you with a steady, deliberate rhythm that drives you wild. “You’re so perfect like this,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing down on your clit again, making you gasp. “So fucking perfect for me.”

You’re trembling now, every muscle in your body taut with tension, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. “Max, please,” you beg, your voice breaking on the last word. “I need …”

“I know what you need,” Max interrupts, his voice dark and soothing. “I know what’s best for you.”

His fingers move faster, deeper, and you cry out, your hips bucking up toward him as your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and intense. Max doesn’t stop, though, his fingers continuing to work you over as he watches you unravel beneath him.

“You’re going to give me another one,” he murmurs, his voice filled with certainty. “Another baby. Another perfect child. And then another. And another.”

You can barely think, barely breathe, but the thought of it, of being so full of him, of carrying his children again and again, sends another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “Yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “Yes, Max.”

“That’s my girl,” Max says, his voice filled with satisfaction as he leans down to kiss you deeply, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace. “You’re going to look so beautiful. Always full of my children.”

He finally pulls his fingers out of you, and you whimper at the loss, but he’s not done. He slides inside you slowly, filling you completely, and you moan, your body shuddering from the intensity of it all.

Max moves with deliberate precision, his thrusts deep and slow, each one pushing you closer to the edge again. He’s relentless, driving you higher and higher, until you’re trembling, gasping for breath, completely at his mercy.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “Mine to fill. Mine to keep. You’re going to give me everything, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your voice breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, the pleasure almost too much to bear. “Yes, Max, I’m yours.”

He groans, the sound raw and primal, and you can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more desperate, more urgent. “You’re going to be so full of me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “So fucking full.”

And then he’s coming, his release hot and overwhelming inside you, filling you completely, just like he promised. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried deep inside you as he catches his breath.

When he finally does pull out, you’re trembling, your body spent and exhausted, but there’s a deep, satisfied warmth in your chest, knowing that you’re his, completely and utterly his.

Max leans down to kiss you again, his hand resting on your swollen belly. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against your lips. “So perfect.”

You smile, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace. “I love you,” you murmur, your voice soft and content.

“I love you too,” Max replies, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. “And I can’t wait to do this all over again.”

You know he means it, and as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of peace, knowing that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

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sole-production-ut · 5 months ago

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"The deal"

[1/4] ->

Nightmare goes to someone and I think, from Toriel's body, everything becomes clear😏

🖤Nightmare - @jokublog

🖌Artist: Mighty paws

📃Script: @sole-production-ut

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 4 months ago

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Kinktober - Day 14

14th — wax play, Toto Wolff

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

A/n: This one is rather short since idk what to write!

You whined, gasping for air as Toto poured wax on your stomach. You had brought him wax play, and he bought a skin-safe candle the next day.

You think he was enjoying it more than you were though, based on the almost sadistic smirk on his lips. He moved the wax to where it dripped onto your breasts, being careful to avoid your nipples.

“Sir, fuck- Please-” You didn’t know what you were begging for, if you wanted him to fuck you already or to keep going.

“What, my Darling?” He asks you, moving the candle up once more to cover your chest.

“Can you just fuck me already!” You pleaded, desperate for your boyfriend’s cock, you had your fun with the wax now you just wanted him.

“I don’t know darling, you are the one who wanted this…” He smirked, moving the candle to drip onto your thighs, again making sure to stay away from your most sensitive areas, not wanting an injury. You whined, moving to grab his hand that was holding the wax. He immediately grabbed your hand with his free hand, pinning it above your head.

“Now, now, do I have to tie you up?” You shook your head, relaxing back into the bed.

“That’s what I thought…” Toto pulled down his boxers, freeing his cock. “Now I’ll fuck you…with the exception, we keep the wax in, deal?”

“Yes! Please just fuck me!”

Toto lined himself up with your leaking hole, evidence that you enjoyed the scene playing out. He slowly pushed into your cunt, bottoming out.

After that, Toto set a brutal pace, fucking you fast and hard, just the way he knew you liked it.

It only took you both a few minutes before you reached your highs.

Taglist: @formula1-motogpfan@iamafootballfanmiasanmia@arian-directioner@annimausi@mythicalmaven@lucycowr@hamilton-mount @Chuxk-leclerk @landosgirl @Kikiaaaay @iluvvmeeee @stars4me @starz4me1 @fxrmuladaydreams @Ashleyo1611 @ln-fours @cloud-55 @neo-stay @mysteriesincorporated @nzygftoji @dinodumbass @qxeenjen @lilmacabe @9fi @sya-skies @toriiez @jud-3 @ryl-xoxo @fandomz-queenie @gracie23x @kr1sblog @b-law @F1fan24 @taylorsdoratheafr @missevrythingg @salma @cherrypopsicle @toasterpiastri @uhhvictoria @01rrdbull @aracelys-stuff @horseymchorse3 @lou-ghoul @unknownmystery22 @thisbitxhs-blog @toxicdreamer296 @maxivstappen @si1ver06 @mendes-bae @bestgirlie @mbioooo0000 @depressedgiftedburnout @lieslostinsilence @chaoticversion @kaydesssssssss @maryelizaart @milkyymelanine @bisrae @carlando4 @mystichandspruneshark @sweetwh0re @larastark3107 @fiveyjustin @moonchildlec @bicrazybabe @maximumflaps @sainzwife @i--sa @liviav @nitonan-blog @moodymoony71 @horrible-decision @verstappenluv111 @Meyla123X @bea-stilinksi24 @Hayley125 @imjustme-n @elizamoe133 @bernelflo @evie-likes-stuff @anne1444444 @celtis--vr @rockytheluver @orlafitz1664 @aliceespector @ricciadosredbull @novelant @briannamh07 @oliveswiftly @hotlapshottakes @sinners-98-world @ramenblutte @fallenlunar @little-nando14 @fore45fore @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @eroselless @strabunny @sydneyhlove @jkdaddy01 @multi-fandom5 @f1-hoff @kittylolly4 @reguluscrystals @uhhvictoria @arian-directioner @forza-dolce @dukeofjjune @vimayxo @ilove-tswizzle @peachapat119

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ussgallifrey · 1 year ago

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Tag Lists:

Home for the Holiday | Part 3

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

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 9.9k

✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.

[Master List]

You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.

The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.

“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”

You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.

The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.

“What’s with the iron?”

There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.

“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.

Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”

He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”

Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.

“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”

“Got it.”

He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.

For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.

“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”

His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”

His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”

After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.

No, this was nice.

And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.

“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”

He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.

Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.

Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.

His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.

“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.

“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”

His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”

And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.

And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.

Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.

Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.

Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.

Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.

Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.

And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.

“You look good, by the way.”

Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.

“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”

He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.

“You ready to go?”

Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”

Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.

Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”

“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”

Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”

Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.

You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.

“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.

“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.

He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.

Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.

There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.

“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”

He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”

Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.

“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.

“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”

Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."

After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.

“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”

He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.

“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”

You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”

Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”

Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.

Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.

“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.

He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”

“Compared to yours?”

That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”

From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.

So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:

“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”

His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.

“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.

“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”

Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.

After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.

“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”

Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”

The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.

You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.

Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.

And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.

As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.

In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.

“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”

Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.

“Do tell.”

You chuckle as he turns the wheel.

“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”

“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.

With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.

“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”

You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.

“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”

“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”

With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”

There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.

“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.

“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.

“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”

You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.

“Sure know how to distract a guy.”

With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”

Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.

“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”

That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.

The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.

Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.

And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.

The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.

You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.

“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”

With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.

“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”

With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”

“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.

“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.

He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.

You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.

Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.

With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.

You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.

As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.

Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.

“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.

“Mhmm,” you manage.

A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.

“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.

With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.

To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.

“Uncle Jake!”

Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.

“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.

A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.

Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.

From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:

“Who’s that?”

You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.

“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”

The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”

Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.

“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”

“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”

Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.

If you had to take a guess...

“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.

Bingo.

As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.

“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”

Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.

“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.

Ah, brother number two.

“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.

You offer your hand in return, along with your name.

“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”

Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.

You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.

Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.

The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.

From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.

Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.

Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.

Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.

“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”

Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.

With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.

A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.

“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.

Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.

“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.

Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.

“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”

He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.

You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.

Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.

It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.

Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.

Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.

The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.

You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.

“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”

Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.

“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.

Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.

Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.

You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.

“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.

When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.

“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.

“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.

“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.

After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”

You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.

Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”

“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.

The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?

“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”

Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?

He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.

You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”

But Jake doesn’t.

And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.

“Something you wanna say?”

The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.

She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.

“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”

“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.

“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”

The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.

“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”

Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.

Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.

As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.

“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.

The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.

Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in return.

“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”

With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”

She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”

Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.

“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”

For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.

He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”

Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.

“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”

“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”

You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.

“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”

Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.

Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.

You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:

“Baby?”

With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.

Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”

But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.

Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.

Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.

Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.

You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.

Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.

Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.

But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.

This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.

With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”

It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.

“What?”

“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”

The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”

His brow raises ever so slightly.

“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”

With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.

“Oh, absolutely.”

When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”

There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.

“God damnit, you’re right.”

You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.

He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.

“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.

But he presses forward despite it.

“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”

He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.

“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”

Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.

“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”

“Jake...”

Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.

“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.

Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.

“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”

And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.

“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”

“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.

With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”

“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.

Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.

He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.

But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.

Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.

While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.

Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.

June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.

The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.

“Out like a light.”

“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.

The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.

“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”

You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.

“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.

Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.

“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.

“Same for you,” he adds a second later.

Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.

“How long have you two been flying together?”

Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.

“Three, almost four years now?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.

“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.

“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”

At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.

“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”

That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.

Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”

“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.

At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?

And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.

You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.

“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”

Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.

“You. You’re worried about him.”

“Comes with the job,” you say.

A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.

“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”

Your brows pinch, “That bad?”

He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”

You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.

He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.

Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:

“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”

You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.

“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”

Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.

“Okay.”

As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.

Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.

“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”

“When am I gonna see you again?”

He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.

“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.

“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”

A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”

Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”

Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”

Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”

The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.

“And Pita too?”

Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.

“Yeah, her too, honey.”

Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.

Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.

The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.

When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.

But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.

His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.

After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.

And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.

“Should have never did this to you.”

You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”

It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.

“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.

Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.

“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”

Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.

“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”

Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”

Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.

“Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.

“Well... at least it’s over.”

You hum in response.

Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...

Your stomach turns at the thought.

Alone.

After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.

Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:

“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”

You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.

“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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sole-production-ut · 21 days ago

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Who is condemned to hunt

Hollow!Sans – his nickname speaks for himself. His soul is always empty and unable to give magic or feelings. Hollow is doomed to absorb the souls of others to make up for his own shortcomings. He is similar to Ink!Sans, but is his most horrible reflection.

His story

He came from an alternate branch of Undertale, where Chara and Asriel didn't dare to come to the surface. This changed history and in the future, Sans became an ambitious royal guardian while his father Gaster conducted an experiment to create the perfect living weapon, which was to be humanity's deterrent to conclude a complete world. And that weapon by all tests became Sans himself. Sans' soul had to absorb the power of the CORE to make Sans the strongest monster in the world. But something went wrong. The CORE began to overload Sans's soul too quickly and subsequently collapsed and exploded.

The entire universe was wiped out and only Sans was left alive. Or rather, the skeleton that was Sans. When he woke up, the only thing that was with him was his soul. Empty, without a hint of anything left. And just as his soul itself was empty, Sans' entire personality and memories were also empty. No magic, no feelings. Nothing. Over time, this led to powerful psychological symptoms and dissociative identity disorder.

It would have gone on like that if a wanderer - another Sans - hadn't arrived in his world. He tried to help the poor man, but he was concerned about what was in front of his eyes - the soul. Without thinking, he pounced on his savior like a wild, ravenous beast and devoured his soul. Eventually he managed to feel alive for the first time in an unknown amount of time. Emotions, memories, magic. It all flowed through Hollow's body. And seeing through the portal of the murdered Sans a whole universe filled with souls, it was not hard to understand what had become of this universe. He later realized that he too had powers that could help him go anywhere in the multiverse he wanted. All he needed was his blood. So, Hollow absorbed souls from one world after another. Hollow began to learn his new powers, abilities, and slowly mimicked intelligent beings until he eventually resembled a гusual monster himself. Hollow began to perfectly mimic all the feelings that humans and monsters have. He gained an incredible amount of knowledge. He became practically normal. But behind this mask of normalcy still lives a predator that has only one goal - to eat souls, because Hollow is a Soul Eater.

His personality

His character is extremely difficult to define. Initially there are no feelings or emotions in him, only a thirst to devour. However, when he is not hungry, he can be described as neutral as possible. Whereas the colors create chaos in Ink's character, Hollow remains neutral after eating souls. It's just that he gets the opportunity to impersonate others. He smiles, he's sad, he's angry, but all of these emotions are just copied from the souls. That can often be revealed by his eyes if you look closely. It's hard for me to explain how his emotional spectrum works, but if he was a character in a D&D game, he'd definitely have the Unaligned characteristic.

As mentioned earlier, he may have a psychological attack causing dissociative identity disorder. But this only happens when Hollow is hungry, so he doesn't drive himself to such a state.

His abilities

Absorbing souls

Hollow's key ability. You can visually see it on his face: lines running down his cheeks from his mouth. It's the separation between his lower and upper jaw. In normal conversation, he keeps them connected.

When Hollow eats another's soul, it begins to digest in him and turns into a liquid that is extremely blood-like. Over time, this fluid disappears from Hollow's body, so souls are his constant diet.

This power also includes the ability to see directly the soul of every human and monster, as well as grabbing it and ripping it out of the body without too much difficulty.

It's worth keeping in mind that each soul has a different fill percentage. Hollow has a limit of 1500%. If he goes over it, Hollow, like Ink, will vomit. The fill percentage also affects the eyes and appearance of Hollow's soul.

Blood portals

From his liquid, if Hollow spills it and thinks about where he wants to go, a portal to the desired place will open in front of him for a while.

Copying

Naturally, if Hollow eats some soul, he can temporarily copy all of its abilities. However, the longer he uses magic, the faster Hollow gets hungry again, so he tries to conserve his powers.

Multiverses dreams

Hollow's unique power. Allows him to find himself inside the body of another version of himself while sleeping. He will not control it, only watch it, which is comparable to a first-person dream. But this is not a dream, but an opportunity to behold another's Multiverse and its events. In each dream, he sees a random multiverse.

Rarely does he get to see dreams where he sees snippets of the soul owners' memories.

Additional information

Hollow has a personal list of multiverses that he keeps in his head that other versions of him know about;

It follows that Hollow's memory is incredibly phenomenal and is photographic;

Of his belongings, he carries a dark brown side bag in which he keeps: a clerical knife, bandages, a marker, and soul vials that he stole from the Science!Sans universe;

Hollow's blood portals can't lead to someone. Only to somewhere.

Instead of teleportation, Hollow more often uses Undyne's spears as a means of transportation, standing on them as if on a surfboard or skateboard;

Keeps a tally of the universes it has devastated under the Papyrus glove;

Hollow is the most unusable vessel for the Fresh Parasite;

Hollow's birthday coincides with World Food Day (16 October);

Under no circumstances will Hollow eat the souls of Dream, Nightmare and Error. For that reason, he tries to stay away from all of them;

His offical tags: #HollowSans, #Hollow_Sans, #Hollow!Sans;

You can read all the information about him in this Russian article.

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sole-production-ut · 22 days ago

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Craziest enslaver of universes

Load Glitch!Sans – mad enslaver of universes. His goal is to take over all the universes of the multiverse under his ill-fated control.

His story

He's not Sans! They're two different personalities. Sans originally owned this body, but after his rebirth it was taken by Load Glitch. This happened after Sans' own creator decided to destroy his world, finding it boring and pathetic. Sans survived, but was thrown into a border of worlds and ended up in one of the Fell universes by mistake. He tried to find help there, but the whole world was hostile to him. As a result, he was considered an impostor and was killed. However, this only helped Load Glitch to be born out of Sans's body, his pain and glitches.

After that, that universe was doomed to perish, and later Nightmare found him. Load Glitch hated being on a leash, but he had no choice because of his weakness in front of the boss. But that all changed when Nightmare met Error. Upon seeing him, Load Glitch immediately realized that he was different from all the previous monsters and didn't hesitate to attack the second one. At that moment, everyone was shocked, and Error found himself temporarily immobilized. When Nightmare separated them, Load Glitch got everything he needed: information about the other au's and a new power. He escaped, betraying Nightmare.

Nightmare was now his nemesis, but Load Glitch was not deterred by this in his future becoming an enslaver of universes. However, he realized that it was too problematic to do everything by himself when there were so many teams and groups around, so he decided to organize his own team: Funny Terrible Trio. It consists of Manictale!Sans and Insanity!Sans.

He also later managed to reconcile with Nightmare and even started a partnership with him, after one “horrible incident”.

Load Glitch's goals haven't changed and it continues to seal the fates of hundreds of timelines, giving them little to no chance of escape.

His personality

Load Glitch is a self-loving narcissist who would never dare to put himself below others. If he wants something, he will get it, regardless of the complexity and cruelty of the method. He is extremely impulsive and if someone annoys him for a long time or simply underestimates him, he can kill them. This also sometimes plays against him, as Load often misjudges situations poorly and acts irrationally, ruining his own plan. His only improvisation, if things don't work out, is to break things down.

Despite his exorbitant ego, he is able to listen, but only to those who are absolutely loyal to him and obey him unconditionally, such as Manictale!Sans and Insanity!Sans. He does not consider anyone his friend or associate. A servant or partner at most.

His abilities

Broken Gaster Blasters

The same Gaster Blasters, but capable of opening not only their jaws, but also their skull, visually splitting into 4 parts. They are five times more powerful than classic Gaster Blasters.

Spikes

Load Glitch has no bone attack, as he lost them in a brutal severing of his connection with Error due to Nightmare, but in its place, the fur of his jacket is able to grow in size and turn into sharp and durable spikes that can even be fired, but they have a complete lack of aim.

Strings

Load has partially copied Error's code, allowing him to also harness the power of strings bursting straight out of his jacket. He is able to control their direction and use them similarly to Error or otherwise, using them as a means of infiltrating the code. The strings work like leeches, burrowing into the code of objects and gradually breaking it. The process of breaking code with strings is longer than direct hand contact, but such a process works in the long run when the victim escapes from Load or fights him by interfering with him.

Load Glitch himself is unable to create strings, and so he often steals them from the Anti-Void where Error dwells, absorbing them with his jacket. The strings subsequently become part of the design of the jacket itself.

Unstable Teleportation

Load Glitch's teleportation has been corrupted. While teleporting from point A to point B, projections of Load appear that simply repeat his movements before and after teleporting for a couple seconds.

Code Overload

Load Glitch's most dangerous power. By touching something or someone with his hands, he is able to make that object's code overload, causing it to break or completely destroy itself. The idea of the force is similar to the concept of overloading a hardware and software system. The more tasks that load the system, the more RAM is wasted and the CPU is strained. As a result, the characters feel excruciating pain all over their bodies, and any objects become as fragile as glass.

This power has a limitation and cannot affect characters with non-standard origins like Ink, Dream, or Nightmare. It works partially on errors. (Out-code characters like Delta!Sans or Core!Frisk do not fall into this category).

Additional information

Has his own musical theme: Code Disaster;

Consists of the unofficial RGB trio (Fatal Error, Load Glitch, Error);

Can only die if his existence and code are completely erased. As long as a small part of him is alive, he can recover, it's only a matter of time;

His offical tags: #Load_Glitch_Sans, #Load_Glitch, #Load_Glitch!Sans, #LoadGlitchSans;

You can read all the information about him in this Russian article.

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sole-production-ut · 27 days ago

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💚Hey guys! Check the AWESOME NEWS!🧡

We finally HAVE OUR FIRST MUSICAL THEME OF OUR CHARACTER!!!!❤‍🔥❤‍🔥❤‍🔥

youtube

I am so glad, because I dreamed about that so long time ago and finally I got it🥲

Of course, it first theme and it may be not so perfect, but I hope you will like it🥺

🧡Load Glitch!Sand - @sole-production-ut

🖌Picture of theme - @horizonnatsu

Please, reblog us🫶

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pisupsala · 2 years ago

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thank youuuu @chaoticversion 💖 I will add you!

One for The History Books [Chapter 18] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 3.3k

Chapter 18 - Capsizing

You are patient by nature. You think. Biding your time is a strategy that works for you. Usually. And when you are dating a naval aviator, you better have patience in spades because, by god, will you be tried.

It’s like Bradley barely came back from deployment and settled back in before he received new papers. For 6 months, this time. It essentially means he will spend barely three months stateside before he ships out again.

It’s bittersweet.

He gets to do what he loves, which makes you happy. You kind of wish it just didn’t mean he had to leave to the other side of the world for half a year. It feels like there is part of you missing in everything you do when he’s gone for that long.

It’s not a topic you discuss together, rather tacitly accepting the reality of your relationship. Sometimes it makes you feel jittery—like Bradley’s doing all these things, sailing around the world, and you’re stuck in the same old place.

“A PhD position opened on the senate committee research team.” You casually mention over dinner one night. You are eating in front of the television, enjoying each other’s company after a long week at work. “I’m thinking of applying.”

“You absolutely should.” Bradley replies excitedly, without missing a beat. “You said you wanted to do that eventually, and I know you’re going to ace it.”

You take a sip of your wine to hide your reddening cheeks. You mentioned once you were thinking of doing a PhD, conversationally, back in San Diego when you weren’t even dating. The fact that Bradley remembers that little detail…

Be still, my beating heart.

When Bradley is with you, it’s like things naturally just click into place. You barely have time to worry about anything when he is around; he’s always making sure he has your attention, making you smile, lifting you up—you like to think it makes you a nicer, less neurotic person in general.

Ultimately, you can deal with Bradley going on deployment—it’s far from fun or ideal, but increasingly you start feeling lonely. Not just physically, but emotionally.

Bradley is like a wave washing over you when he’s with you, momentarily pushing you under and dulling every sound around you. When he calls you from the ship, he has that knack that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s the nights that you are alone that worry creeps up on the edge of your mind, settling over you like a shadow.

Are you just a rest stop between deployments?

Why do you keep crashing into his walls over and over again to no avail?

It this… it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he returns from his long deployment, Bradley is more restless than ever before. He jerks awake violently in his sleep, sometimes yelling as he suddenly wakes up, sitting upright, sweat on his brow.

Patience.

He never talks about what he sees in his dreams. He barely acknowledges it at all.

“It worries me…” You start, carefully, avoiding looking at Bradley and rather staring at the mug of coffee he just handed you. No matter how delicious he looks shirtless and a pair of boxers in your kitchen, you can’t overlook the bags forming under his eyes. “You waking up like that at night.”

“I appreciate that, sweetheart.” Bradley replies, voice light as he presses a kiss against your temple. “But it’s nothing.”

“But -” You start, already knowing what will happen. Bradley plucks the mug out of your hands, setting it on the kitchen counter before pulling you against him. He peppers your face with kisses, running his fingers over your spine, knowing it drives you to absolute distraction.

“If there were something, you would tell me, right?” You try, despite his ministrations.

“I like that you worry about me, darlin’, but you don’t have to.” He murmurs sweetly, as you sigh. It does nothing to assuage your worries or fears.

Bradley lives like he’s on borrowed time with you, which in a certain sense he is. Bouncing from deployment to training to detachment, he clearly doesn’t really want to concern himself with the more uncomfortable parts of relationships, choosing to focus on the good and fun things instead.

The problem with that approach is that it’s really hard to scratch the surface of him. It’s been almost a year and half since you’ve met in San Diego. You know Bradley well enough—his favorite music, food, hobbies—but you don’t know him. At least, you don’t feel you do.

You don’t know his friends—Seresin doesn’t count. Bradley mentioned Phoenix a few times, but barely with greater frequency than that he speaks about others in his wing.

When he does talk about Mitchell, it’s on a surface level—they worked on Mitchell’s plane together, had a few beers. But never anything that hints at a deeper relationship, despite it being pretty clear this is not two officers just hanging out in their downtime.

Is it a man thing? A Navy thing? Or just a Bradley thing?

Sometimes you wish there was a book on Bradley where you could just look everything up, so you could understand what makes him tick.

You have considered looking in Bradley’s personnel file—that’s as good as a book on him, right? —but the thought alone feels perverse. Never mind that it’s a massive violation of Bradley’s privacy and trust.

Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Patience.

But even yours has a breaking point.

Bradley has been back from deployment for almost six weeks now, and you picked up where you left without a hitch. That’s a good thing, right? Or have you reached a status quo you can’t move on from?

He’s due for a month-long training mission in Texas in 10 days. Always going from place to place. But a month seems child’s play now.

So you spend your Saturday night barhopping with a few of your friends—ending the night swaying in Bradley’s arms to a slow piano song as the bar is closing. He kisses you so sweetly, you think you’ll melt into a puddle onto the dirty dance floor.

The sleep that follows is a deep one. You don’t hear Bradley toss and turn next to you in restless dreams. It’s the break of dawn when the first rays of sunshine peak past the edges of the closed curtains, when you, still in a sleepy stupor, turn to cuddle up to Bradley. He is on his side, back to you.

But the moment your fingers brush up against him, Bradley suddenly jerks up with a half scream stuck in his throat. His elbow flies backward in an uncoordinated flurry of movement, connecting exactly under your right eye.

The sudden impact, shock and subsequent pain make pull back from the source in a sudden motion, the momentum of your panic sending you careening off the edge of the bed.

On your way to the floor, tangled in the covers, your wrist bangs against the nightstand, sending the glass of water on it crashing to the floor with you.

Your body hits the floor with a dull crash. Moaning in pain, you for a second don’t even know where it hurts—everything hurts. Your uninjured hand hovers over the throbbing spot under your eye. Tears sting in your eyes from the pain.

“Darcy!” Bradley sounds panicked as he scrambles over the bed to get to you. His strong hands pull the tangled covers off you, and he lifts you up to your feet. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Your eyes meet his. Bradley’s face in wretched in pain and worry. His is breathing heavily, and his brow is sweaty like he’s just been running.

It breaks your heart.

All Bradley can see is your teary eyes, wide from shock. You flinch as he reaches out to you, not noticing his fingers brushing against your banged up wrist.

Oh, god no.

Bradley’s heart is beating in his ears as he sees you pull away, terror in your eyes. He did this. This is his fault. Never did he want to see that scared look on your face again. Let alone with him being the cause of it.

It’s like his worst nightmares have materialized in front of him.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry…” His voice trails off as he gingerly reaches out to you again. You’ve never heard his voice shake. Hell, you are pretty sure you’ve never seen him unsure or scared of anything. Not like this, at any rate.

“I - it’s okay.” You try to smile, but it aggravates the throbbing spot on your cheek, springing fresh tears in your eyes.

“I’m okay.” You try to sound resolute as you lean into Bradley, grabbing his hand in yours and squeezing it.

“It was an accident.” You try to placate the situation, almost automatically. Bradley’s shaking voice is hurting you more than any budding black eye (oh god, are you going to have to go into work with a shiner?) ever could.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He repeats into your hair in a dejected whisper, as his free arm envelops you. You stand there together in silence for a few moments in the middle of the bedroom, covers in a tangled mess on the ground.

You want to cry. Not from pain. Not even from shock. But you are terrified. Something is wrong. And you don’t think you can fix it. The creeping darkness is now growing into dark clouds in your mind. You fight every tear that threatens to escape you, pressing the unscathed part of your face against Bradley’s chest.

“Can we lay down?” You start carefully, voice somewhat strained. “I want to cuddle.”

Wordlessly, Bradley helps back into the bed, his face drawn. Your heart twists. Picking the covers up, he gently lays it over you before climbing in next to you. His fingers ghost over your face.

“Are you sure you are ok?” His voice is soft, pained.

“Most of the pain is gone.” You assure him. “Does it look bad?”

“It looks… painful.” Bradley concedes, brow knitted in worry. You can still see the worry in his eyes. “Do you want me to get you some ice?”

“In a bit. Just stay here for a moment.” Wiggling your body closer, wrapping your leg over his, you cuddle up, noses almost touching.

“It was an accident, Bradley.” You reiterate, pausing for a second, trying to figure out a way to introduce some levity in the situation. “And I’ve done a lot worse to myself. Remember the box I dropped on my face?” You chuckle.

Bradley doesn’t smile back, but you think can see him relax a little bit.

You are going to need to talk about this.

But not now.

Because you are a coward.

You want to enjoy this moment.

In all its fatal finality.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you tell me what is going on now?”

Bradley is putting away the clean dishes in the kitchen, while you lean against the wall, mug of coffee in your hand. He turns to face you, features schooled into not betraying a single emotion. Your words hang between you as he looks at you for a moment.

“It’s noth-”

“Don’t say that. Please.” You interject almost desperately, vaguely gesturing to your face. A definite bruise has formed under your eye since this morning, the skin stinging with every move. “It’s something, and it’s getting worse.”

Bradley sighs heavily and turns away from you, both hands leaning heavily on the counter, head down.

You wait in the gut-wrenching silence.

“I… can’t talk about it.” His voice sounds strained.

“Can’t or won’t?” Your voice is soft, barely audible over the sound of your heart beating so loud you are sure the sound is bouncing from the kitchen tiles.

“Darlin’…” Bradley takes a deep breath. You wait for him to continue.

And you wait.

And that’s when your patience fully snaps.

“Well, that’s just the problem, isn’t it? You never talk about anything.” The words come out harsher than intended. But it’s too late to take it back. Bradley head snaps in your direction, and the looks on his face spells thunder.

“Not to me, anyway…” You add lamely, knowing full well you kicked the hornet's nest here.

“What?” He bites out icily.

Fuck.

“What?” You counter, almost surprised.

“What do you want from me, Darcy?” Bradley asks in the same tone that could make water freeze over. He straightens, crossing his arms and starting you down.

It’s too late to back down now anyway.

“I want you to talk to me.” Your anger is rising too. You’ve sat, you’ve waited, you placated—you are due some answers. What do you want from him? How the fuck can he not see? “You shut me out every time I ask you something personal.”

“So me being here with you every moment of my free time is not enough for you?” His voice rises in frustration.

“That has nothing to do with this!” You push back, incredulously. “It’s about you suffering through something, and pushing me away when I try — fuck, I try! — to get through to you.”

“And have you considered that maybe the few fucking days when I’m here, I don’t want to think about that?” Bradley is looking down at you from his position, muscles in his neck taut. He is getting really angry, which only spurs you on.

“Well, it’s not working out so great, is it?” You bite back, feeling the heat rise on your face. Low blow. But you are at the end of your tether here. You can’t go on acting like everything is fine and sit patiently for Bradley to finally make a move.

“Darcy.” The way he says your name in a clipped tone stocks your breath for a moment. “Drop it.”

“No.”

Bradley loves your tenaciousness, how you don’t miss a detail, and how you match him step for step and beat for beat. But right now he absolutely hates it. He doesn’t want to escalate, nerves already frayed after this morning. But you are pushing him into a corner, and you won’t back down now you’ve started. So he retaliates.

“I’m not your little research project,” Bradley spits out venomously, voice low. “Something for you to dig into and pick apart, and fit into your little folders.”

“How dare you.” You push yourself off the wall, planting your feet.

He knows how to get you where it hurts.

“How dare I?” He almost taunts you. “You started this, sweetheart. I gave you an out.”

Bradley can make you feel like the only person that matters in the universe, but when he turns on you, you realize, he can be exceptionally cruel.

“You gave me-,” You splutter in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Bradley, what do you not get about this?”

You take a deep breath, trying to quell the anger in you, rumbling like a volcano.

“I’m asking you to let me into your life finally, like I’ve let you into mine.”

“Letting me in was your choice.” He shrugs indifferently.

“And you gladly took it.”

“So that binds me to do the exact same?” He cuts back harshly. “I have to match you step for step, or you’ll never be happy?”

“Really? That’s the conclusion you draw from what I just said?” You ask angrily. Bradley clearly has very dramatic interpretations of what you say, and you are sure he’s doing it on purpose, frustrating you to no end.

“Let me spell it out for you, then.” The volcano is raging in you now as you slam down your mug down on the side table, droplets spilling around. “I know nothing about your family, about your friends—hell, I have never even seen where you fucking live.”

Bradley opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off with your tirade.

“And I have to watch you suffer through what is obviously trauma that is getting increasingly worse and you freeze me out on every front.” You are yelling now, eyes blazing with anger. Bradley flinches when you mention trauma, but in doesn’t ground him, instead becoming visibly livid.

“I’m not asking for a tit-for-tat, I just want to help and care for the person that I lo- live with,” You swallow dryly before lamely adding: “Practically.”

The. Fuck. Was. That. Williams!?

However, if Bradley heard you stumble, he gives no outward indication.

Instead, he verbally plunges a knife in you. “And what makes you think it’s anything I want to share with you?”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine.” You retort sarcastically, trying to mask how much his comment hurts.

“You want to know why I don’t talk about my family?” Bradley thunders, fully aware he is twisting the knife now, hurting himself in the process. “Because they’re fucking dead. Since before I graduated from high school.”

He takes a step forward, still staring you down, taking perverse joy in seeing you flinch at the information he just graceless dumped at your feet. He should feel shame for using the death of his own parents as weapon, but at boiling point he can only go on the counteroffensive.

“So maybe you understand now why I don’t like talking about it.” He adds acerbically.

“Bradley…” You start, taken aback.

“No. I don’t want pity —especially not yours.” He cuts you off angrily, voice raised. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Fine. Forget it then.” You square your shoulders, face burning in absolute fury, heart bleeding from the cuts of Bradley’s words. “I’ll just sit and wait until the next time you take a swing at me in your sleep, so you can tell me it’s nothing again.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you know how incredibly fucked up it is what you just said. It’s like you just brought down a sledgehammer on the whole situation.

The silence that falls is deafening.

“You won’t have to wait for that anymore, sweetheart.” Voice suddenly eerily calm, Bradley is in motion, pushing past you harshly. You don’t follow, words dying in your throat. By the time you turn around, the front door slams shut with so much force it rattles the paintings on your wall.

Dazed and empty, you stumble into the living room—two wine glasses still stand on the coffee table.

You can’t breathe.

Turning away, trying to shut out everything that reminds you of his presence, you pull out your phone with shaking fingers, scrolling through your contacts.

Dialing, the other end is picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Hearing your sister’s happy voice makes you break down. Loudly sobbing, you fall to your knees. No words come out as your anger is overtaken by crushing guilt.

What have you done?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bradley moves on autopilot, getting into his car and driving. No matter where. Just away. His mind feels wiped blank by anger.

It is almost an hour outside city limits when he finally calms down enough. He takes the first exit to a gas station and parks. Bradley sits idly in the driver’s seat, head leaned back against the head rest, as he tries to gather his thoughts.

He knew you would confront him eventually.

You are too sharp to let him skate by like that.

But did it have to happen now?

He knows you saw through every distraction. You have been patient.

He just wishes he had more time.

Bradley’s nerves feel shot. He can’t get out of him mind that he hurt you. The black eye you are sporting as you scream at him replays in his mind over and over.

He knew, in his hearts of hearts, he couldn’t do this alone. But he can’t help but think that he lost his strongest ally in you.

Picking up his phone, he decides to go with his gut. Don’t think, just do. He calls the one person he never wanted to rely on anymore. As the call connects, Bradley doesn’t even wait for the greeting.

“Mav, I fucked up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[notes] Not the easiest chapter to write, and I'm not 100% sure I'm actually happy with it. This one in particular and a few other might be subject to some re-writes once the story is done. Mostly not sure about the huge time skip, but I wanted to get to the main story already, so I'll probably explore that more through side stories (which is, incidentally, how I wrote myself into this hole with the timeline in the first place, lmao @ myself). So Where Else Would I Be? actually takes place during this chapter. Anyway, drama galore and lots of asshole behavior from everyone in this chapter, but stay tuned for the next installment choc-full of good advice, bad advice, confusion and shenanigans. Not necessarily in that order, haha. We are nearing the end of the story, but I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye to these idiots yet. We'll see.

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