#i love drawing this one expression on rooster's face

[stranded-ziggy]

Hangman and Rooster || Top Gun: Maverick

them

[rootedinrevisions]

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met. 

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you. 

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go. 

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm. 

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could’ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. 

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. 

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

[kairismess]

was thinkinnnn~ kuroo, sugawara, makki(or iwa if you dk how to write makki), and osamu with a twitch streamer girlfriend 😉

his streamer girlfriend. (part 1)

🍥 author's note: this is kind of set during post high school, ig college timeline? just after high school and before the timeskip arc (ㆁωㆁ) !! and y'all live together ~~~

kuroo tetsurou.

"chibi-chaaaaan, you wearing my jersey again?"

your rooster headed boyfriend walked into your room, clad in nothing but those red shorts you got him last week. you immediately closed your camera, and the chat went wild. of course you were the highlight of your streams, your audience loved you–but they loved seeing your boyfriend more sometimes, especially when he was provoking and teasing you, such as now.

"ooh, what could they be doing rn?"

"SELL ME HIS JERSEY !!!"

"unfair. how could someone so handsome get someone so pretty as u wtf... !"

kuroo chuckled as he saw the flurry of messages by the corner of your screen, with you all flustered as you tried to muster an excuse as to why you were wearing his jersey from high school. "comfortable in it?" he asked you in a husky voice, pressing his hands against the arms of your computer chair, making you squeak out a noise of embarrassment, much to his (and your chat's) delight.

you turned off your camera, but you forgot to take care of your mic; so even if you didn't show your audience how cute you two looked while your boyfriend teased you, they could sure hear how adorable you two acted together–it made everyone jealous at how hot yet cute your dynamic together was.

he loved hearing you try to tell him in such futile little whimpers and mewls as he kissed your neck and caressed your waist that you were busy streaming, that you'd give his jersey back later–but he knew you'd soon forget when later will be. and besides, it'd be more fun to give your audience a show, right? you're liking this anyway, your facial expressions and body language are giving you away.

"mmm... fine, keep the jersey for a bit–but just remember, after this stream... you're all mine for tonight. the jersey looks amazing on you, but you're drop dead gorgeous when you've got nothing...– nevermind, we'll talk later, dearest. your chat's going crazy, better not let them wait, hmm?"

sugawara koushi.

"love! look at what my students drew for me!"

your eyes widened as sugawara knocked on your door and came in with a wide smile on his face. he didn't realize you were streaming today, he was just so excited to show you what his star students made for him to show their appreciation for him. sugawara always came off as quite motherly, he was always so down-to-earth and sweet–and your audience always loved it whenever sugamama, as they called him, came over and blessed the chat with his wonderful energy.

it was always wholesome whenever you two were on the stream, the chat would always go crazy whenever he'd act all sweet and tender to you.

"where to get gentlemen like these? 😭😭😭 i love sugamama so much !!"

"you two are just SO 💗💗💗"

"ARE YOU TWO GONNA GET MARRIED ONE DAY ...?"

sugawara's face got flushed when he saw that you were streaming right then and there, you didn't need to tell him you were streaming for him to get the point. he chuckled awkwardly and smiled, apologizing softly as you told him it was okay, he wasn't interrupting.

the chat loved seeing sugawara embarrassed, your chat was flooded with your fans losing it over him. you asked sugawara if you both could look at the drawings over the stream, and sugawara agreed. he showed the pictures his students drew for him (keeping the students' identities secret, of course) and you swore you could see his face brighten up a thousand times as he went on and on about his students.

your chat was not opposed to the idea of watching sugawara stream his lectures online, even if he was only training to be a teacher and only taught elementary students, they'd all flock to see content of you two together.

iwaizumi hajime.

"could you end the stream now and help keep the bed warm now, babe?"

your boyfriend was extremely impatient, he had spent the whole day out at the gym and was exhausted. he couldn't get a kiss from you when he came home because you were busy streaming, and he couldn't eat dinner with you tonight because, again, you were still streaming.

his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed a pout, his olive green eyes bearing into the back of your head as you felt his need for your love and attention increase by a hundredfold. you told the chat you'd have to leave for a while to tend to your grumpy, overworked boy–but you didn't need to end the stream to give him your attention.

in a flash, iwaizumi picked you up, slung you over his shoulder–and much to your squeals and cries, he gently set you down on the bed and said in a gruff voice, "sleep. you've been at this for hours, and i've been needing you for the whole day. let them watch, just sleep with me, babe."

"DID YOU SEE THOSE BICEPS?"

"oh to be carried by a man like that... (◠‿◕)"

"i demand to be loved like this NOW 💥💥💥"

"and you'd better not be thinking of squirming out of my grasp." he grumbled as he wrapped his big, bulging arm around your waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. well... this was gonna be the longest stream you've ever had.

miya osamu.

"have ya eaten, sweetpea? you've been in front of the computer all day, hon."

you nearly jumped out of your computer chair when osamu came by, with a plateful of your favorite food for dinner. he understood that your job had quite hectic schedules, and he supports you wholeheartedly; though he does wish you won't forget to feed yourself and take a break every now and then.

you tried to whisper to him that you were currently streaming, but he didn't see that as a reason not to eat. "ah, what do i care if you have people watchin' ya right now? it ain't obscene ta eat, if anythin', y'all better tell m'sweet t'eat, set yer clocks to remind 'er ta eat, that way she will." osamu told your audience, with them all agreeing, making him smile down at you as you stared at him, embarrassed that he made your audience remind you to eat.

"you heard him, SET YOUR CLOCKS GUYS"

"DON'T THINK IT'S UNIMPORTANT TO EAT, EAT UP GIRLIE !!!"

"please don't forget to eat for our sake 😭😭😭"

"now, eat up hon." he tells you softly, leaving a kiss on the side of your head, making your audience go crazy over how affectionate and caring your boyfriend was for you.

[bluberryfields]

"David is very easy to fall in love with." - Michael Sheen

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. Okay, so can we talk about just how fucking beautiful David Tennant is? And by “we” I mean “I” and by “talk” I mean “babble incoherently into the void”? Great! I’ll attempt to impose a bit of organization on this just to satisfy my pathological need to inflict structure on words (thanks college/job/brain), but I can’t promise much. Also, there will be A LOT of pictures and gifs. (you’re welcome?)

And this isn’t just because I am deep in the bottomless well of Good Omens fandom and that Crowley is basically the most breathtaking creature that has ever existed. Well, not just because of that.

*cue Aziraphale's "good lord" from 1793*

ANYWAY, like a lot of people, I became a fan of (i.e., fell deeply and irrevocably in love with) DT during his run as the 10th Doctor. He was young and bright and full of just about everything – joy, sorrow, wit – making him incredibly watchable. His look was also so charming: big bouncy rooster comb of hair, absurdly cheeky smile, expressive-as-fuck eyes and eyebrows, and a tall, lanky form that seemed to be made of rubber and the kind of granulated sugar that could only be found in candy from the 90s that are now banned in all first- and second-world countries.

So yeah, I was super into him and his Doctor’s adventures. And I continued to watch him in other projects and still swoon (looking at you, slutty Hamlet)

even at characters where that was not the desired reaction (fuck you, Kilgrave, you delicious monster).

I would also always become a bit (a lot) weak in the knees at his voice regardless of which accent he took on, though always preferring him doing any Scottish brogue because of fucking course.

Roll that tongue, you sexy beast.

But what I want to get into today is just how incredible he looks in the year of 2023.

He’s 52 years old and I am somehow even more attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I am myself older, and my tastes have matured alongside? I certainly do enjoy gray hair way more than I did 10 years ago.

He’s aged incredibly well, probably a combination of good genes and good health, and he’s clearly not clinging to the Hollywood idea of “youth”.

(insert obligatory grumble about the double standards of men being praised for aging and women being demonized…the potentially problematic nature of the term “aging well” in general…acknowledge this with my enlightened brain but ignore this with my slutty heart…fuck the patriarchy, etc. etc.)

He’s still tall and skinny, even gangly at times, all long arms and legs that can move in impossible directions with unfathomable grace.

His face is leaner, that incredible bone structure creating sharper edges that draw the eye. Speaking of the face, he’s got these creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth that are evidence of time spent well: smiling, laughing, living. Makes you want to trace your fingertips along each one.

Oh god that smile? Good lord. It’s weapons grade charm that can also be quite intimidating. Sweet, humble, silly, scary…full spectrum of options here! His shark smile is the definition of “irresistible” in my Dictionary of Delicious Dudes.

I am both proud of and grossed out by my own word choice.

Continuing with that face...the hawkish nose, the dimples you want to drown in, the big eyes, those motherfucking eyebrows...

I could seriously write a whole essay about those eyebrows, but I already give my therapist enough to worry about.

Oh those eyes. “Piercing” is a term usually reserved for blue eyes, but I would argue it applies to DT’s bottomless chocolate pools in that they slice through my heart every damn time.

Honorable mention does go to those Crowley snake eyes because they could have been distracting and diminishing to his overall look, but they absolutely are not.

Such a pretty shade of yellow.

Random tangent to swoon about his hands. For whatever reason, I like checking out a man’s hands, and DT’s got a set that drives me wild. I can’t even really explain why, but I just really like the way he articulates with them. Crowley is a perfect example, what with the miracle snaps, caressing globes, and holding whisky glasses. Yum.

Delicious demon digits

Fresh tangent: How does this fucker look good clean shaven, with stubble, and a goddamn beard? How is that allowed?

He's got a face that makes me wanna take up sculpting

Further, how is his fucking neck so hot? Like, seriously, show me the math. I can’t stop staring at it. And when it’s cloaked in a turtleneck? Please, sir, may I have some more?

Fuuuuuuuck

With no segue whatsoever, I am absolutely obsessed with his hair, across all contexts. Big, bold, blood-red Crowley coifs (especially in Season 2)? Check.

Proper gentleman side part? Check.

Side shave with cartoonishy springy 14th Doctor shock? Check.

Lockdown locks with and without headband? Check!

It’s a goddamn buffet of delicious options.

Oh damn speaking of that 14th Doctor look? Good fucking Christ on a buttery Ritz cracker. The whole DT collection is on display: the hair, the eyes, the bone structure, the smile, the clothes, and even the glasses!

To quote Pam on Archer, “I swear to god, you could drown a toddler in my panties right now! I mean, not that you would.”

Now that you (I) mention the clothes, I never cease to marvel at how he can wear pretty much anything and look amazing. Stripes, patterns, wild colors, etc. He just always looks…not exactly comfortable, but sort of at ease like the clothes were created with him in mind. And this goes across the spectrum of Casual to Costume to Promotional (e.g., interviews and premieres).

They are almost illegally cute together

We all know by now how ridiculously tight those Crowley pants are and how it influenced his signature serpentine swagger (thank you, Costume department, you’re the real heroes). That said, he and those slinky hips still looks so incredibly natural in them like they came from his actual closet.

Stupid sexy snek

And he pulls off the look of more ridiculous stuff like full Shakespearean costumes or that sad gray-hoodie-black-shorts-and-Wellington-boots combo from the first season of Staged. He somehow gives off the air of “whatever, they’re just clothes, man” while also looking like a damn model.

Georgia is a very lucky woman

Final thoughts: I know DT dislikes talking about how people think he’s so attractive because I’m sure it feels a bit icky if you just want to live your life and do your job. But my guy also clearly understands that he’s not some ghoul who has succeeded on incredible personality and acting chops alone. So, that said, maybe he'll forgive me for posting such a long, rambling, ode to him?

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Full of Surprises - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: Inspired by @galaxy-of-stories's post

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: virgin!bob x fem reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, swearing, hangman actually being a decent friend towards bob.

word count: 3k

minors dni below the cut

Bob chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he watched you from across the beach, his dark blue eyes watching you intensely from behind his wire framed glasses. He rarely took part in off-base activities with the rest of the Dagger squad, but today, he’d been coaxed out by Rooster and Phoenix to join the team for a relaxing beach day. What he didn’t know though, was that you would be there. You were Maverick’s niece, and Bob had pretty much instantly fallen for you. Smart, funny, beautiful and friendly - Bob thought you were the whole package. He loved the way your eyes lit up whenever you spoke about something you were interested in, the way your cheeks blushed whenever Maverick and Rooster started reminiscing about your childhood, having grown up playing with Rooster on occasion when you were little, and he loved the way you were so outgoing, and so unlike him. He always hated his incurable shyness, the fact that he struggled so hard to come out of his shell, he resented it, especially now that it made it next to impossible for him to hold a conversation with you. 

“Hey, Baby-on-Board, you coming?” 

Bob turned his head around to face one of the pilots on his squad, Hangman, calling over to him. Bob rolled his eyes at the nickname Hangman had given him and shook his head quickly, his cheeks turning red again. He prayed that the UV rays were strong enough that day that he could lie and say the reddening of his face was due to too much sun exposure, but he knew that wasn’t likely going to work as an excuse on anyone, much less Hangman. The tall blonde pilot raised an eyebrow at Bob as he folded his arms over his broad chest. 

“Jeez, Bagman, don’t you ever wear a shirt?” Bob laughed dryly as he poked fun at Hangman, who had long ditched his t-shirt to show off his sunkissed skin, trying desperately to attract any female attention he could get on the beach.

“Hey, at least I don’t keep mine on the whole time at the beach.” Hangman shrugged as he sat down on the sand beside Bob. “Why do you anyway? I mean, you do all the same workouts as the rest of us do. It’s because you’re covered in chest hair isn’t it?” Hangman smirked as he playfully shoved Bob, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes.

“No, I just don’t like to,” Bob shrugged his shoulders, “You know me, I’m not one to draw attention to myself.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Bobby, but you’ve definitely drawn someone’s attention,” Hangman grinned at him as he pointed towards you with his thumb as he spoke, “Mav’s niece hasn’t been able to stop herself from giving you the bedroom eyes, it’s hilarious that you haven’t noticed it yet though.”

“Bedroom eyes?” Bob laughed and shook his head, “What the hell are bedroom eyes?” 

“You know,” Hangman put his sunglasses atop his short blonde hair and grinned, imitating the lustful look he was referring to, the one he was so convinced you had for Bob.

“I have never seen anyone make that face in my life, Bagman. Are you bullshitting me?” Bob raised an eyebrow as he leaned back on his palms in the sand and sighed softly as he watched you again. The breeze blew your long hair back and the sunlight hit your tanned skin just right, making you appear to have a sunkissed glow. The sight alone was almost enough to drive Bob crazy. 

“Hah!” Hangman grinned as he pointed at Bob’s facial expression as he watched you, “You’re doing it to her right now!”

“I am not!” Bob protested, shaking his head. “Look, don’t you have something better to do?”

“No, I know I’m a shitty wingman half the time, but this time, I’m making it my personal mission to be yours.” 

Bob sighed again as he rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn’t winning on this one, and Hangman wasn’t going to leave him alone anytime soon. He just wasn’t ready to make a move on you yet. He’d had a handful of girlfriends over the years, but he’d never gone any further than making out for one reason or another, usually due to nerves. As badly as Bob wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to be humiliated in front of you.

“I’m fine,” Bob said through clenched teeth. 

“Dude, you can tell me what your hang up is. I’m not gonna go blab it, I promise,” Hangman said, placing his hand over his heart playfully to show that Bob’s secret would be safe with him.

“Fine…” Bob exhaled and shook his head, “I don’t know what the bedroom eyes are or anything because I’ve never, you know…gone to the bedroom…with anyone,” He said as he gave Hangman a pleading look, his facial expression begging him for some sympathy and compassion instead of the relentless teasing he expected from him.

“You mean, never?”

“Never. Not even close. I think I’ve made out with a girl once. I was like 18 though.” 

“Wow,” was all that Hangman could muster out.

“So now you get it?” Bob asked softly, “It’s not that I don’t want to ask her out. It’s that I’m scared I’ll screw it up because of that.”

Bob sighed and shook his head again as he stood up. He brushed the sand off his shorts and forced a laugh.

“I’m gonna head home, Hangman. See you later.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hangman laughed as he put a hand on Bob’s shoulder, his firm grip stopping Bob from walking away, “You’re at least gonna talk to this poor girl. She’s been interested in you the whole time she’s been here visiting Mav. Christ, even Mav’s noticed it,, and we all know how observant he is.”

“What if you’re wrong though and she’s not interested in me? Maybe she’s just being nice. I bet you’re more her type anyway.” Bob frowned.

“Me? No, she’s uh…she’s made it very clear I am not her type,” He laughed softly, shaking his head, “I tried. She outright told me “the cute guy with glasses” is her type. And how many guys with glasses are on our squad?”

“Just me…unless she meant sunglasses. Then it could be anyone.”

“Robert, I swear, you’re the dumbest guy I’ve ever met sometimes,” Hangman laughed as he rolled his eyes, “She meant you, jackass. She likes you. She told me. Now, what are you going to do with this information?”

“Talk to her…?” Bob tried, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he thought about it.

“Attaboy, Baby-on-Board, you got this,” Hangman grinned as he stood up, “Now, do me a favour? Try to look a little less like you’re about to shit your pants over this ok?” 

Bob rolled his eyes and took a deep breath as he approached you, a friendly smile on his lips as he nodded his head towards you. 

“Hi, I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself,” Bob offered his hand out to shake and smiled, “Lt. Robert Floyd, everyone calls me Bob, sometimes Bobby though.” 

“Hi Bob,” you grinned and shook his hand, “Y/N. Nice to meet you. My uncle’s told me a lot about you. You’re a WSO, right?”

“Yeah, I’m the backseater, it’s kinda fun, I’m a big nerd, so I get to use a lot of math in it to calculate where to aim the lasers and all that.”

You let out a giggle as he explained his role to you and he couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with you. Hours passed between the two of you conversing together, Hangman proudly watching Bob impress you from the background. After a while, the rest of the squad cleared out from the beach, leaving just you and Bob there by yourselves. It was beginning to get dark outside when you stood up beside Bob and smiled warmly.

“Want to come back to my aunt Penny’s? She’s not gonna care if I bring you over, she and Uncle Mav speak very highly of you. Aunt Penny always says you’re incredibly polite, and Uncle Mav called you a “good kid” so I doubt they’d mind if you came back to hangout for a little while.”

Bob nodded his head and smiled politely at you, the sunset making his eyes shine as he turned to face you. He leaned forward gently and pressed his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulled away after a moment and shook his head. 

“God, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I’m not usually that forward. I mean, I wanted to, obviously,  I just normally ask first. And now I’m rambling, fuck sake,” He laughed and shook his head again.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, quieting his anxieties and insecurities as your lips met once again. He moved his lips in time with yours as he kissed you, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip, as if he was asking permission for it to enter your mouth. Your tongues swirled together with passion and lust as you made your way across the sand and over to the front steps of your aunt and uncle’s home where you were staying, your lips barely breaking contact as you walked. You felt Bob put a hand gently on your waist as you pulled him inside through the patio door, into the sunroom where you were staying. You breathlessly pulled away from Bob to come up for air, shrugging your cardigan off your shoulders as you did so. Bob, finding a sudden burst of confidence, grabbed you by the waist with one hand and pulled you into his body tightly, pressing his lips to your neck. As his lips found your sensitive spot on your neck, his hands palmed their way over your breasts, gently cupping them and squeezing them as he felt you up. 

“Mhmm, Bob,” you groaned softly as he made contact with your sensitive skin. 

Bob pulled away for a moment and frowned slightly, remembering his earlier confession to Hangman. He let out a deep exhale before turning to face you, his facial expression full of concern as he spoke.

“Listen, I have to tell you something before we go any further, ok?” His voice was quiet and low, almost in a whisper as he spoke.

You nodded in response and waited, listening intently as Bob spoke.

“I’ve never…you know,” He finally said.

“Never?”

“No, never.”

“Do you want to though…?” You asked after a few moments of contemplation.

Bob bit his lip and laughed softly as he nodded his head quickly. 

“Believe me, I really do.”

“Then I’m honoured to be your first,” You nodded your head and kissed his cheek gently.

His cheeks flushed a bright scarlet red as you spoke. Without further hesitation, Bob leaned in and kissed you passionately again, tangling his fingers gently in your hair as he pulled you in closer to him. He pulled away ever so slightly as he spoke and laughed nervously.

“You’re going to have to tell me if I’m doing any of this right, ok? Kissing is about the only thing I know how to do.”

You giggled softly as you nodded your head reassuringly to Bob as he drifted his lips down your neck to your collarbone. He gently ran his hand up your leg, his fingers brushing against the hemline of your sundress as his hand drifted slowly up your thigh. You felt him take a deep breath as he pressed his lips to your collarbone again, his fingertips grazing your underwear gently. He looked up at you without saying a word, his lips still hovering above your collarbone, as if to ask for permission to keep going. You bit your lip, holding back a grin as you nodded your head, giving him the signal to continue.

Bob’s fingertips grazed against the dampening fabric of your underwear again, moaning softly into your collarbone, he looked up at you as he slowly dragged them down off your legs and laughed softly. 

“Wow.” he said, trying to hide his mix of arousal and curiosity, “You’re uh…you’re pretty into this, aren’t you?” He laughed as he tossed your underwear to the floor. 

“Mhmm,” You smirked at him as you guided his hand, his fingers gently brushing against your folds, feeling your arousal as it began to gather on you. 

“Shit,” Bob laughed softly as he shook his head, “This is where I start to not know what I’m doing.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Everyone has a first time, Bob, I’ll show you what to do,” You smiled reassuringly at him as you continued to guide his hand along your core. He smirked as his wandering hand found your clit, two of his fingers pressing against the sensitive nub as he discovered it. The sound that fell from your lips was almost enough to make Bob lose all self-control on the spot. He arched his eyebrow at you as he continued to gently draw circles on it with his finger. 

“Y-you can use your mouth there too,” you nodded, trying your best to think clearly as he pleasured you.

Bob bit his lip gently as he positioned himself between your legs. He took his glasses off and sat them beside your leg as he ducked his head down in between your legs. He gently pressed soft kisses to your folds, his tongue carefully lapping up your wet arousal as he kissed at you. You let out a loud moan as Bob’s lips made contact, but before he could lift his head up to see if you were ok, your hand was grabbing a handful of his sandy blonde hair, pulling his head into you gently to tell him to keep going.

Taking the hint, Bob continued to leave soft kisses on you, grinning as he heard you moan out. 

“Feels s’good, honey, keep doing that,” You encouraged as he began using his lips to suck at your sensitive clit, your hips bucking upwards against his mouth, your body craving being as close to him as humanly possible.

Your compliment to Bob’s skill turned something on in him, and suddenly, he began moving his lips in the same rhythm but with more passion, like he’d just discovered his God-given talent on this earth was using his mouth to pleasure you into oblivion. As you reached your boiling point, Bob continued to lap his tongue at you, his lips sucking on your clit as you rode it out. He pulled his mouth away from you before pulling his t-shirt over his head. He wiped his mouth on his shirt before discarding it to the floor and working to unbuckle his belt before dropping his shorts to the ground. His boxers were tenting with arousal as he looked down at you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

“Do you…do we need anything?” He asked as he tried build up the confidence to do what he was about to.

“I’m clean and on the pill,” You nodded your head and laughed softly, “So you’re good.”

“Right,” Bob chuckled softly as he nodded his head before peeling his boxer briefs down off his body. 

Bob stroked his length before lining his hips up with yours. He took a deep breath and looked to you for an indication that you were ready, that you were sure you wanted to go through with this. As you flitted your gaze to him, biting your lip as you sized him up, you couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. Bob looked at you, somewhat mortified as his eyes widened.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing, you’re just…bigger than I’d pictured, if you get me. You might need to take a pause once you get started so I can adjust to you, mkay?”

“Gotcha, don’t worry darlin’,” Bob nodded knowingly and laughed as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You let out a sharp exhale as Bob lined his hips up with yours and gently pushed himself into you. As promised, he paused for you to adjust to his size, waiting for you to tell him you were ready for him to start. Once he heard you give the ok, he began thrusting his hips in and out of you, a deep grunt escaping his lips as he felt your body tighten around him, your arousal dripping from you and onto his cock. 

“Fuck,” Bob groaned as he thrusted deeper into you, finding his rhythm, “You feel so good, darlin’.”

“Keep going, baby,” you purred at him, encouraging him to continue before throwing your head back in ecstasy, moaning his name loudly.

Bob felt your walls clenching against him, gripping his erection tightly as he pumped himself in and out of your body. He felt as you arched your back against the bed, bucking your hips upwards into his thrusts as you came close to your climax again. He groaned loudly in pleasure as his thrusts became sloppier and more frantic.

“Fuck, darlin’, I’m so close,” He hissed as he let out another flurry of sinful sounding moans and grunts as he came.

The two of you sighed in unison as you rode your pleasure out together. Bob panted as he pulled himself out of you, his cheeks red from breathlessness as he tried to compose himself. He hovered over you, a smirk forming on his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his passionately, moaning softly against them as your overstimulated body struggled between wanting more from him, and wanting to take a break.

“How was I for my first time then?” He grinned at you. 

“I never would have believed you if you told me that was your first time after we’d done it. I also don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before this either.”

Bob smirked as he laid himself down beside you in bed, putting his glasses back on.

“Well, apparently I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?

[lovemadethemdoit]

Hiii!! I have a prompt: The final mission but they don’t shake hands but actually kiss and confess their feelings.

No problem if you don’t want to do it or don’t feel like it or don’t have time for it, will gladly read anything you will write!❤️

Thank you for the prompt! Hope you enjoy. 🤗

Jake pulls off his helmet and presses his head back into the backseat, letting out a relieved laugh. He got there in time. Mav and Rooster — Bradley fucking Bradshaw –are safe, and back on deck in one piece. From where he’s still sitting in his own cockpit, he can see Bradley half hang out of the wrecked F-14. He and Mav are being crowded from all sides by what looks like the entire ship. He takes a deep breath and tries to brace himself for his own climb down the ladders. Jake’s heart hasn’t calmed down since he heard about Rooster’s E-SAT going live, and he needs a moment to get his shit together.

Bradley is alive.

Somehow that’s all that matters.

Their disagreements, the way they had hurt each other in the past, the way they both dug into where it hurt the other the most – it’s all irrelevant now. It’s all something they can work through, Bradley and him. Jake knows it with his whole being: This is the second chance he always ached for.

He isn’t going to let it pass by.

He pushes the button for the canopy and finds the eyes of his best friend down next to his jet. Javy’s the only one standing close, as he looks up at Jake with a wide grin and knowing eyes.

Jake makes his way down, his legs feeling like jelly. Javy pours his arms around him when he steps onto the tarmac. Jake gets embraced in the tightest hug he’s ever gottem, no words needed.

Javy pulls him along to join the celebrating crowd, everyone stepping to the side and opening a path for Jake to make it into the middle where the Daggers are celebrating and yelling to their hearts’ content.

They are all alive.

They somehow all made it back. It’s a miracle.

Bradley’s eyes meet his, and the ecstatic expression on his face transforms into a slow and wonderous smile.

Jake freezes in place and then it’s like they’re the only two people in this place. Everyone else falls into the background, gets tuned out.

Jake sees Bradley swallow, sweat sliding down from his hairline to dampen his flight suit. There are cuts there at his neck and Jake’s heart squeezes, a frown taking over, his fingers tingling with the need to check him over, feel him under his hands, alive and breathing.

Bradley shakes his head a little, drawing Jake’s eyes back up to his own.

He’s looking at Jake like he used to look at Jake.

With utter love. With his whole, entire focus on Jake.

Bradley takes the last couple of steps over to meet him where his feet seem to have grown roots. His hands find Jake’s hips, steadying him.

Their foreheads press close.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Bradley soothes him, voice quiet and rough, and Jake lets out a shuddering breath. Hearing the pet name fall from Bradley’s lips so easily makes his chest squeeze tight. He’s missed this, can’t even begin to imagine how he managed without it all these years.

He lifts his arms around Bradley’s shoulders.

It’s natural to lean up and kiss him. Their lips slide together. Jake’s breath is taken away for a moment. It’s like they never stopped doing this, like it’s instinct.

If they had enough sense they wouldn’t be doing this here, where everyone’s eyes are on them.

But that’s something they will deal with later.

For now, Jake threads his fingers into Bradley’s curls, angles his head where he wants it and licks deeper. Bradley lets him take control as they kiss and push into each other.

The crowd erupts around them and it may be about them, it may be something else.

They couldn’t care less at what’s happening around them, taking the time to assure each other of their aliveness. Of them, somehow, being worthy of another chance – both at life, and at the two of them.

Jake and Bradley.

“I love you, you absolute asshole,” Jake breathes against Bradley’s lips, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment at remembering the hour he sat in his jet, believing the love of his life to be dead.

Bradley chuckles fondly, cupping Jake’s cheek and waiting for Jake to open his eyes again. When he does, he finds Bradley looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world.

How could he be, when Bradley already is?

Jake is brought back down to earth at the thought. He realizes that Bradley’s shaking in his arms. How Jake is shaking, too.

He catches a glimpse of medics nearby and starts to pull back. Back to himself, Jake realizes they need to be checking Bradley over. Make sure that Bradley really is okay.

Bradley doesn’t let him get far though. Not before he presses the best words Jake’s heard in a decade against Jake’s lips. “I love you more.”

Jake shakes his head, smiling, eyes tearing up. “Shut up,” he says, sounding fond and exhausted. “You’re never gonna win that argument, Bradshaw.”

Brasley’s expression turns serious. “I’m going to try, Jake. Every day from now on.”

The words punch Jake square in the chest. He nods his okay and leans up for another kiss before he finally lets the medics do their job.

[planetpiastri]

happy valentines day vinny !! 💝💝 may i request #88 kisses in which ‘i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel anything for you’ but the kiss proves the opposite from this list with hangman

loving you && i hope this week is treating you well so far! 🫶

beeeee!!! i love this request SO much omg. reading it back idk if it really captured the Vibe of the prompt buttt i hope you'll like it anyway<33 | [wc - 1.6k]

“Come on, then.” Hangman’s smile is confident and beautiful and infuriating. “Your chariot awaits.”

And he gestures at his bare shoulders.

You groan and roll your eyes, forcing yourself to look away from his glistening, naked torso protruding from the shallow end of the pool. It was a little frustrating to learn that he’d earned the right to feel so confident taking his shirt off in a crowd of people. The guy was an Adonis; his physique was almost unfair. Where did he even find time to do all that working out?

From your place on the side of the hotel pool, you pull your legs out of the water, not trusting Rooster not to pull you in against your will. “I’m good,” you say pointedly, scooting backwards on the tile.

The other pilots boo and make a general uproar, which draws a laugh out of you in spite of yourself. 

“You were the one that suggested we play chicken in the first place!” protests Fanboy, sending a gentle splash of water in your direction.

“Bob’s been doing a good job,” you say quickly, nodding your head towards the goggles-clad man leaning against the lip of the pool. “He and Hangman can team up against you guys.”

Hangman and Bob pull almost identical displeased expressions, which just makes you laugh again. Bob adjusts his goggles—which somehow make him look even dorkier than his usual clear frames—and says, “I’ve lost three times. I think everyone is tired of seeing me get knocked over.”

Hangman starts to wade through the shallow water, striding towards you. “Come on,” he says. “I promise not to let you fall. Just get in.” As he approaches, he shoots you a cocky wink. “I know you just don’t trust yourself to behave with your thighs wrapped around my head.”

“Oh my god!” you shout, your face burning as everyone laughs uproariously.

This is the usual when you hang out with the group. Everyone except for you is convinced that you’ve got it bad for Jake Seresin. You don’t, for the record. He’s frustrating and cocky and entirely too chiseled, and not your type, and you don’t have feelings for him! End of story!

But no one believes you. Least of all Hangman.

And you running around the pool, giggling stupidly while he chases you, certainly isn’t helping your cause.

So you get in the pool. And you climb up on his shoulders. And you play chicken against Rooster and Phoenix. And you don’t think about his hands splayed across your bare thighs and the muscles in his shoulders flexing under you and the way the sun glinting off the water in his hair turns him golden—

Phoenix shoves you hard and you topple backwards, landing in the water with a loud splash.

When you come up, everyone’s laughing and cheering. Hangman has his hand on your back, saying, “Sorry—are you okay?”

“Fine,” you splutter, wiping water from your eyes. “You said you wouldn’t let me fall.”

“My bad,” he chuckles, brushing some hair out of your face. “How can I get you to forgive me for letting you down?”

“We have to win at least one time,” you say, straightening up and knocking Hangman’s hand away from your face. “Turn around. Rooster! Phoenix! We’re going again!”

“Your funeral,” says Phoenix with a teasing shrug. She always gets this way during competitions. When you're on the same team, it's awesome. When you aren’t, it's was infuriating.

Without waiting for Hangman to drop down in the water, you place your hands on the smooth planes of his back and climb him like a tree, clambering your way onto his shoulders as he stumbles and laughs, reaching up to help where he can.

“Easy, now,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “Let’s save that for when we’re alone, alright?”

“God, shut up,” you grumble, your heart pounding. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding tight as he and Rooster step towards each other, squaring off.

Across from you, Phoenix says, “It’s not too late to back down.”

“Your head’s almost as big as his, Trace,” you laugh, patting the top of Hangman’s hair.

“You take that back,” she retorts, falsely serious.

“Go!” shouts Fanboy.

Both sides surge forward. Your hands meet Phoenix’s, both of you laughing and straining against one another. Hangman’s grip on your thighs is grounding and forceful. This time, you know he won’t let you fall.

Phoenix’s eyes go wide, and you know you’ve got her. She yelps, and Rooster makes a strangled squawking sound very representative of his namesake, and they both tip over backwards, falling apart as soon as they hit the water.

“Yes!” Hangman yells, reaching up and lacing his fingers through yours in celebration. The spectators ooh and aah and whoop appreciatively, and you easily slide off of Hangman’s shoulders, landing with a small splash next to him.

Before you can speak, he bends and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you partially out of the water in an embrace. Your stomach flip-flops, and it’s all you can do to hang on before he puts you down again—but doesn’t take his arms away.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix calls, standing near Bob at the edge of the pool, wiping the water out of her face. She’s smiling, and she’s pitched her voice up a few levels to let you know she’s teasing. “Just kiss already!”

Hangman laughs. You don’t.

Then, to your horror, Coyote—who up till now had been minding his business on one of the loungers by the pool—puts his lips together and makes a loud, obnoxious smooching noise.

You disentangle yourself from Hangman’s arms and begin to wade back towards the steps, your face burning as everyone laughs, no one seeming to pick up on your genuine frustration. “You’re all children,” you call, not caring who hears you.

“Oh, come on—” Hangman’s voice starts out loud, but then gets quieter as you hear him splash ungracefully through the water after you. His fingers gently brush your wrist, but you shake him off and don’t look back.

“You cannot seriously be following me right now,” you grumble, grabbing up a towel and making straight for the pool house, Hangman’s footsteps following you the whole way.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

That stops you short. You turn, adjusting the towel, and stare at him with an arched eyebrow.

“I should have said something,” he says, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He didn’t bother to grab a towel like you, so his chest is still bare and dripping and stupidly distracting. “I don’t know why I let them tease you like that. I should have told them to stop. I’m sorry. Can you just…come back out? Please?”

“I don’t have feelings for you,” you say stubbornly.

“I know.” He doesn’t sound like he does.

“I don’t,” you say again.

“Okay,” he says, holding his hands up defensively.

“I mean it, Hangman.”

“I’m not arguing!” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him.

You’re not sure what takes over you, but suddenly you’re striding across the floor of the pool house, the towel falling out of your hands and pooling on the floor, and grabbing Hangman’s face in your hands, pulling him down to meet your mouth in an angry kiss.

Well, now you’re here, you think. Now what? 

Hangman answers that question for you. His hands meet your waist, sending shivers through you, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His skin is cool and damp and intoxicating, and the droplets on his cheeks—

You pull away abruptly, blinking stupidly.

Fuck.

“What was that?” Hangman asks after a moment, eyeing you cautiously.

“I was proving a point,” your mouth says without permission.

“Okay.” He glances sideways before looking back at you. “What point?”

“That I don’t have feelings for you.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

An awkward silence settles over the pool house. Outside, you can hear splashing and laughter. No one is gathered at the door, clamoring for proof. No one has their ear pressed to the door, straining to hear you and Hangman’s juicy conversations. And you realize that you just kissed Jake Seresin for no real reason except… except….

Oh, god.

Except you wanted to.

You have feelings for Hangman.

“Oh, my god,” you groan, driving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Oh, my god.” 

“I’m so confused,” says Hangman, and it comes out like a disbelieving laugh. “Do you seriously think this is all on you? You think they all tease you because of what you’re doing?”

“Oh, my god, stop talking,” you blurt, covering your face. “This cannot be happening.”

But Hangman steps closer. “It’s ‘cause I have feelings for you. And they all know it! That’s why they tease us.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same.”

“Jake,” you snap, interrupting whatever self-righteous spiel he was clearly gearing up to give, and the usage of his name instead of his call-sign brings him up short. “Jake,” you say again. “I’m stupid.”

“I’m so confused,” he says again, and this time it sounds like he really means it.

But then you smile at him, and understanding finally, finally dawns in his eyes. You take half a step forward, closing the gap between you two, and you say softly, “I was too. But kissing helped a lot.”

He smiles crookedly, and this time, it isn’t infuriating. It’s endearing. And when he says in a low voice, “Guess I’ll just have to kiss you again, then,” it isn’t cocky and self-assured. It’s just Jake, knowing what he wants and finally getting it.

And you’re so glad to give it to him.

[trancylovecraft]

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER SIXTEEN)

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: "You crave the applause yet hate the attention Then miss it"

Many people associate the appearance of butterflies with messages beyond death. The significance of butterflies as signs of life after death is a worldwide belief.

Many people believe that butterflies are messengers sent by loved ones who have died. There are many cultures that ascribe meanings to specific interactions with butterflies as well as the meaning of colors and their messages to those grieving.

Feet pattered against the floor, Tapping in rapid succession.

Breaths were pushed forth like waves sloshing against the shore, Drawing back just as quick and returning to sea. When she hurried past, Bystanders were almost swept off their feet from the sheer wind made by her scarper, Yelling out their irritated warnings to the girl who continued to sprint down the streets.

She called out her apologies as she went. Houses rushed past her as she navigated through the village streets, Completely focused on her quickly approaching destination. Her thick braids swaying behind her run, Glad they were tied back so they wouldn't get in the way of her sight.

The warm sun was raised high within the watercolour sky, Porcelain clouds drifted aimless throughout their seas. The tinge of pollen stung at noses and the buzz of their consumer being simply background noise to anyone in here.

A beautiful day, That's for sure. The girl knew all too well as she had been running under it's mother, The sun, For at least a few hours now. She had been there when the sky was still navy, When the squawk of roosters called out from their coops.

Mitsuri, Her eyes caught onto those gates, The ones she was very familiar with.

She smiled, Rosy cheeks reddening at the sight. She had ran here as fast as she could, All the way from a town she had been searching down south. Mitsuri almost cursed herself once she felt the burning of her lungs, She really needed to stop running to and from places without breaks!

"I'm here!" Mitsuri squealed once she burst open through the gates, Their heft being compared to paperweights under her strength. Mitsuri grinned, Huffing only slightly as sweat trickled down her brow.

The Butterfly Mansion, Already rife with activity as she could hear the hearty chatter echo outside from the open windows. Even spotting a few Kakushi roaming about, Even spotting Aoi bustling throughout the house with folded laundry piled in her arms.

But her chartreuse eyes caught onto something else, Onto the woman sat perched upon the steps of the mansion. Glossy eyes caught onto Mitsuri's, Her patron smile coming upon her face.

"Ah! Mitsuri-chan! So glad you could finally make it!" Shinobu called out to her, Soft voice lilting as her vision caught onto Mitsuri's. She was dressed in her full slayer uniform, Delicate winged haori and all in comparison to Mitsuri and her candy-coloured kimono.

Mitsuri suddenly felt seen, Pulling a rather apologetic expression once she met with Shinobu.

"Ehe..! I'm so sorry, Shinobu-chan! I was all the way down in Otsu when I got your message! But I made sure to start sprinting as soon as I read it, I hope I didn't show up too late, Did I..?" Mitsuri asked, Scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

Shinobu shook her head lightly, Hands finding their way to the deck she sat on before pushing her up to her feet.

"No need to apologise! I asked you to come as soon as possible and you did as I asked! Besides.. This is all on such short notice~! So I suppose it is me who needs to say sorry for asking you to come so quickly.." Shinobu said as she dusted herself off, Turning up to look at Mitsuri.

"Oh, No! It's really okay, But um.. I kinda forgot why you asked me to come here in the first place..? I sorta just starting running and it just slipped by me, You know? Mind if you tell me why you asked me here..?" Mitsuri chuckled nervously, Still a bit out of breath from her continuous jog here.

Shinobu hummed, Stretching her ankle before she took a generous step forward towards Mitsuri.

"Oh, Don't worry! I didn't actually specify the reason I called you here! I didn't want any physical evidence linking to what we'll be discuss here today" Shinobu laughed airily as she began to pace forward, Strutting past Mitsuri.

Mitsuri smiled in relief, Shoulders lowering.

"Aha! I guess that makes sense-!" Mitsuri stopped. Blinking once, Her smile dropped as she jerked her head around to look at Shinobu.

Wait..

Evidence..?!

"S-Shinobu-chan! What do you mean by Evidence..?!" Mitsuri gasped as she eyed the shorter woman, Almost if she had asked Mitsuri to help her bury a body. Which, For Shinobu, Oddly didn't seem too far fetched.

Shinobu's back faced her, Front pointed towards the bust open gate. Her delicate winged haori floating in the soft wind, All before her head tilted to the side to let her glossy eyes meet with Mitsuri.

She smiled, Sharply.

"I'll explain soon enough~! But for now, Please follow me. We have another guest waiting for us, After all!" Shinobu called out as she swiftly turned on her heel, Beginning to trail off down one of the branching pathways in the mansion.

Mitsuri blinked, Mouth still agape as she watched the shorter woman saunter down the pathway.

"Ah- Hey! Wait up, Shinobu-chan!" She finally called out as Mitsuri realised she was falling behind, Swiftly dusting off the front of her taffy kimono before hurriedly rushing to catch up to Shinobu. Sandals clacking, Hitting against the dust as she called for Shinobu to slow down.

☆♡☆

Swords clashed, Hitting against each other.

Wood on blood-pulp iron, Blades of different makings but both did their best to pry an opening in their opponents stance.

Both were fast, Swift as they drew down their blades so powerful that they could slice the wind around them. Knuckles near popped at the iron-grip [F/N] had on the hilt of her training sword. The timber of her weapon was blunt, But the gaze she had on her adversary was piercing.

She ran, The pads of her feet ran quickly towards the demon. His six narrowed eyes watched her rapidly approach him, His stance still as his hand lazed upon the hilt of his katana.

"Your form.. It's lacking, Are you really putting in any effort at all..?"

[F/N] gritted her teeth as the soles of her bare feet landed back onto the ground, Body skittering back from the force into a sliding kneel.

Her hands gripped at the smooth dirt of the courtyard, Sweat dribbling down her brow as she tried to calculate her next move. His words, They sounded as smug as they always did when he beat her down. When he insulted her sword work.

Fuck.. Her lungs burned.

They always did when this happened, Along with the cuts and the bruises that would accompany her. When he came back from whatever he did during the night, [F/N] knew that she would be sure to bleed.

And his words were just the cherry on top, Ironically just as sour as one too.

But, It didn't hurt this time.

No, It didn't. [F/N] heaved, Her knees starting to shake. His words usually stung the most, Even though [F/N] felt ichor drip down from her nose onto her lips, Even though she felt her insides stir in her cage. Unusually, His words weren't the worst of it anymore.

"..I'm trying my best." [F/N] breathed out, Humid air expelling from her mouth. The grip she had on her training sword near made her skin break, She swashed it behind her as she warily eyed her adversary before her.

As always, Kokushibo rumbled.

He stood there as solemn as ever, As stoic as he usually was. His sickly golden eyes flickered over her bruised and battered body with a sharp frown, Kokushibo's form in comparison was completely unharmed.

His nose twitched, Only slightly.

"Throughout our time sparring.. You have not been able to land a single good cut on me.. Your footwork is sub-par and you have made no work to improve it.. Your best is most certainly not enough." Kokushibo finalised as the disgusting blade in his hand was finally raised and subsequently slotted back into its sheathe.

[F/N] heaved, Watching him almost disappointedly turn away and shake his head. His ebony hair blowing lightly in the breeze as he turned to march off, He didn't need to say that this session was over for it to finish, His actions spoke enough words.

[F/N] gritted her teeth, Watching as he headed for the door.

His words, They didn't hurt her because she knew why he was doing this, Sparring with her everyday.

In his own cold dead heart, Some part of him wanted to spend time with her and he only knew how to do that through bloodshed. In his own twisted, Morally unethical way, He wanted to bond.

[F/N] gagged in her mouth, Supressing a roll of her eyes and an accompanying scoff. Bond, That was a word she used too lightly. It was more like he wanted to draw her closer, For that possessive desire he had over her.

Gods knew why.. But, [F/N] supposed after her wreckage of the altar they weren't an option to consult anymore.

But as she watched him walk away, A noticeable lack of strength in his gait, [F/N] knew that he was ready to give up. All this time the only thing she had been doing was acting mild just so she wouldn't have to deal with him, That or hissing insults.

Not like he didn't deserve it, But..

If he gave up then what way could she possibly have to escape? To lull him into some false sense of trust with her.

She couldn't let him give up, Not now. If she wanted to get out of here, She needed to play nice.

Kokushibo reached the wide double doors to leave the welcoming courtyard, His pale hand reached out towards the doorknob with feline claws glistening in the near natural light. And just as they curled around the silver handle-

"Then show me..!"

Kokushibo paused.

He took a moment, All six of his eyes lain dead on his own hand tightly gripping onto the doorknob. It took a few seconds for him to finally turn his head around, To eye her from only one side of his face.

His eyes, Piercing.

"..What?"

[F/N] breathed in and out as she wiped the drool from her lips, Shaking off the sweat in one single motion, She raised to her full height.

Her hand, Still gripping the training sword.

"Over and over again.. You've been telling me my footwork is wrong for months now.. So show me how to make it right." [F/N] called out to him, A sort of spark in her usually dull eyes. Like a sudden explosion of fireworks, Flames appeared in her sclera.

Kokushibo just stood there.

His hand was still gripped tightly on the doorknob and his eyes were still fixated on her, Like a screw jammed into a wall.

His expression, It didn't change as the wind continued to dance through his hair, His hakama and kimono. Neither did it change when [F/N] continued to meet his gaze, For the first time, Even though she could barely compress a shake of her lip.

Was there something on her face, Did he get suspicious? Every inch of her body wanted to break down under his blazing glare, Feeling so scorching, So scrutinizing. It made her want to crumble into dust, Fall apart like a house of cards.

Though, He just stared, His face showing nothing except for that resting contempt it always had. His body made no tick, No twitch visible or any break in the working machine that he appeared to be. But his eyes, [F/N] could swear they widened.

Only a little bit.

"..Very well." Kokushibo finally said, And [F/N] almost let out the biggest sigh in her life as she watched him move away from the door, Hand slipping off the doorknob. "If you insist on me correcting your stance.. I will do as such."

Kokushibo waltzed over to the middle of the courtyard, Slowly, Just to the point where he was perched directly under the scattered shadow of the hulking tree in the middle. [F/N] watched as he raised a hand, Making one gesture to beckon her over.

[F/N] bit her tongue, The one that wanted to call him out for treating her like a child as she started to stumble over to him.

Warily, [F/N] kept her eyes on him the entire time as she put one foot in front of the other. It was almost like a fly prancing on a Venus flytrap, Careful as it went forward, Almost as if the walls around her would snap shut on her.

She breathed out, Her throat becoming increasingly drier by the second as she approached.

[F/N] needed to play nice.

[F/N] needed to get out of here.

☆♡☆

"..Ah- Himejima-san? I didn't expect you to be here.. I had just assumed it would be me and Shinobu-chan!"

The breeze was warm, Soft as it made the silk-like blinds dance like ribbons in the air. The amicable heat flooded into the wide-open room, The storm surge of its delicate wind made the fabrics and fibres on the top of heads start to sway.

Outside the sonorous sound of the birds could be heard, Singing from atop their perches in the spring tree's outside. The rustle of the plant pots growing various herbs gently swayed in the wind.

Spirulina and Sage, Even herbs that were not native to the area were in bloom. Their use not just medical as their amorous aroma flooded through the room, Mixing and swirling with the natural scents.

Mitsuri stood at the first end of the centre table, Where the light struck right in the middle, Where a small china tea-set painted with pretty little flowers steamed with freshly made tea. A beautiful set-up, Mitsuri could even smell the earthy aroma of the English blend flooding through her nose.

Shinobu sat to the side, Back facing the gentle light of the window as her finger circled the rim of her teacup. Her glossy eyes seemingly enraptured in her own reflection, The one appearing on the beige liquid that she seemed so interested in.

Gyomei, Who had picked up his own tiny teacup into his almost comically large hands, Had finally set it back down onto the table, Where he sat at the opposite head of. Both dressed in their own slayer uniforms, It made Mitsuri feel just a tiny bit more awkward as she shuffled in her taffy kimono.

Gyomei picked up a napkin, Softly dabbing the tea's residue from his lips.

"..I had assumed it would just be Kocho-san and I, I had no idea that you were invited as well.." He replied as he neatly placed the napkin back onto the table, Folding the slightly damp paper as he spoke.

Mitsuri smiled. That ever present rosy blush still visible on her cheeks as she turned to Shinobu, Of whom was still looking dead into the little tarn of her teacup.

Mitsuri hummed.

"..Shinobu-chan, I don't mean to be so insistent you know..! Do you mind if you tell us why we're here? I'm kinda worried, The message I got from your crow seemed kinda urgent!" Mitsuri chuckled though a little nervously, Recalling back to how the crow had interrupted her on her mission.

Shinobu blinked, Eyes widening as she realised she had let her mind drift off.

"Ah.. Yes, I apologise for worrying you, Mitsuri-chan!" Shinobu said as she lifted her head, A bright smile appearing on her lips despite her face dusted in gentle shadow. "As I explained to Himejima-san yesterday, I invited you here to discuss a possible scouting mission.."

Mitsuri made a slight 'Oh' sound from her lips, Smile dropping slightly.

But it reappeared just as quickly, Just much more nervous this time like she was trying to find the right words to tell devastating news.

She twiddled her fingers on her lap, Prying her pursed lips open.

"A mission..? I'm not sure, Shinobu-chan..!" Mitsuri exclaimed as she tilted her head to the side. "You know I'd love to help you, I really would but.. You also know I've got my own mission I'm focused on, Right..?"

Shinobu took a second, Blinked, Then nodded.

She knew exactly what Mitsuri was talking about.

Late at night, Her ribbon-blade had flowed like running water as it slashed into the necks of demons with a finesse only she could produce. Those demons, The ones Mitsuri had slain and the ones she had defeated while a crow had landed on her shoulder.

It squawked, Though information sparse Mitsuri could tell that it was vital. Not that it needed to be, Mitsuri would've came either way, Though she would've appreciated at least a reason for her being here.

Especially with how busy she was, Tirelessly questioning demons and searching leads for [F/N] location took up a lot of her time slots.

And hell, Would she not let anything trivial take up that time.

"I understand, I know how busy you've been working to find [F/N]-chan." Shinobu announced, Much more open than Mitsuri was expecting, Making her eyes widen. "It is also the reason I have asked you both here, As I believe this could be very beneficial to our search.."

Gyomei's brows lowered, Lips thinning.

"Yes.. The one concerning Fujimori [F/N].." He spoke, Fully understanding what Shinobu had meant yet that puzzled expression still lay dormant on his face. "I understand inviting Kanroji-san here.. Fujimori-san considered her to be her best friend.."

He turned his head to the direction of Shinobu, Who stared back with only slightly parted lips on her smile.

"-Why is it that I was selected to come here..? Regrettably, I was not too friendly with Fujimori-san.. So I assume there would've been a better choice to invite.." Gyomei lamented, Recalling back to the days that could've only been yesterday in his mind.

His frown thickened, The tears running down his face seemed just a little quicker. The days where him and [F/N] had a rather unsavoury yet unspoken rivalry now had a horrid taste on his tongue.

Passive-aggressive insults, Hidden jabs at his work ethic. He had always taken them in stride, An unbothered grin on that old fox mask as he waltzed away. It had always left Gyomei with a sense of ashamed responsibility for [F/N]'s actions, Or lack there of.

But if Gyomei had known back then what he knew now..

Shinobu's parted lips reformed back into that usual smile, The advertisement kind of smile she usually wore. Almost apologetically she shook her head before clearing her throat.

She chuckled, No matter how awkwardly.

"..Ah, Well excuse my rudeness but I was listening into your conversation back at the Hashira meeting!" Shinobu exclaimed with an innocent smile, Hands pressing together in some vague gesture of apology.

Gyomei's breath hitched in his throat, A startled expression on his face.

"Whaaat..~?!" Mitsuri gasped as she near jumped up from her kneel, Hands slamming down onto the table making a tiny shake, Eyes agape in an overdramatic display as she stared at Shinobu.

Shinobu chuckled slightly. She gently placed a hand upon Mitsuri's shoulder, Lightly guiding her back down onto her knees.

Mitsuri only looked back and forth the other two with wide eyes, From Gyomei to Shinobu until she was finally placed back down onto her knees at her end of the table. Back at the Hashira meeting, Shinobu had been listening..?!

"I had meant to discuss matters with Mitsuri-chan, But I ended up overhearing you both speak!" Shinobu explained. "Mostly about Himejima-san's Tsuguko, His name slips from my mind but the important bit I heard was that you were willing to help in the search for [F/N]-chan."

Shinobu breathed out, Eyes lowering on Gyomei.

"I asked you here because of the matters we discussed yesterday involving Upper Two." Shinobu started to explain, Her expression turning much more serious, Smile turning into a little frown.

"As well as exterminating another Demon moon. If I am remembering correctly.. [F/N] was reportedly kidnapped by Upper One. Now, I believe that if we are to get any information on [F/N]'s whereabouts, Then Upper Two would be a good start.. Don't you think?" Shinobu asked softly, Tilting her head towards Gyomei as if to prompt an answer.

The birds crooning their serenade outside sounded all the more louder, The near silent rustle of the plants outside to follow.

SLAM!

Shinobu froze slightly, Suddenly feeling the jolting shake of two hands slamming down onto the table. Tea sloshed around in their porcelain cups, Spits and drops falling over their rims at the rumbling sensation.

The porcelain clacked together like heels on a tiled floor, Only settling once the pair of hands had stood stagnant on the table. Gyomei too seemed to tense up, Visible on his muscles once they both realised that Mitsuri had been the one to do it.

"I'm so sorry but.. Uhm.." Mitsuri said, Looking only a little startled as she seemed to find the words to say.

Her eyes widened, A slight gasp before she spoke.

"Upper two? What have I missed! Have I really turned up so late..?! Shouldn't we be reporting this to Oyataka-sama?!" Mitsuri suddenly exclaimed, Eyes wide as she almost jumped up from her seat on the floor. "Why are we not discussing this at a meeting..?! We should be selecting people to g-"

Suddenly, Mitsuri stopped.

Shinobu, Had reached out and gently yet firmly closed Mitsuri jaw, Her movements paused along with her speech, Almost processing what had happened.

Gyomei just sat there, Unaware yet intently listening to what happened. Shinobu hummed as she removed her hand from Mitsuri's chin, Sitting herself back onto her seat before fixing her uniform.

"I understand you would want to tell Oyataka-sama, But please, Let me explain! I suppose I should let you read the letter I had received a few days ago, I believe it should catch you up to speed!" Shinobu smiled.

The hand that had been cupping Mitsuri's jaw only moments ago lunged into the pocket of her butterfly haori, Hands rummaging around inside the inner pockets before fishing something out from inside and holding it high.

It was a piece of paper, Rumpled yet neatly folded. Mitsuri could tell that it was stained and most certainly written on scraps, Even the edge that the light rolled off of seemed to be dim. Especially once the hand lowered and was presented to her, Mitsuri could tell it was not of good quality.

Mitsuri blinked, Shoulders relaxing as she finally realised where she was.

"R-Right.. I'm sorry for my outburst, I was just a bit surprised..!" Mitsuri giggled awkwardly once she took the paper into her hands. Shinobu nodded, Mumbling her own form of acceptance before sitting back down onto her seat, Intently watching Mitsuri and her actions.

Mitsuri felt the fibre in her hands, The coarse texture running through her fingertips. Leave it to her to overreact, Never to conceal her inner emotions. Mitsuri frowned as she started to unfold the paper. But it was Upper Two, How could she not overreact when such a big title was thrown around so casually?

Mitsuri pursed her lips, Starting to read.

☆♡☆

Hands ran down the dull blade of the training sword, A featherlight touch grazing the katana's guard like a summer breeze or a lovers lingering touch.

Yet his shadow loomed over her like dripping icicles in winter, His heaving breath causing vapour in the rather tender courtyard. [F/N] felt the chilling sweat run down her brow, Eyes wide and alert as if preparing herself for a fight.

"Your footwork.. The issue is rather simple to solve.." Kokushibo's solemn voice ruminated from behind her, Like distant thunder and she a petrified dog. A single clawed hand was placed upon hers, Gripping the hands that were squeezing her sword hilt tight.

His acuate, Gelid claws might as well have been wringing her neck. [F/N] could barely stop herself from shaking as she felt his artic cold grip on her. He stood right behind her, So close that she could feel the graze of his kimono's fabric against her back.

He was lowered, One hand gripping hers on the hilt of the sword to guide her placement. His other hand was placed on her shoulder, Gripping it tightly, So much so that the ebony claws dug into her skin through her Samue.

[F/N] did not expect this, This sort of proximity to one and other. She bit her tongue, Trying to conceal the sheer distaste flowing through her. [F/N] didn't dare to turn her head, Not wanting to see his monstrous visage. He had no body heat, No sort of signal to say that he was alive.

Kokushibo's grip on her tightened, Her muscles tensing as she squeezed her shoulder hard.

"From what I have seen.. You are used to operating in a mans body while fighting. You have became use to fighting with a much heavier body weight than what you have now.. Much taller and muscular than you are.." Kokushibo spoke, Eyeing her physique up and down.

It took everything [F/N] had not to shiver under his acidic stare, Everything not to give it up.

"It is why your movements are incorrect.. Your muscles memory is use to a much larger form.. Making your footwork much more forceful.." Kokushibo said as his hand began to position hers, Raising her trembling hands higher.

"R-Right.." [F/N] breathed.

"Now.. I want you to try and attack me, Behead me if you can.." His hands started to slip, Both from her shoulder and her hands. A lingering frost on her shoulders, [F/N] could barely appreciate their separation before he ambled in front of her, Slowly, Moving like a predator.

[F/N] swallowed back the bile in her throat, So acidulent as she watched him stop in front of her only a few metres away. Sword still raised high, They both stared back at each other below the leaves of the towering tree.

Only now once they stood in audible silence could she really feel the warmth of the courtyard, Hear the rustle of the leaves, Smell the ocean air drifting in from outside. But she knew her scenery was just a distraction from her task, The one seeming so herculean.

[F/N] barely contained a scoff. She didn't need him to adjust her stance or her sword, It's not like this meant much anyways. It was just some sparring session he insisted on, Only realising it was actually to "bond", Her footwork was careless for a reason.

"Come on now, Girl.. Wasn't it you that wanted to correct your mistakes..?" Kokushibo rasped as he watched her stagnant form with narrowed eyes.

[F/N]'s eyes widened.

"Right.." She muttered, Grip shaking as she realised she had been stood still this entire time.

[F/N] breathed, A foot slamming down behind her.

In only a moment and in a slice of wind, She was off.

Feet pattering rapidly against the ground, Her sword gripped with both hands as she rushed towards her opponent.

Eyes were locked onto him, Honed like a hawk as she quickly gained momentum. He had told her that her footwork was forceful, That she was use to fighting in a mans body. [F/N] couldn't care less of what he thought.

But if she wanted to make him think she cared..

CLASH!

A sword connected, Splinters exploding from the contact. [F/N] spun back in the air, Controlling her movements as she landed and skittered back on the floor.

Her muscles tense, Aching in her neck as she gripped the hilt of a sword weighing much lighter than it did before. Eyes watery from the dust made by her skidding back, Making it all the more tougher to see when she hauled up her head.

The sword hilt she had grasped in her hand was just that, A hilt. The fibre blade had exploded into thousands of splinters, Ones that had scattered across the floor like shattered glass.

"Congratulations.. You were able to land your first hit on my shoulder blade.."

His voice rung out, Deep and gravelly as she saw him looking down at her.

Despite his congratulary words, His face had no expression as it always did. Still like a marble statue. Yet his eyes like fireflies darted back and forth, Looking from the shattered wood to her prostrated kneel.

[F/N] blinked, Lips slightly parted as she saw no visible injury on him.

"You have taken my advice into account.. Your footwork has improved much. Now, Perhaps one day I may get to see your breathing style up close.." Kokushibo said, Eyes gleaming with oppertunity.

He turned on his heel, Mechanically like a machine. Kokushibo didn't take one look back at her as he began to march out of the room, His expression motionless, His sword sheathed in it's lock.

[F/N] watched him go, Stalking off towards the exit of the courtyard once more, This time she knew that there was no stopping him. Despite her inner joy at him leaving, Her tongue spoke for her.

"..Where are you going?" She rasped out as she watched him reach the door, Eyes never leaving his back for a single moment.

Kokushibo didn't glance back at her as he wrapped his talons around the silver shine of the doorknob. His muscles as rigid as always, Voice as usually humbling as it always was as he spoke.

"We are finished here for today.. And I have worked up an appetite.." Those were his only words before the doorknob turned open with a squeak much louder than it should have been, Heave the door open with no difficulty and step back inside to the cold embrace of the shrine.

[F/N] blinked, Hearing as the door clicked shut against the frame.

It took a few seconds to feel his aura, That disgusting, Wretched aura. The one that smelt like sulphur and brimstone, The kind that left a horrid taste in her mouth. [F/N] felt as it faded away, Dissolved until it was no longer near, Leaving nothing but a nauseating aftertaste.

It left [F/N] prostrated on the courtyard floor, The fractured hilt still clenched so tight that veins appeared in her wrist. The rustle of the leaves above her still rang out and the faraway swash of the water outside still remained.

[F/N] softened her grip, The hilt slipping from her hand before clattering on the floor beside her. This had not gone well, That [F/N] had decided in her mind without second thought or jury to confer to.

Despite her first ever hit on him, Kokushibo hadn't changed his demeanour even a bit. He didn't crack, Didn't show no emotion on his face like always. [F/N] knew it was stupid to think that she'd instantly find a way to break through his cold exterior on first try.

But it still irked her.

Maybe it was because she didn't like the prospect of getting closer to him, Maybe it was because of how long it would surely took. Was there even anything [F/N] could use to gain his trust?

Sure, He had some vile obsession over her, But that was starting to become hard to weaponize. And despite hailing from a deity associated with the performing arts, [F/N] wasn't a particularly good actor.

Whatever, It wasn't like Inari was gonna do all the work for her.

Inari wasn't real, Nor were any other of the gods. She had finalised that with the destruction of the altar, Something that [F/N] had become numb to looking back. [F/N] had no one to pray to except herself, No one to fix her problems but her.

She would think over it later, Right now, [F/N] was already exhausted despite waking up only a few hours ago and was ready to go to bed. Still, That horrid aftertaste of his aura still lingered on the tip of her tongue. Amplified by the knowledge she had looming over her like a storm cloud.

Kokushibo hadn't even unsheathed his sword, He had gone easy on her.

[F/N] snarled.

☆♡☆

Dear whoever this may concern. If you're reading this, Please, Send help.

My location is in the village of Hiyohara, Not too far off Fukushima. I don't have much time to write this, Nor do I know if I'll even finish writing this message before they find me. But I need to try.

For the majority of my life I have been involved in a religious convent, I have grown up there my entire life alongside my brothers. My parents abandoned us at a young age, So we had grown up close within the religion.

It happened only a few weeks ago when I woke up and found that my brothers had gone missing, Both of them. I had originally thought that they had just went to the bathroom, However when morning came I had found that neither had returned.

I tried to consult the monks, They keep telling me that they had caught them running away during the night, But I know the truth.

My brothers would never leave without me, I know they would've at least told me goodbye before they went. Especially with the upcoming Ascension, They would never have left beforehand. Not without telling me.

I have tried to bring this up to our founder but he has said that he has no idea of what is going on. I don't know where they went, But I have an idea. And it was only made more plausible once I had snuck into the kitchen a few days ago.

I think the monks done something to my brothers.

I hear them talking at night now, Things I don't understand. Words such as bodies, Upper Two, Absorption. I don't know if they mean anything to you, But if they do, Please get here faster.

I know who you are and I know what kind of crow this is, My father use to be one of you before he abandoned us and we were brought to the convent. I think there is a monster among our convent, And I think it killed my brothers.

Please- I don't know how long I have left. They took my brothers and I know they're going for me next. I don't know where my brothers went but I don't want to end up like them.

Please, Help me.

-Teiji

Hands gripped the paper tight, So hard it almost tore apart.

"That poor man.. Just the idea of such a powerful demon killing his siblings! My heart aches for him and his brothers!" Mitsuri gasped as her eyes finally finished reading the ink blotted on the paper, Wide and suprised as she looked up towards the other two.

Shinobu settled her teacup back onto the little side plate it came with, Residue lingering in the inner lines as china clinked against each other. Gyomei on the other hand had already finished, His teacup shuffled off to the side.

By now the tea in the pot had grown lukewarm, That gentle saccharine aroma had grown faint. The luminous daylight outside was still potent, Still early in the day. Yet the sun had still moved a few inches, Almost breaking afternoon.

Shinobu hummed, Dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

"You must understand that I don't plan on going to Oyataka-sama for a reason." She said as she turned to look at Mitsuri with that same smile. "Please, Do not get me wrong, I care and respect our master from the bottom of my heart but I need you both to know that I think it would be better if we conducted this privately.."

Gyomei's eyes lowered, Lips thinning.

"You have yet to explain why, For what reason do you suggest this?" He asked lowly, A sort of puzzled expression appearing on his features.

Shinobu's eyes darted over to him, Satiny irises shining under the dim sunlight streaming through the window. If seen under better light, Perhaps you may have been able to see a slight tick from her lip.

"..Because if we inform Oyataka-sama, I'm afraid that I may be left out." Shinobu admitted as her expression started to morph into a frown. Gyomei knitted his brows together, Mitsuri tilting her head almost as if asking her to go on.

She sighed softly.

"..If we inform him that a sighting of Upper moon two has been reported, He is sure to send out the strongest among the Hashira. With [F/N]-chan currently missing, That would mean he would send you, Himejima-san along with Shinazugawa and Mitsuri-chan.." Shinobu spoke as she slightly nodded to him.

Gyomei hummed low, Quiet as he thought over her words.

The current top three in the Hashira. Him, Sanemi then Mitsuri. With a possible Upper Two sighting, It was no doubt that Oyataka-sama would send at the very least one of them to scout it out.

But why Shinobu wanted to be included, Why she'd go as far as to keep this under their beloved masters nose..

It eluded him.

"Uppermoon two.. The fact that we have another sighting of a demon moon. You think they're hiding within this religion? As a monk? As a follower? A leader?" Mitsuri put in, Eyes filled with worry as she thought over the options.

Shinobu hummed.

"I'm not sure, I haven't had the chance to head to Hiyohara and check it out. Actually, It is why I wanted you two here in the first place.." She explained. That smile she usually wore like shoes started to shift, Turning down into a frown, Something much more serious than before.

Shinobu took a deep breath.

"For the past few centuries, Slayers have been on the defensive. Never purposefully seeking out the demon moons, Only coming when called.." Shinobu spoke low, Her eyebrows starting to knit together.

"This time, I suggest we go on the offensive. After scouting, I want to infiltrate into the cult to find out the location and the identity of Upper Two. We'll behead him, Give the demons another hit in their ranks." Shinobu said finally, Serious as ever as her eyes darted back and forth between Mitsuri and Gyomei.

Neither spoke.

She sighed.

Shinobu reached over the table, Delicate hands wrapping around the porcelain handle of the teapot. She did it like it was nothing, Like she just hadn't proposed a madman's plot. Smile reappearing on her face as she started to carefully pour herself a new cup of lukewarm tea.

"And you think you can pull this off?" Gyomei asked, Incredulous in tone as he turned towards her.

Shinobu hummed, Raising her teacup before she took a sip.

"..Truthfully, I don't know." She admitted, Lowering the cup from her lips. "Which is why I suggest we head off tonight to scout it out. If this cult has been hidden from us all this time, I doubt our crows would do any good of a job snooping around. Therefore, It must be on foot."

Gyomei sat there, Blanked eyes widened to their very brims as he turned towards Shinobu's direction. Was she crazy? Was she insane? Had the years of working in the corps finally caught up to her?

Or was it him who was simply suprised? This side of her never seen before. The side that had already formulated a plan, Unlike him.

"Are you sure, Shinobu-chan..?" Mitsuri asked, Worry written all over her face with a quirked lip. "I still think that we should tell someone, At least some of our fellow Hashira! Telling them where we're going would be a good idea, Right..?"

Mitsuri looked at Shinobu, An anxious gleam in her eyes that almost begged Shinobu to tell her she had a plan. An upturned lip while she fiddled with her fingers under the table they sat at.

It was a look Shinobu was familiar with, Mitsuri always wearing her emotions on her sleeve, It was easy to recognise.

Shinobu's smile ticked, Just turning up into a smile.

"Don't worry, Mitsuri-chan. If we get the chance to scout out Hiyohara, I plan on asking several trusted slayers to join us. Both Hashira and not." Shinobu assured as she turned back towards her teacup, Raising close towards her lips.

Mitsuri watched as Shinobu pressed the rim of the cup towards her rosy lips, Parting them slightly as she started to sip at the lukewarm liquid. Everything on the outside seemed fine, Her smile still the same, Every mannerism on the usual.

But for some reason, Something told her that this was wrong. That there was just something off about her, Nothing on the outside but something much more hidden. But that was always how Shinobu was, Wasn't it?

Mitsuri could sense it was more potent now, However, Her lips thinning.

Was she really going to take any chances? Especially after..

Shinobu's eyes darted over towards Mitsuri, The teacup tilting down as she finished her swig. They narrowed in on her, Exactly on her expression.

"..I want to come along because I know this is a chance to save [F/N]-chan." Shinobu spoke as she settled her teacup back onto her plate. "I want to help, [F/N]-chan is one of my dearest friends and I know I would be left out of the mission if I told Oyataka-sama.."

Shinobu turned to Mitsuri, Finally answering that unsure look in Mitsuri's eyes with the most sure expression she had ever seen.

"[F/N] was kidnapped by Upper One, Yes? Then it wouldn't be so bizarre to say that Upper Two might have some information on her whereabouts. We get his information then slay him, Then we'll figure it out from there. Even if he doesn't have any knowledge, It still gives us a chance to make a dent in the demons ranks." Shinobu spoke, Calmer than she ever had.

Her smile softened, Much more.. Genuine than it was before.

"..I told you. One day, We will avenge her. And this is our chance."

Mitsuri's eyes widened, Light shining off the breath-taking green of her irises. That day back in her house, When Mitsuri was at her very worst. The promise Shinobu had made to her that had ultimately pulled Mitsuri out of the murky pits of her own misery.

She said that one day they'd avenge her.

Avenge [F/N].

A shine started to appear in Mitsuri's eyes, Alight like a flame amongst a blizzard. Mitsuri didn't understand what it was. The way she spoke, Maybe the look they shared with one and other.

Whatever it was, It was breathtakingly assuring.

"Alright."

Both Mitsuri and Shinobu's eyes darted to the other side of the table, Hearing the low and mournful voice of Gyomei ring out.

Once their eyes landed on him, They saw an expression much more sure than it was before. A sudden change, A suprising one at that.

"What..?" Mitsuri asked, Almost double taking.

"Tonight we will head off to the village of Hiyohara, We shall scout out the area for any signs of Upper Moon activity then figure out our next course of action." Gyomei explained in a steady tone, Hands pressed into his usual prayer, Beads rattling against each other.

Shinobu's lips parted, Almost seeming suprised by his answer, Having to look him up and down to make sure that this wasn't some out-of-character joke.

She blinked, Realising that he was deadly serious.

Shinobu beamed.

"So it's settled then? We set off at night to Hiyohara on our own private mission, Scout out the area then infiltrate into their cult?" Shinobu asked as she turned over to Mitsuri, The only undecided party at the table.

"Tonight!" Mitsuri cheered, The rosy blush on her cheeks set ablaze as she grinned. "We'll go out and slay them, Upper rank two!"

Shinobu giggled slightly, Hand raising to cover her mouth.

"Aha.. Don't get so carried away now, Mitsuri-chan!" She chided softly as she chuckled at Mitsuri's flushed expression.

"As long as you keep your word of scouting this area out first, Then summoning other slayers as back up.. I will not say a word to Oyataka-sama, Not for now.." Gyomei nodded, Confirming his alliance.

"Well.. I suppose that is it then!" Shinobu cheered lightly, Her hands moving down to the small tatami mat on the floor before using them to push her up to her feet. She steadied herself, Dusting off her uniform.

"Ah.. Where are you going, Shinobu-chan! Aren't you gonna finish your tea?" Mitsuri asked, Tilting her head slightly as she gestured to the half-drunken tea out of her cup.

Shinobu shook her head.

"..I have a lot of duties to tend to before we leave tonight! Please, Help yourself to the rest of the brew here, It's of my own making." Shinobu said, Bowing slightly towards each of them "If you get hungry, Do not be afraid to ask Kanzaki-san for a meal! You are both my treasured guests after all.."

Shinobu spun on her heel, Bidding her goodbyes to both Mitsuri and Gyomei before prancing off along the tatami mat onto the polished mahogany floor. She looked carefree, Relaxed as she strutted off towards the main door of the room.

Mitsuri watched her go, The kick in her step evident as she watched her exit through the polished door of the dining room. Her eyes remained until the door shut with a soft click, That smile on Mitsuri's face remaining even once Shinobu had left.

Mitsuri had always known that it was simply a matter of time until they had found a lead, Found something that could bring them to [F/N]. Her patience had finally paid off, With a tip off to Uppermoon Two to boot!

But her smile shifted only a little bit, Especially once she spotted the rather conflicted expression appearing on her peer.

Gyomei seemed to be in his own world, Thinking over the interaction they had all shared. Mitsuri couldn't even begin to think of what was happening in his head, Despite her general empathy, She was not very good of a telepath.

Shinobu, She seemed happy as usual. She seemed just as kind, Polite and calm as she always was. Nothing particularly stuck out to Mitsuri, Nothing that told her that anything was wrong with Shinobu.

But that feeling in Mitsuri's gut told her otherwise, Told her to look again. That this was not something she could afford to overlook.

And the last time she had took that risk..

Mitsuri frowned. There was definetly something wrong and Mitsuri was going to find out what it was, What was going on with her friend.

Mitsuri would make sure of it, So determined to figure it out.

So much so that she didn't see the girl with mousy blonde hair peek through the crack in the door, Having barely avoided the woman walking out before.

☆♡☆

The sound of a quiet door scraping, Sliding open as carefully as it could.

Everything was silent, Nothing dared to speak or make a single sound. The tiny spiders didn't dare scuttle about, The structure of the shrine didn't even try to creak. Not when he was in the area, The air almost stilling in his presence.

He took a step forward, The floorboards depressing under his weight. The cold air nipped at his skin yet he didn't flinch, Nor did he at the miserable sight of the room. The darkness enveloping the place doing nothing to conceal the sheer mess of the place.

A few bowls of cutlery were strewn about on both the dresser and the nightstand. Some eaten, Some not. But they were building up all the same, Along with the cobwebs and the dust gathering across furniture.

He didn't feel disgusted by it, No, Not at all. It barely scraped the surface of what rancid surroundings he had withstood before, The smell of rot being nothing to him at all.

His six eyes droned onto the figure lain huddled under the sheets of the bed, The one positioned at the other end of the room.

The sheets themselves were half-hanging off the bed and one of the twin pillows were laying upon the floorboards. The other one assumedly being used by his younger sister, Hugged close to her chest while resting her head all the same.

His eyes narrowed in on her, Barely seeing the top of her scalp peeking out from under her covers. She was exhausted, Always was when he was around. His blank face almost produced a scowl.

He stepped closer to her once more, Despite his weight the noise was made minimal, Kokushibo carefully choosing which boards to step on as he strayed closer to her slumbering form.

[F/N] was out cold, Her muscles were so relaxed that they'd certainly feel numb as soon as she awoke. Kokushibo could hear her breaths, Slow as her chest rose up and down from under her thick duvets.

He approached, Closer and closer until his shadow loomed over her. Him casting a bold shadow from the soft ultramarine light flooding in from the doorway. His eyes radiated within the dark, Rich gold examining every inch of the girl sleeping before him.

He had an object clutched tightly in his hand, The surface of which being caressed by his claws.

Kokushibo turned towards the desk, Viewing the old Tupperware building up on the side, He could barely conceal a scoff. Reaching out his spare hand, He sluggishly pushed the bowls and plates away to the side to make room, Careful not to make any sound.

[F/N] was still out cold as he placed down the object in place of the object, Laying it atop the wooden nightstand. She only turned lightly, Stirring once or twice upon her mattress, Completely unaware of the intruder only a few feet away from her.

His eyes dulled once they layed upon [F/N].

He breathed out, Mist appearing in the frigid conditions. His clawed hands moved, Slow and meticulous, Almost as if testing the waters in the shadows of the room as it went towards her scalp.

It was only once he felt the fibres of her hair did he finally feel safe to do this, Did he finally start to entwine his fingers into her locks. Gradually, Methodically slow so that she wouldn't wake up.

His fingers rested against her scalp, Her body heat starting to warm up the deathly cold palm of his hand. Kokushibo's expression almost started to shift once he felt the soft yet choppy locks of her hair.

A normal occurrence for him, To interact with her while she slept.

She didn't even stir, Didn't even react to such physical touch. But he could almost swear that she breathed lighter now under his touch. Kokushibo breathed out, That piercing glare in his eye still present yet it seemed much more subdued now.

It glanced back over to her nightstand, A sort of sapphire shimmer catching his eyes under the ultramarine light. The claw of his thumb began to softly card through her hair, Softly, Almost admiringly.

It was her hairpin, The bejewelled clip nestled within the discarded Tupperware with it's glistening pearls laying like sleeping snakes. Kokushibo's eyes narrowed on the little accessory, The hand not caressing [F/N]'s hair reached out.

His rough finger grasped the pin into his hand, He took it off the desk and brought it closer to him

The pin itself was.. Dirtied.

The nichirin silver was coated in a patchy brown stain, Almost like it was rusting yet the smell was much too metallic for that. Kokushibo's lips thinned as he brought it closer to him, Up to his nose before taking a deep breath in.

His eyes sharpened.

Blood, It was dried blood.

Kokushibo's eyes widened.

For a moment his eyes darted back towards [F/N], Still peacefully asleep under the covers of her bed. Kokushibo stared at her, Pin almost crushed in one hand, The other entwined within her hair.

He stayed like that for what seemed like hours, Just staring down at her while one of his hands slowly carded through her hair. The cat-like cuts in his eyes were as shill and narrow as they ever were.

But he finally breathed out, The grip he had on the bloody pin was finally released.

Kokushibo flicked the pin like a butterfly knife, The pin stuck out like a blade before he lowered it down to her scalp.

The pin easily entwined within her hair. Almost reluctantly, Kokushibo took great caution as he removed his own hand from within her locks. He fastened the clip to her hair, Snapping the pin together on it's clasp make sure it didn't fall out.

Kokushibo took one final look at her, Looked at the way she slept soundly on the bed. Watched as her eyes were rested shut, Watched as her chest rose up and down as he heard the softness of her breath.

It didn't last long, Not even a minute before he turned around again.

Kokushibo stalked his way out of the room, Towards the shoji door that he had left wide open. His hair swayed back and forth, The spines of his ebony hair illuminated in the chromatic glow of light outside.

Once he reached the doorway, He gazed back at her, If only for a second. His golden eyes laid upon her, What could've possibly be going through his mind at that moment gone unquestioned to the unconscious woman slumbering on her bed.

He turned away, His hand gripping the shoji door began to pull it over. Sliding it along the doorframe, Watching as the aquamarine light began to grow dimmer and dimmer inside the room before the door shut over entirely.

☆♡☆

"Ah.. And you, I see.. What was your name again? I so sincerely apologise but I don't think I can recall..!"

It was hard to describe.. But it smelt of mourning.

The kind of flower blossomed only to celebrate the wilted. Pungent, Fresh air seeming to roll off the petals yet the entire place reeked of beautiful death. Lotuses, Their dove feather petals shone under the candlelight.

The pristine ivory flowers drifted by atop the water ponds lining the hallway, Rocking back and forth on the miniature waves. He peered beside him, Watching as another floated by on the thin water strip leading up to the centrepiece of the room.

The entire room was only lit by several dozen votives, The room alight in a dark orange hue from their whisping embers, Flickering with each drift of the inside wind. On candle holders, Candelabras they were everywhere.

He could see several monks stood off to the side, Lingering around the lumber archways lining the hallway like a catholic church. He could see them peering over at him, Hidden in their little nooks as they dissected him with their beady eyes.

They were all dressed head to toe in that same purified white, The exact same shade of the lotuses that festered around them.

"Ah.. Yes, I remember you now! Teiji, Was it~?"

A voice reverberated out from within the hallway, One that Teiji was all too familiar with.

It seemed much bigger than the expanse of the room itself, Yet the voice was soft and playful. It was cheerful and in the right context could even be described as calming. Even so, Teiji couldn't relax in his prescense.

"Y-Yes.. That is my name, Your grace." He answered, Head bowed as low as it could be, Almost pressing against the reflective floorboards. An acknowledging hum came back to him, Echoing throughout the long hall. Teiji felt the cold run of sweat start to trickle down his brow, Unable to see the glory of the prophet before him.

His lazing figure was only illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the high window behind him. He sat down, His legs basketed on a rather large pillow. Twin war fans of equal golden shimmer started to glisten in the moonlight, Light rolling off them as they fluttered.

Chromatic eyes, Irises of every colour from red to blue stared down at the prostrated man. His figure knelt, Head pressed against the ground in a show of respect.

A sharp glint in the prophets eyes started to appear.

"Now, Now.. There isn't any reason to be so tense there, We're all comfortable here, Aren't we~?"

Teiji was the very definition of uncomfortable, Being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Told he had a summoning with his grace before being thrown rather roughly before him.

None of it helped to make him feel safe.

"Ah.. You must be wondering why you were brought here tonight, I assure you.. It's nothing to worry about!" The prophet mused as his fan fluttered against his face, Cool air hitting his skin. "Just a simple question.."

"Of course.. Your grace." Teiji replied once more, His heart in his throat and dripping in his own lather.

The candlelight flickered, Dark orange hues blinking back and forth under the heavy weight of the room. Despite the sweltering heat from the fire and the glares he felt, It was almost as if time froze.

Almost dragging along, Waiting and watching.

"Perfect." The prophet mused with a grin. "Now as I've been told.. You have been behaving rather off recently, Haven't you? Some of your peers have come to me with their concerns, Saying that you haven't been participating in social activities, Ever since the recent festival in the village!"

A chill ran down Teiji's spine like frigid water, His jaw wound shut like a mechanical doll. Damn them, His peers. Teiji should've known that they would've gone to the monks about his behaviour, They told them everything after all.

Even after everything, Every event he participated in just to seem as regular as he usually was and acting like his brothers weren't gone. Someone had noticed, Someone had ratted him out.

The prophet frowned.

"Of course I worry for all of my followers, Your happiness here is my most important priority!" He fretted, Shaking his head as his fan continued to flitter. "So it saddens me to hear that one of you have become distant. Please, Don't be afraid to tell me what's wrong..~!"

Teiji swallowed, His mouth pooling in his own saliva. Could he really tell the founder? The man who had lead him and his flock through unnavigable storms, Who only weeks ago had told him that he had no idea where his brothers went?

The monks, The ones lingering by the votives pyre. They stared at him with an equally burning gaze, Their robes the colour of doves being unstained. They were listening to them, To their conversation.

The ones most certainly responsible for the disappearance of his siblings, No doubt.

Voicing his allegations, His accusations towards the monks in front of them could prove fatal. But would he really have any other chance to do so? The way they dissected him like a frog by their eyes, Teiji knew they'd do something even if he didn't speak his worries.

"Y-Your grace.. I must admit I am just a bit afraid." Teiji could barely contain his stammer through his grimace. "I am rather hesitant to say in front of so many, Perhaps it would be better to speak to you in private..?"

His grace hummed.

"Everyone here I trust from the bottom of my heart, I assure you that nothing spoken in here will leave this room!" He assured, Almost leaning forward on the large cushion he lazed upon. "I can make sure of that.."

Teiji's breath hitched.

He had to try.

He breathed out.

"..My brothers." He started, Eyes darting back and forth as if trying to find the words to say. "I-I came to you a few weeks ago about their disappearance, I was informed that they had ran away during the night but.. I'm having trouble believing that."

"Oh?" The prophet prompted, Raising a brow.

"..I believe that there may have been- And forgive me if I mispeak here, Your grace.. But, I believe there might have been some foul play." Teiji finally finished, The bead of sweat dripping down his brow finally dropped to the floor. His breath going stagnant with it.

The room fell silent, Much more than it was before.

Even the settling of the main hall felt deathly quiet, Nothing moving even an inch.

The monks gathering under the archways especially, Some going rigidly still. The bolder ones, However, Started to dart their eyes back and forth. From Teiji to their founder sat crowned at the top, Almost waiting for commands.

The sway of his fan, It paused mid-flutter. His graces gaze lowered as he looked at Teiji, Examining him just like the monks did only a few moments ago. Teiji could feel his stare burn onto the top of his head, The one pressed directly onto the floor.

"Aha.."

Teiji's lips thinned, Eyes widening as he heard it.

Could he have imagined it?

Then another came, And then another.

"Aha! I understand now! You're upset about your brothers leaving, Yes?" The prophet laughed, Almost relieved. "You must be wondering where they went. You must feel so horrible for them abandoning you.. Perhaps even betrayed? No wonder you suspect such a silly thing like foul play! You must want to find them, Yes?" The prophet asked, Smile widening.

Teiji gulped, Finally hauling his shaky head up to meet the visage of his founder. Eyes connecting only for a moment as Teiji slowly nodded, Confirming His Grace's words with the gesture.

The prophet hummed. The fan flicked to cover the wild grin appearing on the bottom of his face like a butterfly knife, The gold shimmer shining under the streaming moonlight. Just looking at the man before him..

Of course, He had been aware of what this one had been doing in his free time. His loyal disciples doing their job so wonderfully well, Reporting the ebony crow flying off into the air with a scroll tied up on it's necklace.

The prophet breathed out, His smile broadened to their very limits.

"I'm sure I can reunite you all very soon."

Next Chapter

[topgun-imagines]

Something More

Requested: yes

Summary: Jake and Bradley finally get the chance navigate their feelings through and old Christmas tradition.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: light angst. Feelings. Two confused idiots in love.

Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

The Dagger Squad was gathered around the hat in the center of Maverick and Iceman’s living room. Inside the hat sat the name of everyone in the group. One by one, they took turns drawing a piece of paper from the hat. Eventually, It came to Bradley's turn. He sat, resting against the couch while Maverick and Ice sat behind him. With a carefree smirk, the aviator reached into the hat, pulling out the last name he expected to see.

‘Jake Seresin’ was scrawled messily onto the paper, but Bradley was able to make it out clear as day. He could hear Mav and Ice snicker softly behind him. Of course those two would be amused by this. It hadn’t been long since Jake and Bradley had repaired their relationship. With the aftermath of the uranium mission, the both of them had agreed to start over, erasing everything that had happened in their past. That didn’t mean that he was ready to try and find a personalized Christmas gift for Jake, however. He could feel Phoenix nudge him in the ribs, distracting him from his internal battle.

The hat continued to be passed around the circle while Rooster sat in denial. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do this for Jake, it was just that he had no idea what to do. He could get him some crappy gift as a joke, as a way to distract from the heavy feelings that he didn’t want to dwell on. Or, he could find Jake the most special gift he could find and deal with his feelings when the time arrived. Either way, he had no clue how Jake felt, and if he made the wrong choice, he could screw up everything that they had been building.

Unbeknownst to Bradley, the hat had found its way into Jake’s hands. Bradley was shocked when the color seemed to drain from the pilot's face. It was unnerving to see the usually cocky aviator look so shell-shocked. A million and one thoughts raced around Bradley’s head. Who could Jake have gotten? And who would it have been to make him look so terrified? Part of him wished that Jake had drawn his name. However, the more realistic, cynic part of his mind desperately prayed that his name wasn’t the one causing Jake to look so pained.

Moments later the drawing of names came to an end. Bradley could still barely focus, mind caught in a trap of the horrid possibilities. When the group rose and began to disperse throughout the house, Maverick pulled him into the kitchen. It turned out that Maverick and Ice had an enormous house, one that they were kind enough to let the Daggers stay in for the holidays. Bradley let out a shuddering breath as his father figure offered him a knowing smile and wrapped him in a warm hug. All the tension that had been heavy in his shoulders moments ago had now melted away into nothing.

Upstairs, Jake was racking his brain, trying to figure out what to do. A gentle knock sounded at his door. Jake cleared his throat, willing his emotions to disappear. “Come in,” He called shakily. The nob turned to reveal the Admiral Kazansky standing on the other side. There was a knowing look on his face as the door clicked shut behind him. “Sir?” Jake questioned. Out of all the people that it could have been, he didn’t imagine the Commander of the Pacific Fleet to be standing in front of him.

The Admiral chuckled quietly. “We’re not at work, Son. Call me Tom,” Jake only nodded, jaw almost bouncing off the floor. The older man moved to take a seat on the bed, motioning for Jake to join him. “Should I bother asking who you got?” He pointed toward the folded piece of paper clutched between the younger aviator's fingers. Jake released a shaky, humorless chuckle. He almost jumped out of his skin when a warm hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to find Ice staring at him with a concerned expression. Growing up, Jake had never really been shown any type of fatherly love or affection. It felt odd to have someone like Iceman show it to him now.

“What do I do?” He questioned. The older man sighed, flashing him a pained smile. They remained sitting in silence. Tom’s mind flashed back to when he and Maverick had been like this; young and very confused. They had danced around their feelings for ages, finally snapping when they could no longer contain themselves.

Another sigh passed through Ice’s lips. “No one told me this when I was going through what you are,” He started, voice slightly pinched. People hadn’t been very accepting of who Ice was when they found out. The only reason that he had survived through the academy was Slider. With no father figure to look to for advice, Ice found that the only person he could rely on was his RIO. The same way that Jake leaned on Coyote. Until Maverick, or in Jake’s case Rooster, walked into their lives. They were quite similar in that way. “But it’s okay to feel how you do.”

That seemed to be the tipping point for Jake. Ice allowed the younger man a moment to collect himself before he continued. “No one ever told me that there was nothing wrong with how I felt until I met Slider and Maverick. Rooster’s a good kid,” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. “I know that your past with him hasn’t been easy. The two of you weren’t together but you still cared for him, didn’t you?” Jake nodded, eyes cast onto the floor. “He loved you too.” It was softer than a whisper when it passed through the Admiral's lips. But in this moment Jake knew that he wasn’t the Admiral Kazansky. He was Tom, a man that had experienced exactly what he was going through now.

The rest of the night was spent with Jake’s head buried in Tom’s shoulder, sobbing quietly. Tom continued to try and comfort him, hating that the man had to experience the same thing that he had all those years ago. He figured that Mav was helping Rooster in the same way, seeing as he hadn’t come looking for him yet. When the man finally cried himself to sleep, Tom pulled a blanket on and shut the lights off, leaving him to try and get a peaceful night's rest.

When Bradey woke up there was soft light streaming into the room. He squinted his eyes against it, groaning quietly. Memories of the night before rushed back to him, causing him to groan much louder into his pillow. He quickly got dressed and ready for the day. Today, he planned on heading to some stores to try and find a gift for Jake. After his conversation with Maverick last night, he decided that he would be looking for a meaningful gift for Jake. He only prayed that he felt the same way.

He made his way to the kitchen to find the majority of the Daggers seated around the large island, eating their breakfast. Ice and Maverick were leaning against the counter, sipping their coffee as they chatted quietly. His eyes finally settled on Jake. The blond was sitting at the end of the island, sipping on his drink wordlessly. Bradley could feel his breath catch in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mav offering him a comforting smile.

Bradley quickly made his breakfast. The sound of the toast popping from the toaster drew him out of his eavesdropping. He was trying to listen in while Phoenix, Bob, and Mickey discussed their plans for the day. After a few moments, he overhead that they were all going to go shopping. He quickly realized that he would have to go shopping as well, seeing as it was Christmas Eve and the presents would be opened tonight. Which meant that Jake would most likely be going as well.

When the group finally finished breakfast everyone divided into groups. Bradley nearly fell over when Jake climbed into the car next to him. Ice and Mav hopped in the front before Mav peeled out of the driveway. The car ride was mostly silent, save for the soft conversation of the older gentleman in the front. Eventually, the radio was turned on, filling the car with the quiet sound of music. Jake and Bradley refused to look at each other, both consumed in their own world.

They pulled up to the mall and all hopped out of the car. Once inside, they all decided to split up while looking for their gifts. Jake headed off in search of the best gift he could find, starting in the small antique shop within the mall. After a few minutes of browsing, he came upon what he classified as the perfect gift. Because they lived in Fighter Town, many of the trinkets that could be found had something to do with either Top Gun or the Navy. So, when Jake’s eyes landed on the small leather-bound notebook with an F-14 hand-painted on the front, he knew it was perfect for Bradley.

When the two of them had first met, Jake noticed that rooster could often be found writing in an old journal that he had. Later on in their situation, Bradley had confessed to Jake that it had been his father's. He had explained to the younger man that he often wrote down his worries and troubles. Since the passing of his mother and his argument with Maverick, he had no one to tell those things to. Even though Jake hoped that now Bradley would come to him if he needed him, he wanted him to be able to find comfort in something. He was almost positive that the other journal was full by now.

Without a doubt in his mind, Jake plucked the item off the shelf and brought it to the till. He offered the older lady at the till a small smile before purchasing it and exiting the store.

On the other side of the mall, Bradley stood over a jewelry case, debating his options. The idea had been racing around his mind since he woke up that morning about what he was going to get for Jake. During the car ride on the way there, a thought had popped into his head. Ever since the two had known each other, it was common to see one of them telling the other that they looked good. This led to where Bradley was now, bent over a display case full of rings. His plan was to purchase one for Jake and then have it engraved with those exact words.

After many minutes of debating between two choices, he finally made up his mind. The ring was a beautiful silver band with a thin strip of black running down the center. Throughout the black were a few cracks filled with gold. Bradley smiled slightly. He knew that it was meant to mimic kintsugi, something that had reminded him of his fractured relationship with Jake for years. Maybe there was hope that they could fix it.

He instantly purchased the ring. While he knew that it would end up costing much more than the original budget, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the meaning of the gift. He thanked the employee and headed over to the engraving kiosk on the far side of the mall. He was cautious to avoid anyone from his group. If he was honest with himself, he really didn’t need to be on the receiving end of Mav’s knowing looks right now.

Once he reached the kiosk, he was informed that what he wanted would only take 10 minutes. During that time he remained seated on a nearby bench. While still keeping an eye out for anyone that he knew, he scrolled through his social media feed. He was shocked when his name was called but with a quick glance at the time, he saw that the ten minutes had passed. He paid the man before slipping the ring back into its box. He tossed the bag from the jewelry store into the trash before placing the ring box in his pocket. Bradley prayed to whoever was listening that Jake would like the gift.

That night they all sat around the living room once more. A delicately wrapped gift was placed in front of each of them. Once they were done handing gifts out, Maverick and Iceman resumed their position on the couch. Bradley couldn’t help but let his eyes drift over to the gift sitting in front of Jake, eyes displaying nothing but anxiety. Maverick set a comforting hand on his shoulder.

One by one, they began to open the gifts, starting with Coyote. Bradley’s mind continued to wander throughout the entire thing. He was drawn out of his daydream by Ice thanking Phoenix. She had gotten him a lovely silk scarf in his favorite colors. Before he had even realized it, it was Bradley’s turn to open his gift. With shaking hands he undid the precise wrapping. When the cover of a beautiful journal came into his line of sight, he instantly knew who had given it to him.

While everyone moved on, Bradley picked up the book and opened the cover. Scrawled messily on the inside of the book were the words ‘I knew that you were going to be a very important person in my life since the moment I met you. I’m glad that I’ve had the chance to love you like I do, Bradley. I really hope that this time, we have the chance to be something more than just friends.’ The message nearly brought tears to his eyes but the tipping point was what was written underneath. In a messy scrawl were the words ‘Love always, Jake.” He was glad that no one’s eyes were trained on him.

His eyes raised just in time to see Jake unwrapping his gift. Bradley waited with bated breath as he lifted the lid of the ring box. He could see the tremor in his hands as he flipped the ring over in his hand. The small, awestruck smile that graced his lips when his eyes landed on the message on the inside sent a warm feeling into Bradley’s chest. When no one else was looking, Jake raised his eyes to Bradley and fixed him with the same look that he had come to know and love over the years. Unbeknownst to both of them, Maverick and Ice sat to the side, watching as the younger versions of themselves finally navigated their feelings for one another. Mav patted Tom’s knee gently, squeezing it gently. With a smile, Tom spoke quietly. “I love you too, Pete.” His words were a soft whisper, but his husband heard him loud and clear. The younger men in front of him shared soft glances.

Once the night had finally come to a close, Bradley found himself seated next to Jake on the couch. There was only a few inches of space between the two. Their thighs nearly touched when Jake shifted. “Thank you,” The younger pilot spoke quietly. Bradley only nodded, clearing his throat. “Really Bradley,” The use of his first name brought his attention to Jake. “Thank you.” With a knowing smile Bradley inched his hand closer to Jake’s on the couch. Jake, however, was the one to make the jump, grasping Bradley’s hand in his. The two of them remained silent. Jake grinned when he felt Bradley squeeze his hand three times, returning the gesture without hesitancy. Maybe this time they would do things the right way.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open.

[ducknotinarow]

[BaileyRichard]

Bailey always drank his drinks cold; simply because he wanted to take a million pictures of everything Richard served him. He wanted to share the beautiful art they would draw on top, the general aesthetic, the, well, everything about it. He just wanted to show off his husband's work! He didn't think there was anything wrong with that.

Richard didn't always appreciate it though, going on about how letting them go cold was ruining their flavour. Bailey brushed it off, they tasted great cold too.

But one day, Bailey decided to actually enjoy something when it was still steaming. He looked directly at Richard, as he dragged his mug, the warmth touching his knuckles as he lifted his mug to his beak. One sip was all it took for Bailey's eyes to widen and yelp out. Mug was down on the table, Bailey's mouth hanging open as he complained,

"That's really hot!!" He whined, "I burned my tongue..."

Bailey truly was an idiot. But he was Richard's idiot.

| Muse interaction

Richard had grown just used to making all of Bailey's drinks pink as possible even outside the current month. Bailey loved the color after all. Richard knew the rooster would drink anything he made even if it wasn't pink. And well accept anything if it wasn't pink. It was just a little extra step on Richard's part both on purpose a bit from habit thanks to doing so on purpose. But seeing the little smile on Bailey's beak when presented with a clearly marked drink for them? Was all the reason to keep doing it for his husband. Just one little simple expression and it had Richard feeling higher than in truth even any praise given his way ever had effected him. Love was weird he guessed. Least for someone who thought he should just be given praise for existing, to get such a reaction from an admittedly small gesture.

But with the cold air hanging in the city air and the fact they been severing items for the Valentines menu currently so a lot of what they were severing was pink and red even. But not everything got the same special touches like Bailey's drinks would. A simple pink hot chocolate. Well least that was what Richard was going to make when Bailey said he be heading over. Richard often greeted the rooster with a treat when they stopped by, but something in Richard's mind decided. 'No a pink hot chocolate isn't enough.' Richard starting to wonder if this was a odd love language thing on his part. Opting out for something off the menu. Making a Ruby rose Latte minus the coffee of course. Due to his husbands sensitivity to it.

So still on par of the hot chocolate just extra. As the ganache was ready to pour into the mug. Richard paused to dip the rim in some of the reaming chocolate and add sprinkles to the sides of it. Just because Bailey was working on being a recovered alcoholic didnt mean they had to miss out on some charms of a dressed up drink. Ganache was added it once the rim was set. Followed by the milk. Finishing it off with? Of course, a pink heart in the dead center. With smaller ones on the outside.

"Perfect." Richard boasted to himself , hearing the chime from the bell above the door, he looked over his shoulder. Timed it out just in time it seemed when Bailey was the one to walk through the threshold. Eyes bright, and face all done up with the usual amount of make up since someone insisted he was ‘unsavory’ with out it. Thick black mascara complimented those long lashes as they batted. Richard swore little hearts could be shaped from their pupils the second Bailey’s eyes were settled on Richard. As they walked on toward the usual spot that basically belong to the rooster in the cafe.

“Welcome Pollito,” Richard said as he set Baileys cup on the the saucer plate, going ahead to sever the cup to his husband. The cafe was in a lull at the moment for the first batch of early risers needing to grab some coffee to start thier work days off. So it was fine to step away for the time being. “Got Buddy to school fine this morning,” He reported as he bents down to plant a kiss to Bailey’s temple. The usual mundane conversation they would share. Bits of chit chat about their son Richard might make mention of the cats since Richard always had to make them a special drink as well. Dosen’t take long for Bailey to notice the decorate mug though as Richard lowers it down smiling proudly for a few moment because he knows Bailey is going to ruin it.

“I present a Ruby rose Latte, Bailey safe, of course, and approved.” As he pushes the mug over for the rooster to admire. Because Bailey always admired the eagle’s creations. No matter if it was new or not. “Basically I just made you fancy hot chocolate. But that isn’t very new in the end.” RIchard admits with a shrug of his shoulders. Moving to sit down with Bailey, it wasn’t busy at the moment all his current customers were fine and just relaxing either working on something or reading. Or happily minding their business on their phone. Regulars, so he knew they were all content for a good half hour at the moment. “Now go ahead and ruin my hard work by letting it become chocolate milk instead. Despite knowing that you are drinking it at it’s worst and not when you should. My coffee is like fine art. You should be-“

As Richard started to go on about his little tangent in the moment, he hardly even noticed that instead of pulling out his cell phone to take over a million photos of the one cup. Richard slightly noted the sound of ceramic against ceramic and peeked an eye open to see the rooster instead of lifting the mug up to his beak. It was a small action, but enough to shut him up before he went on about stroking his ego anymore. Notably, because he forgot what his point was in that moment since well, Bailey, not once since knowing them had really ever just drank a hot drink Richard made. Only for the second the hot liquid touched thier tounge had the rooster recoil and pull away from.the rim of the mug letting thier tounge hang out. And Richard sqore he heard the faint whine before they spoke already petting their beak in a thin fine line.

"That's really hot!!"

It took everything in Richard not to point out the obvious tk his husband at thar very moment.

"I burned my tongue..."

"Yes pollito hit drinks are hot very good, I'll make that in your lesson chat for later review." Richard smirks in response at Bailey before shaking his head a little. Mumbling a few phases in Spainish to himself amounting to. Calling Bailey his idiot. Before he scooted over to be closer to thier side. As he gently took hold of their jaw. "That is what happens when you only drink everything ice cold." He contuines to tease but still went for it after. "Hmm my poor baby though should I kiss it better for you?"

[gloryofroses19]

Ringside Attraction

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fiancée!reader

[y/n] wasn’t a stranger to feeling the gaze of Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. With a past full of loss and peripatetic career but a love for domesticity and companionship, [y/n] understood how the sight of her kept Bradley grounded in the present. His gaze spoke volumes when he was unable to with his body, as his other favorite pastime was to be near her. If his gaze was directed at her lips, she knew he would tease a kiss from her with no more than a boyish smile and a well-placed joke. If he gazed at her chest or ass, she knew they would end up pressed against each other in the near future showing their love in private. She wasn't, however, used to his stare being directed at her hands or more accurately her left ring finger. A finger which had recently become adorned with a diamond ring that spoke of their love and shared future. 

Bradley had always sought a place to call home after experiencing the love and loss of his parents so [y/n] knew the proposal would happen at some point. The night in question occurred a few weeks after their first anniversary. The day before, Bradley had claimed that he was going to help Iceman move boxes from the attic into his garage, but [y/n] found out later that he had actually gone to see Maverick. Though their relationship was strained, Bradley felt that he had to at least tell his ex-pseudo-uncle of his upcoming nuptials. 

The following morning, [y/n] had kissed Rooster Bradshaw goodbye at the door with a promise to meet him at the Hard Deck at 8pm as he made the two-hour drive to Fightertown, USA to guest lecture at Top Gun. 

[y/n] was none the wiser when she walked into the Hard Deck to find it devoid of anyone but a man in a Hawaiian shirt on one knee. A man, who proposed in the place where it reminded him of his father, the family he made in the Navy and their shared future.  A man, who spoke of the love he never thought was possible until a woman walked into his life at this very bar and called him “Brad-Brad”. 

Which brought [y/n] back to the present as it was becoming increasingly hard to speak to her fiancé when his attention was focused on the ring than her words. She often found herself staring at the ring throughout her day as well. The elation to being able to marry Bradley hadn’t lessened, if anything she was grateful for the ring because it served as a physical reminder that she was in fact marrying Prince Charming.

However, the future Mr and Mrs Bradshaw never shied away from jokes so [y/n] did what she knew best and teased the man. 

“I think we need to throw out the piano.” [y/n] began as she watched the pilot lounging on  her lap run his fingers over the ring. “Ok, whatever you think, darlin’.” 

Rolling her eyes, [y/n] used her foot to push the porch swing. “I’m going to run away and elope with Phoenix.” 

“Sure, baby.” The motion of the swing had Bradley closing his eyes as he cradled her hand to chest. But as the words “elope” and “Phoenix” swimmed in his mind, he shot up and turned toward his love. “You are not marrying any pilot but me!” 

[y/n] crossed her arms across her chest as she suppressed the urge to giggle at his clouded expression. “Oh, so now I have your attention.” 

“You always do.” Leaning in, Bradley brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose hoping to earn himself a kiss or at least a giggle. 

Pushing herself back against the plush swing pillows, [y/n] mustered all her self control to keep this charade up and not fall for those chocolate puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t give me that cute face.” 

Sensing that he was winning this, because Bradley Bradshaw was nothing but an expert on [full name], he shot her a boyish grin. “It’s the only one I got.” 

[y/n] was an idiot if she thought she could win this battle, the Lieutenant knew her controls just as much as he knew the controls of a F-18. “I’m happy that you’re happy.” 

Drawing her face towards, Bradley whispered against the plump expansion of her lips. “I’m the happiest, thank you for everything.” She gave in, pressing their lips together. Bradley spared no moment of hesitation. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips as a shiver of pleasure ran through her. Parting for air, Bradley made no move to separate their bodies and instead had his thumb rub up and down the hollow of her neck. He  let a smile grow across his swollen lips, leaving [y/n] to ponder the oncoming trouble. “Plus let’s not pretend you don't do your own share of appreciative staring, baby.” 

“Not to the point that I don’t listen!” 

“Really? What about yesterday?” Bradley asked with an incredulous tone and raised eyebrows. 

“What about yesterday?” [y/n] remembered it well. Bradley was sporting a wife-beater while the warm San Diego heat had him glistening gold between his sun kissed skin and sweat. But her fiancé didn’t need to know that. 

“Well,” Bradley began before placing a kiss on her neck and continuing to do so between each phrase. “You were keeping me company,” a kiss left his lips.

“In the garage,” accompanied by another and an unintentional tickle from his mustache. 

“When I was working on the Bronco and…” a sigh left her parted lips as his lips left another. [y/n] was left to wait with bated breath as Bradley’s mouth whispered in her ear. “And I had to throw a towel at you to get your attention.”  However, her bated breath turned into a shriek as her fiancé took a playful bite out of her neck. 

With the shriek still sounding in the air, their puppy Darcy left her perch on the other side of the deck to investigate the noise.  

“It was loud because of Mr. Anderson’s lawnmower!” [y/n] argued, leading Bradley to pause his petting of Darcy to give her a look of skepticism.  

“Let’s not blame your sinful gaze on our 80-year-old neighbor, the man is a veteran.”

A/N: Thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated!

Taglist: @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[simpforrooster]

game on. 

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x F!Reader; slight Hangman x F!reader

Pete finds himself competing with Hangman, but it's not about who is the better pilot.

t/w: mention of an age gap, cursing, alcohol, betting.

a/n: literally posting this seconds before my students come into the classroom xD I had this idea during my planning period yesterday and couldn't stop thinking about it until I finished it!

Maverick’s temper bubbled in the deep pit of his stomach watching you laugh at something Hangman told you. You made it worse by grabbing Hangman’s bicep to hold yourself steady. A few drinks in, and Maverick knew you were feeling them. Hangman catches his eye and winks. 

Game on. 

It was no secret that you’d captured Maverick and Hangman’s attention, almost simultaneously. The day you wandered into the Hard Deck, the same expression covered both men's faces. Phoenix rolled her eyes at the men practically undressing you with their eyes. Maverick felt slight shame for being caught so openly checking out a lady, but he couldn’t help it. Not with you. 

You decided to play dirty tonight. Forgoing your usual t-shirt and jean shorts for a sweet little sundress. Although, sweet may not be the right word. You feigned innocence around the men, but you knew what you were doing. 

Not being able to take much more of Hangman shooting his shot, Maverick orders your favorite drink after noticing yours was empty. Mav saunters over to where you and Hangman stood. You notice him immediately. 

“Maaaaaavvvvv,” you called out, giving him the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. There is nothing better than the way you smile at him. Maverick returns your smile and hands you the drink. 

Your eyes grow at the gesture. “Mavvvvv,” you draw his name out again. “Thank you!” Raising yourself onto your tiptoes, you place a fast kiss on his cheek. His cheek lights up like a firework, and goosebumps appear along his arms. 

If that’s how he reacted to a cheek kiss…he couldn’t imagine how he’d react with more. At least not in public. 

Anger forms all over Hangman’s face. While you were preoccupied with trying to get the strawberry out your drink, Maverick gave Hangman a little wink. 

Checkmate. 

The blonde aviator was not going to take the challenge lightly. You stand between the men, completely oblivious to the staring contest happening between the two of them. 

~

Rooster and Bob are watching the showdown from the piano. Rooster just finished playing a nice rendition of an Ed Sheeran song when he noticed the two men. 

“Who do you think is going to win her over?” Rooster asks Bob. The entire team was well aware how Mav and Hangman felt about you. You were the only one who couldn’t see it. 

Bob peers over to the love triangle that could rival Twilight. “Hard to say. She always seems to gravitate more to Mav than Hangman.”

Rooster takes in his Godfather, seeing what Bob saw. Maverick leaned against the table with this effortless swagger. Swagger that you seemed into. There was no denying you found both men attractive, you always stood closer to the brunette than the blonde. Hangman was aware of this. 

Rooster couldn’t lie. At first, the idea of his father figure pining after a woman his age kind of worried him. But once he saw how truly in Maverick was, and what an actual angel you were, he found himself rooting for it. 

“Yeah. I think Mav’s got this.” 

“$25 says Hangman bags her, pun intended,” Coyote says, joining in on the conversation. 

“I’m not betting on their love life,” Bob chides. Bob zeros in on the situation a little harder. “Actually, you’re on.” 

Rooster shakes his head, then adds onto Bob’s bet Maverick wins the girl. 

~ 

Jake’s annoyance has hit the fucking ceiling with his captain. It didn’t help that you seemed to be putty in Mav’s hand. Ever since he joined the two of you, you’ve only had eyes for the older aviator. 

Jake’s never been one to worry with age gaps in relationships. However, when the other guy was twenty plus years older, it seemed like a no brainer you’d choose Jake. 

That doesn’t seem to be the case as Jake watches you pull toward Maverick. Naturally, over the course of the conversation, you’ve become more engrossed with Maverick. Jake couldn’t ignore the effortless way the two of you interacted with each other. You seem

to hang on to everything he tells you, like it’s a secret code you’ll need for later.  

Jake can’t say the same about himself. He always has your attention for about 7 minutes, and then your attention is elsewhere. Looking for something around the bar. 

Or someone.  

Like Maverick. 

~ 

All you wanted was for Hangman to go rope one of the guys into a game of darts, leaving you alone with Pete. 

You can’t lie, Jake is fun to hang out with. He’s fun to goof off with. He’s certainly fun to flirt with. That was his problem. 

He was fun. 

It was hard to envision yourself long term with Jake. He just didn’t seem like that type.

The drink Maverick brought over to you was just enough to push you over that line of tipsy to drunk. Not wasted, of course, but just enough to give you a good amount of courage. 

You’ve found yourself drifting towards Pete the longer he’s been here. Longing for him to pull you into his body. The kiss you gave him earlier was almost too much. It was like a taste of forbidden fruit, and now you wanted the whole thing. 

Maverick is still leaning against the table, looking delicious in that bomber jacket he always wears. His Ray-Bans hang from the plain white tee he’s wearing underneath. He and Jake seem to be in some silent battle with one another. Knowing these men, it’s probably who was the better pilot. 

Jake finally concedes, telling the two of you he’s going to play a game of darts. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I thought he’d never leave,” you mumble before you can hold the words in. 

Maverick cocks his ear closer, he heard. He gives you a smirk. 

“Me, either,” he says. 

~ 

This was his chance. You’d all but confirmed you didn’t like Hangman. Not in the way that Jake likes you. 

Not in the way Maverick likes you. 

God, he likes you. So much. 

“Want to get out of here?” he whispers to you. 

Your eyes light up, and it sets Mav’s heart ablaze. There is no way you’re choosing him over Hangman. 

As you slip your hand in Maverick’s, it hits him. You are. 

“Where do you want to go?” you ask him. Your voice is low, almost breathless, like you can’t believe this is happening either. 

“Honey, I’ll go anywhere with you. But before that, I have to kiss you.” he tells you. A pink flush falls across your cheeks, and he knows that has nothing to do with the alcohol you consumed. You like him as much as he likes you. 

Maverick feels like a 20-something fresh recruit again. The adrenaline pumping through his veins as he pulls you by the waist into him almost rivals the feeling he got the first time he went up in an F-14.

You respond by bringing your arms around his neck. With uneven breaths, Maverick closes the space between you. He kisses you like he’s never kissed anyone else. The relief that washes over him almost knocks him out. Maverick makes out with you right in the middle of the bar, and he couldn’t care less. 

When you two pull back, your face even redder than it was earlier, Maverick catches Coyote handing cash to Bob and Rooster. Rooster catches his eye and winks. 

masterlist

[kryptonitejelly]

I don’t know if this is one you can post but for the flyboy universe 🥺 one of them mentions he knew when he was in high school he was in love with you

But I just thought maybe a blurb about him taking you to prom but then flashes of the parallel in modern times of him taking you (his new wife/fiancé) to the naval ball and how much has changed and how much is still the same and just some little head cannons of how absolutely delighted you both are and maybe some silly flashes of the things you both had wanted to do/wished the other would have done back then

ahhhh this is soooo cute! yes, yes, he did in Part 5 of Flyboy!

context: Flyboy (mentions of male masturbation below) and ties in with this drabble

“Time’s up Bradshaw, give me back my wife.” Jake’s voice cuts in as Rooster gives you a final twirl around for good measure as the notes to the upbeat song ends.

“Not your wife yet Hangman,” Rooster teases, to which Jake snorts dismissively, waving a hand in his face. You both weren’t married just yet, but the date was fast approaching, with the RSVPs of the entire uranium mission team locked in months ago.

“How many more people are you going to let correct you,” you laugh breathily, catching your breath as Rooster saunters away, in search of Phoenix, and Jake slides his arms around your waist, his hands pressing against the silky fabric of your dress as the song changes to one with a slower pace and the lights dim; you throw your hands loosely around his neck. Jake had started calling you his wife a few weeks ago, his term of address for you alternating between retaining the term fiancé only on occasion - you didn’t mind it, it made your heart skip a beat each time he referred to you as his “wife”.

“There’s nothing to correct,” Jake grins, pressing his lips to yours, his hands pulling you closer against his front as you both sway, at his lead, to the music. You roll your eyes, but the smile pulling at the corners of your lips tells your true feelings on the matter.

“Do you remember prom?” Jake asks, out of the blue, and you squint at him quizzically.

“I do,” you draw out your words, tilting your head to one side, wondering where this was going, “Mindy Taylor dumped you two months before so I had to go with you,” you pause, sliding a hand to cradle his jaw, a mischievous grin on your face at the thought of the day you had to be Jake Seresin’s saviour. Jake smiles at you, the curve of his lips hiding a secret, before he speaks.

“I broke up with Mindy Taylor so that I could take you to prom,” his admission makes your brows knit, confusion clouding your eyes.

“You dumped Mindy Taylor?”

“I did.”

“But you told me she dumped you!” You gasp, pulling your head back slightly in shock to stare at the twinkling green eyes which glint in the dim lights of the ballroom, as Jake shakes his head lightly from side to side.

“It was the least suspicious, and sure fire way of getting you to go to prom with me without you overthinking it,” Jake takes in your shocked expression, eyes wide, realisation and comprehension as to why Mindy Taylor had been glaring daggers at you all night that fateful day, before leaning forward to plant a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheek, and then your lips. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you that day,” Jake mutters, his head ducking, lips finding your neck, as he plants a series of feather light kisses on your skin.

“Did you,” you ask, slightly absent minded, your brain still working through the realisation, while simultaneously distracted by Jake’s lips against your neck.

“You have no idea,” he says, his teeth nipping slightly at the spot below your ear, before his head straightens to find your eyes again, “and the way you looked in that green dress, off the shoulder, wrapped around your body, with the slit that ran right up your thigh,” Jake shifts his hand to the side of your leg, ducking under the silky fabric of the dress you had on today, with a similar slit, running up the side, fingers squeezing your skin, “it did things to 18 year old me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake’s hand runs its way back out from the slit, securing itself around your waist again as you ask, leaning your forehead against his, “what things?”

“Pretty sure I jerked off twice to the image of you that night.” Jake says, expression serious, his admission legitimate, and it makes you giggle, your head falling into his shoulder, shoulder shaking. Jake only holds you tighter as you let the laughter out of your system, a small smile on his own lips as you both continue swaying to the music - the action jolting another memory for Jake, of you in his arms, swaying to a similarly slow song at prom, giggling into his shoulder at something he had said which made you laugh; so many things had changed, and yet none. “I hope I don’t have to repeat my post prom night activities again today,” Jake ducks his head, lips brushing against your ear as your giggles slow.

“I’ll take care of you Jakey,” is the response he receives from you as you lift your head to look at him, mirth still decorating your features at the revelation, eyes twinkling in a mix of amusement and mischief. Jake had always been candid with you throughout your friendship, and it hadn’t changed as you progressed in your relationship.

“Good,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were at the Naval Ball, surrounded by both his peers and superiors, his hands reaching down your waist, cupping the globes of your ass, and squeezing, causing you to whine lightly into his shoulder, the sound, albeit soft, catching Phoenix’s ears a few steps away, which makes her whisper something to Rooster, the two Naval Aviators looking towards you and Jake, “looking forward to being taken care of by my wife.”

“Not your wife yet Seresin.” You tease, mimicking Rooster’s earlier words, as Jake’s hands go back to holding you by the waist.

“I swear to god I’ll drive you to Vegas now and marry you,” Jake says, serious - because he would, but joking - because his grandmother and mother would never let him live it down, and you - you deserved a proper wedding. It earns him another giggle from you, and Jake settles for capturing your lips in a kiss again, his smile something you can feel against yours.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Tailspin | Chapter 18

Maverick x F!Reader

FINAL CHAPTER!! Thank you to everyone who's been following this story! Please let me know if you've enjoyed the ride. AND stay tuned for a sequel set in the TGM era :D It will be Rooster x OC, Maverick x Amelia (OC).

Summary: The year is 1986. The air is heavy with the smell of burnt kerosene and sweat. And the San Diego sun is hot, but the fighter jocks are hotter.

Maverick swears he’s been here before. Falling, spinning, losing control. Only this time he’s not in the cockpit. This time, he’s with you.

And all you want to do is live a little.

CW: swearing, love triangle, angst, elements of infidelity, sad Ice

Start from the beginning: Chapter 1

You stand at the gate, anxiously waiting as several government officials walk in and out of the doors behind which Maverick is being processed before being released with a warning, according to his commander, Viper, who has arrived to personally escort him back to base.

You're gripping the handrail just to have something to hold onto because otherwise you'd still be pacing back and forth, like you have been for the past two hours. Finally, the doors slide open and Maverick walks out with Viper at his back, a sheepish smile spreading on his face when he sees you.

Maverick glances over his shoulder at Viper, who nods at him. Maverick looks back at you, his pace quickening as he makes his way through the winding dividers toward you. Once past the posts, he starts hopping over the roped barriers at a run. You chuckle, shaking your head but simultaneously admiring his agility.

He jumps over the last rope and you throw your arms around his neck as he lifts you off the ground, smiling at you while you bring your head down to his. You slide your hands through his hair and over his face, your lips locking on his as he slowly lowers you back to the ground.

You feel his hands glide unhurriedly up your hips, lingering for a few moments on your waist as his fingers dig into you to pull you closer.

"Hey," he mutters against your lips. "Fancy seeing you here."

You start laughing, breaking away from the kiss to look up at him, but he leans forward, catching your bottom lip between his teeth.

"Not yet," he whispers, drawing you back in.

You smile, feeling his mouth move along your jaw when you do. "You're crazy, you know that?" you say softly.

"Mm-hm," he responds, his arms snaking around you again, bringing you into his chest.

You tuck your head under his chin and he lowers his face to kiss the top of your head. You wrap your arms around him.

For a few moments, you rock back and forth, holding onto one another. Then, Maverick mutters quietly into your hair, "Where were you going?"

You take a small breath, resting your lips along the curve of where his neck meets his shoulder, and kiss the skin under the green collar of his flight suit before pulling away. He watches you withdraw with a hurt look on his face but doesn't stop you this time. "I took a leave of absence from school," you say.

He nods. "I heard."

You let out a sigh at the sight of his wounded expression. "I needed to go somewhere neither of you would find me."

"Why?"

"So you could concentrate on what's important. Your career. Your professional relationships. If I'd have gone back to Berkeley, both of you would be on my doorstep in half a minute."

Maverick bites his lip as his mouth curves upward. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just here to see Mötley Crüe play the Whiskey."

You chuckle. "It wasn't going to be forever. I was planning on coming back in a few months. After you and Tom have moved on and forgotten about me."

Maverick raises his eyebrows. "You think I would've forgotten about you in a few months?"

You meet his gaze. "I don't know," you say.

He furrows his brows and takes a step toward you. "Don't you?" He reaches forward to take your hand.

Your eyes slide over to Viper, who's standing near the gate, watching the two of you with an unreadable expression. "How much trouble are you in?" you ask.

Maverick squints up as if he's deciding how much to tell you. "Could've been worse," he finally says.

You nod. "You think? You were hurtling a machine armed with thousands of pounds of artillery at an airport."

He purses his lips nonchalantly. "Plane wasn't loaded with air-to-ground ordnance."

"You're lucky you're alive."

He watches you levelly. "Ice saved my life," he says.

You lower your gaze. "Viper told me," you respond.

Maverick's hand squeezes yours gently and you look back up. "Please don't go," he whispers. His green eyes search yours, trying to read you – or trying to sway you.

But you've made up your mind. "It's not like I can come back, Maverick," you say.

He hangs his head, nodding, his eyebrows knotted. He glances up after a few moments, sighing and wiping his eyes with his palm. Then, he sets his jaw and breathes out through his nose. "I'm not leaving without you," he says resolutely.

"Maverick, how do you see this playing out? Tom will" –

"Tom won't," he says forcefully. "Trust me, I can handle Tom."

"I don't want you to handle anybody. It's just not going to work."

Maverick looks over your shoulder with a solemn expression. "Ice helped me get to you," he says. "Do you think he would do that if he still had an issue with this?"

"I think he helped you because he didn't want you dead. I don't think it means he's okay with you and me."

Maverick watches you wistfully. He takes a step forward, his eyes holding your gaze. "Say that again," he says.

You blink at him in confusion. "Say what again?"

He leans his head on yours and whispers, "You and me." He closes his eyes. "Me and you. That's all I want. Please."

You release a shaky sigh, letting your eyes fall shut as his breath washes over your face. You sense your will dissolve in the space between your lips and his. Faintly, as his mouth sweeps over yours, you recall him boasting about his powers of persuasion, and you smile softly. "Okay," you say, and then he kisses you before you can change your mind.

...

That evening, you and Maverick walk into the bar after you spend nearly four hours at the hangar while Jester and Viper dig into Maverick for his unprecedented behavior. Before you even have an opportunity to glance around at the tables, you hear your name being hollered over the hum of conversation. You look in the direction of the sound and see Goose standing up at his table, waving you down with both arms.

You grin, shaking you head. You know that he and Carole had a hand in helping Maverick locate you before it was too late and, while you're grateful, you're also not entirely surprised. Goose has had your back from the start.

To Goose's left sits Slider, his face obscured by a pint of beer. And across from Slider is Tom's blond head. He turns to look over his shoulder and his eyes meet yours across the room. You waver, unsure how to approach the situation.

Maverick places a hand on your back, ushering you forward. He brings his head down to your ear to say, "He had every opportunity to kill me and didn't."

"Maybe he was waiting until I was around to witness it," you say dryly.

Maverick chuckles as the two of you approach the table.

"Boy, am I glad to see you guys," Goose says with relief. He looks up at Maverick. "How bad was it?"

Maverick makes a face. "I'll tell you about it later," he says.

Tom chuckles at this and you eye him warily as he clenches his fist. He's observing Slider set down his beer, and then he knocks his knuckles on the table. "Pay up, Slider," he says.

Goose starts chortling. "That's right, Slider." He lays his hand flat on the table with his palm up.

Slider lets out a heavy sigh and reaches into his back pocket.

Your gaze shifts between Tom and Goose and Slider, as the latter drops a fifty in each of their hands. You furrow your eyebrows. "What is happening?"

"Oh," Goose waves a hand casually. "We had a wager going."

Maverick grins. "About?" he asks.

Tom lifts his eyes to look at Maverick. "What do you think?"

"Ice and I were sure you'd convince Amelia to come back," Goose says. "Slider didn't think you could do it."

Maverick brings a fist to his chest. "You wound me, Slider," he says.

"I didn't think you'd make it in time," Slider grumbles.

You watch Tom carefully as he chuckles to himself. "That's because you didn't see him before he left," he says.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

Tom glances up at you and then eyes Maverick knowingly. "You could just tell that he'd find you. He wouldn't have come back until he did."

"Easiest fifty I ever made, that's for sure," Goose says, grinning.

Maverick pulls up two chairs for you and him and you lower yourself into one of them uncertainly, still watching Tom cautiously. Instead of sitting beside you, Maverick stoops down and puts a hand on your shoulder, bringing his face to yours.

He's smirking mischievously at you. "So, how 'bout it?" he says. "You going to let me buy you that drink, or what?"

You smile at him nervously, painfully aware of Tom's gaze burning a hole in your temple. "Sure," you say quietly.

Maverick straightens his back and Tom pipes in. "She'll take a Long Island Iced Tea," he says.

You look over at him sharply while Maverick just laughs, clapping Tom on the back. "Something tells me this won't be the last time I'll be needing your counsel, Kazansky."

Tom rolls his eyes. "Something tells me you already have the upper hand, Maverick," he says flatly.

Maverick squeezes Tom's shoulder and, after a few seconds of deliberation, he says, "I appreciate what you did for me, Ice," he says.

Tom watches his drink impassively, as if the sincerity of Maverick's gratitude is making him uncomfortable.

"I know that it cost you the trophy," Maverick continues.

Tom glances up at you pointedly, as if you were the trophy in question. You swallow awkwardly, lowering your gaze. Of course, every one of the pilots at the table forfeited their chance at the Top Gun trophy when they made the decision to go along with Maverick's outrageous stunt. Tom lets out a sigh and looks up at Maverick with a grimace. "There are more important things in life," he responds.

Maverick nods, holding out his hand. Tom cringes at it but extends his own hand anyway, giving Maverick a handshake in the spirit of camaraderie. Maverick flashes a quick smile in your direction and then walks away from the table while Tom's gaze gradually settles on you.

"Tom," you start, but he holds up a hand.

He takes a swig of beer and sucks in his cheeks. "Who was I kidding, Amelia?" he says. "The moment the two of you met, nobody else stood a chance." He shrugs. "It was instantaneous, and it wasn't your fault. And it wasn't his fault. It was fate."

You stare at him. "I don't know what to say," you utter.

He sighs. "It doesn't happen too often – that immediate, intense connection."

Goose nods. "You guys just clicked." He snaps his fingers. "Sorry, Ice," he adds, eyeing Tom warily.

Tom shakes his head. "Who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

"How drunk are you?" you ask, and the three of them start laughing heartily. Their levity eases your nerves, and you realize that they're probably just happy to have their friend back alive and well.

Maverick returns to the table with your drink, looking around curiously. "What's so funny?" he asks, sitting down beside you.

"Your girlfriend," Tom says.

Maverick glances over at you with a smirk and rests his arm on the back on your chair. You feel his fingers glide over your shoulder blade, his thumb gently stroke the back of your arm. "We haven't really discussed the boyfriend, girlfriend thing," he says playfully, his eyes boring into yours.

"Uh," you hesitate.

He chuckles. "What do you say, Amelia?" he asks, his crooked smile stretching. "Do I have a shot here?"

Read the Sequel

Tag List:

@babyspiderling

@kaifarren

@tomhiddlestonsleftkneecap

@glamorousangels

@capswife

@fresh-new-yoik-watah

@hariestyles1

@psycho-magnotheric-slime

@avanisbored

@newstart-newheart

@devvbabyy

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@malindacath

[flowercrown-bard]

I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ‘Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

--

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

--

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

[the-sinful-voice-witch]

TIME TO LOVE A CHARACTER:

Vector the crocodile! 🐊💚

What's not love about this character? He is hilarious and was always meant to be funny! (He literally starts dancing in his first appearance in 2D games if you stop moving him for a while 😂) he is a great leader! With love for dramatics, music and money 🤑🤑💰💰 He works better for comedy relief than boom knuckles horrendous blatant retarded stupidity or Amy's crazy stalker side (those can be more annoying than funny) but Vector was wonderful! Even in his TV shows apparitions like sonic x and even his only one time in Sonic boom (i liked the jacket but why did they take away the headphones?���) Being a reality star detective with a Show... That fitted his personality too well 😂😂.

But comic relief or not Vector is a character that knows when to be serious and I want to spot on the parts of him i liked the most in the IDW comics, I'm glad they are doing justice to him!🥰

First, the design: IDW art kicks the olds art style ass!

Aww just look at them!!😍

This heartbreaking moments...🥺🥺🥺 Vector defending his zombottified Kid and sacrificing himself to buy some time for the survivors 😢😢 he is just the best leader. I remember when he made the hard choice of caging between cars an infected citizen who was scared and crying and then charmy got mad at him and went back to her only to get infected too yet Vector was unable to leave his kid behind... 😭😭😭 LOVE HIM.

OMG 😭😭 just look at them!! After the end of the apocalypse! Reunited and singing together with Charmy sitting in his hand 👌👌🥲🥲 (but I have to say that... It's weird that they draw Vectors tail that way... I think the tail should be behind like Spio's) Also I wish they put a happy tear on Spio's eyes after all the emotions he went through 🥲

Jajaja I love this one! Because Vector is dancing with Amy and he is so tall he is lifting her 😂 it was nice seeing them dancing because I remembered that unnameable game about riding extreme gears where those two teamed up and for some reason they made Amy a obnoxious bitch (which she isn't 😡🤬), it was pretty weird seeing that messed up mix of chaotix and Rose teams... Wtf, anyway let's forget forever about that game. But also remembered his only episode in Sonic boom and I loved that Amy was a fan of his Show and trusted him more than Sonic 🤣🤣

Ok 2 things: first his facial expressions...👌👌🤣🤣 I love it when they imitate manga funny faces

Second... One of the things i loved the most in Sonic X was Vector Crush on Cream's mom Vanilla and I'm so glad they made this reference like he still has the crush as long as she shows up (by the way is it me or Vanilla looks hotter and hotter in this comics than her other apparitions? I am. Not. Complaining.😗💘) I think Vector is the oldest main sonic character (not counting Shadow, he is mentally 15) but Vanilla must be older than him, he likes women older than him uh 😏😏😏 like Knuckles... Jejeje Also he is great dad material.

(hey, that rooster is copying Vector style in necklace lol)

And my last ones cause this is getting long, like I said he is dad material, he would be a great stepfather for cream, to me he already has another kid anyway because I see him as Charmy's caretaker and Charmy has Cream age. Look how he is cradling him is his big arm 🤗🤗🥰 and... Another heartbreaking moment with our poor babygirl Belle just look how gentle and caring he is trying to soothe Belle and caressing her head🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭 nobody will change my mind that he would be the best Dad.

And that's all my love for Vector on this post, see you at the next one! ��💋💋