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forcemeanakin · 1 year ago

Text

Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT. Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

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As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries.

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about.

All of that was erased the moment war erupted.

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker.

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him.

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him.

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible.

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing.

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation.

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place.

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought.

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away.

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation.

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too.

He will think you are stupid.

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot.

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling.

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets.

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes. Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly.

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?”

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process.

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.”

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe.

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you.

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was.

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him.

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect.

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body.

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it.

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.”

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart.

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips.

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him.

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything.

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex!

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled.

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing.

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?”

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way.

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again.

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye.

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention.

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you.

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it.

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting.

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you.

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form.

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response.

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return.

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second.

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan.

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder.

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum.

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions.

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this.

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering.

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression.

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men.

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you.

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action.

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile.

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you.

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration.

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.”

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice.

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.”

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them.

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him.

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it.

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant.

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you.

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over.

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan.

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw anakin #tcw anakin #ahsoka series #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #darth vader

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maxdibert · 2 months ago

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How can you reconcile being a fan of Snape and defending him so much, while also knowing about the terrible attitude he has as an adult toward his students? This isn’t a malicious question,I’m genuinely curious

I don’t justify Severus’ behavior, I simply understand it. And it’s not for the typical reasons like Harry being a copy of James, or Neville being clumsy, or Hermione being insufferable in class, or just because he can’t stand kids. I understand it because, in my view, Severus is still very much a child.

Take Sirius, for example. We can all see that being locked up in Azkaban for so many years essentially froze his life at a young age, so even though he’s old enough to have grey hairs down there, he still acts like a childish, immature person a lot of the time. And well, that’s exactly what Sirius is—an immature kid. He never had the opportunity to have experiences or grow throughout his twenties. Maturity doesn’t come with age alone but through everything we go through during that time and the experiences that shape us. Without those experiences, there’s nothing to build on.

Severus’ case is different from Sirius’, but it also stems from a lack of maturity and the inability to grow. Severus was a victim of violence from childhood, and that violence didn’t end—it continued throughout his school years. After all that torment, instead of leaving Hogwarts, telling everyone to screw off, and starting a new life where he could rebuild emotionally, he ends up trapped in the same school, playing a role to maintain his cover with pureblood families and burdened with having practically sold his soul to Dumbledore. He has no space to heal, no tools to work through his traumas, and no safe, healthy environment to grow into an adult. Severus is stuck in his adolescence, haunted by his past, his traumas, and totally incapable of managing his most visceral emotions. Sure, he’s great at faking it, acting indifferent, and wearing a mask to hide what’s going on inside. But just because he’s good at repressing doesn’t mean he’s good at managing his emotions, because in that regard, he fails completely. I mean, there are so many moments throughout the saga where Severus gets triggered, and every time it happens, his serious, unflappable façade crumbles, and he acts like a kid throwing a tantrum, someone with unresolved anger issues. That’s when you see that, deep down, he doesn’t know how to handle himself, which makes sense because he never had the chance to do so. We’re talking about an abuse victim who, instead of processing and exorcising his demons, had to lock them away and throw away the key—literally the last thing you should do when dealing with trauma.

What I’m getting at is that, on one hand, it’s reasonable to expect an adult to act like an adult. But on the other hand, as I grew older, went through years of therapy, and worked with people who come from messed-up backgrounds and have lived through terrible things, when I revisited the series and saw certain scenes where Severus is being an absolute jerk to his students, I didn’t just see an adult acting out. I saw the teenager he once was, insecure, feeling worthless, scared in the hallways. And now, for the first time, he’s in a position of power where he can say what he thinks and lash out without consequences. It’s not an adult acting here—it’s a kid who never grew up, trying to have the moment of glory he never had. It’s incredibly childish. And I have to say, I really like this aspect of his character because it’s so consistent with his backstory, even though it’s clearly irresponsible and abusive.

Severus shouldn’t be a teacher because someone who hasn’t matured, grown, or healed can’t be a role model, nor do they have the tools to properly handle situations where it’s so easy to project their insecurities and abuse their authority to compensate for their own shortcomings. But we can’t really expect anything else from him—if he were a well-adjusted adult, it would make him an unrealistic character. It’s impossible for someone with his background, without professional help and many years of personal work, to function properly in an environment like that.

#harry potter meta #severus snape #pro severus snape #severus snape defense #severus snape fandom #snapedom #growing ass childs are my faves #sorry not sorry

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raysrays · 10 months ago

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Crimson Guardian NSFW

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario : You've recently married into the respected Rengoku family, and while you continue your work as a demon slayer, life starts to get a bit messy. Balancing your duties becomes a real challenge as you navigate the challenges of married life. You find yourself having to make tough choices just to keep your husband happy, all while debating to stay true to yourself and your calling as a demon slayer.

Marriage. Truly one of the most beautiful milestones a couple can achieve. Marrying Kyojuro has undoubtedly been my greatest accomplishment.

I still remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. Surrounded by friends, family, and core members, we pledged our lives to each other. Though it wasn't the most glamorous wedding ever seen, it was enough. Because really, all I've ever wanted was Kyojuro, and now, finally, I have him.

For the first few months, our marriage was nothing short of perfect. I moved into the Rengoku estate with Kyojuro's family, assisting Shenjuro with chores and gradually trying to get closer to Shinjuro. Though I'm not sure how successful I was.

It was only six months in that I realized being a demon slayer and a wife wasn't as easy as I thought.

Before our relationship, I was Kyojuro's Tsuguko. He was simply my mentor, and I trained hard under him to get myself where I am today. It was later down the road that we noticed each other's lingering gazes, the occasional flirting, and all the other subtle hints of wanting to be more.

Kyojuro was strong, and I knew he wanted a family, but I simply wasn't ready to give up training and my duties as a demon slayer just yet.

Every day, after helping out around the estate, I would hike over to HQ and pick up where I had left off the previous day, training until the late hours of the night. I would often come home exhausted, which usually caused Kyojuro to worry. As much as I reassured him, he never seemed fully convinced.

Now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kyo across from me. It was a rare occasion for us to eat alone together like this. We made small talk about our day and training, and then he finally stopped eating and put his silverware down.

"Little Flame, I think it’s time we have a serious discussion about the way things have been as of late,” his usual happy smile seemed almost nervous.

I set my spoon down on my plate, giving him my full attention.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Sunflower, you have been working so hard as of late, and it’s quite admirable. I truly admire your dedication to the demon slayer corps and your training!”

“But…?” I ask, confused.

“But… since our marriage, I’ve found myself in constant worry over you. Every time you go on a mission without me, I have to painfully wait for your return. Not knowing whether or not you'd be injured or even-“

“Dead?” I finish.

I saw his body tense up at the word.

“Yes, my love. Dead. I cannot even bear the thought of you never returning to me. It pains me to my core,” he seemed so sad, so worried about me.

I know Kyojuro, I know he didn’t mean anything bad by what he was saying. However, I felt almost offended. He too was a slayer, a hashira. I also had to deal with the fear of him returning with serious injuries or even never returning at all.

Did he believe me to be incapable of protecting myself? He was the very one who trained me. Even though I knew Kyojuro was strong, much stronger than me, it just felt like he lacked faith in me.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough anymore? Do you think marriage has made me soft?” I realized I might have come off a little too harsh, but my emotions were getting the best of me.

His expression seemed surprised, but I could tell. While he may not have used those words, that was definitely the gist of it.

I watched him get up from his place at the table and walk over to me. He pulled my chair out from under the table, then grabbed my hands and kneeled down in front of me.

His big, bright eyes were now staring up at me.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, my love. I know how capable you are, but please remember…”

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“You are my wife before you are a demon slayer. I cannot risk sending you off only for you to never return.”

I could practically hear the desperation and love in his voice.

Kyojuro wasn’t someone who would usually discourage anyone from pursuing something they're passionate about. So if he was now, I knew that it’s something he’s been internally battling with for a while.

“What about you? Is it not the same? What about my worry? What if you never come home to me?” I could feel my face start to heat up. Everything he was saying seemed to come from genuine care, but it felt so hypocritical.

“I am a Hashira, my little flame. I have a certain responsibility you do not have to burden yourself with. I shall retire soon, in just a few years. So please…”

There’s no way he’d ask me-

“Please retire your sword, Y/N. Please stay home for me. Please allow my heart to rest easy knowing you'll be here waiting for me whenever I shall return,” his voice was pleading.

I felt so conflicted. I’d worked so hard. All of these years of training to hopefully become a high-ranking swordsman myself. However, at the same time, I never stopped to consider my romantic life and how being married would affect things.

We both sat there in silence for a few moments, and I finally rose up from the chair, pulling him up off his knees along with me.

I looked up at him, reaching my hand up to rest on his cheek.

“Kyojuro, you are the only one I would retire my sword for. So please promise me, promise me you will always come home to me. Until the day you yourself retire.”

“I promise you, Sunflower. As long as I know you are safe and waiting for me, there is no demon that could ever keep me away.”

I felt his hand on my lower back and the other holding up my chin.

We both leaned in, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

This kiss started so gently, so lovingly at first. As we pulled away for just a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, we realized how long it had been since we really enjoyed each other’s company.

After that, the kiss only grew hotter and more passionate.

Kyojuro swept me off my feet and carried me straight to our shared room at the back of the estate, the most private spot. It seemed fitting for newlyweds, after all.

As he gently laid me back on the soft futon, I couldn't help but stay focused on him. Kyojuro was simply beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his body, everything about him looked like he was perfectly sculpted.

My admiration was interrupted as I felt him begin to kiss me again. One of his hands traveling to my breasts, gently squeezing it.

The other massaging my thigh.

I feel him pull away from me starting to kiss on my neck traveling all the way down to my chest.

Kyojuro had always known my weak points and how to make me say yes to his every request. He knew my body just as well as I did, and now he was taking full advantage of that knowledge.

I could feel him pressing against me as he moved his hand down my body, lightly touching me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting more.

Then I heard, Kyojuro's soft voice whisper these words, almost as a demand. "Enjoy this little flame, you've kept me waiting far too long.”

As soon as those words left his lips, I felt myself begin to relax. His movements were so gentle, so careful, so loving.

His fingers trailed down my sides, sending chills through my body. His hands went back up and caressed my neck, making me tremble. He kissed me once more, and I melted into him.

It was as if he had cast a spell over me, and all I could do was obey him. He was completely in control of me.

After a moment, I felt him move back down and remove my underwear, revealing my already wet entrance. His hand slid between my thighs, and I couldn't help but let out a moan as his finger slipped inside me. He was gentle at first, just barely grazing me, but it felt incredible.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, his breath hot against my ear.

I nodded but I could tell that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words my love.” He demanded sweetly.

“Yes Kyo, it’s perfect.” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips before pulling back again, smiling at me.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Please," I begged.

He removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock, his tip rubbing against my clit.

"Good girl," he whispered, thrusting into me.

I threw back my head, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. His movements were slow and deep at first and then they became faster and harder, and soon my whole body began to shake. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping my lips, and I couldn't help but beg for more.

When he starts to speed up I know we are both about to reach our limit.

I feel his fingers interlock with mine and his lips pressing against mine again, but this time, he wasn’t just kissing me, he was also letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

He was biting down hard enough to draw blood.

We were both so close and we were both trying to hold back but we couldn’t anymore. We were finally going to let ourselves release.

I was the first one to let myself go, arching my back as I moaned his name.

Then he followed not too far behind.

After he finishes, we just lay there for a bit catching our breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally breathed out, turning his head to look at me.

I turned to face him as well. “I love you, Kyojuro.”

After that, the two of us drifted off in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I awoke, I was still trapped wrapped in Kyojuro's arms.

After a bit of struggling, I managed to maneuver my way out and make it to the kitchen.

There I saw Senjuro, who was already preparing breakfast for everyone.

“Good morning, Sen,” I greeted with a yawn.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N!”

“I'm almost finished with breakfast. Is my brother awake yet?”

“He should be awake soon. We both have to see Master Kagaya today,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

He stopped to turn and look at me.

“Did something bad happen?” he asked nervously.

Poor Senjuro always assumes the absolute worst in every situation. Well, I suppose in this case it’s somewhat understandable.

“No, Sen, nothing's wrong. Kyojuro and I are just going to inform Master Kagaya of my retirement. That’s all.”

He gave a puzzled look.

“Retirement? Why? Haven’t you been training for years to improve your sword skills to move up in the ranks?” he asked.

He was right. I know I shouldn’t go back on my word to Kyojuro, but I really was having second thoughts about my decision.

Senjuro could probably sense my doubt because his next response was:

"If this is something that you're not sure of, then you shouldn't do it. If you have doubts about this decision, then maybe you're not ready for retirement just yet."

His words really struck a chord with me.

Maybe he was right.

Before I could ponder that any further, Kyojuro had made his way into the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are my two favorite people doing?" he said cheerfully.

I smiled.

"Morning, Kyo. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you, little flame," he walked over to me, giving me a kiss.

I could feel my chest tightening, nervous about what was to come.

The whole time at breakfast, I felt so spaced out. All I could hear was Kyojuro and Senjuro talking and the occasional grunt from Shinjuro drinking away at the table.

“Sunflower? Are you okay?”

I was snapped out of my daze by Kyojuro waving a hand in front of my face. All three of them were staring at me, kind of concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

I shook my head a little and looked down at my plate. I felt bad for Senjuro going through all that trouble to cook, but I simply couldn’t eat right now.

After we finished breakfast, Kyojuro and I headed out.

The thought that this would be the last time wearing my uniform with my sword by my side was so weird and almost uncomfortable to me.

I knew that this day would come eventually, but I always hoped in the back of my mind that Kyojuro would be the one to retire before me.

I had been so focused on training and my duties as a demon slayer that it had never even occurred to me how my marriage would affect everything.

I was now a wife. My first priority should be the estate, and helping Shinjuro while he was in his state of grief, and being there for Senjuro as well.

It wouldn’t be right of me to go against my husband's wishes either. Especially after the intimate moment we shared. Right?

As we made it to HQ waiting to speak with the master I felt my heartbeat racing inside of me.

The room was quiet, I could feel Kyojuro’s eyes lingering on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him right now.

Both mine and Kyojuro’s attention was shifted as we heard the door open and Master Kagaya entered the room.

"Rengoku, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you both," Kagaya said, his face as warm as ever.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Master," I replied.

"So what brings you two here? It seems urgent, judging by the fact that you came in so early."

"It is very urgent," Kyojuro began.

He then proceeded to explain our conversation from the night before, and how I was considering retiring.

"Y/N, this is a big decision, and it's important that you feel comfortable and confident in it. Do you think you can fully retire, knowing you won't be able to assist the demon slayers as you are now?" Kagaya asked.

I looked at the master and then glanced at Kyojuro. He seemed so proud and happy that we were here. I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

But, I could also sense the worry in his expression. He was nervous, scared almost.

I couldn't do that to him.

"Master, I've spent most of my life training for the opportunity to become a hashira. To serve the demon slayer corps and protect those who cannot protect themselves. But...I'm no longer just a demon slayer. I'm also a wife, and as such, I think it's only right that I focus on that," I answered.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"If you truly feel this is the right choice, then we support you, Y/N," Kagaya finally spoke.

"Thank you, Master," I bowed.

"Thank you so much, Master! I will never

forget your kindness!" Kyojuro bowed as well.

The two of us left the room and started to head out.

As we exited, we ran into a few of the other Hashira, who asked us about what we had gone to see Master Kagaya about.

They too seemed surprised and a little concerned when Kyojuro explained to them that I would be retiring so soon.

I could tell some of their reactions to the news annoyed Kyojuro. Shinobu used the word “controlling,” and you could see his smile almost falter.

"Controlling" was never a word I would have used to describe my husband. He just loves me, right? He wants to protect me. There's no way my sweet and kind Kyo would ever do anything to control or manipulate me.

Right?

Part Two

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Note

Could you do Daddy kink König x fem reader pls 🙏👉👈

König w/ a Daddy Kink

Warnings: 18+, Daddy Kink, Dominant König, Breeding Kink, Forced Breeding Kink, Consensual Non-Con/Dub-Con Kink (König would never force himself on you; he loves you very much and everything you do together is explicitly consensual), Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Submissive Reader, Fem Reader, Spanking, Discipline, Punishment, Petnames, Pussy Slapping, Plugging, Sadism, König’s dick is H U G E, Profanity, Fluff, etc.

DADDY KONIG AAAAAAAHHHHHH

Okay, Dom König absolutely has a daddy kink.

And you realised it by accident when you screamed “Daddy!” as he made you cum.

Body riddled with the ebbing of your orgasm, heaving chest flush against König’s, you lolled against him, perfectly oblivious to what you’d unearthed in König.

“What was that, Engel?” König said, panting, twitching, head tilting as he looked down at you.

You could barely talk, nevermind move.

When you didn’t answer, still panting heavily, König took your face in his hand, gripping your jaw, making you wince.

“Don’t test my patience, Engel.” His voice was low and rasping with lust. “I’m sure you don’t want me to pound you again. Not while you’re so…” He pressed his fingers against the bruised, sensitive skin of your lips.

You yelped, back arching, pushing you further into König’s chest.

“I…I called you…” Your gaze fell from his sharp eyes, drifting off to the side, shame obscuring your confidence and rendering you incapable of facing him.

“Go on,” König encouraged. “Say it.”

“Daddy…”

König shivered, his skin breaking out into goosebumps. He sucked in a hiss between his teeth, and, slowly, ground his half-hard cock against your aching flower. You whined. König growled.

“Mmmh, Darling,” his breath shuttered, “such a good girl.”

König rubbed against your clit, making you moan - cry - against him.

“M’gonna fuck you so hard ‘til–”

He groaned, his tip catching your lips. God, so tempting - so inviting.

“‘Til you make me a daddy.”

Expect many thorough breeding sessions after this.

Literally just König filling you until you look and feel like you’re about to burst, only for him to plug you and make you keep his seed inside you.

“Pull it out and I’ll keep going until you actually pop.”

Definitely into somnophilia.

Will wake up at an odd hour of the morning with a raging hard-on and will just feed his length into your pussy, feeling you squeeze him while you sleep.

“Gonna fill you up, Baby,” he’d whisper in your ear, giving a low moan when you shift in your sleep and invite him deeper.

If you wake up during this and tell König to: “Nnng, stop - please, don’t–”

You’re just gonna make him cum harder, draw him to his end quicker.

That being said, he has a slight (massive) dub-con kink.

Also, consensual forced breeding kink.

“N-no! Please, Daddy, I don’t wanna get pregnant–”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” König hissed, his cock bulging in your stomach, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“I’ll breed you as much as I like; m’gonna make sure you never leave this house again–” he moaned as he felt himself succumbing to his release, his member twitching. “So beautiful – you’re gonna look so pretty, swollen with my offspring.”

Well, given you actually want to bring a child into the world, of course.

If not, you and König can simply pretend, still indulging König’s daddy kink at every given opportunity.

König refuses to let you refer to him by anything other than ‘Daddy’ when he’s in the mood - failure to do so results in some serious pussy slapping.

Doesn’t matter how sensitive you are; he’s going to make sure you remember to call him Daddy next time.

The same goes for if you start being bratty.

König’s kink is not an invitation for you to start acting fussy.

“Oh, it’s too big?” he said, his eyes wide – mirroring and mocking your expression – inching his cock inside you, stretching you over him.

You whined, scowling, eyes doe and glistening.

“Daddy, it hurts!” you squealed. “Take it out, please–”

“Shh, Princess. Don’t make me angry.” König said, his eyes darkening. “Or I’ll make it hurt more.”

Definitely into discipline and spanking.

Will sometimes do it even if you haven’t warranted it.

Slaps your backside and thighs with his belt, breath quivering when he hears the sound of leather against skin, sees the red marks across your body.

And when a wide-eyed, confused expression crosses your face, he just smiles cruelly down at you.

“Shouldn’t be walking around with that tight little ass if you didn’t want me to hit it.”

In more ways than one *wink*.

Outside of the bedroom, calling König ‘Daddy’ is a proven way to get him to do anything for you.

Just bat your eyelashes at him and say in your softest voice: “Daddyyy, the cookie jar’s too far away; will you get it for me?”

And he’s DONE.

“Of course, Princess. Anything for you.”

He’s just so whipped for you.

Looks at you like you’re the Universe and all its celestial creations.

Tends to your every need, without question or hesitation.

Literally will not rest until all your needs are met and surpassed.

Sit in his lap, PLEASE.

He’ll literally just die in his seat if you do. Regardless of how dominant König’s feeling, he’s still vulnerable to your gentle advances.

And just vulnerable to you, to be honest.

But love will do that to a person, and König, a man whose profession made him think he was forced never to feel love himself, has never wanted to protect something - or someone - more.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#konig x reader #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig headcanons #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig smut #könig smut #könig x reader #könig x you #könig mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 #mw2 headcanons #mw2 x you

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saint-ajax · 4 months ago

Text

alone together

SHE WAS JUMPING OFF HER FEET in the beat of the deafening music, reaching waves of people in the festival.

She was singing her lungs out at the same time with the hundreds of people singing along with the singer above the stage.

They were behind the crowd piling up in the front. They had their own space, almost near the parking lot. Making their spot a quiet place for the both of them yet hearing the music loud enough for her to join, sing, and dance.

Natasha took a sip of beer as she watched her girlfriend have the time of her life. She was in awe of her cheeks flushing from excitement and big, wide smiles as she swayed.

Both hands were up in the air as she gave her applause. Before catching her breath with a sigh and turning to look at her ginger woman.

"Thank you for coming with me, love."

"Anything for you, doll."

She wore a cheeky smile and ran to trap Natasha's waist and bury her face on her chest. She inhaled her scent, and it relaxed her hyped system down.

It caused a smirk from Natasha as she rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “Tired yet? ”

“A bit.” She lifted her face and met her eyes, scrunching her nose at her.

“Drink water.” Nat was about to reach for the bottle of water, but she snatched the beer out of Natasha's hands and chugged it down.

“I said water,” Nat scolded as she watched her face scrunch from the beer's taste. Natasha only received an adorable giggle and a warm hug as her girl buried her face on her chest again.

“I love you.” She heard her whisper along with a sniff. Natasha frowned at the sound she made. She cupped her face to gently make her girlfriend look up to her.

“I love you more,” Natasha whispered as she tucked away a few strands of her hair on her face and continued to stare at each feature of her beautiful girl. “What’s the matter, baby? ”

She had flushed cheeks and a red runny nose from sobbing softly. Her long, thick lashes were moistened from her crystal tears. “I just...” She whimpered softly while Natasha watched her face in awe and concern as to why she was crying. Nat had always found it heartbreaking to see her cry, no matter the reason.

“I feel so lucky you chose me.”

It was the first time Natasha was caught off guard. She was a bit bewildered at the random thought she had and, at the same time, overwhelmed that the woman she cherishes the most looks at her that way.

“Oh, honey, I should be saying that.”

“No, no, Nat, I know you think that you’re incapable of being worthy of someone’s love, but I think the extreme opposite. Out of all people who deserve to be taken care of, loved, and cherished, it’s you. Please. Please, never let go.”

They say people are most honest when they’re drunk, and Natasha’s woman has always been one of those people. Aside from the prophecy, her tears running in rivulets, her hoarse voice singing words sweeter than honey that were able to stick something on Nat’s throat that was only an indication of her on the edge of tears.

“You are such a good, incredible woman who is so gorgeous, and you chose me.”

“And you’re an Avenger! ”Her girlfriend dipped her face onto her chest and sobbed harder. It made Natasha chuckle and look up to disguise and fight the tears that were threatening to fall.

“And that’s with three bottles of beer, huh? ”Natasha tried to kid as she composed herself before trying to lift her girlfriend’s chin to make her look her in the eye.

“I’m being serious.” She frowned at her joke while Nat chuckled a little bit more gentler now as she softly wiped her tears with her thumbs.

“I know, I know. Iyubov moya, hush now; you know I hate seeing you cry.” It was easy to surrender to Natasha. It was and always has been easy to stay calm, comfortable, and cozy when you’re in the arms of your loving woman, and so they stayed in their position of hugging one another.

So you're on the prowl wondering whether

She left already or not.

Leather jacket, collar popped like Cantonna

Never knowing when to stop

Sunglasses indoors, par for the course

Lights on the floors and sweat on the walls

Cages and poles...

The low base strum of the guitar and chill beat of the drums felt like the number one anthem for a slow dance as the two spent the silence on the air appreciating one’s existence.

It was her favorite band, and Natasha knew. She always does. She’s always aware of everything about the woman. She rocked their bodies from left to right romantically slowly. They kept a calm pace of swaying surely until the melody ended, which gave her the courage to tiptoe and steal a warm kiss from the lips of the widow.

Natasha’s initial response was to deepen the kiss. Their cherry lips colliding was the cue for the fireworks to shine and explode in the night sky. They were unbothered by the noise; they kept kissing and pulling one another as if they were just never too close enough.

Her hands found Natasha’s hair and jaw, where her hands kept roaming. Meanwhile, Natasha had a grip on the back of her neck to angle her woman’s pretty face just right as her other hand was capturing her tight ass.

Nothing could stop them, not even the festival’s noise of celebration or the fireworks’ explosion up in the air. Only when they had to catch air, only then they stopped and let their foreheads touch as they panted in sync.

“Wanna continue this back home? ”Natasha asked boldly, for her hunger was brought to life by their passionate kiss. She chuckled at Nat before nodding.

“Won’t the team be there? ”

“Nope, we’re alone together tonight. I get to solo you for the rest of the night.”

One last quick peck on the lips was stolen from Natasha before she guided her to ride on the bike and drove back to the compound.

#wonderwall of ajax #ajax saint #original work #marvel cinematic universe #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #fluff #wlw by ajax saint

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wickedsmille · 14 days ago

Text

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 2

Here's Part 1 and somehow there's going to be a part 3 too because I'm apparently incapable of doing anything short. Just ain't made for it. I've become resigned to my fate. But, hey, here's part 2! ;3

----------

“What is going on with this thing tonight,” Tim murmurs harshly with an irritated huff.

Jason would like to know, too, since Tim’s comms patched into his private line without Jason’s say so. It could’ve been the Red Hood fucking with him again but the suit has been tame. Well, okay, as tame as his suit gets. Which is suspicious all on its own but that’s a problem for a later time. Right now, he has an unsuspecting Tim on the line.

“Come on you stupid piece of shit,” Tim whispers like a man at the end of his rope.

“Woah, woah, language there, RR,” Jason chides him because he can.

Tim makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a grunt which would normally have Jason laughing except Tim chokes off the sound and mutters, “Uh oh.”

He’s never liked uh oh’s.

“What?” he demands, feigning annoyance but honestly a little worried.

“So,” Tim starts hesitantly. The rest of the words spill out of him in a rush when he says, “I was trying to get a hold of Batgirl because I’m on a stake out that isn’t a stake out anymore and I’m currently hiding from about thirty heavily armed and trained mercenaries but all the exits are covered so I can’t exactly sneak out.”

Tim trails off while Jason’s stomach churns. “You’re what?” Jason responds, this time truly annoyed.

“If I have to repeat myself and I give away my position,” Tim warns him absently. There’s another pause and Jason much prefers Tim’s word vomit to the ominous sound of Tim’s measured breathing and the growing din in the background. “Uh oh” Tim says but with more feeling this time.

“Don’t you fucking uh oh me. Where are you?”

“It’s the home goods warehouse southeast of the docks. 1334 Har-." Tim doesn’t get a chance to finish rattling off the address. If Jason has to guess, he would say it has something to do with the sudden sound of gunfire.

This is not happening. He got butt dialed into a backup call and now the littlest bird is a sitting duck in a den of lions. With only Jason to lean on. Who isn’t even sure where he is. It’s not like the actual contents of Gotham’s warehouses isn’t ever shifting between legitimate goods and illicit ones or anything. Property rights and leases exchanging hands between asset management teams and gangs. Money is money after all. The area around the docks is all warehousing and logistics so, over all, Tim has been completely unhelpful.

He knows better than to divide Tim’s attention when he’s in the middle of a serious fight. One wrong word and Jason could be the reason Tim gets a bullet to the brain or pushed off a two story catwalk. It doesn’t exactly leave him with very many options other than immediately changing his trajectory to take him over to the industrial center by the docks. It’s a quiet night. He should be able to hear the gunshots.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to waste valuable time playing Where’s The Fire Fight? because Red Hood has it handled. Or Tim finally made use of one of the many panic buttons he’s sure are sewn all over his less-than-stellar, non-magical-mystical-whatever suit. No matter how, Jason gets a ping on his HUD and a map of Gotham pulls up into the corner with a neat little red dot for Tim’s location. Now knowing where he’s going, Jason pushes himself to hurry the fuck up.

Getting back to his bike is a blur but he’s ripping down Gotham’s streets as soon as he gets the engine started and kickstand up. One irate cab driver has the audacity to honk at him when he blows through a red light so Jason gives him the middle finger and few choice words. The guy must be new to the city if he doesn’t know to look both ways for high speed vigilantes. Jason would be more than happy to teach him the lesson if he didn’t have places to be and things to do.

Thanks to his incredible driving skills and his innate ability to not turn himself into a pavement pancake, Jason gets to the warehouse in record time. If only Guinness had been watching. He would’ve gotten a medal or whatever it is they do when someone breaks one of the many, many pointless world records the books have immortalized.

Since all the doors and exterior windows do appear to be fortified and armed, Jason grapples himself to the roof and is delighted to see the unsecured skylight. Whoever these guys are, they must be from out of town too. Any Gotham-ized gangster, goon, villain or otherwise knows to board those up first. Out of towners, he swears. No problem, the cab driver got him primed for a teaching moment so he’s about to take these motherfuckers to school.

Handling Vigilantes 101:

-Never leave your skylights or exterior vents unattended.

-Before engaging in criminal activity, make sure you have active health insurance.

-Prepare to get your ass pounded into paste by some douchebags in tight leather (and not in the fun way).

In true Bat-fashion, Jason makes his dramatic entrance via ziplining through the skylight after cracking the glass with the steel-toe of his boot. He’s already got a gun out by the time his feet touch down with a jarring thud. The total amateurs, by Gotham standards, startle enough Jason has ample time to start putting them down. A flash of red and black from the corner of his eye lets him know Tim has darted out to either pull some shifty, sneaky shit or find better coverage than the shot to hell crates he’d been keeping between himself and a .22 to the dome.

Even when the mercs gather up their wits and retaliate against the new threat, the Red Hood does its job. About a minute of getting shot at, knowing he’ll be sporting a myriad of bruises from it but trusting his suit to keep anything fatal at bay, and the idiots start second guessing their current line of attack.

What’s a bruise or two for the ghost tales that’ll get spread around about the Red Hood being impervious? Jason may be all too human but the Red Hood allows him to pose himself as something more, something greater. Obviously unnerved, the shooting stops as the guys start back pedaling. Too bad Red Robin is there to greet them when they turn tail to make a run for it.

Jason watches as Tim neatly dispatches the leftovers. He might not have been able to properly appreciate it before, but Tim really is good with that stick of his. Liquid grace in motion, slipping under the mercenaries’ guards easily and transitioning from one opponent to another with a little flair and a lot of skill. Bits and pieces of it Jason can recognize from his own training regimens as Robin, some of it from a couple people he’s run into as Red Hood and can’t help but wonder how Tim met them. The weird amalgamation is all Tim though in the way he takes the best from what he’s learned then takes the discordant moves and shapes them into a symphony of movement. And pain cause, hot damn, Tim isn’t playing. Jason swears he sees one guy's molars get smacked right out of his head.

One of the assholes groans from where he fell at Jason’s feet after getting hit with a couple rubber bullets point blank so he kicks him in the head to shut him up. Jason is appraising his ally’s fighting skills, thanks. People can be so rude sometimes.

Tim downs the last merc and, with a satisfied smirk that has Jason’s gut twisting, he leans against his staff with his hip cocked. The tight fabric of his suit is clinging to him like a second skin. Enough so to make Selina and Dick proud. His cape falls in a wave at his back, held in place by the bandoliers crossing his chest. The damn things make Tim’s tiny waist painfully obvious. Small mercies Tim decided to ditch the cowl a few months back. The elegant fall of his too long hair suits the whole Red Robin look a lot better than the gimp cowl.

“Are you going to help secure them?” Tim asks, frowning and looking over his shoulder at Jason as he zipties one of the guys starting to wriggle around.

Jason’s higher thinking kicks back in. Tim does make a good point. They should probably truss up the trash before they’ve got another scuffle on their hands. He hadn’t even realized he drifted off a little bit there. Weird but it has been a long, strange night. Brushing it off, Jason crouches down to start hog tying the mercenaries closest to him.

Nothing, nothing, will ever beat the hilarity that is criminals awake and wriggling while they’re literally hog tied. Tim may not have approved while he was doing it but, standing next to each other on an adjacent roof to make sure the GCPD carts them off as they should, Tim isn’t saying a bad word about it. In fact, his lips are pinched together like he’s trying to hold back a snicker. One of the mercenaries jolts awake when an officer takes their arm to start hauling them away. The man startles hard and starts grunting and thrashing.

Tim loses it and, man, Jason has never heard him laugh. Like really laugh. It’s a good look on Tim.

“I’m not saying you should’ve,” Tim pushes out past a couple more chuckles.

“I’m sensing a but,” Jason says, his grin all charm and completely wasted since Tim can’t see his face because of the helmet.

“But,” Tim parrots, “that was pretty funny.”

Jason bows with a flourish which has Tim laughing anew though it is softer, quieter this time. In the middle of drinking up the delicate lines of Tim’s face and the curve of his smile, Jason’s HUD goes dark. Totally dead. There’s a couple emergency lights built inside since small, dark places don’t mix well with him anymore. Otherwise, nothing is working.

The Red Hood isn’t subtle one goddamn bit and the stupid suit is lucky he bothered with slapping a domino on before he went out tonight. Quickly undoing the security panels on the underside of his jaw, Jason pulls the helmet off. He shakes out his hair and swipes at the sweat beaded along his brow. A couple strands are stuck to his head and refuse to move so Jason reaches up and musses his hair in an attempt to not feel grungy and gross.

When he looks up, Tim is staring at him so, without the barrier of the helmet, he whips back out the ol’ Jason Todd charm, smiling wolfishly. Then Tim sort of, freezes up. Jason looks over his shoulder to make sure some new big bad isn’t lurking nearby that they missed. But, nope, nothing there. As he turns his head to meet Tim’s gaze again, he’s back to normal. Tim’s approximation of normal at least.

He’s tapping a hand against his thigh and looking off towards the cityscape of downtown Gotham. His other hand is settled firmly on his waist while he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Alright, well, thanks for the backup. Talk about a happy accident,” Tim says after clearing his throat a couple times.

“Don’t mention,” Jason tells him. “But really, don’t mention it. I don’t want all the Bats breathing down my neck.”

They’re a give an inch, take a mile bunch. If he green lights as a solid reach out for back up, the next thing he knows he’ll be on the main comms listening to inane chatter. Probably have a shadow or two trailing him on patrols like he needs help running his happy, shitty section of the city. Invitations to the Cave will shift to dinners and movie nights. As pleasant as that all sounds, he’d like to avoid it at all costs.

Tim nods easily and readies his grapple. “Fair. Well. Have a good night?” The awkwardness of Tim’s polite goodbye has Jason laughing and shaking his head. Tim bristles as he shoots off his line. “Or not, whatever,” Tim mutters.

“Yeah, alright, awkward bird,” Jason calls out to him as Tim swings away.

Next time, it’s Jason reaching out to Tim. Not even Red Hood calling out to Red Robin. He’s literally phoning Tim's personal cell on one of his burners and asking for a favor. There’s a little cell of nasty drug traffickers from down south with their sights set on Gotham. Although he could wait for them to make the egregious mistake of coming onto his stomping grounds, Jason has decided to gift them the honor of a house call given the sheer viciousness they’ve been using to move their product.

Problem is, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be undercover snuffing them out and Crime Alley rarely rests even with the Red Hood’s impressive shadow looming over it. If he goes dark for more than a week all hell breaks loose. Usually Roy will step in for him and his suit has been accommodating to the temporary trade off in wearer. That’s not an option this time with Roy otherwise occupied. As are his second and third options so he’s had no choice but to ask for help from the Bat he can best stand.

He didn’t even need to threaten or bribe Tim after promising a rubber bullets only policy would be fine. The agreement may have come readily but Tim did sound distracted. A niggle of doubt has him pacing his apartment as he waits for Tim to show up. For all he knows, Tim might’ve been less present in the conversation than he thought and not show up at all.

The knock at his window comes as a mild surprise. Twisting his head around, hand twitching towards the gun he has lying on the counter next to him, Jason relaxes when he sees Tim standing on his fire escape clad in dark clothes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Tim waves at him and gestures to the window with a raised brow.

Jason doesn’t scramble to open it but he might do it a little too eagerly. Thankfully, Tim doesn’t comment on it as Jason steps back to let Tim in.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Tim asks dubiously once he’s standing in the middle of Jason’s living room with his hands jammed in his pouch pocket.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Jason responds without actually being sure. The Red Hood could always reject Tim. Only one way to find out though. “Follow me,” Jason says as he gestures Tim down the hall to his bedroom where he keeps his suit stored.

“Alright. Sorry I’m late, by the way. My suit has been giving me issues lately.”

“Like what?” Jason asks curiously as he pushes open the door to his room and goes to unearth the Red Hood.

Tim shrugs and absently looks around Jason’s room. It’s uncomfortable to have Tim here, for him to see where Jason lives. He does his best to ignore it as he spreads the suit out on his bed. Approaching slowly, Tim takes his hands out of his pocket so he can run a finger down the chestplate. The whole thing does a little shimmy shake. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

“I’m not exactly your size,” Tim drawls, looking Jason up and down.

A spark of molten heat sparks deep in his core so Jason smothers it with extreme prejudice. “If you’re not lookin’ like a kid in daddy’s clothes then we’ll be fine. It’ll adjust. If it likes you.”

“If it likes me,” Tim murmurs.

There’s a sad, bitter edge to Tim’s expression as he stares down at the suit. Once more, Jason realizes he has stepped on a sore spot for Tim. The same one even. Let no one ever accuse him of being great at interpersonal relationships.

Tim banishes whatever he has going through his mind with a shake of his head. His face shifts to one of determination as he shucks off his sweatshirt. And his shirt. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

“Enjoying the show?” Tim questions sarcastically.

Right. Right, he was staring. When he shouldn’t have been.

“I want a refund,” Jason throws out to cover his folly. Tim snorts so Jason takes it as a win. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if the suit gives you a hard time. It’ll listen to me sometimes.”

“Sometimes. That’s comforting.”

“I try. Now get your tiny ass in it.”

Jason excuses himself from the room, shutting the door, before making his way to the kitchen where his open duffel bag is already stuffed with the essentials. To keep himself busy, Jason checks over the contents. Then double checking and tossing a couple other things in the bag. Once satisfied, he zips it up and pats the thick canvas of the bag. When he looks up from his distraction, Tim is there in the hallway.

I fucked up, Jason bemoans internally.

Not because the Red Hood is being antagonistic and obstinate in letting Tim help. The stupid suit must not have a single qualm with letting Tim wear it. Everything fits so damn well. There’s only so much reshaping the suit can usually do given the difference in size between himself and others but whatever bullshit gives the suits a brain has pulled out all the stops to make it work.

Tim looks good in it. Still short although the heels on the boots are higher. The extra armoring pads Tim’s form, making him look bulkier than he is but the suit nips in at the waist. He’s pretty damn sure the tac pants aren’t supposed to be that tight, either. Tim tosses the helmet from hand to hand under Jason’s scrutinizing eyes before popping it on.

“Wow, okay, I want one of these,” Tim says through the voice modulator. The mechanical growl has a shiver running down Jason’s spine. Because he keeps his apartment cool and there’s a draft somewhere he hasn’t fixed yet, of course. “The tech in this thing.”

“Great for concussion prevention, too.”

“I’m hoping to not put that to the test.”

“Yeah, try not to. You’re still smaller than me, shrimp, so keep moving and maybe nobody will notice.”

Pulling the hood off, Tim glares at him. “I’m not that much smaller.”

“You’re like, what, a buck forty soaking wet?”

Huffing, Tim puts the helmet on again. “Excuse me while I prove that doesn’t matter.”

“Go off,” Jason cheers flatly.

Tim flicks him off while he walks back towards the window. “Just getting in character,” he says as he gracefully slides back out onto the fire escape.

I am so very, very fucked, Jason thinks with no small amount of dismay. There’s only so much a mantra of ‘Don’t stress, repress’ can do and it’s getting really hard to ignore the way he’s been responding to Tim. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to keep trying to savagely squash what he’s starting to suspect may be the beginnings of attraction.

It all comes to a head when Tim asks him to partner up on a counterfeiting case. The request shouldn’t have surprised him. After Tim successfully patrolled Park Row as Red Hood, reporting no issues, they’ve been crossing paths more often. On one occasion, the tracker Jason stuck to a mobster’s car brought him to Tim instead. By some stroke of luck, Tim was tailing the same guy so, aside from the momentary hiccup, the takedown went smoothly. Then Tim’s grapple jammed when they were set to part ways another night after running into one another. Jason ended the night red faced and unable to think of anything but Tim’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, hanging on for dear life, as he flew them back to Tim’s bike.

A few weeks ago, he’d ended up battered, bruised and bleeding in some dark, dank alley in the East End. Willingly, Jason hailed Tim for an assist. Tim got him to a safe house and patched him up efficiently. The weird thing is, Tim’s cape was being weird. Sure, that makes him sound slightly insane and maybe a civilian would think so but Jason has been a mask for what seems like half of forever now. He knows these suits. So, the way Tim’s cape had fallen around them, stretching itself so it covered the both of them to create a safe, quiet space all their own, was suspicious. Then it got really suspicious when Tim tried brushing it aside to get some better lighting while doing the stitches but the cape kept somehow slipping over his back to go back to embracing the both of them.

There isn’t a single doubt in Jason’s mind that Red Robin was a plain,ol’ regular mass of fabric when Jason got it. None. He’s starting to suspect that isn’t the case anymore which is only cemented when they walk into the hotel room they booked for the night to serve as a base of operations in New York while they follow a trail of counterfeit money.

See, Jason was right next to Tim in the car when he called the hotel and made the booking. He personally heard Tim ask for a room with twin beds and the front desk agent confirm there was one available. Then Tim had tossed his phone into his bag, the same one with his spare clothes and suit, and they’d blared hyper pop and grunge on the radio without a second thought. Jason vividly remembers pulling into the hotel parking lot and Tim grabbing his bag, fishing his phone out and frowning thoughtfully that the screen was on with his email open. After a cursory check, he’d shrugged it off and they got out to settle in.

Getting comfortable is going to be a Herculean challenge for Jason since there’s only one queen bed in the room.

Tim pauses in the entryway and blinks before glancing down at his key card, backing up to look at the room number and back down at the card again. “They must’ve made a mistake,” he says blankly.

Before Jason can put his two cents in, Tim shoves his bag into Jason’s arms and snatches up Jason’s key card. Tim books it back down the hall towards the front desk. Which, okay, that’s fine. All’s the better because Jason will literally go insane if he has to share a bed with Tim. Years of freezing on the streets taught him to gravitate towards whatever heat source possible. Including people he trusts in his general vicinity when he’s sleeping. He simply won’t survive waking up with Tim as his personal teddy bear.

Storming into the room, Jason throws Tim’s bag onto the bed and yanks it open. He opens the hidden pocket where Red Robin is neatly folded and glares down at it.

“I don’t know what your game is, but cut that shit out,” Jason hisses at the suit. It doesn’t move but Jason gets the distinct impression it’s smug. Or he could be projecting. Can regular suits gain consciousness? Is that a thing? Doesn’t matter, not like anyone is around to judge him for talking to a maybe, maybe-not inanimate costume. “Seriously. I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.”

Jason doesn’t get the opportunity to further threaten the Red Robin costume. A harried looking Tim pops back into the room, two key cards in hand. When he looks at Jason, he seems a little lost.

“This was the only room they had left,” Tim tells him, tone carefully calm and even. “There’s some business conference going on.”

He swallows hard and nods, remembering a couple news articles he’d read through on it before leaving. “Okay, yeah, no problem.” There’s no couch either. Just a dresser, nightstand, bed, desk and one of those armchairs with cushions hard enough to use as a bludgeoning weapon. “I’ll take the floor?”

Tim doesn’t look at him but his face pinches in distaste at the idea. “No, it’s fine. We can share, right?”

“Nah, it’s alright, I’ll take the floor,” Jason insists.

Now Tim looks him in the eye and the steely determination takes Jason by surprise. “I can’t even fathom what the stains on this carpet are and there’s no padding. You’ll wake up an aching mess and be useless on the mission tomorrow. We can share the bed,” he says firmly.

Well, what is Jason supposed to say to that other than, “Good point. Bedfellows it is.”

The time they spend organizing their things and then getting ready to lie down is just as awkward as Jason thought it would be. On no fewer than five occasions, Jason nearly calls the whole thing off. There were other hotels in the area, right? Not all of them could possibly be full from the corporate HR consulting conference being held in town. Anything would be better than the fragile silence between them.

He doesn’t though. The thought of backing out like a yellow bellied coward had his gut souring and his mood shifting from placid dread to irritation. Each time the impulse comes up, he kicks it to the recesses of his mind along with every budding fantasy of what the night may bring. It’s getting pretty cluttered in that dark corner of his mind.

Tim doesn’t appear to be quite as affected. Some of his movements are stilted and he’s giving Jason a wider berth than normal but otherwise he does his own thing while Jason does his. If Jason weren’t harboring an incredibly inconvenient crush, he’d even say things were companionable. But he is, so suffocatingly uncomfortable atmosphere for him. Woe is his life, seriously.

Those feelings of giddy anticipation and mounting horror go sharply into focus as he and Tim, dressed down for bed in sleep shirts and comfortable pants, stare at one another from either side of the bed. Tim has a corner of the blanket in his hand, fiddling with a loose thread on the side of it. Otherwise, he’s completely still and everything he’s thinking is locked up tight behind the pale blue of his eyes. Jason can’t help but fidget too, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he feels a prickle of embarrassment slithering down the back of his neck. This is the weirdest game of semi-gay chicken he’s ever engaged in.

Jason breaks first if only to end the game. Grabbing the edge of his blanket, Jason tosses it back before flinging himself onto the bed. After a brief shuffle, he gets himself covered up to the chin with the blanket and his back facing Tim. Carefully, slowly, Tim crawls in beside him with much less flair and flourish. The blanket tugs for a second before settling again. While the bed is a good size, Jason isn’t exactly your average guy. Despite his best efforts to get as far away as he can, he can still feel Tim’s warmth brushing against his back like a phantom caress.

Man, sleep isn’t happening. He may as well get up and do some more research on the case or something. Screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, Jason wrestles with himself on if he should ditch the idea of sharing the bed and how he can get out of it without being overtly disrespectful.

#tim drake #jason todd #dc comics #jaytim #dc #timjay #red hood #red robin #wicked writes #or at least tries to #i'm doing my bestest #imagine the poor tumblrians here for the elf on the shelf joke and they find this

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bomber-grl · 2 months ago

Text

Dating headcanons!! (Ftm reader edition)

Pairing(s): Characters x FtM!Reader

Characters(s): Will Solace, Leo Valdez, Nico Di Angelo

Asked for either or, you shall get all

Will Solace

Will solace the man that you are

Honestly is the best person to talk to about your identity and everything

Most likely to buy you an endearingly cringey cake when you come out to him (if you haven’t already)

Alongside the horrendous trans merch he can get his hands on

That you still choose to wear despite being “disgusted”

Anyways

Will is always ready to have those heartfelt and serious talks when you need them most

He’s definitely the most validating person in the room

Like seriously I cannot stress this enough

He’s always taking you to spaces where you’d feel safe and if he can’t find any- he’d make them

Other words for saying he’d be more than happy to be your safe space

Your progress or journey with your identity is one that Will is more than happy to experience with you

Even if you end up lashing out or getting frustrated- he’d be there to ground you and help calm you down

ESPECIALLY then

Even little moments of offense or hurt from others can be taken by Will and made into references to weird inside jokes

- ones that you have to keep telling him to stop making and then he continues for the pure joy of seeing you shake your head knowingly

Also if you’re on t (injection) then he’d be more than happy to help you out

Saying that as someone who’s ok around needles, but if I had to give myself a shot

Rip

Just ask your sunshine medic-at-16 bf to help you out

Because of course everyone has one of those

Also would and has scolded you if you keep your binder on for more time than you’re supposed to

You’re already running on thin ice with all the physical action demigods go through per day

I can only imagine

Yknow maybe it could serve as a sign to go schedule that top surgery appointment /hj

Hj Cuz of the state of the real world

Anyway

Leo Valdez

Honestly did not know you were trans at all when you first met (if you’ve already transitioned or not- he’s a block head)

Neither did he ever consider you as romantic partner for the very reason that you’re a guy

(Just only ever considered girls)

And yet here we are

Dating Leo is honestly just the average experience of any person

Chaotic, fun, and also dealing with the crippling traumas demigod life has offered you and refused to acknowledge when you did not want it

Which I guess could include you being trans depending on your experience

Whether you pass or not is something else and regardless you’ve faced discrimination or at least some sort of fear when revealing at one point or another to others

Which you luckily don’t encounter all that much at camp

(Considering the zest fest camp half blood is)

Let say you’re just transitioning and decide to tell Leo

He’s immediately talking about having your back and willing to listen to your new pronouns and new name (if you’d like one)

He’d be a bit awkward but not because of what’s going on rather because he uses humor all the time and refuses to make a joke out of this one serious thing

Also ☝️

He’d be the best person on this list about making you feel seen bro I’m not even exaggerating

(Idk the others seem pretty good too)

Leo and being invisible or last choice go hand in hand so the last thing he’d ever want you or anyone he loves feel- is feel unimportant

He’d want to validate your identity and make sure you’re comfortable enough to be your truest self around him

Which is honestly better than anything he could ask for

Conflicting feeling and situations are bound to arise

Whether about yourself, others or just anything really

Just talk to Leo because if not he’ll literally explode

And why wouldn’t you?

Even if he’s using humor and convos are a bit awkward- it doesn’t make him incapable of having any serious ones

So pull up a chair and talk to him when you’re having a rough day surrounding your identity

The worst thing that can happen is nothing

Because he’ll always support you and also talk about how he’s felt shitty before to atleast make you smile

That’s one continuous long term goal of his he’ll never reach

Also if you’re on t (injection) - never expect this gremlin to help out or so help us all

Nico Di Angelo

Cool. He loves you and so you’re his boyfriend now.

That’s all there is to it

I sort of see him as the type to try to not make a big deal out of your identity and stuff

Partially so you don’t feel like he’s walking on egg shells (he knows the feeling)

But also because he’s unsure of if that’s him crossing boundaries (again, because of his personal experience/ preference)

You got a new name? New pronouns? He’ll happily call you them

Again, he isn’t the type to be overly dramatic or loud with his support but he’d show it in more subtle ways

His understanding of identity and validation makes him sensitive to what you need more often than not

So even though he won’t always have the words to convey how he feels, he’s always there to listen

Also, his reassurance is always so heartfelt

Random but something to add since Nico is obviously sarcastic and can be misleading to some

Anyway

We all know Nicos trait of being over protective to those he loves so naturally it extends to you by default

If anyone would even misgender or deadname you in front of him- regardless of if it were on accident- he’d correct them without fail

Not that he makes a scene at all

His presence is already scary enough

(The books alone are proof

+ Though only done if you feel comfortable with it)

Many people experience different things but I feel like acceptance is one many people have gone through and tried to achieve at one point or another

Nico was a conservative Italian raised catholic (who is gay) from the 1930s

If someone knows about the trial of self acceptance

it’s him

So even if it’s not exactly the same- he understands the conflict that goes on and is always there to hear you out

Also you can’t tell me that he’s gotten wack ass pride/gay merch as a way of being supported by other campers when he came out

Mostly annoying ones but I digress

So as a rite of passage he’d gift you some cringe trans merch in hope of making you laugh

Something to add is that if this is more fresh Nico

Ig you could say

Then he’d be really guarded like to the max

So even though present him would be as stated as above- younger Nico would definitely be way harsher to those who offended you

I don’t make the rules

#fanfic #male reader #fluff #fanfic fluff #fluff headcanons #ftm #nico di angelo x male reader #nico di angelo x reader #pjo nico #nico pjo #will solace #will solace x reader #leo valdez x male reader #leo valdez x reader #pjo leo #hoo fanfic #rick riordanverse

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wambsgansshoelaces · 10 months ago

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hi, i think u did a similar one already but could i get a hc on how succession characters react to their s/o crying? about feeling sad , or stressed , or losing a loved one , idk , just something mildly serious. i wasn't feeling great today and i started crying and my sister told me to stop crying and was like mean af to me and i could use some gentleness and affection :|

aw anon im so sorry :( I know I’m really late with this but I hope you’re doing much better <3 I’m always here for you in my ask box or pms!! your sister is an asshole you can cry whenever you want all of your emotions are valid and I love u u are so worthy

I hope these make you feel happy <3 enjoy x

serious issues (succession main cast)

Kendall

ᝰ when he notices your mood is off, he immediately goes solemn

ᝰ while if it were something smaller, he’d leave it and let you come up and talk to him on your own

ᝰ but he can tell it’s bad

ᝰ and he’s not going to let you stew in this by yourself

ᝰ he will help you

ᝰ whether you want him to or not

ᝰ he gets you a glass of water

ᝰ and forces you to drink

ᝰ then sits you down and makes you tell him what’s wrong

ᝰ when you do

ᝰ rather, when you burst into tears in his arms

ᝰ he can’t help but feel horrible

ᝰ he cradles your face in his hands and kisses away your tears

ᝰ he apologizes over and over

ᝰ he’s rubbing your back the entire time you tell him what’s going on

ᝰ “cry it all out. i’m right here.”

ᝰ he talks you through it

ᝰ he’s cosplaying his therapist

ᝰ if it was a death, he gets the name of where the service will be held and pays for it in secret

ᝰ over the next few weeks, you can just show up in his office and cry on his shoulder

ᝰ and he won’t ask any questions

ᝰ he always lets you

ᝰ the night you tell him, he keeps an arm hooked around you, keeping your head to his chest

ᝰ he plays with your hair and strokes soothing patterns into your skin for the rest of the night

ᝰ as you recover emotionally, he makes sure to check in on you

ᝰ even long after the incident, you both make sure that you have no bullshit check ins with each other

ᝰ “how are you really”s

ᝰ he makes it clear to you that he will always support you

ᝰ and you’re glad

Roman

ᝰ not really the best with words

ᝰ or emotions

ᝰ or being serious

ᝰ however

ᝰ the only time(s) he is 100% serious is when you’re severely upset

ᝰ the first time it happens, it’s like he stops breathing

ᝰ “hey, come here. something’s wrong. i need to know what.”

ᝰ you tell him

ᝰ it’s the hardest you’ve ever cried

ᝰ the entire time, he grips your hand, gently stroking the back of it with his fingers

ᝰ he’s never been more focused on anything in his life

ᝰ he wishes he could help talk you through it, but he’s physically incapable

ᝰ so what he does is murmur a few comforting words then take you out on a boat ride

ᝰ because of course he has a miniature yacht on call

ᝰ “you can relax, take your mind off everything. i’ll take care of things, don’t worry.”

ᝰ the rest of the day is spent the two of you cuddled together, looking out over the water

ᝰ he doesn’t say anything

ᝰ he feels bad because he doesn’t know how to help you sort through your emotions

ᝰ because god knows he can’t

ᝰ so instead, he spends every waking moment with you, at your beck and call

ᝰ regardless, he’d do anything for you

ᝰ incident or not

ᝰ he listens to you when you talk, of course

ᝰ he just can’t give you any sound advice

ᝰ the nights on the boat, when you’re at your most vulnerable, he makes sure you fall asleep before he does

ᝰ so that he can kiss you to sleep

ᝰ and make sure you fall asleep soundly, feeling safe

ᝰ he’ll never be happy unless you’re happy

Shiv

ᝰ she notices something’s wrong, but doesn’t say anything at first

ᝰ when you don’t come to her at all and instead stay holed up in your room, that’s when she knows something is really wrong

ᝰ she crawls up onto the bed with you, and you feel her hands smooth up your back

ᝰ “what’s wrong? tell me.”

ᝰ does not leave you alone until you do

ᝰ listens intently

ᝰ literally memorizes what you’re saying so that she can help fix things

ᝰ the entire time you’re speaking, she massages at your skin to soothe you

ᝰ and it works

ᝰ thumbs away your tears when they fall

ᝰ she refuses to let you go through this alone

ᝰ she helps talk through your issues

ᝰ nonstop reassuring you that everything you’re feeling is perfectly valid

ᝰ and telling you that if you’re upset, she’s upset

ᝰ and that she’ll stop at nothing to make you happy again

ᝰ in all honesty, she’s extremely inexperienced with cooking and baking

ᝰ but she figures it out just for you

ᝰ she makes you a fudge with strawberries and raspberries frozen into it

ᝰ and it’s surprisingly really good

ᝰ your tears ease as the two of you eat together in bed

ᝰ you’re still sniffling when she gently urges you to lay your head in her lap

ᝰ even when you’re this upset, she’s utterly mesmerized by you

ᝰ your lips when you chew, your cheeks, the plush of your thighs as your pajama shorts hike up your legs

ᝰ “i know it’s hard, babe. i’m here. i’m not leaving.”

ᝰ and she doesn’t

ᝰ she’s at your side for the rest of both your lives

ᝰ she holds your hand through all of your difficulties

ᝰ she always listens, always helps you with your issues

ᝰ she’ll never, ever, let you suffer on your own

ᝰ she wishes she could take your pain from you

ᝰ you’re her sun and moon

Tom

ᝰ the personification of a massive teddy bear

ᝰ when you’re upset, he’s in SHAMBLES

ᝰ he swears he can feel your pain

ᝰ he soothes you every way he knows how

ᝰ he keeps you close, rubbing his hands up and down your sides

ᝰ he makes you your favorite meals

ᝰ refuses to let you do any chores

ᝰif it was a death, he organizes these massive baskets to be delivered to everyone affected

ᝰ and the biggest one goes to you

ᝰ it has all of your favorite sweets, a bouquet of beautiful flowers, a blanket

ᝰ and a love letter detailing how you’re the strongest person he knows

ᝰ and that he loves you more than anything

ᝰ of course, he gives you space if you ask for it

ᝰ but he’s always concerned for you anyway

ᝰ he gives you your time to recover while slowly helping you along

ᝰ after a couple weeks of leaving you be and taking care of you at home, he starts making you go out with him

ᝰ “we’re getting you used to things again.”

ᝰ he stays at your side through all of it

ᝰ will always let you vent to him

ᝰ and always does his best to give you advice and help you through your issues

ᝰ every night is spent the two of you chatting about your days

ᝰ making sure the other is really okay

ᝰ his arms are always warm

ᝰ your bed even more so

ᝰ he always makes sure you’re feeling warm and fuzzy

ᝰ he just loves you so much

ᝰ he’ll never let you go cold

Greg

ᝰ when you start freaking out, he also starts freaking out

ᝰ but he gets himself together

ᝰ because you’re a big deal to him

ᝰ and he loves you

ᝰ so he’ll do everything he can to help you

ᝰ in his own way, of course

ᝰ he honestly sucks at talking you through things

ᝰ but he listens to you

ᝰ he loves listening to you

ᝰ after you tell him what’s going on, he pulls you into his arms

ᝰ he just hugs you for a while

ᝰ he doesn’t let go until you do

ᝰ and you only do that to go to the bathroom

ᝰ when you come back, he has a favorite movie of yours pulled up on the tv

ᝰ “why don’t we watch? I think you could use the brain break. relaxing is good for you.”

ᝰ he keeps you pulled tight against him

ᝰ softly stroking your hair, your neck, your shoulder

ᝰ he’s just hoping your mood is shifting

ᝰ which it is

ᝰ he’s not the best with words

ᝰ and he’s not exactly sure if what he’s doing is helping

ᝰ but bottom line, you know he cares

ᝰ and he wants to help, needs to help you

ᝰ he spends the next few days doing his best to make you feel loved

ᝰ he makes you lunch to take with you to work

ᝰ he makes sure your favorite snacks are always stocked in the pantry

ᝰ always asks things along the lines of “do you want coffee? iced tea? I’ll make anything for you” even though he doesn’t know how to cook or bake anything

ᝰ but he figures it out

ᝰ because the only thing that makes him happy is you

ᝰ and he’ll fucking die if he sees you crying again and he can’t help you

ᝰ his world revolves around you

ᝰ and he loves it that way

Stewy

ᝰ honestly, you being so viscerally upset puts him off

ᝰ his world falls off balance

ᝰ demands you tell him everything

ᝰ keeps your face sandwiched between his hands as you talk

ᝰ his eyes never leave yours

ᝰ he nods, makes soothing noises

ᝰ “okay, here’s what we’ll do. we’re going to go have fun tonight.”

ᝰ he takes you out for dinner

ᝰ the entire night he’s just like eyeing you trying to see if you’re still upset

ᝰ in reality, he’s just a smooth talker

ᝰ he has no idea how to actually get serious

ᝰ so now his efforts are put into making you feel better

ᝰ when you pick at your food, he takes your hand

ᝰ and tries to be profound

ᝰ “I know I kind of suck at this whole handling things seriously thing, but I want you to know I’ll listen to anything- everything you have to say. I don’t… you’re not going through this alone, is what I’m trying to tell you.”

ᝰ it comes out really messy

ᝰ but it’s obvious he cares

ᝰ it’s obvious he loves you

ᝰ and that in of itself makes you feel leagues better

ᝰ you decide to walk off your dinner

ᝰ you both take a stroll, hand in hand, through the streets

ᝰ the night chill is strangely calming

ᝰ but you know that’s just stewy, not actually the chill that’s making you feel at ease

ᝰ “we can try stargazing tonight.”

ᝰ “stew, all I can see when I look up is smoke.”

ᝰ because you literally live in new york

ᝰ where rats live everywhere rent free

ᝰ “we’ll just have to drive out somewhere, then.”

ᝰ he actually does

ᝰ the two of you end up in a bit of a rural area sitting in the trunk of his car

ᝰ he spread out blankets and brought pillows and everything

ᝰ he even stopped at a gas station to get you both slushees

ᝰ in the gas station you both mixed flavors

ᝰ and he keeps stealing from you

ᝰ but it’s okay

ᝰ you’re leaning against him, his fingers are in your hair

ᝰ “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”

ᝰ “you’re helping me lots.”

ᝰ you give him a kiss

ᝰ “your lips are all blue, stewy.”

ᝰ “the blue raspberry is just really good…”

ᝰ you turn back to the stars

ᝰ but his eyes aren’t even on the stars anymore

ᝰ they’re on you

ᝰ and if he had it his way, they’d never leave you again

#succession headcanons #kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #roman roy #roman roy x reader #siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #tom wambsgans #tom wambsgans x reader #gregory hirsch #gregory hirsch x reader #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #succession #succession hbo #succession x reader #anon ask #wambsgansshoelaces

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callmedaleelah · 4 months ago

Text

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i don’t wanna think of anything else now that i thought of you ; he’s tending to your wounds with an unexpected tenderness

author’s notes : alcohol influence, slight fighting scene, no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

You were studying in your room, laptop on desk and legs on the chair. The night had been calm until your laptop pinged with a notification—your mom was requesting a FaceTime call. Instinctively, your stomach twisted, a familiar sense of dread tightening in your chest. You knew this wasn’t a casual check-in. You reluctantly accepted the call, your fingers trembling slightly as you did.

Your mom’s face appeared on the screen, her expression already set in that stern, no-nonsense look you’d grown all too familiar with. Her eyes seemed to cut through you, already armed with questions you weren’t ready to answer.

“You got a C,” she started, her voice sharp with disappointment. “What happened? Are you not taking your studies seriously?”

You flinched, feeling a rush of anxiety flood your body. Your hands, now cold and clammy, twisted nervously in your lap, hidden from the screen. The knot in your throat grew tighter, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice.

“I—I’m trying, Mom,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel your heart racing, the pulse pounding in your ears. “It was the lab report. Yuriko—she’s our new TA—she didn’t really give us much feedback. She just moved on to the next topic, and I—I didn’t get a chance to fix the mistakes.”

Your eyes darted around the room, avoiding the screen, hoping that somehow if you didn’t look at her, the conversation would feel less suffocating. But your mother’s voice was relentless, filling every corner of your mind.

“So you’re blaming the TA?” she asked, her tone clipped and dismissive. “Yuriko, right? She’s just a teaching assistant, not the professor. If she’s not doing her job, that’s on her—but you need to stand up for yourself. Have you even tried speaking to the professor?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, the pressure inside your chest growing unbearable. You wanted to scream, to tell her that it wasn’t that simple—that every confrontation made you feel small and incapable. But the words were trapped inside you, stuck behind the wall of anxiety that always seemed to silence you whenever you needed to speak the most.

“No,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I haven’t.”

The air around you felt heavier, your body rigid with tension. You could feel the anger bubbling up inside of you—the anger at her for always making you feel like a failure, and the anger at yourself for not being able to stand up to her. Your jaw clenched, but you forced a small, tight-lipped smile, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Mom, it’s not like I’m not trying,” you said, attempting to sound casual, but your voice wavered. “It’s just one grade. I’ll make up for it, I promise.”

But your mother wasn’t having it. Her face hardened, and her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to the camera. You instinctively shrank back in your chair, your shoulders tightening, feeling trapped even though she wasn’t physically there.

“One grade?” she repeated coldly. “Are you serious? A C is not a big deal to you? Do you realize what this could do to your GPA? You’re letting this slide because you’re too afraid to speak up? That’s weak, and it’s pathetic. You’re better than this, but you’re sabotaging yourself because you’re too scared to take action.”

You could feel the anger now—hot, sharp, and painful—burning beneath the surface of your skin. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the desk, your nails digging into the wood. You wanted to defend yourself, to tell her how unfair she was being, but all you could do was nod stiffly, swallowing your words like bitter pills.

“I just don’t want to make things worse,” you managed to say, your voice tight and strained. “I don’t want to cause trouble. And it’s not that simple, Mom. I can’t just email the professor and complain. That would make me look like I’m blaming the TA for my own mistakes. I have to own up to them.”

Your mom’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, she looked even more frustrated, her eyes hard with judgment. “Own up to what?” she shot back. “To her inability to do her job? No, if she’s not helping you learn, then she’s the problem—not you. You need to grow a backbone and stop letting these people walk all over you. Email your professor and let them know this TA isn’t doing her job.”

Her words struck you like a blow to the chest, but instead of anger, all you felt was a hollow ache of anxiety. Your mind was racing, your thoughts spiraling into a familiar whirlwind of self-doubt. Maybe she was right. Maybe you were weak. Maybe you were too scared to take control of your own life.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. You couldn’t let her see you cry. Not again. Not over this.

“I’ll send an email,” you said quietly, though your voice lacked conviction. “I’ll talk to the professor.”

“Good,” your mom replied, her tone sharp and final. “Because if you don’t, I will. And I won’t be as nice about it as you think.”

Without waiting for a response, she ended the call. The screen went black, leaving you alone in the stillness of your room. For a moment, you just sat there, staring at your reflection in the dark screen. Your hands were still trembling, your body tense as if bracing for another attack. But the silence was suffocating, too, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

Anger still simmered beneath the surface, but it was mixed with something else—something deeper and more painful. You were angry at her for pushing you so hard, for never understanding how much anxiety her words caused. But you were also angry at yourself for never being able to say what you truly felt. You always swallowed your feelings, always pretended everything was fine, even when it wasn’t.

Your fists clenched in your lap, your nails digging into your palms. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breathe. Why couldn’t you just tell her how much her words hurt? Why couldn’t you ever stand up for yourself?

The silence in the room felt oppressive, your thoughts too loud and too chaotic. You wanted to scream, to cry, to let all the frustration out, but all you could do was sit there, frozen in place, suffocated by your own emotions.

After a long moment, you forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension in your shoulders. Your hands were still trembling as you reached for your laptop, opening it to the lab report you had been working on before the call. The words on the screen blurred as you blinked back the tears that had been building up throughout the conversation.

You tried to focus, but your mind kept drifting back to your mom’s words, the weight of her expectations pressing down on you like an unbearable load. Every time you thought you could breathe, another wave of anxiety washed over you, tightening your chest, making it harder to think clearly.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, trying to rub away the ache that had formed there. Why can’t I just be enough? The thought echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the constant pressure you were under.

For a moment, you considered sending the email to your professor, just to appease your mom. But as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, you hesitated. Did you really want to send it? Or were you just doing it to avoid another fight?

The answer was clear, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. You shut your laptop with a soft sigh, leaning back in your chair, closing your eyes. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but you buried it deep inside, just like you always did.

And as the silence enveloped you, you realized that no matter how hard you tried to pretend everything was okay, the weight of your anxiety wasn’t going anywhere.

You glance at the clock and feel like the walls of your room are closing in on you. The air feels thick, and the knot in your stomach tightens the longer you sit there. You can’t stay in this suffocating space any longer. You need to get out—breathe some fresh air—before everything overwhelms you.

Without much thought, you went out with your pajamas, light blue with delicate white floral patterns, soft and simple. The pants are comfortable and loose, while the long-sleeved top buttons up neatly. You slip on some slippers.

Stepping out into the cool evening, you barely acknowledge the path you're taking. The campus is quieter than usual, with just a few students lingering around, chatting in low voices as they return from late study sessions. The wind brushes against your cheeks, and you shiver lightly, pulling your arms closer to your body as you walk with no destination in mind.

Before you know it, you arrive at a small park just outside the campus grounds. It's dimly lit, and the chilly air has driven most people away. The park is almost deserted, with only a few benches scattered beneath the shadows of tall buildings. A lonely swing set stands to the side, the metal chains gently swaying with the breeze. You walk over to it, and without thinking, you lower yourself onto one of the swings.

Your hands grip the cold chains as you gently push yourself back and forth. The rhythmic motion helps, just a little, but your mind races faster than the gentle sway of the swing. You tilt your head back, eyes catching the glimpse of a star or two barely visible between the tall buildings. But even the beauty of the night sky can’t slow the spinning thoughts in your mind. You’re angry—angry at your mom’s words, angry at your inability to express it. Yet here you are, alone, processing it all by yourself.

You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to quiet your mind for even just a moment.

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps interrupts your focus. A boy, wearing a campus jacket, staggers over to the swing next to you and flops down with a sigh. You glance sideways at him—his face is flushed a deep red, and the smell of alcohol hits you immediately. He giggles to himself, the sound light but unsettling in the stillness of the evening. He seems oblivious to your discomfort, swinging lightly next to you with a lazy grin on his face.

The unease grows in your chest. You shift uncomfortably, pulling your legs in closer. You need to leave. Slowly, you rise from the swing, ready to return to your dorm. But as you take a step, you feel a hand clamp around your wrist. Your heart nearly stops.

“Hey, where you going?” he slurs, his words barely coherent as he tugs at your arm. “Let’s swing here... together.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you try to pull away, but his grip is tight—too tight. Panic begins to bloom in your chest. You’ve never dealt with a drunk person before, and all your mother’s warnings about the dangers flash in your mind. You try to keep calm, tugging at your wrist again.

“Let me go,” you whisper, your voice trembling. But he doesn’t seem to hear you.

“Stop your shit and sit here with me,” he insists, pulling harder. “We’re supposed to have fun, Amy.”

Your pulse quickens. Amy? Who the hell is Amy?

“I’m not Amy!” you snap, louder now, trying to yank your hand free. You manage to pull away, but the boy stands abruptly, his bloodshot eyes glaring at you.

“Why do you keep leaving me?” he shouts. His steps are unsteady, but his anger is clear. Before you can react, he grabs your shoulder with one hand and your waist with the other, pulling you closer to him. His grip is tight, almost painful, and you begin to shake.

“Let go of me!” you scream, panic overtaking you. You’ve never felt so scared—so helpless. All the fears of what could happen race through your mind, and you try to push him away with all your strength. He holds you tighter, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not gonna hurt y—”

Without thinking, your hand swings up and connects with his face, hard. The slap rings out in the empty park, and for a moment, he stumbles back, stunned. Your hand stings from the force, but you barely register the pain. You’re ready to run, but before you can, he lunges at you again, grabbing your pajama collar roughly and gripping your jaw with his other hand, forcing you to face him. His face is twisted with rage. “Why did you do that? What did I do wrong to you?!” he shouts, his voice booming in your ears.

Tears well up in your eyes as the fear overwhelms you. You’re shaking uncontrollably, heart racing. How did you let this happen? You curse yourself for walking this far, for not being more careful. Panic surges through you. What if he tries to hurt you even worse? What if this escalates? The fear of the unknown, the thought that he could do anything to you now, sends you spiraling. You scream for help, your voice raw and desperate as tears stream down your face.

“Stop screaming, Amy! I’m not a bad guy!” he yells, his voice filled with frustration and anger. His hand twists in your hair, yanking you forward before throwing you to the ground. The pain shoots through you, sharp and shocking. You scream again, your body trembling as you lie on the ground, crying hysterically, paralyzed by fear.

You can’t process what’s happening, your mind in a fog as the world spins around you. The drunk guy’s fist is drawn back, ready to strike, and you brace yourself for the impact, but before he can land the blow, someone tackles him to the ground. It’s all a blur—thrashing limbs, muffled groans. The sound of a scuffle fills the air, and you can barely make out what’s happening through your daze. Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder, and instinctively, you flinch away from the touch, heart pounding in your chest.

“It's okay, it's me,” a gentle voice says, cutting through your panic. It’s Yamaguchi. His soft, concerned expression breaks through the terror gripping you, and you let out a sob, crying hysterically now as the relief begins to wash over you. Yamaguchi quickly looks you over, his eyes scanning for injuries. He frowns as he spots the angry red handprint on your cheek, the evidence of what just happened.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi calls urgently, his voice tight with worry. You turn your head shakily in the direction he’s calling, your vision blurry with tears. Through the haze, you see Tsukishima, standing tall in front of the drunken guy now sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain after being struck down. His face is shadowed, but his anger is unmistakable.

Without a second's hesitation, Tsukishima rushes toward you. His expression shifts from fury to deep concern, his hands shaking slightly as he cups your tear-streaked face. He wipes the strands of hair sticking to your cheeks and leans in closer, his breath ragged, still catching from the fight. “Hey,” he whispers urgently, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay? Did he—did he hurt you?”

Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper between the hiccups as you grasp onto his hands. “He grabbed me… and threw me to the ground.” The words feel so fragile, your body shaking uncontrollably as the fear from earlier resurfaces.

“It’s okay now,” Tsukishima’s jaw tightens at your words. He quickly pulls you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you protectively, as if shielding you from any further harm. “I’ve got you now,” he whispers against your hair. “You’re safe.”

“Tsukki, she’s hurt,” Yamaguchi says quietly, pointing to the tear in your pajama pants where blood is beginning to stain the fabric. Tsukishima pulls back, eyes scanning your body until he finds the bleeding scrape on your knee. His brows furrow in deep concern as he inspects it, then you lift your trembling hands, showing him the cuts and scratches you’ve only just now noticed.

“It’s okay,” Tsukishima says, his voice calm yet firm, trying to hold back his own distress. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

They bring you to Tsukishima’s apartment, a tall, quiet building beside the park. The moment you step inside, you feel a bit disoriented, your mind still clouded from the terrifying encounter. You settle on the sofa, and Yamaguchi stays close, his voice soft as he tries to comfort you. Tsukishima returns quickly with a first aid kit, his face serious but gentle. He kneels in front of you and begins to clean the injury on your knee with antiseptic. You can’t help but watch him blankly, your mind still spinning from everything that happened. The sting of the antiseptic pulls you back to reality for a moment, and you flinch slightly.

“I’ll get you some water,” Yamaguchi says quietly before heading to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Tsukishima. You blink, your thoughts slowly catching up with the present moment.

Tsukishima moves carefully now, his hands steady as he takes yours and starts cleaning the scratches on your palms. The soft clink of the antiseptic bottle echoes in the quiet room. You wince when the stinging sensation hits, and Tsukishima immediately looks up. “It’s okay, it’s done now,” he reassures you softly. He finishes quickly, his expression focused as he packs up the first aid kit.

Yamaguchi returns with a glass of water, offering it to you with a warm smile. “Here, drink this,” he says. After you take a sip, he hesitates, then asks gently, “What exactly happened at the park?”

Your heart sinks as the shame washes over you again. You lower your head, feeling foolish for having wandered so far from the dorm. How could you let yourself get into this situation?

“I was just sitting at the swings, trying to clear my head,” you start, your voice trembling. “Then he showed up. I could tell he was drunk, so I got up to leave, but he grabbed me and called me Amy. Everything happened so fast after that…” You pause, swallowing hard, fighting the urge to cry again.

Yamaguchi leans closer, his hand rubbing yours gently in reassurance. “It’s over now,” he says, his voice soothing. “You’re safe.”

“There’s a bar around here,” Tsukishima’s voice breaks the silence. He stands by the kitchen counter, putting the first aid kit away. “He must’ve come from there and wandered into the park.” His tone is calm, almost detached, but you can sense the undercurrent of irritation beneath his words.

You glance at Yamaguchi, who nods as if to confirm what Tsukishima said. Somehow, that simple gesture eases some of the tension in your chest.

Tsukishima reappears moments later, holding out a neatly folded shirt and pair of shorts. “You should get changed,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. You look down at yourself, realizing your pajamas are torn and dirty, your skin still sticky from the fall. You stand, taking the clothes from him. His hand gestures toward the bathroom. “It’s that way,” he says, pointing.

You nod, grateful, and make your way toward the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and for the first time since the whole ordeal began, you exhale fully.

After changing into the soft pajamas Tsukishima had lent you, you took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom. The frog cartoon on the shirt made you smile shyly, the playful design somehow comforting despite the tension in your chest. Your leg still ached as you limped back into the living room, where Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were bustling around the kitchen counter. The sight of their familiar figures—Tsukishima quietly focused, Yamaguchi smiling warmly—grounded you in a way that made the fear from earlier seem like a distant memory.

Yamaguchi spotted you first. “Oh, it fits you well!” he said with an approving nod, his cheerful tone lightening the atmosphere.

Tsukishima glanced over, and you caught a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s my sister’s pajamas that she left after staying the night,” he explained, his eyes momentarily lingering on how the clothes fit you. It was subtle, but you couldn’t miss the way his gaze softened. For a brief moment, you almost felt… cute under his careful eyes.

You tried to hide your flustered smile as Yamaguchi pulled out a chair for you at the small kitchen table. “We grabbed chicken wings earlier when we heard the commotion in the park,” Yamaguchi said, his tone still light as he gestured for you to join them. “You must be hungry.”

The smell of food did make your stomach rumble, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since much earlier in the day. You sat down, accepting the plate Yamaguchi handed you. Slowly, as the warmth of the food and their company eased your nerves, you found yourself chatting with them. The event at the park seemed to fade with every laugh and every bit of teasing from Yamaguchi. Tsukishima stayed quieter, but every once in a while, you caught him watching you with a look of concern that he didn’t try to hide.

Once the meal was over, you volunteered to wash the dishes, standing firm despite their protests. You needed to do something, anything, to help push away the lingering anxiety. After drying your hands with a paper towel, you turned back to them, feeling a little more like yourself.

“You should stay the night,” Tsukishima said suddenly, his tone serious.

You opened your mouth to protest, feeling like you’d already intruded enough on their night, but Yamaguchi cut in before you could say anything. “Do you have morning class tomorrow?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Then it’s settled,” Yamaguchi said with a bright grin. “We’ll head back to the dorm tomorrow. Tsukki has an extra futon, so it’s fine.”

You hesitated, but when Tsukishima quietly left to grab the futon, you felt your resistance crumble. Soon enough, Tsukishima returned, laying the futon out neatly in the living room.

“You can sleep in my bedroom,” he said with that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his. “Yamaguchi and I will sleep out here.”

There was no arguing with that. You offered him a quiet thank you before retreating to his room, trying not to think too much about the fact that you were sleeping in Tsukishima’s bed. His scent lingered on the pillows and sheets, that familiar clean, earthy smell that reminded you of him. Despite the comfort of the room, your mind couldn’t settle. Every time you closed your eyes, flashes of the earlier event rushed back—the man’s hand grabbing you, his drunken slurred words, the helplessness you’d felt.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. Wrapping yourself tightly in the blanket, you quietly crept out of the bedroom and into the living room. You found Tsukishima sitting up on his futon, his legs wrapped in a blanket as he leaned against the couch. The TV was on, playing an old movie that bathed the room in soft, flickering light. Yamaguchi was already fast asleep beside him.

Tsukishima noticed you immediately. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, but alert.

You hesitated, feeling embarrassed for some reason. “I… I can’t sleep,” you admitted softly.

Tsukishima shifted slightly, making room. “You can sleep on the couch. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

The offer was too comforting to refuse. You hesitantly lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket around you. The couch wasn’t quite as comfortable as his bed, but the fact that he was there, just a few feet away, made a world of difference.

“Do you want me to turn off the TV?” Tsukishima asked, glancing back at the screen.

You shook your head. “No, it’s okay. You can keep watching. It’s… nice to have some sound in the background.”

“Alright,” he said, leaning back against the couch, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the movie playing softly on the TV. The darkness of the living room, combined with the quiet presence of Tsukishima nearby, began to lull you into a sense of peace.

Your eyes wandered to his hand, resting on the edge of the couch. Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his. He looked down at your hand, then back up to your face.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “For saving me tonight.”

For a moment, Tsukishima didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb rubbing gently over your skin. “Just don’t put yourself in trouble again,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of a warmth that he rarely let show.

You nodded, your eyes growing heavy with sleep. The soft glow of the TV cast flickering shadows across the room as you settled more comfortably into the couch, cocooned in the blanket that still carried a faint trace of warmth from Tsukishima's bedroom. The rhythmic sounds of the movie playing in the background became a soothing hum, helping you push the earlier trauma to the back of your mind.

Tsukishima stayed close by, his presence quietly reassuring, his hand still gently holding yours. His thumb traced small, calming circles against your skin, and the gesture sent a wave of comfort through you. You hadn't even realized how tense you'd been until his touch seemed to gradually melt away the anxiety.

You mumbled something else, too sleepy to string the words together properly. Tsukishima squeezed your hand lightly in response, leaning his head back against the couch with a soft sigh. His eyes remained on you, watching over you protectively, making sure that even in this unfamiliar space, you felt safe. The warmth of his lips on your knuckles lingered longer than the touch itself, leaving behind a tenderness that your sleepy mind tried to hold on to.

Your breathing slowed as sleep finally began to overtake you. But just before the darkness of sleep fully claimed you, your last conscious thought was a feeling of gratitude—not just for being rescued, but for the quiet, steady care Tsukishima showed. His presence was a comforting anchor in a night that had been anything but calm.

And for once, in his quiet, composed way, Tsukishima wasn’t only your distant, stoic lab assistant. Tonight, he had been your shield.

i hope you guys like this chapter, i was running out of ideas 😣🤧

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

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dreamingundone · 1 year ago

Text

When The Morning Comes

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OFC (could be read as reader-insert, no use of Y/N) Summary: Jake doesn’t do serious. He was really upfront and honest about that. So why is he he one getting really tired of saying goodbye every morning? Rating: PG-13 for swears. Words: 3K+ Author’s Note: Here I am again writing fic in the year 2023 because I haven’t stopped thinking about Jake Seresin since last summer. This is slightly Band of Brothers adjacent because I’m incapable of putting away that particular hyper-fixation but you don’t need to know anything about it to understand this. Disclaimer: I don’t own the character Jake or Top Gun: Maverick. Please don’t re-post or translate my work without my permission. There's probably some inaccuracies here though I did my best to Google a few things, but even so, please be nice.

He watches her as she works out of the corner of his eye. He tells himself that he's not seeking her out every time he wanders the corridors at the hangar, but it just happens.

She's impossible to ignore.

There's a sinking feeling in his gut as she very much doesn't make eye contact with him, and in fact, she brushes by him as she leaves the room without so much as a glance.

"All set?" He asks Rooster gruffly, who arches an eyebrow.

"Didn't think you cared so much, Hangman." He gets up from the exam table, hands brushing over the thin line of stitches near his eyebrow.

Jake rolls his eyes.

"Oh!" Rooster says suddenly, eyes lighting up. "It's not me you're here for--"

"Shut up."

Bradshaw's not lying though, which makes Jake grit his teeth even harder.

"Secret's safe with me." He says with a wink, leaving Jake standing in Sick Bay by himself, questioning basically every life decision he's made to get to this point.

Six months earlier

"Listen up!" Maverick calls over the din, and when he can't get anyone's attention except for Dagger Squad, Admiral Bates does the job with a sharp whistle.

The hangar goes quiet, and they sit quietly as they listen to the mission briefing. Three months of training, and then they'll be shipped out to God knows where for God knows how long.

While he's pretty used to this particular way of life by now, he sees some of the other squads he doesn't know sharing nervous looks.

There's a group standing closer to the door that he's never had the pleasure to interact with - the medical staff from Sick Bay. The doctors look bored, but there's a new medic who's caught his eye from the minute he walked into the room.

She's taking notes or something, and Jake smirks as she looks up, meeting his eyes briefly. She rolls her eyes and looks back to her notebook, which only makes him smile wider.

He introduces himself the first time he gets a chance, later at the Hard Deck.

"I'm Jake," he says, holding out a hand.

"Good for you." She says, not looking up from her phone.

"Waiting on someone?"

"Someone else, definitely."

There's something about the way she says it - there's no heat in her words really, even though he knows she's trying to put him off. Look -- everyone thinks Jake is an asshole, and he knows he can be sometimes, but he doesn't want to stick around where he's clearly not wanted, even if all he wants to do is sit here with her and learn everything there is to know about her.

"Enjoy your drink," he says, and leaves her there looking a little surprised, if the crease between her brows is any indication.

It's a few days later when he has an excuse to see her again, though not under the circumstances he would have wished.

He's being semi-held up between Javy and Rooster, and he's scowling. "I'm fine," he grumbles.

"Sure, tell that to the control panel you smashed your head off of." Javy says, and Jake would roll his eyes, it's just that he can't really see straight, so he thinks he'd just pass out.

Okay, so he had to emergency land. At least he didn't have to eject.

"Put him here." He hears her voice, kind but authoritative. "Lieutenant Seresin, I thought I told you the other night I wasn't interested."

Javy snorts, and Rooster bites back a grin.

"Desperate times calls for desperate measures." Jake says, groaning as he lies back on the exam table.

Then she's there, looming over him, and the irony isn't lost on him that this is the first time she's looking him directly in the eye. Well, her and her flashlight, anyway.

"Pupils a bit larger than I'd like." She mutters. He finds himself really unable to do anything other than watch her as his vision wavers. "Concussion, obviously." She says. "Is the light bothering you?"

"A little." He answers.

She hums in sympathy. "You need stitches. Give me a minute." She says, and then her warmth is gone, and the bright light overhead is all he can see, making him close his eyes.

He sighs. This really isn't the impression he wanted to make.

Dimly, he registers Javy and Rooster leaving the room, saying they needed to go tell the rest of the Daggers how he was doing. He's sure Phoenix and Bob are pacing somewhere. Mav, too.

"Stupid." He mutters.

"What?" She asks, sounding offended.

"Nothing. Not you." He says, eyes opening as she leans over him again, hissing when she wipes an antiseptic over his forehead. "A little warning would have been nice."

"Don't be a baby." She chides, face full of determination. "Stay still."

He lets her work for a few minutes before he tries again. "I meant that I felt stupid for this."

She meets his eyes quickly. "Sounded like you did what you had to do so you didn't kill yourself."

"You were listening?" He asks, surprised. He feels dumber that he didn't realize that. Of course the medics were on standby.

"It's my job." She says. She pauses for a minute, glancing at her wrist. Her wristwatch is turned the wrong way round, so the face of it is on the inside. It's very military, and it makes him smile. It's how he can spot another Navy guy a mile away.

Hers is different than his, though, the face worn and scratched.

"Is that thing even ticking?" He asks as she gets back to work.

Her tongue is between her teeth as she completes the next few stiches, the sight making him a little distracted.

"It was my great-grandfather's."

He feels like he's bothering her, so he doesn't ask any more questions, but she surprises him by continuing.

"He's the reason I wanted to get into medicine. He was an Army medic."

"And that was his service watch?"

"Made it through the drop to Normandy and back."

Jake's eyebrows rise. "A paratrooper."

She nods. "He died before I was old enough to figure out what I wanted to do, but this watch has kept on ticking. Feels like I've got him over my shoulder advising me on what to do."

"That's really nice." Jake says honestly, and again he catches a surprised look on her face.

"I'm sorry," she says, maybe seeing the way his features droop. "You can sit up," she says off-hand before continuing. "I wasn't really fair to you. I've just-- to be honest, I've heard some things. Made me think..."

Jake nods. He knows what everyone says. And to be fair, he's never given anyone other than his friends any reason to doubt the rumors about him. What's the point? He'd rather let everyone on North Island think what they want than spending time fighting his reputation. It's not worth it, especially when he leaves often for months at a time.

"Anyway. That wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, pasting on a smile he doesn't really feel. "No harm done. I don't really... I don't really do serious. So the rumors aren't far off." He doesn't know why he says it. It's the truth - he's scared of getting attached. He's no good at being someone's boyfriend and he knows it. But still -- it feels weird to say it out loud to her.

"Well. Okay then, Lieutenant. You're going to be grounded for awhile, unfortunately. Come back next week and we'll see how you're doing."

Over the next few weeks, they do more mission prep, which means the medical team and the Daggers are together more often than not. They'll all be together as a wing on the carrier, and it's important that everyone knows all the details of every minute of the mission.

They have enough downtime too, and that's where he really finds himself in deep trouble. All because of her.

Phoenix has taking a liking to her, and really, everyone else has too. It's hard not to like her.

He's watching her now, contemplative eyes as he tilts his beer bottle back to his lips, and his heart does a funny little flip at the sound of her laugh.

He's surprised when she makes her way over to him at the end of the night, elbowing him lightly.

"All alone, Hangman?"

He smiles wryly. "Only got room in my heart for one lucky lady, Doc."

The nickname was her great-grandfather's, and it's stuck to her too. The first time Mav called her that, she got a little misty-eyed, and Jake found it so endearing he could barely look at her.

She rolls her eyes. "You get back up in the air tomorrow."

He nods, having been cleared by the medical team earlier that day. He can't wait. He misses the adrenaline and the sound of the engines roaring underneath him.

"Thanks to you," he says, nudging her in return. She'd been like a drill sergeant the last few weeks, watching him like a hawk to make sure he stuck to paperwork and didn't overwork himself while he recovered from his concussion.

"Just doing my job." Her standard answer. He thinks it's interesting that someone so confident has a hard time accepting any praise.

"No, it's something else." He says, taking another pull from his bottle. "You were born to do this, I think. You've got a special touch."

She blinks rapidly, and for a horrifying moment, he thinks she might cry. She clears her throat. "How many of those have you had?" She gestures towards the bottle in his hand. "I said one beer, Seresin."

"Not even a full one." He assures her. "And I mean that, Doc."

The way she's looking at him sends his heart racing. Is she--? No, he's imagining it, that she looks like she's leaning in a little, her lips parted invitingly. That's impossible.

"Thank you, Jake." She says softly, and it's the first time she's ever called him by his first name. It takes everything inside of him to stop from leaning into her a little bit more, and in the end he doesn't fight it.

They sit there, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, in a comfortable silence for the rest of the night. And if her pinky brushes his just a little on the bartop, he doesn't draw attention to it. He just lets it happen, enjoying the warmth unfurling inside of him.

The briefing where they get their assignments for the mission is tense. This is a dangerous one. Top secret, and not even the medic team is allowed in the room with the Daggers while they get briefed.

There's some speculation that they won't even come along - that this mission is so secret, the fewer eyes on it, the better.

It makes something twist inside him, the thought that he might not see her until he comes home from deployment. He hasn't had that feeling in a really, really long time.

Afterwards, he's wandering the corridors aimlessly when he quite literally runs smack into her.

"Oh!" She says, surprised, and he grabs at her arms instinctively, holding her upright.

"Sorry, Doc."

"Are you okay?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Fine. I--" He looks up, meeting her eyes. "Will you go to dinner with me?"

She swallows. "What?"

"Look, I'm not looking for anything serious. I'm starting to think you aren't either. But I also like you, and I'd like to take you to dinner. If you want." It all comes out in a rush.

"Okay." She says quietly.

"Okay?"

"Okay." She repeats.

They don't even make it through dinner.

He's so distracted by the sight of her in civilian clothes that he can barely form a coherent sentence all night.

It must show on his face, and he really feels like an asshole for it, but she also responds to it, so he doesn't stop himself from staring at her, not this time.

Somewhere in the middle of the dinner course, she puts down her fork. "Are you going to take me home now?"

He doesn't think he's ever scribbled his signature on a check so fast in his life.

After that it's all a blur of heated gazes, wandering hands, and finally, mouths meeting. It's all flushed skin and, for Jake, trembling hands. He tries not to examine that particular fact too much.

In the morning, she leaves before he wakes up. He feels a little weird about it, but it's also how it has to be. It's how he's always done things. And if that's good for her too, even better.

They go on like that for weeks. He tries not to think about how each morning it's harder and harder to watch her get dressed in the haze when she thinks he's still asleep.

He tries not to think about how she always looks back over her shoulder before she goes, something soft in her eyes.

He tries not to count down the days between now and his deployment date.

On a Friday morning, he's making no show of the fact that he's awake when she slides out from under the sheets and starts dressing.

"You could stay." He says, voice a little hoarse.

She pauses, but pulls her shirt over her head. "Don't do that." She says, voice quiet but firm.

"Just for breakfast."

"This is what you wanted, Jake. I'm just trying to make this easy for both of us."

His face twists. "And I can't change my mind?"

"Actually, no." She says, voice harsh. "Because you've said to me a hundred times that you weren't looking for anything serious. Staying longer, spending days together... that's serious. I'm just doing what you wanted."

Maybe I don't want that anymore. The thought rattles around in his brain, but he doesn't say it.

"It doesn't have to mean anything." He says without thinking, and the look she gives him is withering.

"You've been doing your best not to let any of this mean anything, Seresin."

"We're going by last names now?"

"For fuck's sake, Jake!" She hisses, tugging her pants on. "I should have trusted my instincts with you. I should have listened to my gut."

He sits up straighter now, hurt lacing his tone. "So you've just been miserable for the last few weeks, right? None of this has been pleasurable for you, and that's my fault."

"I didn't say that."

"You know what? Don't let me keep you. Must have been a moment of insanity." He says, voice hard. "You're right. Keep it simple, keep it meaningless. That's perfect."

She doesn't say anything else as she gathers the rest of her stuff and slams the door behind her.

He doesn't see her again until the final mission briefing before deployment.

They're being deployed to the same carrier. That wasn't supposed to happen. The whole reason he decided to take a chance, to finally act on these feelings that he's afraid to identify... it was spurred on by the idea that he may come back in a year to find her elsewhere.

Their eyes meet across the hangar. There's nothing friendly in them now.

He swallows hard. This is going to be a shit-show.

They're out in the middle of the goddamned ocean when he, yet again, has to race to Rooster's rescue. It's not nearly as terrifying as the last time it happened, but he's still furious at his friend for risking his life once again. Rooster skids into the carrier with his landing gear barely hanging on, and the rough landing has him doing his best impression of Jake himself all those months ago when he nearly smashed his face into the control panel.

He has to help Rooster get to the Sick Bay because he can't do it on his own, and no matter how much he wants to avoid seeing her, he needs to get help, and Doc is the best, there's no doubt about it.

They ignore each other, though he watches her. He can't help it. She handles Rooster like he's the most important person in the room, and it twists something inside Jake, though he knows that's what makes her invaluable.

She leaves before he can say anything to her.

"All set?" He asks Rooster gruffly, who arches an eyebrow.

"Didn't think you cared so much, Hangman." He gets up from the exam table, hands brushing over the thin line of stitches near his eyebrow.

Jake rolls his eyes.

"Oh!" Rooster says suddenly, eyes lighting up. "It's not me you're here for--"

"Shut up."

Bradshaw's not lying though, which makes Jake grit his teeth even harder.

"Secret's safe with me." He says with a wink, leaving Jake standing in Sick Bay by himself, questioning basically every life decision he's made to get to this point.

In the corridor outside Sick Bay, she's lingering. Pacing.

Jake stops. He's not sure how to get past her without speaking to her. And truthfully, he knows he owes her an apology. He owes her more than that, but he doesn't know how.

"He's going to be okay," She says. "Just so you know."

"I know. Had you fixing him up, after all."

"You sounded scared on the comms."

He shakes his head. "He's reckless."

"He's your friend. It's okay to worry." It's okay to feel things, she doesn't say, but he hears it like she shouted it.

He puts his hands on his hips. "I worry a lot, actually. I worry about a lot of things."

She's just watching him warily, and he goes on, actually unable to stop rambling.

"I worried from the second I met you that I was going to fall in love with you, and that's exactly what happened."

Her mouth falls open, and he plows on.

"I worried that if I let myself get too close, I'd never recover when inevitably you found someone better than me. I didn't think we were getting deployed together. I thought I'd never see you again, that I'd come home and you'd have found someone that deserves you. So I put a boundary there, and I never should have. Even when you respected it, I got angry with you. Because I did want more."

"Jake, what the fuck?" She breathes, and he laughs.

"I know. I'm an asshole, and I'm sorry. I just-- I couldn't stop myself. With every little thing I learned about you, I just fell a little harder. And that was never the deal. So even when you acted like... like you could've felt the same way, I didn't give you the chance." He smiles, but it's more like a wince. "Call it self preservation, I guess."

"You're so stupid, Lieutenant Seresin." Her voice is shaky. "As if I would have thought about anyone else for a year, even if we were separated."

His head snaps back up to meet her eyes. "Doc?"

"I've been falling for you this whole time too, you idiot. And the only reason I didn't want to stay that morning was because I'd worked so hard to stop myself wanting more than you were willing to give."

"I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that."

"I can keep saying it, if it helps."

She takes two quick strides in his direction while they're alone, and kisses him. Quick and hard, it sets his skin afire and his heart pounding.

"Back to work, Hangman." She says against his lips as she lowers herself down to her feet. "We'll talk about this later." Her thumb presses into the dimple on his cheek.

"If I have to, Doc." He says, and this time when he watches her walk away, he knows it's for the last time.

He's not going to let her out of his sight for a long time, if he can help it.

#hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick fanfiction #HELP I'VE WRITTEN FIC AGAIN #you can thank my obsession with G.P. for this one

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