#i think he just has. permanent sunburn

[dilulusion]

lil tiny apollo i drew in aggie w an oomfie :3 its based on this official art that im obbbsessed with hes such a cutie

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.

[quintinh43]

The Best Summer Ever | Quinn Hughes

Summary: First summer at the lakehouse, and it couldn't be better.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Teacher!Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, just some pure sweetness. Part of this universe but can be read on its own!

Wc: 3.6k

-

As you lounge in the backyard of the lake house, with a book in hand, working on your tan, and Quinn napping beside you, you surmise that coming to Michigan with Quinn for the summer was one of the best decisions you've ever made. 

Quinn lays on his stomach, with his head pillowed in the crook of his arms. He hadn't planned to nap, but the two of you had gone on a run along the waterline this morning, and then Quinn had a training session with the boys. He had conked out, less than ten minutes after he had stretched out beside you.

You glance at the time on your phone, Quinn has been asleep for almost an hour. You bookmark your page, deciding it's time to wake him up, before his lovely golden tan turns into a massive sunburn. You flip onto your stomach and delve your fingers into Quinn's hair, gently working through the tangles. 

The humidity was doing wonders for his curls, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't absolutely head over heels for summertime Quinn. The tan, the curls, the way his cheeks always seemed to be flushed from heat, the smile that seemed permanently etched into his face. You drop a kiss to his shoulder, and your other hand traces light patterns along his spine. 

Pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his shoulders and upper back, your fingers massage his scalp steadily. He makes a low noise of contentment, and you grin against his sun-kissed skin. "Quinn," you murmur against his skin. 

He doesn't respond. You press a kiss to the crook of his neck, and he stirs under you. Another behind his ear. And the underside of his jaw. 

His chest rumbled with a soft hum, and he nuzzled his head against the crook of his arm with a sleepy sigh. You giggle and pull out your phone to snap a photo of him. He reminds you of a cat napping in the sun.

"Quintin," you mutter against his skin, he gives you a sleepy grunt, "wake up honey," you say softly, carding your fingers through his hair, "if you don't turn over you're going to get a horrid burn on your back," you coax, tugging ever so gently on his curly locks. 

Quinn rolls over with a huff. Suddenly his arms are around you and he's pulling you on top of him. You squeal in surprise as he situates you between his legs comfortably, your forearms resting on either side of his head. He squints one eye open, with a glare. Half because you woke him up and half because the sun was so bright.

"Why'd you wake me up?" He huffs. 

You snort, detangling yourself from his arms, "Cause you whine like a bitch when you're sunburnt." His jaw drops, and you grin, kissing him on the cheek sweetly. 

"I can't believe you just called me a bitch," he gasps, all traces of sleep disappearing from his body.

"I'm just telling the truth," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Quinn sits up, pulling your sunglasses off, you squint your eyes, frowning at the sudden brightness. 

You screech in alarm, as Quinn is suddenly grabbing you around the waist, holding you tight to his body and walking towards the dock. "Quinn," you gasp "What are you doing?"

"I think someone needs to cool down her attitude a little," Quinn smirks, his tone like he's scolding a child.

"Quinn," there's slight panic in your tone, "please no, I'm sorry" You flail your legs trying to escape his hold before he tosses you into the lake. 

"Sorry baby, I can't hear you over my bitchiness," Quinn snarks, nipping at your ear playfully. You yelp, twisting in his hold. 

"I didn't mean it, you aren't a bitch, you're the sweetest man to ever exist, you have never been bitchy in your life! You deserve the world and I love you with all my heart!" You ramble, pressing kisses to his face in hopes that he will have mercy.

Quinn is smiling mischievously, "Gotta do better than that baby," he's standing at the edge of the dock.

"Quintin Jerome Hughes!" You warn, wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, "I swear to God if you-" Before you can finish your threat, Quinn is jumping off the dock with you wrapped around him.

The shock of being plunged into cold water after being in the sun for over an hour is brutal. You resist the urge to scream purely because you're underwater and you don't need a mouth full of water. 

As your heads break the surface, you gasp for air. Quinn's grin is infectious and you can't help but grin back. "How's the attitude? Cooled off yet?" He asks smirking. 

You unwrap your legs from around his waist, kicking them back and forth underwater to help keep the two of you afloat. Your arms wrap around his neck tugging on his now wet hair, "Think I'm still a bit hot," you smile teasingly, pushing on his shoulders to dunk his head under water. 

Quinn gasps for air as he goes down. You cackle as he fails to drag you under with him. He comes up, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, and lunging after you with a grin.  You swim away with screeching laughter. You splash Quinn aggressively in an attempt to save yourself.

Suddenly there’s a loud whooping coming from the dock, along with heavy footsteps. Then Jack is cannonballing into the water. Luke follows after him flipping off the dock in a fancy maneuver that briefly leaves your heart in your throat. As soon as their heads break the surface, they grin mischievously. The four of you lose track of time and end up fooling around in the water for hours, splashing, wrestling, racing, and every other possible game you can think of.

By the time Ellen is calling you out of the water to get ready for dinner like a bunch of children, Jack is sporting a wicked sunburn across his nose and cheeks and you and Luke have probably swallowed half of Lake Erie from the amount that Quinn and Jack have been dunking you under water and splashing you in the face.

You hoist yourself onto the dock and offer Quinn a hand to help pull him up, he takes it with a grin and pulls you back into the water with a cackle. You pout at him, as you move your wet hair out of your eyes. Quinn kisses the pout right off your face, and you can’t help but melt into it, locking your arms around his neck and kissing him back. 

“Ewwww!” Luke screeches, as he and Jack begin to splash the two of you all over again. 

“Children!” Ellen barks, unable to keep the smile off her face, “Out of the water or you will  be late for your dinner plans!”

There is a collective grumbling amongst the four of you, but you exit the water nonetheless. This time, Quinn doesn't pull you back into the water, lest he face the wrath of his mother. Ellen and Jim had plans with a few of their friends while Luke and Jack had been invited to have dinner with a few other NHL guys who lived on the lake. Originally, you and Quinn had been invited too, but Quinn had politely declined in favour of taking you out on a good ol’ classy dinner date at the country club. 

As bad as you felt about declining the invite, you were excited to have Quinn to yourself for the evening. The only time you and Quinn got a moment alone for yourselves was usually when you were going to sleep, so you were looking forward to this Dinner date.

Quinn wraps a towel over your shoulders as the four of you head up to the house, Jack and Luke sprinting ahead to fight over who gets to use their shower first. “You shower first?” Quinn mutters against your wet hair.

“We could shower together,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively “save some water.” Quinn chuckles, pressing another kiss to your hair fondly, “Trust me, baby, if we shower together, we definitely won’t be saving water.”

You laugh along with him, knowing he’s right, “I’ll be quick,” you assure, stripping out of your swimsuit and stepping under the cool spray of water. You run through your shower steps as quickly as you can and are in and out in ten minutes. While Quinn showers you do your hair and makeup, keeping it simple and sticking to your usual routine for fancier events. As you apply mascara on your lashes, you’re a bit giddy for dinner tonight. 

The dress you picked out, was a classy white number that you had been saving for something fancy, and you were excited to finally be able to wear it. And also to see Quinn’s reaction to you in it. He hops out of the shower and is quick to change into a stylish short-sleeved white button-up and a pair of beige slacks.

“Do my hair?” he asks, tipping his head towards you in invitation. You smile, running some hair oil and a bit of curl product through his locks so they are nice and defined, he kisses you on the cheek in thanks, “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he says stealing one last kiss.

He slips out of the room, and you lock the door behind him as you pull the dress out from the back of the closet. You get dressed, grab your bag and your trusty pair of nude heels, and go exit the room. As soon as you appear at the top of the stairs, Quinn's eyes are drawn to you. His jaw drops, and his eyes soften with love as you fuss over trying to fit your phone in your bag.

You look up to find Quinn staring at you and your cheeks warm. One thing about Quinn is that there is meaning in everything he does. He is purposeful and thorough, and he works hard for what he wants. So when he pins you with that look, you feel loved, purposefully, and wholeheartedly, and damn if that isn't the best feeling ever. You lock eyes with Quinn, and his lips curl into a soft, adoring smile. 

Everything else falls away as you descend the stairs. It's just you and Quinn. He makes you feel like a princess, and he is your prince charming waiting at the bottom, hand extended towards you, ready to lead you to your happily ever after. 

“Hi,” he whispers as you take his hand, he brushes a gentle kiss on the backs of your knuckles and your stomach flutters. 

“Hi,” you smile, staring up at him through your lashes. You thought it would be impossible to love this man even more than you already did, but every day he proves you wrong, “I Love you,” you murmur softly. 

“I love you too,” He smiles, and damn if you don't wanna abandon your dinner and spend the night in his arms.

Ellen rounds the corner and is immediately gushing over the two of you, “Oh, just look at you two! Come here I want pictures,” you slip on your heels as she ushers the two of you in front of the mantel, much to Quinn's chagrin. 

“Mom please,” Quinn whines, “we’re not kids, and this is not prom,” you snicker at his whining, secretly happy that Ellen is making the two of you take photos.  

“You may not be kids, but you're still my children, now pose,” she demands, holding up her phone. 

Quinn wraps an arm around your waist and you place a hand on his chest as the two of you smile at his mom's camera. After she snaps probably over a hundred photos Quinn is practically pulling you out of the door, with the boat keys in hand, “better not get me wet,” you warn, as you carefully smooth down your dress.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Quinn chuckles as the boat hums to life. You sit in the seat across from Quinn, legs curled under your chin resting against your hand as you take in the way the dipping sun reflects on the water. The golden halo of sunlight that illuminates you makes you look like an angel. Quinn is absolutely enraptured by your beauty, if he could freeze this moment in time, he would. 

The boat ride from the lake house to the country club takes less than twenty minutes, it would have been faster if Quinn wasn't trying to keep the both of you dry. He parks the boat on one of the docks, and hops over the edge of the boat, holding his hand out to you. You take it gratefully, not letting go even when you are safe on solid ground.

So far you've only been to the Country Club during the day when the boys deemed it a golf day, or to play tennis, or grab something easy for lunch before going right back out in the boat. In the early evening, it almost seemed like a completely different place.

You hold onto Quinn's bicep, fingers tapping nervously against corded muscle, as he leads you through the front foyer of the building. Quinn squeezes your hand reassuringly. It's at moments like these that you feel self-conscious about the fact that you're dating a Superstar Captain of the NHL. He could be doing much better than a lowly elementary school teacher. 

It's as if Quinn can read your negative thoughts. He looks at you, face soft with concern, nodding his head to ask if you're ok. You give him a tight smile and nod, squeezing his bicep again, as you dispel all the thoughts from your head. Quinn wants you. That's why you're here.

A pretty hostess, dressed from head to toe in black, is quick to find you. “Do you have a reservation?” she asks professionally. 

“Yep,” Quinn answers with a polite smile, “It should be under Hughes,”

The hostess clicks a few times on her iPad, and her eyes light up as she clocks in Quinn's reservation, “Right this way please,” she leads you through The main dining room, up a set of stairs and out onto the rooftop patio with the most magnificent view of the lake. “Someone will be right with you,” she smiles. 

“Thank you,” you and Quinn say simultaneously. He pulls out your chair, and you smile at him, smoothing your dress out as you sit down. 

“Quinn, this is so beautiful,” you gasp, taking in the view.

“Yeah it is,” he says smirking. His eyes are locked on you, and when you notice your cheeks flush. 

“You're so cheesy,” you mumble, picking at a loose thread in your napkin. 

“You love it,” Quinn smirks.

At that moment a Waiter appears, offering the two of you menus, and asking what you would like to drink. Quinn orders some kind of expensive wine, and the waiter leaves to retrieve it and give you time to look over your menus. It's much fancier than you're used to, and it's a little overwhelming, but Quinn happily takes charge, keeping a comforting hand on your thigh under the table.

Once the food is ordered and you both have a few glasses of wine in your system everything feels much easier. Along the way, your heels got discarded under the table, and your bare foot was resting on Quinn's thigh, rubbing up and down teasingly. 

Your foot strays a bit too high and Quinn wraps a hand around your ankle, stopping your foot from moving any closer to his dick. He throws you a dark, lust-filled look that holds a promise for later, and you smirk at him teasingly. All in all, the dinner was absolutely amazing. The food was delicious and you were absolutely elated to have Quinn to yourself for a few hours.

“Wanna go for a walk on the beach?” Quinn asks as the two of you leave the restaurant hand in hand. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, casting the sky in beautiful shades of orange, pink and purple. 

“Absolutely I do,” you grin, hanging into his arm. The two of you deposit your shoes in the boat and walk along the waterline. Quinn has an arm draped over your shoulder, and yours is wrapped around his waist fingers dancing under his shirt and across the bare skin of his torso. You lean your head on his shoulder and his fingers draw patterns on your arm. You wish you could burn this moment into permanence.

“I can't wait to do this with you every summer,” you say quietly, afraid to disrupt the peace of the moment. Quinn pulls his arm from your shoulders, it takes you a few steps to realize he isn't walking, and when you turn to see what's wrong, your hands fly to your mouth with a gasp. 

Quinn is down on one knee, with a ring box open in his hands. Somehow the only thing you can think is that his pants are going to get dirty from kneeling in the damp sand. 

“Your pants are going to get dirty,” you croak, voice thick with emotion. Quinn chuckles, shaking his head fondly. 

“Y/n,” he starts, with a soft breath, “I know we've technically only been dating for a few months. But for as long as I've known you I knew I wanted to do forever with you.” he takes a shaky breath “Honestly, I had a whole speech written, but you look so angelic in the sunset that it all left my brain.”

You let out a choked giggle, as tears pool in the corner of your eyes. You kneel down in front of him, resting your shaky hands on his knee. 

“Your dress is gonna get dirty” Quinn parrots, and it's your turn to laugh at him.

Quinn takes another deep breath, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “Y/n, from the moment I met you, I knew you would be special to me. Knowing you for the past six years of my life has been the greatest blessing that I could've asked for. The easiest thing I've ever done in my life is love you, and god- there aren't words to describe how much I love you and what you mean to me. I want to spend forever with you by my side.” The tears that decorate the rims of Quinn’s eyes finally spill over, “So, Y/n Y/l/n, will you do me the greatest honour in being my wife?”

An ugly sob escapes your lips and you throw your arms around his neck, “Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes,” you cry, pressing kisses to his face, there is salt on your lips and at this point, you aren't sure if they are your tears or his. Quinn finds your left hand and slips the ring onto your fourth finger. You take a minute to really look at it, and all of a sudden, you're crying all over again. It's everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

You throw your arms around Quinn again, dragging him down for a kiss, he holds you tight to his body, kissing you back like it's the last time he'll ever get to do so. As Quinn licks at the seam of your lips, something in the back of your mind reminds you that you're in public, but you can't bring yourself to care enough to stop kissing him.

The clicking of a camera accompanied by sniffling is what drags you out of your moment with Quinn. You look over to find Jack and Luke. Jack holding up his old camera from back when he had a hobby in photography and Luke holding up his phone. They're both teary-eyed with huge smiles on their faces. 

Quinn stands, pulling you with him, and then Luke and Jack are throwing themselves at the two of you, and everyone is holding onto each other. There are so many tears it's hard to tell who's crying and who's not. Eventually Jack and Luke detach themselves from the two of you, wiping at their eyes and grinning wildly. 

“I can't believe you said yes to spending the rest of your life with our stinky big brother,” Luke wrinkles his nose.

“Shut it, Moose,” Quinn rolls his eyes, pushing his brother playfully. 

“I know you said yes, but it's not too late to blink twice if you need help,” Jack says seriously.

You laugh, knowing they are joking, but nothing could pry you from Quinn at this moment. Jack convinces the two of you to pose for a few more pictures, in the fading twilight. He captures a few absolutely stunning ones of your ring, promising that everything will be sent to you after he edits them. Eventually the four of you part ways, Jack and Luke heading to their car and you and Quinn back to the boat. 

The drive back to the lake house is much chiller now that the sun is almost entirely gone. Quinn smiles knowingly, pulling a hoodie out of one of the seat compartments. You slip it over your head, sighing happily as the scent of Quinn engulfs you. He pulls you into his lap, keeping an arm securely around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your head against the crook of his neck.

“I love you so so much Quinny,” you whisper, “I'm excited to spend forever with you,”

“Me too, my love, me too” Quinn sighs happily, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

A sudden thought hits you, and the biggest smile blooms on your face, "I can't wait to be Mrs. Hughes," you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Quinns eyes twinkle lovingly, "That has a nice ring to it,"

"Yeah,"

-

Ok idk how I feel about this!

I started it and I loved it. Then I wrote the middle and I still loved it. And then I wrote the end, and I still loved it. And now that I have to post it I fucking hate it! So that's nice!

Anyways hope yall enjoy.

Leave comments cause I'm an attention whore 🥰

Also, this series likely won't be updated for a while, cause I never originally planned to make it a series anyways, but here we are! Just cause I have a lot of one-shots floating around in my notes that I wanna work on. If there's anything yall wanna see from this series, let me know and I might write that!

Also, I am working on those blurb requests! I promise! I'll start posting them eventually!

Apologies for the ramble, love yall <3

[scoops-aboy86]

The Aloe Gel Tingles

Prompt Used: Sunburn (@thehairandthebanished) and shower (@steddiemicrofic) | wc: 399 | The Aloe Gel Tingles | Rating: M | CW: Gratuitous Steve Ass | Additional Tags: gay Eddie Munson, bisexual Steve Harrington, and they were roommates, implied anilingus

(on ao3)

“Ow, owww,” Steve whines while shampooing his tender scalp. 

Across the bathroom, Eddie looks up from where he’s spelunking in the cabinets under the sink for aloe gel. “That’s what you get, Mr. Oh I Never Get Sunburns. Did you put more on any of those times you pestered me about reapplying, or were you all talk?”

Behind the curtain, Steve scoffs. “Hey, it worked. Only one of us got parboiled.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Big Boy… Ah, found it!” Eddie extracts himself with the bottle held aloft in victory. And he really tries not to react to his friend’s relieved groan. “So that’s here, I’ll just—”

“I’m gonna need your help,” Steve says, stopping Eddie cold. 

“Uh, care to elaborate on that?”

“I’m burned all over, man, I can’t… reach all of it very well.”

To his credit, Steve sounds like he has some idea of how awkward this is to ask for. When Eddie came out he was really great about it, and since then has toned down some of his jock tendencies—mostly the ones where he walks around their apartment shirtless, or naked if it’s ‘just us guys.’ 

Which Eddie appreciates! He does! It’s really cut down on the inappropriate boners he’s had to hide. But it was too little too late to avoid the crush that he hasn’t come clean about. 

So he swallows hard, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. “Oh. Okay. Sure thing, dude.”

Five minutes later, he’s absolutely sure he’s about to die. Because thanks to Steve’s insanely short shorts at their lakefront beach day with Robin and her college friends, he’s now bending over the sink trying to show Eddie how the burn on the backs of his legs goes all the way up onto his ass. 

And what an ass it is. Eddie has just… never been encouraged to stare at his roommate’s juicy, bare cheeks before. Or touch them. Or…

“Just rub it in,” Steve whines. He bounces on his toes and jiggles. Fuck. “Please, Eds, come on!”

Wordlessly, Eddie does as he’s told. The resulting moan is pornographic; the way Steve spreads his legs wider is obscene. 

“I know the timing’s weird,” Steve pants, “but I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m bisexual. Do you think you could…?”

Eddie is already falling to his knees, spreading Steve and diving in tongue first, no further invitation needed.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[mx-julien]

you guys oppositeshipping as either platonic or romantic slaps so hard. Kai melts icy outer armor and Zane cools a fiery temper guys the symbolism creates such a good dynamic that can't be attributed to attraction alone

possibly only to be rivaled by the Dareth/Ronin the Two Men Who Lack Long-Term Career Plans And Also They're A Bit The Worst Sometimes ship which is just hilarious and strangely fitting which i'm told is called Scruff?? immaculate

both are calculated, both are impulsive. Kai can plan and strategize in the throes of battle, while Zane's only moves in a pinch are Bullshit and Sacrifice. Zane can be overly curious, but he's on guard for manipulators and moles- Kai wants to believe people who are kind to him and it can blind him to other, more practical ulterior motives

at first glimpse, Zane seems hard to get along with and Kai extroverted, but the former's sincerity is clear while the latter obfuscates with sarcasm. even further down, we see Zane repress his trauma and feelings while Kai has outbursts of rage. they contain contradictions within contradictions of their elements

Kai uses his powers to smith, to create new tools and weapons. we hadn't seen the destruction Zane was capable of until the Never Realm, where permanent winters the world and nearly destroys a civilization (yes he's being manipulated and has the forbidden scroll in his hand I know). Skylor uses Kai's fire to forge a friendship and connect with him. Zane uses his heart and elemental power to destroy (mostly) the overlord.

typically, fire is the element of destruction, but I want you instead think of Kai and summer. gatherings and parties and adventures. warm waters and flourishing crops. everyone may be irritable, sweaty, and some sunburned, but it is built on the freedom to choose.

during winter people are together and inside out of necessity. it pulls people closer out of practicality and proximity. among the sparse bushes and trees, the wind chill and ice, are the adversity through which we persevere through. bonded together through change, through experience.

these connections are both one in the same and inherently different. their beginnings may be opposite, but the ending is often the same.

[dootznbootz]

Can I be for real? I hate when people hate on Circe/Kirke for being morally gray >:( Because all the gods are to an extent. Also I think the saying "You can like her as long as you acknowledge she's a bad person" doesn't really work because you could say that for all the gods. I think it's better to say "You can like her as long as you don't try to justify her actions" because that's what most Circe/Female god fans do. And it's so double standard-y I hate it >:( NORMALIZE LIKING CHARACTERS WHO ARE BAD PEOPLE WITHOUT TRYING TO JUSTIFY THEIR ACTIONS BY MAKING THEM VICTIMS. Especially when there are ACTUAL victims in the myth. Circe wasn't trying to protect herself. She's a goddamn goddess and a daughter of a titan. If she truly felt threatened she would've done something more permanent/serious to them. And if she was a male no one would he saying she was just trying to protect herself or something! I get there's a lot of misogyny in Greek Mythology but Circe is a GODDESS, she's above mortals. If Odysseus had to eat a MAGIC DRUG to defeat her that what could've the other soldiers done???

That's one of the reasons I really hated the Circe Book. It just feels so icky when people try to justify the shit she did. Like boo don't. We don't try to justify Zeus' actions. We don't try to justify Apollo's actions. We don't justify Calypso's actions (Or at least we shouldn't). We don't justify Theseus' actions. Because we shouldn't! So don't justify Circe's either >:((((((

Lmao sorry this kind of turned into my own little rant- Anyways do you have any Circe headcanons/shenanigans? I love my old ass mean witch wife 👉👈

And have a great day too, Mad! :D

All of this!!! Yes! Great points!!!

And that's the thing! You can be a fan of two different characters even if they're at odds or one has hurt the other! I do NOT hate Circe at all! Did she traumatize my special lil freak, Odysseus? Yeah. He's in therapy (AKA Penelope's arms). I still don't hate her!

And I absolutely agree with the whole "I just wanna protect my nymphs!" being kind of silly. It's fine, but I prefer her just being selfish in that moment (at least in my writing. There's more to it but I HAVE A PLAN!)

For headcanons/shenanigans, I'm...trying to be a bit more "stingy" with them, as for 1.) I really love my Circe and she's very special, and 2.) I've...honestly been doing too much into headcanons and not as much into actually WRITING. ;~; Which is what I really WANT to do. So I'll give a few basic silly ones that I'm okay with sharing. :D

1.) Circe has a habit of saying words twice. Like "Oh, oh", "My, my", "Yes, yes," etc. She has that habit from her papa :3 (I really love Helios lol. I wanna have him visit Aeaea during the year Odysseus is there just because I can lol) Once, though, Hermes pointed it out and teased her about it so she's a bit embarrassed and tries to not do that. (it slips out)

2.) She is basically her own lil sun. (not as much as Helios ofc, but yeah. enough) You can't look her in the eyes too long as it's basically like looking at 2 mini suns. If you're a mortal and sit close to her, you may get a sunburn. (she has mostly dryad nymphs working for her because it's a bonus to get extra sunlight.) It's kind of nice when making potions to be very warm so then she can hold it for a while and it'll warm up.

3.) She's kind of a behavioral psychologist/researcher in a way?? (putting my own field of interest into my shit lol) She much prefers the company of animals and immortals. She thinks humans are neat but she sees them more as something to "study". She does not see them as equal in a way. She also finds humans to be a lil gross. Being as warm as she is, mortals tend to sweat if they share the same room as her for a while and...Ew :') (Fun fact: Odysseus is a very sweaty dude, so... yeah. "I'm putting up with this because you're handsome and I want to study you.") It's part of the reason WHY she turns them into "cuter furred creatures". Also cats like laying in sunbeams!!! :D She's so warm! (Odysseus' men were to feed her pets eventually)

4.) She tends to laugh at her own jokes.

5.) Her and Artemis have beef because her having her pets run amock on Aeaea is fucking with it's balance in nature xD basically a bunch of big cat/wolf predators being introduced and what's naturally there can't keep up.

Some other stuff would give spoilers and some are not safe for wormlings so yeah! :D I hope this is good!

You have a great day too, Dear anon! Thank you! :D

[socheckitout-mikey]

If you’re still doing the outsiders, could you maybe do some hcs for Dallas going on his SOs family vacation? You can pick the location idc

ahhh this one was v interesting! i hope you enjoy reading what i came up with. i had sm fun writing this and all the chaos that exudes lmaoo. thanks for requesting! <3 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dallas Winston Going on His S/o's Family Vacation Hc's:

° Let’s get one thing straight, Dally has never been on a vacation in his life. So when your parents suggested inviting him along, he thought you were just pulling his leg. No one’s parents had willingly wanted him to attend anything with them.

° “Man, you’re just shittin’ all over me today, aintcha?” Dally half grinned at you, a Coke in his hand as he sat across from you in that diner.

° “Naw I’m bein’ serious! They wantcha to come-,” You grinned at him.

° “Forreal?”

° “Forreal!”

° He’s in awe when he realises that you’re being straight with him. There’s no funny business going on. Practically has a permanent grin from ear to ear, man!

° Whether it’s to another town, city, state or country, he’s stoked!!! Feeling high as a kite on pure adrenaline, because let’s face it, Dally loves a good adventure. He’s not shy about exploring places and uncovering whatever kind of fun the environment has to offer. He’s like a bloodhound, getting into everything that he probably shouldn’t, but that doesn’t deter him! He’s Dallas Winston!

° Dally’s in his element okay? He enjoys the trip, making the most out of it. You remind him to be on his best behaviour, but he’s got that twinkle of mischief in his eyes, “Okay, sweetcheeks,” he grins. Oh boy does he make you regret saying those words!

° He does his best not to do anything in front of your parents that could get him arrested – especially in another country. The “don’t get caught” rule he has with the gang still applies. Yet, Dally’s gonna swipe a few good things from the hotel room.

° “Babe, what do you need a goddamn towel for?!” You snap at him, hands on your hips.

° “Have you ever showered at Bucks? Those towels are like goddamn sandpaper!” He retorts back with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Let me live a little here!”

° “They’re gonna charge my parents-,”

° “To hell they will!”

° “Is that shampoo?!”

° “Quit lookin’ through my shit, snoopy!”

° Chaos ensues because it’s Dallas lmaoo!

° He gives the cleaning lady a fright one morning by prancing out of the bathroom butt naked. Y’all heard the screaming from down the hall. You know because Dally’s hardly clutching a towel around his waist as he watches the lady sprint down the hallway, “Next time knock, grandma!” followed by his characteristic hyena laugh.

° He smokes in his room – or at least with the window open. He doesn’t care about hotel policies. He thinks they can kiss his ass for all he cares. You reprimand him a few times about it, but he just sasses back, “I got the window open don’t I?” before pulling you into his lap on the chair he’s sitting in by the window.

° If y’all are somewhere tropical, he gets the worst sunburn of his life. And he thought Oklahoma was bad? Fdsijfhdusjfsdji you’re highkey a big shit and five star his back. Let’s just say he chased you round the pool and threw you in once he caught you.

° Dw he flushes the toilet when you’re showering as further pay back.

° Tries to fight a guy who gave you the bedroom eyes when you were in your swimsuit. Broke his nose and everything! Surprisingly your dad was on his side.

° Speaking of pools. If there is one, you bet your ass Dallas is in it. It’s probably how he acquired his sunburn. He’s also cannonballing into it whenever some rich uppity family’s are lounging round pool side. It’s a masterpiece, I promise!

° I cannot tell you how many times you and Dallas got drunk asf! Ya’ll probs shouldn’t have, but Dallas is a natural at acting not drunk: You on the other hand… not so much.

° Can’t forget how many times Dallas sneaks into your room at night. Whether it’s an elaborate pathway to your door or scaling up the side of a building – both of which almost result in his imminent death. He’s a daredevil and will do it all! He’s soft for you deep down, just wants to spend some time with you when no one else is looking. Just so he can be himself: He’s still an asshole though ndufjdsdjk.

° “Y’know it’s kinda cool you took me along,” He grins against your hairline.

° “Only kinda?” You giggle against his neck.

° “I’m takin’ points off for five starin’ me on day two.”

° “You’re just bitter coz you got roasted before me.”

° “Hey, that toilet over in the other room’s kinda lookin’ like it wants your face in it.” He laughs, only half meaning his threat.

° “Oh, to be swirlied by Dallas Winston!” You gasp, sitting up straight and putting a hand on your heart, “I’m so honoured!”

° “You’re so goddamn dramatic.” He laughs, patting your thigh. “Don’t make me follow through to shut you up.”

° “Is that a promise or threat?” You grin, leaning closer to him.

° “Only one way to find out…” He murmurs against your lips.

° Can't forget the golden moment when Dallas put a tie around your doorknob as a prank, which resulted in your parents grounding you bc of the deeper meaning bcfuiebifcihcbieyfby. That's what you get for trying to stop him stealing that ultrasoft bathrobe from his room.

° Even if it’s somewhere cold, Dallas doesn’t care! He’ll be snowboarding, skiing and doing whatever else! Even instigating snowball fights. You’ll catch him with melting snow dripping from his beautiful hair, slipping down his forehead as he beams brightly. Looks younger too, less hard and rough. That’s your Dallas.

° You guys have a lot of cute moments, especially walking off in your own direction at the end of the day. You guys will go for some cokes at a local restaurant, maybe some food. His eyes are alight, and although he isn't the softest, you can tell he loves you in his own way. It's his actions that shine brighter, but they can be hard to miss. If you don't realise, his kisses will seal the deal!

° If there are horses, cars or bikes involved, he's in his element. Probably being risky too, which makes you freak out ngl! He's fine tho, and a little injury won't deter him either. Though you remind him, it's a vacation, not a date with death!

° By some miracle, Dallas manages to keep the forbidden things he does behind everyone’s back and doesn’t get caught. He comes away with some souvenirs and interesting stories to give to and tell the gang when he returns to Tulsa. Even they note how happy he is – buzzing to be exact!

° Dallas doesn’t just bond with you, but also your family. Maybe everyone else doesn’t like him quite the way that you do, but they see a different side to him that they don’t get to see back home. Like how Dally didn’t pick on your younger sibling as much or opened the doors a little more for your mother. This vacation benefits everyone positively.

° Maybe it even makes Dallas believe that the world isn’t so rotten. That some people actually see the good in him that he believed had died out so long ago. He doesn’t really outright thank you for taking him along, but you see it in those mischievous eyes: Gratitude. If Dallas Winston could love anybody, it’d be you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: closed!

[snippychicke]

For the Sake of a Smile (v.2) Chapter Five

Title: For the Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: E for Everyone? Some violence, but not much

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child. 

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

Walter park was in ruins by the time you and Sullivan arrived. Three beasts continued their rampage amongst the wreckage, easily towering over everything else. A red dragon, a blue minotaur, and then a yellow rodent-like monster. None of which you had read about in your studies of your new home so far.

“Where do you think Iruma is?” You asked, clinging to Sullivan as he flew closer. Despite carrying you carefully in his arms, all traces of the genial old man you were beginning to call 'dad' were gone, leaving a serious persona you presumed his enemies had to face. 

“Usually I can sense him, but those monster’s mana are making it difficult,” He answered, before explaining further without prompt. “Those are summoned beasts, with mana stemming from multiple individuals. It's like a fog of mana covering the whole park. making it hard to pinpoint anything from this distance. Especially someone whose own, natural, mana is as weak as Iruma’s.”

“Damn it,” You growled, clutching at the fur of his suit. “What are we supposed to do then?”

“Well, I can pick out Opera, Kalego, and Balam. They're high-ranking enough that their power stands out amongst the fog.” He sighed, “And of course, each of them are near one of the monsters. I’m confident in each of their abilities…”

“Balam!” You interrupted, remembering he had texted you stating Iruma’s phone had died. Maybe Iruma was with him!

Sullivan was silent for a moment, no doubt contemplating your words and his next actions before sighing. “Okay. But, if you’re going to be near those things…” Something shifted, and it wasn’t just Sullivan as he suddenly descended. You recognized magic swelling around you, wrapping around you like a cocoon before black marks appeared along your body, stinging like a bad sunburn as they appeared on your skin. “There. That should keep you safe.”

You studied at the harsh, sharp lines, twisting and curling around your limbs, marked by runes in open patches. “Please don’t tell me these are permanent,” You groaned. Yes, there was alway that rebellious desire for a tattoo, but not like this. And definitely not across your whole body.

“They’ll fade after a few hours,” Sullivan reassured as he touched down on the ground, helping you to stand on the broken concrete. “It’s old magic I learned from a friend, that someday I hope to teach you since Runes are one the few types of magic that humans can use. After all, it’s how you first summoned me.” He smiled slightly before pointing towards the red dragon rampaging not too far away “Now, Balam is near the carmine dragon. I’m going to go towards the panther rat since that’s where Opera is.”

“Wait!” You grabbed his hand as he went to take off again. “You really think it’s safe to split up like this?”

“I wouldn’t put you in danger if I didn’t know you could handle it,” He reassured with a soft smile, patting your cheek. “You’re well defended, but who’s to say Iruma has that same guarantee?”

His words stirred that fire in your heart, and you let go with a firm nod. You could trust Sullivan. Besides, you weren’t completely sure that Iruma was with Balam, or if he was with one of the other groups and Balam was just relaying the message.

Hopefully, if he wasn't with Balam, he'd be with Opera. 

You weren't sure if it was the magic or your frantic desire to see your adopted son safe and sound that gave you the boost of energy. You ran across the debris, the path becoming more rocky and treacherous the closer you got to the rampaging dragon. You soon met demons fleeing the other way, though thankfully none tried to stop you.

"--children, can you believe that?"

"--not even their own, why?"

"--crazy, all of them. I mean--"

"--blue hair--"

The last comment made you skid to a stop and turn towards the demon who had overheard. "Wait! What about blue hair?!"

The demon looked startled by your intense expression. "Uh! Well! A group of children were trapped, and some boy with blue hair swore he was going to rescue them! Even though it has nothing to do with him!"

That was Iruma, alright. And you didn't know if you were proud, worried, angry, or all three at the same time. "Where?" You snapped, grabbing his shirt.

He pointed shakily towards the dragon, and you continued your run without another word. It wasn't long before you were caught in its massive shadow as the dragon towered less than a few meters away, still causing chaos without an apparent target.

Then a blast lit up the sky, making you falter and instinctually cower. You glanced up at the sky, stomach turning as you recognized the blond and pink haired demons in the sky above you.

Sabnock and Asmodus.

And wherever Az was, there was Iruma.

"Az!" You screamed up at the pair. "Sabnock!"

You not only garnered the two students' attention but also the dragon's. It roared as it twisted towards you, its claw a blur as it swept towards you.

Oh. Fuck. You didn't know what else to do but brace for the inevitable, hands protecting your head. The massive paw struck like a raging bear.

A bear you somehow withstood. Knees shaking, arms trembling as you felt its claw press down, but the only thing that buckled was the concrete itself. The runes burned, making you hiss, but it was minor compared to what it would have been like otherwise.

Like being squashed to death. Instead, you were stuck at a standstill, sandwiched between the ground and the dragon.

Could you push it back?

You screamed with determination as you pushed against its scaley claw. You didn't exactly push the dragon back, but shifted the claw enough it slammed to the ground beside you causing a tremor to shake the ground.

The dragon apparently didn't like the fact it was unable to crush you, and roared again…except now its mouth was filling with white-hot flames. Even as Asmodeus and Sabnock tried to distract its attention away from you, their familiars now by their side, you feared you had pissed it off too much.

Would the runes protect you against that? Or would they fail? You looked for shelter, but everything nearby had been reduced to piles that had no place for you to hide.

The fire crackled like a raging wildfire, giving you a brief warning to brace one more time for the inevitable.

Except there was a gust of wind instead of fire, The flames roared around you, casting off intense heat but otherwise harmless, the familiar swell of mana casting over you much like Sullivan's. You opened your eyes, and saw nothing but a dark shadow before you.

Eventually the blast faded away, letting you see more than a shadow as Balam glanced back at you, his expression indiscernible.

"Hi," You breathed out, more than a little stunned by the impressive display. "T-thank you."

“What are you doing here?” He finally spoke, sounding frantic and worried. “How? Why! Do you realize how dangerous it is right now?”

“And you think I could stay away when Iruma is in danger?” You shot out of reflex moments before the dragon roared. You could barely move as the dragon fired a blast once more, but Balam's reflexes proved quick enough as he pulled you close, a cocoon of magic wrapping around you the same way his arms were.

“I suppose right now isn’t the best time to argue,” He admitted, barely audible over the flames despite his mask brushing against your hair.

“Agreed," You replied, fighting the invasive thought from being so close. Instead of being warm, he felt nice and cool, shading you from the heat.

“Now that the children are safe, I’ll step in,” He continued, “but you should take cover with the boys over in that building.”

“Sounds like a plan, just…” You paused, looking up at him, meeting his gaze. "Be careful, please." You wanted to blame the adrenaline for the odd thumping of your heart as he gently touched your face. It was a very brief moment, yet felt far more significant than any touches in the past.

“You too,” He finally spoke as the flames died. “Now, run.”

You didn’t look back as you sprinted towards the half-demolished building. Your heart lightened when you saw Iruma waving at you. Him, Agares, and half a dozen small kids meeting you near the entrance.

“Mom!” Iruma crashed into you with the same intensity you crashed into him. “What are you doing here?! Are you okay?!”

“Am I okay? Are you okay!” You pulled away to check for any injuries, though found nothing more than some mild scratches. The boy did have inhuman reflexes at dodging, but it still felt like a heavy boulder was lifted from your chest as he gave you a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He said, glancing towards the others. "We're all okay, I think."

Once you were satisfied he was unharmed, your attention moved to the other kids. Agares was fine, if looking mildly annoyed that he had to share his cloud with the young children. All of which looked terrified, still covered in dirt, a few scrapes but nothing serious. Still, that maternal instinct urged you to clean the dirt off their faces. “Are you kiddos good?”

“Yeah,” They each sniffed, nodding their heads. You smiled reassuringly as you fussed over each one, checking for yourself for any injuries. More than a few ended up silently clinging to you, desperate for a reassuring touch. 

"Iruma!" You looked up to see Asmodus and Sabnock approaching, the taller demon looking like he had taken the brunt of one other dragon's fire attacks. Iruma tackled Asmodus in a hug, and you shifted your attention to the golden haired demon.

"Are you two okay?" You asked, wishing you knew more than the basic first aid for small cuts and minor burns. Or maybe just first aid for demons. You weren't sure if what you knew applied to them, considering every human you knew would be near death looking like Sabnock, but the teen was (mostly) upright and grinning.

"Yeah, we're fine!"

"Liar! Neither of us can barely walk!" Asmodus shouted from behind him, still holding Iruma tight. "Let alone use any kind of magic right now!"

"Yeah, but we're alive aren't we? And so is Ms. Suzuki and the kids Iruma saved! And we looked absolutely cool while doing it!"

Relief washed over you in a brief moment as the two bickered, and you could see Iruma's smile reflect the same emotion. Agares groaned and grumbled about the two being too loud, and the children just watched with stars in their eyes, as if meeting real super heroes.

Though, in a way, they were. All of them.

And you couldn't be any prouder.

The earth rumbled again, cutting your thoughts short. You feared the red dragon had set its sights on your group again. But instead, a second dragon now stood guard between the shelter and the scarlet beast. The new dragon looked more like a creature that dragged itself from the depths of a swamp than an actual dragon, with a mane like seaweed from head to tip of its tail.

And, barely able to be seen, was Balam hanging down from vines that seemed to make up the dragon, using his clawed feet to hang on.

"Is that Professor Balam’s familiar?" Iruma asked with the same awe you felt.

"Actually, I think that’s Nigyul," Asmodeus answered. "I've heard rumors that Professor Balam had a Nigyupnil dragon as a pet named Nigyul. Nigyupnils are related to the nigi-nigi weed, except they grow with mana instead of water. They're nearly impossible to find, and I admit, until now I thought the Professor taming one was just a rumor."

And until now, you hadn't really seen Balam as the demon he truly was. After all, he was so nice, so kind, so eager to learn, and hardly seemed to want to harm anything or anyone.

But as you watched the two dragons fight - Nigyul easily overpowering the carmine dragon - you realized that there was definitely a powerhouse behind his usual demeanor.

But, also, you realized that you weren't quite in a safe place as Nigyul wrapped vines into the other dragon, causing it to begin to thrash violently. The surrounding buildings shook as if an earthquake had hit, rubble once more raining down. "Let's get out of here before something happens," You urged, helping Sabnock despite his reluctance.

You expected the tussle to last a while, especially as the carmine dragon used its fire breath. Except the fire seemed to pass over Nigyul as harmlessly as it passed over you and Balam earlier. Nigyul shaked off any embers that managed to catch its mane before he lunged forward, tackling the carmine dragon and digging in his claws, teeth, and vines.

The carmine dragon's roar of pain was choked off a thick bundle of vines. Its massive maw snapped at the air, claws pinned to keep it from scratching at the noose. It took a minute before the dragon started to waver, slowly collapsing onto the ground - as if in slow motion - before landing heavily.

Still, Nigyul waited, making sure the beast was well and truly dead before releasing his grip.

You were stunned by the display as Nigyul shrank rapidly, Balam landing gracefully on the ground, with Nigyul in his hand, no larger than a small kitten.

Minutes. Minutes is all it took for Balam to topple the dragon. You had felt the power of the dragon itself crushing down on you, nevermind the evidence of its destructive power was in the ruins of the amusement park surrounding you.

Yet, for Balam and Nigyul, it had seemed no more than a minor opponent.

Iruma, Sabnock, and Asmodeus soon crowded around the tall professor expressing the same sentiment, professing how 'cool' and 'powerful' he was.

 It was amusing to see Balam flustered, his face pink but obvious that a smile was hiding behind his mask. He looked over towards you as Asmodus and Sabnock started to argue once more, something changing in his gaze. 

You ignored the flip-flop of your stomach as you took your turn to approach the hero of the day.  "That was amazing,” You offered, feeling unusually shy. You were fully aware everyone else had said the same thing, but still, you felt like you needed to say it. 

And even then, it didn’t seem to do justice to what you had witnessed.

"Thank you," He said, rubbing the back of his head, face still darkened by a blush. "Though, I hope no one was hurt by any flying debris when the carmine dragon was thrashing around…"

"Not a single pebble hit anyone, as far as I know," You reassured, your attention drifting to the dragon in his hand. Without really thinking, you reached up to brush its wet-looking mane. It looked so cute with its tail twisting around his thumb, reminding you of an opossum baby holding onto its mother. "I can't believe this little cutie is the same beast that took on that dragon with little effort."

The small dragon sniffed your fingers carefully before headbutting them, reminding you of a cat demanding to be pet. And well, who were you to refuse the chance to pet an actual dragon? The main felt soft and damp, while his hide felt both pliable but firm, rather like the body of a vine. 

"Nigyupnil dragons feed on magic. The more magic for them to consume, the more they grow. While in the wild the largest they usually achieve is that of a hellcat, Nigyul can grow far more massive when linked to my mana." Balam explained, easily sliding into professor mode before catching himself. "But more importantly, how are you here?"

You were about to explain the rapid flow of events when two flashes of light caught your eye. You barely realized the carmine dragon itself was starting to glow when Balam shifted his stance, standing between the magical beast and everyone.

"Stay back!"

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma --+--

Opera was surprised when Lord Sullivan landed beside them, watching as Ameri fought the panther leopard. "Lord Sullivan? What are you doing here?"

"I saw the newscast and was worried about my precious grandson!" The demon lord answered, pouting slightly. "How could I stay away when my precious Iruma-kins was in danger?"

That made sense, but only very superficially. "Iruma is with Balam's group." And Sullivan should have been able to pinpoint exactly where the human was, considering both the magic of the Gluttonous Ring and the cologne masking the human scent of Iruma was easy enough to follow.

"Oh, I know," Lord Sullivan confirmed with a smile and went as far as winking at his security demon "But I have every faith the white gargoyle of Babyls can protect not only Iruma, but maybe impress my dear daughter some more while doing so."

Opera smiled faintly, their hands clasping together as their tail twitched with glee. "Oh? So Operation: Matchmaker is a go?"

"Absolutely!" Sullivan agreed with a clap. "Oh you should have seen the way she was smiling at his messages today!" Sullivan pulled out his own phone, showing the feline demon snapshots of you smiling at your phone, happiness evident on your face. "Those two are going to be so cute together!"

"Indeed they will be, sir," Opera readily agreed. They were happy that they had possibly found someone appropriately suited to be their kohai's mate; someone who wasn't perturbed by his skinship habits, or intense love of learning about anything that breathed.

You had accepted Balam's quirks readily, and even appreciated them. Opera even dared to hope that you were beginning to love him even for the supposed flaws.

Hopefully, you wouldn't be scared off by his physical quirks either. It was easy to tell you found the professor attractive, but you hadn't seen his scar yet either - or the rest of his demon nature.

"Speaking of which," Lord Sullivan interrupted Opera's silent musings. "Have you figured out which of these lovely demons have a thing for our little Iruma?"

"I'm pretty sure all of them, sir. Though Master Iruma continues to be oblivious."

“I’m glad they can all appreciate how wonderful my grandson is! Though, I have a feeling Asmodeus will be giving them a run for their money.” Lord Sullivan smiled as he watched Ameri land the final blow. “To have the honor of seeing the next era of the Netherworld develop right before our eyes, Opera, is going to be more fun than I thought it would be.”

[tblsomedoodles]

Mama makes a room just for CJ at the hotel and basically adopts him/had him move in with her. He's free to come and go as he pleases of course but while out jn tbe HC be has to have a few of her employees with him as bodyguards, mainly for his own protection against radicals like Draxum who might react badly to a human being in their city or target him because of her connection to him. He ends up spending most of his time in New York with the boys anyways but it's nice to have a permanent home

That's really sweet! and yeah i was thinking similarly. I can see CJ having rooms in both the lair and the hotel simply b/c he prefers staying wherever the boys are staying. (NYC is far too much chaos for him so he won't stay with April or Cass, but he doesn't like being alone since he grew up surrounded by people in the Vault so he just sticks with the boys.)

Thank you!

Yes it does! He started building it when he was about 10 or so after having seen a few too many apocalypse movies and deciding they needed to be prepared. (It started as just a small lab with some bunks and storage but it grew a lot since that. His "in Beta" drilling machine was a big help in making that.)

For everything else, I'm going to go into that a little more in one of the last two chapters of that fic so yeah.

Thank you!

Oh no! lol. Like the first time he sits in there, he's only there for like an hour and ends up getting a mild sunburn. The boys kinda panic over it and now he's not allowed in the room until he has sunscreen on and will be asked about it several times.

Thank you!

[something-tofightfor]

So, we all know that Life is Good permanently altered my brain chemistry - beach Frankie *belongs* to you. BUT now that I'm finally digging my fingers into Just Too Good To Be Gone, I'm entirely in love with your Joel. How much thought you put into all of it, his reactions and reflexes to every conversation and situation we're put into...just, damn. 🖤

HAYLEY.

Beach Frankie Morales and his wind-swept hair and slightly sunburned cheeks and shoulders make me weak in the damn knees. He is my favorite thing to think about when it's freezing cold out and there's fifteen feet of snow. Thank you SO MUCH for loving him and taking that week-long journey with him (thunderstorm and all).

And ... Joel. Joel Miller - who doesn't love him? Who can look at him and go "no, thank you. I don't think I will."

Someone without eyeballs, that's who.

I'm so glad you're starting to read that series. I'm so happy that you're getting to know that version of Joel and that the way I see him is something that you can get behind. He is VERY important to me and has been for a long time, and I just want to do right by him.

A lot of Joel is in his behaviors and not his words and that's why I want to make everything he does say count.

You're great, and I am sending endless amounts of gratitude in your direction.

[ralith]

Ask prompt, 001 for ReTired Trio/Bayverse RatchHide

Retired Trio:

When I started shipping it: Gosh, has it been over a year now? A bit longer? I can't quite remember.

My thoughts: Beautiful older men who finally found comfort and safety in each other's arms and wouldn't trade it for the world.

What makes me happy about them: Really, that they're happy. They've been alone or struggling for a long time. Even if their past relationships fizzled out, they still remain friends with their old flames (except Ratchet). But they give each other a reason to wake up each morning. They know where they belong now and have purpose. Especially Ironhide who was struggling to adjust to civilian life. He was trying to hold it together and felt like he was losing the battle there for a while until he made that fateful decision to visit the museum one afternoon and see a certain man. The phone number scribbled in his copy of a book gave him the push to get better.

What makes me sad about them: Ratchet was miserable for so long in a bad marriage. In hindsight he feels like he wasted so much of his life and often thinks of his mortality and how short a time he has with his husbands now. Even nestled between them, their breathing calm and even and hearts beating beneath his ear the thought of losing them keeps him up on many a night.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Uh, considering I'm the one writing them.. maybe that I don't write them enough?

Things I look for in fanfic: Major cock cuddling

Who I'd be comfortable with them ending up with, if not each other: Their old flames. Hide with Chromia. Optimus with Elita, or Megatron, who was the first man he'd ever laid with on a one night stand after falling out with Elita, which led to his bi-awakening. Ratchet, well, I'd rather him be alone than with his old partner.

My happily ever after for them: Grow older together.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon: Ratchet is the little spoon, crushed between two big spoons.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity: Eating home-cooked meals from Optimus. Watching Ironhide flaunt his physique at the beach. Ratchet rubbing aloe on Ironhide's sunburns because he got burned at the beach. Little domestic things.

Bayverse Ironhide/Ratchet:

When I started shipping it: Back in 2011 when I first got into tf thanks to DOTM. Thanks Sentinel for hurting me so quickly.

My thoughts: I love these two so much. They make me stupidly happy. I have never shipped two characters harder than these two.

What makes me happy about them: The little touches in background scenes. How they're always either touching or need to be near each other. The fondness for proximity.

What makes me sad about them: Thinking of them pining for each other for centuries and only building the courage to bond when they arrive to earth after TF07, thinking the war is drawing to a close. But they're only bonded for a mere 5 years before Ironhide is taken from Ratchet. Barely even a blink to a Cybertronian.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Ratchet throwing wrenches and being a grump that threatens the other bots. That might work on G1 or idw Ratchet, but bayverse Ratchet is a cinnamon roll pacifist who is a genuinely kind person.

Things I look for in fanfic: All the fluff with these two.

Who I'd be comfortable with them ending up with, if not each other: Optimus. They keep him grounded. Maybe Ratchet with Que...

My happily ever after for them: A peaceful life on Earth. The war is over and they can wake up wrapped in each other.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon: They swap positions a lot. Ironhide the big spoon usually, but it's not permanent. He and Ratchet will naturally settle into what they need that night. They can read each other easily. Sometimes Ratchet just knows when Ironhide is feeling low and gathers the mech in his arms.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity: Going on long drives to nowhere. Cloud watching and star gazing. Going to zoos/aquariums and seeing small animals (holoforms obviously.) Ironhide practically has to drag Ratchet away from the touch tanks. I sometimes think of them taste-testing earth foods while in holoforms, going to restaurants and foodtrucks.

[mdpikachu]

List of hc’s concerning a clown (mephi fgo) as requested

(Not ordered in any way, old hcs and new ones intermixed.)

-Do not put your clown in direct sunlight for extended periods, he will sunburn SO fast.

--Jeanne’s interlude? Where she thanks Mephi for helping her and his response is, open quotes, “Reeeally? I’m not used to this sort of thing, so I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. But as long as you enjoyed yourself, that’s all that matters. Even better if it made you smile!” Please praise your clown. Clowns require praise to function. Hell, just speak to him. Acknowledge him.

-In Chibichuki, Mephi is shown as a hairdresser, so make that Chaldea occupation #3 under Clown and Alchemist. Wait, no. And makeup artist. he’d 100% help james/moriRuler/what have you, with his goofy makeup. edit FORGOT ABOUT THE CASINO DEALER TOO. At this point mephi’s just talented way outside the expected perimeters that aren’t combat. he does a LOT. buttling/butlering if he HAS to. etc. etc. etc. etc. talent clown.

--His eye color is startlingly inconsistent- Sometimes they’re blue and pink, and sometimes just plain Purple. I think in life they were blue without the pink. here’s a visual complaint. i do like the purple but it’s not... correct?

-There is a joke around here somewhere concerning what it means to have an “ego”. There is also a comment regarding clown gender around here somewhere. Spoilers: it’s a bomb down there. for emergencies. trans rigs. local baby homun goes to dad and says “im boy”. situation over. his ingame bio says ♂? you cannot fight me here. if he really needs to prove it, he’ll let euryale shoot him. for science.

--For the longest time I thought the make-up was permanent markings. In this house they’re permanent markings except when they’re not. 

-Santa Mephi could potentially lead to a Krampus situation, especially if he ends up in half again. I would accept this. I’d also accept getting a costume and being an elf for someone else. I just want him to get into a christmas event for more than 1 seconds. as cute as a lily mephi would be, his spirit origin wouldnt be strong enough to be on it’s own. these are less HCs and more commentary

--I drew mephi in his lab coat once here, take it, and yes that Is an alchemy circle on his neck. Tattoo from Papa Faust. That’s kept covered up 100% of the time. no touchy. (DID DRAW HIM AGAIN RECENTLY BUT NOT DONE YET)

-bc of his panicked reaction to the large ghost in knk, secretly a bit scared of ghosts. a “bit”. only a “little” (BLATANT LIE)

--the tiny horns he can hide at will and are from innocent monster. two of his tails are from the same source. one tail he’s always had.

-this is the absolute hardest take on here, but i dont think he (mephi the homunculus) killed faust. the innocent monster mephi (the demon) would take CREDIT for it, but he’s just acting in accordance to the myth that he caused it, like how salieri’s totally fucked up. who actually killed faust? idk. the church probably. stop summoning demons and making shit. thats not very churchgoing of you. unless faust himself asks, in which case mephi is free to say “no, i didnt!”. cause he didnt and he liked dad outside of the whole “killing people” thing. (which i did NOT know about when that was decided. kept outta spite and it being too late to fix.)

--isn’t mephi gay in at least one version of Faust. I’d need to research that one. highest honor, slaps with both ace and bi labels and then leaves without explaining myself. 

-mephi cares. mephi cares so Fucking Much and probably genuinely struggles with it. the one i write figured it out, kinda, but he’s lucky. canon mephi and generally accurate mephis have Issues with this.

--the mephi i write for is Lucky. the guda that summoned him (her name is Minako, mink for short) is a horror fan and as soon as she saw his name she was like “oh fuck yes”. in hindsight this is hilarious knowing now that Most People in Chaldea or In General do not like him. no wonder her mephis doing so well. Immediate Acceptance. i wrote that in fucking 2017 with a base knowledge of him. im not fixing it. im not linking it either bc i do need to rewrite a small segment. the og rp that came before that is from even EARLIER. mephi betraying his betrayal nature SPEEDRUN ANY % bc mink yelled “YES I LIKE YOU” immediately. again not changing this.

-hates being Not Clowny, esp. in public. he can tolerate it for short bursts, if its to fuck with everybody, or if he’s allowed to be an Absolute Menace the entire time.

--need a read on his emotions? cant trust his face? look at his tails. his hearts on his tails [i am booed off stage for the pun, and i shout “BUT ITS TRUE!” on the way out].  they wag, they wave, they curl up or go still. sometimes they all do different stuff. i know they’re meant to be one splitting into three but consider;;;; no?

-im like 90% sure he called mash his sister once as a joke in the knk event... he’s not far off. shes a designer baby (that hadn’t been revealed yet), hes a homunculus with an ego. hes like... the prototype to most homunculi and to mash. hes absolutely her older “brother” and if u fuck with her, he gets to kill you for free. from this, he absolutely accepts jokes about Lancelot being his dad. He thinks its Very Funny.

--his SERVANT name is Mephistopheles. named after the contract demon (NAME EXPUNGED). as a Just a Little Guy his name was Philetus and No One is allowed to use that. One of the few things hes serious about. (i don’t remember where i go that from. i think bc it sounded good. I genuinely don’t remember. something between the Pheles part and Philos (which is a name for a type of love, and also the name of a completely unrelated oc that has 0% to do with fate or any of this but. i think it was just bc it sounded good next to Faust or Faustus.)

update on above:  Philetos means beloved so THATS also probably where it came from. faust cared him so goddamn much.

-since he’s very much not human, getting sick is a bit easier for him than the average servant. he also doesnt drink booze for the same reason. 0 to 100 speedrun of a clown eating SHIT.

--Something about being good at witchcraft so hes aware of the witching hour. local fake demon can just. abuse a magical extra hour.

-Always knows the time (HES ALWAYS COVERED IN CLOCKS, CMON). ... actually, even without the clocks. thats his Thing.

--Can and will loophole. Someone call a place Hell? Sure, that’s a hellscape now! He can now appear.

-I DID give a rough design for the contract demon and faust but not putting here.

[chicken2potato]

7/7/23

Death.

It seems to be a subject in which is tiptoed aound and not talked about. But it has been on my mind a lot in the past few weeks. 

What is it like? What comes after? And the reverse, what was before? Why am I living this life? Why was I not someone from years ago or years from now? What is the significance of everything? Of anything? What’s the point of going to the beach? What is the point of getting sunburned? What is the point of getting high? What is the point of getting a degree? Of getting paid? What is the point of anything? Why are we here? What is consciousness? Why did I get this one? 

Population: 485. A book that I am reading currently. It talks about the death that he sees while he is an EMT and volunteer firefighter. It’s got me thinking a lot about death. When will it happen? Who will cause it? Me? Or someone else? Or something? Do I have another forty years or a mere forty days? What will happen when it all ends?

I grew up religious. They say that Heaven is the next step. Being with Jesus and God and the angels and the prophets and all those before. For all eternity. But what is eternity? How can a human mind comprehend such a thing? 

And what if it’s all wrong? Religion. What if it’s all man-made because there were men who couldn’t handle the immense questions that we have? What if they made it all up to give themselves and the one’s closest to them peace of mind? What if it snowballed from there and then billions of people believed them? Why are so many religions convinced that they are the right one, the true one? What makes it true? Has anyone died, come back, and gone “Yep, we were right. Yahweh is there.”? Or “Yep. God is there waiting.”? Or “Yeah, you get reincarnated to another life.”? Who says that those are true when in reality we don’t really know. 

They say believing in Jesus takes faith. I believe that’s true. But I also think that it takes faith to believe in science. Especially for everyday people who don’t have advanced science degrees and just read things out of books. You have to have faith that the person who wrote that book, wrote that article, had the knowledge and wrote the truth. I think it is the same with religion. You have to have faith that the people who wrote the Bible were writing the truth. 

I’m not sure if I believe anymore. 

I want to believe. I want to have that comfort that I had just a few years ago. That when this all ended, I would go to Heaven. I believed that with every fiber of my being. But now? I don’t know what to believe. I have so many questions and I hate that they go unanswered. I hate seeing the hypocrisies in religion and it making me lose my faith. 

There are days that I want to go back a few years ago. When I believed. When things were simpler. Go to college, go to work, tell people about Jesus, and do what was right. It was so much easier being naive and blocked off from the world. Sometimes I hate that I came home. I hate that I started to question everything. I can’t take this anymore. I just want it to stop. I just want to know the truth. I want to know what really happens and what is really there. 

Death is so weird and wild to me. Just as much as living is, too. Earlier this week, the president of the company I work for passed away. It was so strange to hear about and even stranger because he had just been in our store the week prior. He was seemingly healthy. He was happy and friendly. He was nice. He was here. And then he wasn’t. Death doesn’t wait for anyone. Death doesn’t show pity. Death consumes. Death takes. Death is permanent. He will never be in our store again. He will never smile again. He will never see his family again. He will forever be gone. 

Wilda was crying when she told us. She said that it made her think of her own family. It made her think about that fact that it could happen at any time and at any place. She’s right. Death doesn’t wait for us to become comfortable with the idea. Death takes when Death wants to. I know a girl who died the week before her senior year of high school. I know a girl who died the first day of her junior year of high school. I know someone who died at forty-six with advanced stage cancer. I know someone who died at eighty-two because of COVID. I know someone who died at sixty-three after a decade long fight against cancer. Or I suppose knew. The point is, Death doesn’t discriminate. No matter the age, he comes. No matter what our life’s ambition is, he’s there, waiting. No matter what. 

Mk was in a terrible car accident at the beginning of this year. Phyllis had a stroke and drove the car off the road, hitting an embankment. Anthony broke his arm in three places. Mk smashed her face off the seat and broke her back. Phyllis broke her back and I believe her sternum. Mk had to be life-flighted to the hospital because of the severity of her injuries. 

When I first got the call, I was on my way home from work. It was just any other day. I had a good day at work, and I was about to head home to take a nap because I was going to go back in and close that night. My friend, Dyanna, called me. At first, I thought that she was calling because she wanted to hang out. Then she said those words... “Mk and Ant were in a car accident.” There were a few hours when I didn’t know what had happened. The only information Dy had was that Phyllis was in the hospital, Mk broke her back, and we didn’t know about Ant. I thought Ant had died. And if Ant had died, that meant that it was a bad enough car accident where there was a possibility of the other two also dying. 

I had just been to her house. The night before. Dy, Hannah, Mk, and I all went to the gym and then went to Mk’s until like one in the morning. I had just seen her. I had just heard her voice. I had just given her a hug. I had just heard her laugh, seen her smile. And now, I didn’t even know if she was alive. 

I didn’t know what to do. I was exhausted and we didn’t have any information, so I decided to take my nap like I planned, leave my ringer on, and see if there was any news when I got up. When I did get up a few hours later, there was no news. I didn’t know what to do. My plan was to go for errands. So, I did. What else was I supposed to do? I started thinking too much when I was on the highway, and I started bawling while driving. I didn’t know if my best friend was dead. What if she was there, watching me do all my errands?

I’m so incredibly grateful that she is okay. I don’t know what I would do if she had died that day. She wouldn’t have been there for me when my car died. She wouldn’t have been there through the mess with Rowan. She wouldn’t have been with me when I got my first tattoo. She wouldn’t have been there for when I didn’t have a job. She wouldn’t have been there for when I finally got another one. She wouldn’t have been there. She would have been gone. I would have to go through all of that alone, and so many other things. My future wedding. My future kids. My future accomplishments. I don’t know what I would have done if instead of visiting her in the hospital, I was visiting her grave. What would it have been like to show my first tattoo to a stone block? 

Death doesn’t care. 

We’re all a second away from death. One decision. 

At work, while working the exit door and scanning people’s receipts, I always ask them how they’re doing. Today, it broke my heart. 

“Hey there, how are you doing?” “Oh, not that great, to be honest.” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope things get better for you.” “Well, I don’t know. I don’t really want to have to bury my son.”

What. The. Fuck.

This was a man who was maybe in his late thirties. So how old was his son? Ten? Five? It doesn’t really matter. It’s shitty. He told me that the cake on the bottom of his cart was for the funeral and so was everything else in his cart. I felt so bad for him. He did say that Sam’s Club gave him the cake for no charge, which I thought was really sweet. In the midst of all the sadness and grief, there’s a small amount of goodness. 

Life is so sad to me. Because who at the end gets all our memories? Do they die with us? Who will know what my favorite state is? Who will know what my pet peeves are? Who will even care? Life is sad, because it ends. What’s the point in me having this apartment and having this cat and typing on this computer if it’s all going to end? Should it just end now? Why drag it out for so long? What’s the point in anything? What’s the point in life? Death?

I don’t want to feel this way. I want it to stop. But I don’t know how to get it to go away. I don’t know how to feel good, feel happy, again. 

I went to Old Orchard Beach yesterday. I was in the ocean, just floating with the waves and thought about it all. Here I was, a tiny human, in such a vast ocean. If you would have dropped me in the middle of the ocean and flew away, would you even be able to find me again? I’m so small. I’m so feeble compared to it all. Compared to the world, the universe. I was standing, letting the waves crash into me. With every wave, I was tossed back and forth. No matter how much I tried to have solid footing, I always moved. The waves would move me back, and the undercurrent would bring me forward. If water has that much of a pull on me, then how strong am I really? When Rowan and I were together, he would tickle me, and it would turn into tickle fights. I would fight to get him to stop, and he would fight to keep tickling me. On multiple occasions, he made the statement that I was so strong. I could grab his arms and push him back with much more ease than if he were to try it on me. But, standing there in the ocean, being knocked back and forth by the waves, got me to thinking about it. Was I really that strong? Were any of us really strong? The strength of humans is no match for the forces of nature. I am just simply a weak, scrawny, unimportant human. So why would my death even matter? Because someone would be sad for me? Because people would grieve me? In one generation, maybe two generations, I would be a forgotten memory. Just another leaf on the family tree. What significance is that? 

How do I make these thoughts go away? How do I sleep at night again? 

What is the point of anything anymore?

[ghost-bxrd]

*GASP* are you trying to beat me with my own weapons? I’m shocked! Impressed, but also shocked!

On that note:

Once more the tags are trying to hide some of the best parts ksksks

But yes absolutely, Bruce having flexible morals would, objectively, turn everyone’s world view upside down. Bruce? Ok with killing? Doing the killing HIMSELF!? Well, obviously! While we all love and adore Alfred, I think it’s safe to assume that he didn’t have a good idea on how to handle Bruce’s grief and destructive behavior after his parents’ death. Yes he loves Bruce like a son, but he never truly allowed himself to become the parental figure Bruce so desperately needed and instead remained a butler more than anything. (An awesome butler who would absolutely burn the world for Bruce, but still.)

Jason has no such qualms. yes, the kid lost his parents a couple months ago and the amount of trauma he’s been through is nothing to sneeze at, not to mention the anger issues, but Jason is also someone who adores kids and isn’t afraid to demonstrate it with hugs and endless patience and home cooked meals etc.

The beginning of their acquaintance is an absolute roller coaster, but Bruce quickly learns that Jason is now his one, irrevocable constant in life. And it helps that his new adoptive dad guardian knows how to disarm someone pointing a gun at them in .1 seconds flat. Jason is now his role model.

And Jason, who would absolutely die thrice over to keep this kid safe, the kid who curls up beside him on the couch like a skittish kitten seeking affection, who asks him to teach him self defense—- the moment Bruce expresses his desire to rid the world of the Joker permanently, Jason just blue screens.

On hand— this is what he wanted. This is all he wanted since the moment he woke up from his dip in the Mountain Dew of doom. On the other hand it’s all wrong, because it’s the wrong Bruce trying to avenge him.

“So what? You can barely sleep at night. You almost got knifed because you lost sight of me during patrol for two minutes and thought the Joker had me. This needs to stop. We’re making him go away for good.”

(And on that note I’d like to tell you how much I loved the “this is an intervention, let’s go kill the Joker ourselves” part. Like, peak dialogue. Genuinely delighted.)

Jason, who is not gonna let his kid within twenty kilometers of the clown, goes to Arkham and shoots Joker and that’s that. It’s not what he wanted when he came back, but he finds that just the knowledge of one incarnation of Bruce willing to kill for him is— enough.

Also let’s add Mini!Bruce deliberately antagonizing his older counterpart during patrol. He’s furious on Jason’s behalf and he needs an outlet. Batman telling him that “it’s ok, we can keep you safe. Hood won’t hurt you anymore-“ and mini!Bruce just roasting Batman so hard the Anakin-on-Mustafar situation seems like a light sunburn.

Also, Robin and mini!Bruce rivalry. That’s all. Need I elaborate?

Omg ok this turned into an entire rant I’m so sorry 🪴

Prompt:

Jason gets booted to another dimension and adopts a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne.

Whom he also takes along for the ride when he’s pulled back into his own dimension.

[senseless-writing]

Unforgiving Anxieties

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Summary: Rooster has to leave again, which isn’t something new. But this time, he’s leaving his wife with a baby at home, and Y/n isn’t sure if she can handle the stress that comes with parenting all by herself.

Warnings: Small spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick. LOTS of angst, but plenty of fluff to back it up

A/N: WOAH. Not the Witcher, and not an OC? Who am I?? Idk guys, but this has been on my mind for days, so I just had to write it. Let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

----------

Rooster thought he would have more time before his work pulled him away from his family again. Truly, he did. But things never worked out the way you wanted them to, and such was even more true for aviators in the US Navy. 

Still, it never got better. To kiss his wife goodbye, hold her close, and promise “yes, baby, I’ll be safe,” “no, honey, I won’t put myself in any unnecessary danger,” was harder than any dogfight he’s ever been in. She’d pretend not to cry, he’d pretend not to notice, and he’d always leave with the same thought in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, flying wasn’t worth leaving her time and time again. 

But then came Elijah. And for a while, at least, things were different. 

Elijah Nicholas Bradshaw was the light of his parents' lives. Nearly six months old, no baby was more doted on them him. With a closet full of mini Hawaiian shirts to match his daddy, and an unlimited amount of affection from Y/n, the kid seemed to have a permanent smile on his face. Rooster even had to upgrade his phone to unlimited storage to make room for all the photos he took. 

But paternity leave for the Navy was only twenty-one days. Eventually, he had to go back to work, and it tore him apart to leave every day, even if he got to return at the end of the night. It was hard, almost indescribable, but manageable. 

Until now. Things were different now. He’d been called back to Top Gun without so much as an explanation as to why he had to leave his wife and half-year-old baby, other than the small detail that it was most definitely a dangerous mission. 

He could’ve said no. Should’ve said no. But then he thought of his father, thought of how close he got to having him back whenever he was in the air, and remembered why he loved doing what he did. So instead, the Bradshaws went through the motions yet again. Except this time, Eli was in his mother's arms as Rooster said goodbye. 

“Please be safe,” she mumbled against the crook of his neck, the pair clinging to one another on their front porch. He could feel the subtle drops of tears against his skin, but he pulled her closer and pretended not to notice. Elijah giggled at the feeling of being squished between his parents. 

Rooster pressed a rough kiss to his wife’s head. “I will.” 

“And keep me updated,” she spoke quickly, her words full of anxiety. “I know most of it is classified, but I just want to know-” 

He gently pulled her away from his chest, cupping the sides of her neck to angle her face towards his own. “Breathe, baby,” he sighed, urging her to do the same. His thumbs brushed across the apples of her cheeks to rid them of tears, though he knew it was a futile attempt. “I will tell you everything I can, okay? I promise.” 

His wife nodded up at him, her tears mixing with the fear and despair and pride and something he couldn’t recognize swirling in her eyes. 

Rooster cracked her a smile, a dull sort of chuckle falling from his lips. “Hey,” he whispered against her lips. “No crying for me, baby. It’s just a classroom. The only thing I’ll suffer from is sunburns and acute boredom.” 

It was a lie, and they both knew it. But it brought out a watery laugh from his Y/n all the same. 

When she was done laughing, and he was done admiring her, the look on her face was something akin to determination. “Here’s what's gonna happen,” she spoke to him softly. These words were only for him and their little family of three. “You’re gonna go, and you’re gonna learn whatever it is they think they can teach you. And then you’re gonna complete this super-secret mission that everyone wants to pretend isn’t happening. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll come home to me. To us. Got it?” 

This was the wife he knew. Strong and fearless and overly demanding. 

He loved it. 

“Yes ma'am,” he said with a smile, still holding her face close to his. 

After a moment, he decided to move on to the baby in her arms. Eli, ever the mama’s boy, grumbled a little about the movement, but quickly settled against his father's chest. Rooster was immediately pressing kisses to his cheeks.

“And you, my little man. Are you gonna be good for mama while I’m away? You have to, being the man of the house and all. You gotta look after our girl.” 

Y/n tucked herself into his side as she watched, and Rooster wrapped his free arm around her. 

“Don’t grow too much while I’m away,” he whispered into his son’s ear, and that made Y/n laugh softly again. 

“It’s only a couple of weeks, Roos.” 

“Babygirl, he’ll be six months by the time I get back. I’m missing a milestone.” 

“There’ll be more.” 

Rooster wasn’t sure if he liked how casually she said that. As if the idea of him not being there for every important moment in their lives, of him missing the memories worth making, was something she’d already made peace with. But he didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, not with her practically shoving him towards his running car. It felt like forever, and it felt like seconds, them saying goodbye. But time passed, as it always did, until he was driving away with clenched fists and a heavy heart. 

He didn’t regret his job, and he knew his wife didn’t either. But sometimes, none of that mattered. 

It still sucked. 

----------

“You look like you haven’t slept in days, honey.”

“Wow, Roos, you really know the way to a girl's heart.”

“You’re always beautiful, Y/n, but you know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed, brushing some stray hair away from her face. The bun she wore wasn’t holding much at this point, and though her eyes were still sparkling as they normally did when on a face time call with her husband, the bags underneath them were hard to miss. “Well, you’re not completely wrong. Eli is supposed to be sleeping in his own room from now on, which means I spend most of the time in there instead of in bed.” 

Rooster shifted his phone from one hand to the other with a concerned look on his face. The tip of his nose was burnt from the San Diego sun, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked. “Is he not sleeping well?” 

“No, he’s sleeping fine. It’s me who can’t settle down.” 

His eyebrow lifted in question, and Y/n let out another sigh. 

“I just have this feeling,” she admitted, somewhat embarrassed. “That if I’m not watching him at all times, he’ll stop breathing. Which is irrational, but I literally can’t turn my brain off. I won’t sleep even if I do lie down, so I might as well watch him.” 

Rooster immediately felt horrible. Worse than the 200 push-ups he’d been forced to do last week, or the uphill climb Mav was teaching them. It was like he had one job, one real job, and he wasn’t able to do it. 

“Y/n,” he struggled to find the words. 

“I know, I know. It’s stupid.” 

Another punch to the gut. 

“I should be there. It’s a tough transition, and meant to be a two-person job.”

Her eyes were all-knowing, and what Rooster wanted more than anything in the world was to drown in them. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” 

“I’m supposed to be with you,” he said with a pout. 

“You will be,” she giggled. “In a few weeks from now, when you’re done doing whatever it is you're doing. Maybe by then, I’ll be a little more chilled out.”

“Stop saying that. It’s okay to be nervous. Can’t you call your mom, see if she’ll watch him for a bit so you can sleep?”

“I could…” she seemed unsure, and Rooster rubbed his face in discomfort.

Something told him his wife wasn’t being completely honest with how much this was affecting her. She didn’t trust anyone with their son that wasn’t herself right now, and he feared she would run herself into the ground before asking for help. And he wanted to offer it. He wanted to say that he was there for her, that he would help her in any way he could. 

But he wasn’t there for her, and he couldn’t help. So what was he to do, other than offer useless words?

“Please just try, baby, okay?” he said instead, hoping whatever he said would be enough. “Your mom's great, and I’m sure she’d love to spend some time with Eli. Just have her promise to wake you if anything seems off.” 

Her nose scrunched at the idea, but she nodded all the same. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot. Does that ease your mind at all?” 

“I was hoping it would ease yours.” 

“You’re impossible, Bradley Bradshaw, do you know that?” she rolled her eyes at him.

“Impossibly in love with you, Y/n Bradshaw.”

She laughed at him for that. A full-out belly laugh that shook the camera within her grasp, and Rooster couldn’t help but laugh with her. He thought she was absolutely stunning when she was like this. Carefree and happy and amused by something stupid he’d said. And, with utmost certainty, he knew he’d continue to make a goddamn fool of himself for the rest of their lives if it kept her this way. 

“I miss you, baby,” he said once their laughter died down. 

“What, your flying buddies aren’t good enough company?”

Rooster thought of Hangman, an ultimate pain in the ass with all bark and no bite. And he thought of Pheonix, who picked on him for fun, and Bob, who almost seemed to not understand the meaning of the word. 

They were his friends, and he loved them. But they weren’t his wife. 

“Nobody’s better than you, sugar bear.” 

“Ugh, you know I hate when you say that.” 

“I know,” he teased. “I just wanted to see your face scrunch up like that when I did.”

“You know what Bradshaw? I’m going to bed.” 

“Promise?” he said with a somewhat serious edge to his voice. 

She smiled up at him. “Mhm, it’s straight to dreamland for me. Eli’s already asleep, and I checked on him right before you called.” 

The angle of her phone dropped to focus on the baby monitor at her side. It was a grainy picture, but the view of his son's wild sandy hair as he slept peacefully was enough to make Rooster’s heart soar. 

“Alright, baby, I won’t keep you then. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Be safe, okay?”

“I will.” 

----------

It would be two more weeks before Rooster was reunited with his wife. As soon as he landed (rather roughly) on the carrier, he was calling her to let her know that the mission was over, and he was on his way home. She asked how it went, he said “as smooth as a car crash,” and she laughed and laughed until tears were slipping from her eyes. 

The reunion itself, despite the seriousness of the situation, wasn’t nearly as tearful as one may think. In fact, they never were when it came to the Bradshaws. Goodbyes were miserable, but hellos were all smiles and laughs and dancing in the kitchen to music that wasn’t there. And at the end of the day, they ate dinner on their back porch and marveled at their son, who was too busy rubbing dirt on his face to notice how happy his parents were. 

But with the night came anxiety. They put Elijah to bed together, with the baby in Y/n’s arms and Y/n in Rooster’s. It was everything she’d wanted for weeks, but it couldn’t ease her aching heart. When Rooster directed his wife to bed, she couldn’t help but worry. 

Her brain wouldn’t turn off. 

Rooster could feel it throughout the night. Every 45 minutes or so, even with his consciousness muddled by sleep, he noticed her slipping out of bed. Quietly, as if she didn’t want to wake him, but that didn’t matter. He was attuned to his wife’s every movement, even in sleep. Which meant that every time she pulled herself out of his arms to go check on their son, he layed awake, waiting for her to return. 

It was the fifth or sixth time that he finally decided to say something. 

“Honey?” he said groggily, pulling her back against his chest when he felt her move to get up. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothings wrong,” she whispered back. “I just want to make sure Eli’s okay.” 

“He looks fine, baby, see? On the monitor, he’s sleeping like…well, like a baby.” 

Y/n didn’t laugh at his joke, barely even cracked a smile. Her hands were still gripping the comforter, itching to stand and check for herself. Rooster couldn’t think of the words to ease her mind, not when he knew they didn’t exist. He wanted her to rest, and there was only one way she would. 

“How about I go check on him, hm? You stay here, and I’ll make sure everything’s alright.” 

“No, no, no, that’s okay, I can just-”

“Y/n,” he shushed her, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I’m back now. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Let me go check.” 

She nodded to him as he rose, though he could tell she wasn’t fully convinced. With light feet, Rooster padded across the carpeted floors, all the way to the room across from theirs. White noise echoed from the crack in the door, and he pushed it open slightly to slip into the room. 

He was immediately drawn to the crib in the far corner. Before he could realize it, a smile was spreading across his drowsy face. His perfect boy was fast asleep, sprawled on his back with arms and legs strewn haphazardly around him. 

Y/n said that Eli slept as he did. Rooster always pretended not to agree with her. 

He laid his hand flat on his son's chest, the baby still so small that it nearly covered him entirely. He could feel Eli’s chest rise, up and down and up and down. It was smooth and easy, and although Rooster hadn’t been worried for a second, the small part of his brain still relaxed at the feeling. So he leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his chubby baby cheeks, and made his way back to their bedroom. 

He found his wife sitting up in bed as she anxiously watched the monitor. “He’s all good, baby,” he reassured her, climbing in bed and moving the monitor back to its rightful place on their bed stand. “Let's go back to sleep.” 

She let out an uncomfortable sigh, as if she didn’t completely believe him. He reached out to her, then, and pulled so her back was to his chest. “Come here, come here, come here,” he chanted softly, and she giggled at his foolishness. “Please sleep.” 

She pushed herself deeper into his arms as he pressed kisses to the back of her head. “Okay,” she relented. Rooster could feel her settle, and God in heaven, he hoped she stayed that way.

But she didn’t. 

With Rooster asleep, Y/n was left alone with her thoughts. It started slowly, at first. Little pricks of anxiety that spread through her brain like vines on a tree. But little by little, it grew. It grew until her fears were the only things she could think about, and even the arms wrapped around her waist weren’t enough to pull her back to Earth. 

Instead, horror stories flooded her brain. Fears of SIDS cases after six months, of waking up to a blue baby and realizing it was her fault they lost the one thing that meant more to them than anything else in the world. Because she was the mother, she was the one who should know when something was off, right? 

She could feel it in her soul, right down to the aching heart and burning skin. It was that sense that everyone tells you about, the sense that alerts you to a disturbance in your child. Her baby was alone right now, alone and scared and hurting because something is most definitely wrong. 

Y/n tried to pull herself from Rooster’s arms. Who cares if he checked less than ten minutes ago, because I’m the mom and I know my baby needs help. But the man was just too goddamn persistent, even in sleep, and had the muscles to back it up. So if he wanted her to stay put, that’s where she would be. 

She was quickly running out of patience, though, and so was her anxiety. Her chest was heavy with dread, her airway closing as panic began to run its course. And suddenly, it was no longer I need to see if my baby is okay, but instead, I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe. 

“Rooster,” she wheezed, squeezing his wrist where it lay firmly on her stomach. 

The man didn’t so much as flinch, and Y/n tried again to grab his attention. “Bradley!” 

Her nails were digging into his skin at this point. That was what awoke him first. However, he quickly noticed the quivering mess that was his wife in his arms. “Woah,” he struggled to understand what could have happened in the short time since he fell asleep. “What’s wrong, what happened?” 

Rooster sat up to get a better look at his wife’s face. It was covered in tears and flushed from what seemed to be a lack of oxygen, a look that he’s seen hundreds of times on panicking aviators. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air as she tried to explain, but all that came out were desperate sobs. 

“Please,” she breathed out, and he shushed her as best he could. With his arms, with his lips, and with his words; he wasn’t sure what other kind of comfort he could offer. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Take your time, breathe, and tell me what’s wrong.” 

She cried harder again, and he cradled her head close to his chest. 

“You’re going to make yourself sick, baby. Relax,” he nearly begged her. He felt like cold water had been dumped over the both of them with the way they shook. Her with fear, and him with confusion. “Everyone’s okay.” 

“No!” she burst out through quivering lips. “No we’re not, Eli’s not okay! I need to see him right now, Roos, something isn’t right.” 

“We just checked on him-” 

“You checked on him! I need to check on him! Please, please just help me. I need-” 

“Wait here,” he said suddenly, springing from their bed. 

Y/n called after him, wanting to follow, but her legs were too shaky to stand. She wasn’t used to feeling this helpless; had never allowed herself to. But now, with anxiety plaguing her in a way it never had before, the invincible strength of “military wife” was collapsing around her like a fragile house of cards. 

By the time Rooster rushed himself back to their room, his wife was lost to a puddle of tears and exhaustion. He couldn’t quite describe the hazy look he saw in her eyes, and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to ease it. 

But maybe Elijah could. 

“Here honey,” he hushed in a frantic tone. “Look for yourself. He’s perfectly fine, see?” 

Y/n’s shaking hands reached out to hold their now wide awake son, but Rooster was admittedly nervous that she would drop him. So instead, he simply raised the baby closer to her chest, moving until the three of them were huddled together on the bed. 

It was easy to see that Elijah was confused as to why he was now awake. His cute little eyebrows even furrowed in child-like confusion, an expression that his parents would laugh at for years to come. But the poor boy never cried. His patience was a mystery to all. 

Rooster used the arm that wasn’t holding Eli to tuck Y/n’s head against the crook of his neck. He breathed deeply, hoping that it would encourage her to do the same. Her arms clung to him and the baby nestled between them, and her trembling failed to cease, even after 20 minutes of him pressing soothing kisses to her temple. 

“Y/n?” he whispered softly, lips still pressed to her head. “Can you hear me?”

He knew she was barely settled from a panic attack, and wanted to make sure she was coherent enough to understand his words. He also didn’t want to rush her or force her into anything she wasn’t ready for. 

Y/n nodded. A small movement, but one he was able to catch. Her eyes were still firmly locked on the rising and falling chest of their child. 

“Y/n, this isn’t normal.” 

“Maternal anxiety is a part of motherhood,” she said to him in a hoarse, monotone voice. 

“But debilitating anxiety? That’s not healthy, honey.” 

Y/n didn’t respond. At least she was calming down a bit, which Rooster thought was a start. Her breaths were still shaky, but more even than before, and her hands finally relaxed over his own. More than anything, he wanted to know why she was so nervous. Why this fear, which was normal for most parents to have, suddenly became something that plagued her every waking moment. 

He didn’t have to wait long for the answers he sought. 

“Elijah is the best parts of us,” Y/n said after an excruciating minute of silence. “The very best parts.” 

Rooster could wholeheartedly agree with that. At only six months old, Elijah was kind, compassionate, and stubborn as hell. He’d always thought it was impossible for babies to have that much personality in such a small period of time. In fact, in the past, whenever parents described their kids in such detail, he was sure it was all a figment of their imagination. But now, he saw firsthand how special these little ones can be. 

His wife looked up at him, then, with anguish still in her eyes. “But more importantly, he’s a part of you.” 

That threw him for a loop. 

“What?” he whispered, running his fingers up and down her spine in what he hoped to be a soothing gesture. 

“Every day, Bradley, you run off to who knows where to risk your life doing something that you love. I’ve always supported you in that, never asked you to stop. And I never will, because every time you go after something you want, with that fire and willpower that I love so much, I’m always incredibly proud of you.” 

Rooster knew that. More than anything else in the world, he knew that. 

“But I can’t,” she sighed, looking away, before meeting his gaze with something new on her face. Acceptance, perhaps. Or maybe a lack thereof. “I can’t keep you safe. Protect you. I can’t be sure that when you go to work, doing what you love, you’ll come back to me at the end of the night. And I think that every time you walk out that door, it kills me a little more inside.” 

That hurt him more than he wanted to admit. Not because he felt she wasn’t supporting him, in a way, by being afraid. Quite the opposite, actually. He felt horrible that his wife thought the only way to truly support him in advancing his career was to hide the thoughts from him that kept her awake at night. 

That wasn’t to say they didn’t have these conversations before. There were plenty of nights, in their early years of dating, when they stayed up and talked about every thought and fear that entered their minds. The thought of him not returning was painful for both of them, for different reasons of course. But when danger was a part of the job, and relaxing moments were few and far between, it was easier to laugh and kiss and celebrate life than dwell on the parts of it they couldn’t change. 

Maybe it was easier to pretend. Or maybe, at times, they weren’t pretending. But it was a blurred line, and it was one the couple had learned to ignore a long time ago. 

He laid a kiss on her quivering lips, only because he couldn’t find the words to say. She let him, and they sat like that for a moment. Not quite kissing, but simply with their lips pressed gently together. Breathing in the same breath, foreheads leaning together as if it was the only thing keeping them upright. Elijah was already asleep again, peacefully in his father's arms. 

Y/n pulled away to whisper her next words to him, as if they were a confession she wasn’t quite ready to make. “But I can protect this baby.” 

Her thought hung in the air, and Rooster ran it through his mind over and over again until, oh god, he hated himself a little more for realizing what she meant. 

“I just feel like I have no control over my life anymore,” she cried to him. She couldn’t look at him anymore, too focused on the baby in his arms. Rooster wasn’t sure if he could look at himself either. “I have no say in whether my husband stays or goes, no control over whether my child has two parents or one. I can’t even control my own fucking emotions, for Christ's sake.” 

She wiped her tears away with a sharp swipe across her face. Rooster wanted to tell her to stop, to be careful with the face he loved so much, but she had more to say, and his voice was still firmly lodged in his throat. 

“But if I watch this baby, if I just watch him and make sure he’s alright, then I can be sure I always have a piece of you with me. I can be sure that a part of you lives on if…if everything I love falls out of my control.” 

And like a dam, Rooster broke. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he leaned forward to hide his face in the crook of Y/n’s neck. Seeking for comfort he didn’t deserve, for comfort he should have been providing. But his wife wrapped her arms around him without question, which only made the tears flow faster.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, the movement of his lips pressing butterfly kisses against Y/n’s collarbone. 

“Don’t be. Please, I don’t want you to feel guilty. I never did.” 

“I’m not feeling guilty,” he reassured her. “I’m just…sad.” 

He smiled up at her with tears still on his face. It was a small, insignificant smile, but he wasn’t surprised to find that she was already doing the same. It was a silly confession. In most cases, the word wouldn’t at all fit the occasion. 

Sure, there were better ways to put it. He was anguished at the fact that his wife, his beautiful, radiantly happy wife, was straining under the burden he’d put on her shoulders. He was embarrassed that the mother of his child was sometimes forced to do the job of parenting for the both of them. He was overly torn between his love for flying and his love for his family. He was enraged that he had to choose at all. And he was terribly afraid that the life he’d chosen for himself would doom Y/n to the same fate as his mother, who never truly recovered from the heartache she faced at the hands of his father.

But most of all, he was just sad. 

“I love you,” he said, because it was the easiest thing for him to say. 

She rested her head against his own, which was still on her shoulder. “I love you too.”

“I know I can’t tell you to not be afraid. And I know…I know you won’t let me step down.” 

She was objecting before he could continue. “You worked so hard to get where you are, Bradley, I won’t let you slow down now. You’ve already lost years of your career, and even if you and Mav made up or whatever, you can’t just-”

“Breathe, baby,” he reminded her. The last thing they needed was for her to have another panic attack all over again. 

She huffed, clearly annoyed at him, but obliged. Rooster fought off the urge to laugh at her stubbornness. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted at last. “I can’t…these nerves are eating me alive. It’s never been this bad before.” 

Rooster lifted his head from her shoulder to cup her face with his free hand. Their faces were both red and puffy from crying, though he didn’t care about that. Not with the exhaustion still clear in his wife’s eyes. She leaned into his touch until he was nearly holding the entire weight of her head in the palm of his hand. 

He’d hold her whole world in his arms if she asked him to. If she needed it. 

“You don’t fix this,” he said with the sweetest look on his face. Y/n practically melted. “I do. And that starts with you getting some sleep.” 

He watched, in real-time, as panic spread across Y/n’s entire face. Her hands tightened their hold on his wrists as if to pull Elijah closer to herself. Rooster immediately shushed her quietly. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered, allowing her to pull the baby closer. She leaned down to press her already trembling lips to Eli’s forehead. “But you need to sleep. Anxiety only gets worse with sleep deprivation.” 

“Is that something you learn in pilot school?” she mumbled cheekily against the baby’s head. 

“Yes, actually, it is.” 

Y/n didn’t reply, though the ghost of a smile spread across her lips. 

“Come here,” Rooster beckoned, sliding until he was completely leaning against their bed frame. With his legs fanned out in front of him, and baby pulled to rest comfortably against his chest, he gently urged Y/n to lay with her head against his lap. She was hesitant, but obeyed, and once she settled, he wrapped their comforter tightly around them both. “We’re gonna stay right here, Eli and I, while you rest for a couple of hours.”

“What if you get tired, or fall asleep? You just got back from a mission, Bradley, you should be resting.”

“I don’t need it, baby,” he said honestly. He was fine with lying awake and holding his two most important people in his arms. “What I need is for you to get some rest. But if I feel like I might fall asleep, or if there’s anything wrong with Eli, I promise I’ll wake you.” 

Y/n didn’t seem convinced. 

Rooster tried again. “Honey, if he so much as hiccups, you’ll be the first to know. After me, of course. And if you wake up throughout the night feeling afraid, we’ll be right here to show you that everything’s alright.” 

He ran a hand through her hair, down her back, and up again. She finally closed her eyes, an act that was somehow full of reluctance and relief at the same time. “This isn’t a permanent solution,” she mumbled, though she was already rubbing her face against the soft fabric of his sweatpants. 

“We’ll deal with that later,” he reassured her, all the while continuing to rub calming circles on her back. “When we both have more leveled heads.”

Perhaps Y/n wanted to argue. Maybe the words were even on the tip of her tongue. But by the time she opened her mouth to speak them, sleep had already taken over. For the first time in weeks, both mother and son were peacefully sleeping, unable to be plagued by the fears that came with the life they lived. 

And Rooster was more than content to see it.

[coconutcordiale]

tailspin pt two (take me back, to the night we met)

pt one | pt two | pt three | pt four | masterlist | sequel

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female bartender!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“When was the last time you went on a date? Better yet, when was the last time you got laid?”

Somewhere to your left Hangman chokes on his beer. You debate purposefully choking on a lime, so Penny is forced to do the Heimlich on you and forget about Alex. 

warnings- 18+ only, explicit cheating (once again this is not an oops didn't see his wedding band fic), piv sex, thigh riding, teasing/begging, belt as restraints, jake is fed up and has a dirty mouth, lil bit of rank kink, probably some praise kink and dumbification idk, men are generally shitty (not necessarily hangman but also definitely hangman if you think about the premise of this story)

length- around 8k words I think, I got carried away sorry

an- this is the second part of tailspin, vignettes of the beginning of the reader x hangman relationship. this is a flashback so not set in the same time span as the other three parts

chapter title credit to the night we met by lord huron

basically, my plan to write smut for rooster and end this hyperfixation with top gun that’s keeping me from focusing on flight school didn't work so here's 8k words of hangman stuff, can't get the characters from this damn movie out of my head

Before.

Take me back, to the night we met.

“Thank you, my dears.” Hangman is nearly beaming, gorgeous green eyes bright and crinkling at the edges.

Penny turns away, and he rakes his eyes down your body like he’s been in the desert for weeks, maybe months, and you’re the only source of water. 

You raise your eyebrows at him, aiming to knock him down a few pegs with an unimpressed purse of your lips—though you’re not entirely sure you manage it while heat is igniting under your skin. When he pulls his gaze up to yours, he doesn’t bother looking embarrassed at being caught, throwing a wink your direction. 

It almost makes you laugh, you expected nothing less than shameless from him, having carefully noted that self-important demeanor pouring off in waves the moment he walked into the Hard Deck. Maybe you’re being a little rash, but you’re pretty sure you know his type, a guy who knows how handsome he is and uses it to his utmost advantage, to distract everyone from all the flaws he spends so much time silently counting in himself. Even beautiful people tend to have glaringly obvious defense mechanisms. 

The hunger in his eyes still strikes a match deep within you regardless. It's something you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud, but it hasn’t happened in a long time. 

Then, like it was nothing, like he didn’t just eye fuck someone he met two minutes ago in a bar full of people, in their place of work no less, he takes his beers and saunters back to the pool table where his friends are waiting for him.

No one’s ass has a right to look that good in khaki. It’s cruel, really.

Hangman knows your eyes will be following him after that little display, and maybe he shouldn’t have been so obvious, but can you really blame him, if he wants a pretty girl’s attention on him? 

The day he turns that down he’ll call Cyclone to ground him permanently, because clearly his life is over. 

“Is he always like that?” You ask Penny when he’s safely out of earshot, desperately trying not to betray the heady effect those sculpted arms have on your brain.

“Ignore him,” Penny chuckles. “He’s always been a flirt, even worse before he got married.”

Married, you remind yourself with a quick glance at the band on his left hand.

“That’s not what I meant, he hardly even said anything,” you manage to say out loud, despite the flashes of him panting above you that are suddenly running through your mind.

You find yourself wondering how far the pink beginnings of his sunburn extends, if it goes all the way down his abs, if he he's hiding chest hair underneath that undershirt, or a little line of hair going down into his waistband, when Penny pulls you out of your daydream. 

“Hangman doesn’t need words to flirt.” 

•••

The flirt in question ends up coming to the Hard Deck more and more after work, falling back easily into old habits he thought he’d grown out of when he and Katelyn had Callie. He tells himself it’s because he needs a breather after fighting the urge to smack overconfident pilots he’s supposed to be teaching upside the head all day. 

It’s not because he wants to feel your laugh permeating the air around him, and definitely not to watch your raised eyebrows and pursed lips fighting back a smirk when you put cocky Navy guys in their place.

“Magellan,” he hears one of the young pilots say to you as he walks in, chest puffing out, obviously proud to have the callsign of a famous explorer. 

“Do they call you that because you’re shit at directions?” You ask dryly, eying his stature. 

Hangman nods a vehement yes from behind the pilot, earning a small chuckle from you. Before Magellan can piece together what’s going on behind him, the blonde sits down in what is quickly becoming his favorite barstool, not missing the way your eyes break from the younger man to follow him. 

“I’m here,” he announces instead of commenting on it, effectively cutting off your conversation with the other pilot. “What are your other two wishes?”

You attempt to make your laugh sound mocking and not genuine, but you don't know if you pull it off. He always makes you giggle like a high school girl, no matter how bad the line. You just pray your voice doesn’t sound nervous as you ask, “Has that ever actually worked for you?”

He smiles amicably at your thinly veiled insult. “Sue me, I’m a little rusty, been out of the game a long time.”

“The fact that you unironically call dating a game tells me you were probably never winning in the first place,” you roll your eyes, hoping he doesn't notice your retort barely making any sense. Hard to be on your A-game with him smirking at you like that.

“So, that’s not a game you were in the middle of when I got here?” He counters, chin tilting in the direction of Magellan’s now vacated barstool. 

“Not a game I intend on actually playing.” You shrug. “He’s a little young for my taste.”

An imperceptible flash crosses his tanned features, and you’re dying to know what it means, but you turn to reach into the cooler for a beer before you can focus too hard on it. 

By the time you’ve turned back to hand him the beer, it’s gone.

Hangman convinces himself it’s innocent, he simply enjoys hearing the laugh that falls from your lips when he says something particularly cheesy, that you treat him like everyone else that throws half-joking advances your way. The pit in his stomach remains unsettled, but he pointedly ignores it. 

He can lie to himself all he wants, but he always catches your eyes lingering a beat too long on his hands around a pool cue, notices the way you steal glances at him, when you think he’s not paying attention. 

If only you knew that he’s always paying attention to you, has been since the moment he got back to North Island. His skin tingles as his body stays attuned to you, knows wherever you are in the room even with his back turned. 

He’s used to it, being admired, he knows what he looks like. There’s something different about your regard of him, though, like when you examine his hands you already know everything they’re capable of, and the things they would stutter with nervousness at. 

It terrifies him, the way you seem to see straight through him. 

•••

Sometimes, when his jokes have more barbed edges than usual and he’s looking for someone to go toe to toe with him, he turns to you for the banter. Sometimes, you go along with it. You work at the Hard Deck; you know how to handle his kind. 

Sometimes, and somehow always when he needs it the most, you answer his quips with gentle words and understanding looks, as if you know what the bravado is really covering up for.

“My leg hasn’t stopped twitching all day,” Hangman admits after you’ve called him out for his bad mood, rolling his beer in his palms. He’s aware he’s probably warming it up, but he’s too antsy to be bothered with ruining his drink. “I don’t know what to do when I feel like this, what it means. It’s like I’m—”

He cuts himself off, staring at his bottle like the label might have the words for him. 

“Restless,” you supply. “Like an itch under your skin.”

“Yes,” he breathes out, so quiet if your attention wasn’t already centered on him you might not have heard. 

There’s a long silence before he speaks again, but when he does it all comes out in a rush. “Sometimes I feel trapped by my life. I know that sounds childish, but it makes my heart race, and my leg won’t stop shaking, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I can never figure out why.”

“Maybe you’re scared,” you suggest, softly, like you think he might be mad at you. Some people would cackle at the very idea, Hangman, scared? 

But it’s you, and you know better. “That itching under your skin, to be free, it scares you because it makes you feel out of control."

He gives you a long, searching look, so you continue. 

“You feel trapped because you’re constantly holding back. When you’re in the air, you get to feel free while still being in check, but flying is only one piece of your world now. It can’t make up for the unrest you feel in the rest of the puzzle.”

Hangman takes a long chug of lukewarm beer as your words sink in. 

He’s used to holding back, being disciplined. But it breeds this discomfort, deep within. He’s chomping at the bit for something more, feels like he’ll crawl out of his skin if he doesn’t get it.

That’s why he flies, why people like Rooster and Phoenix hate the way he flies, just on this side of reckless. Always pushing for more, one second quicker, one knot faster. It’s the only place in the world he feels like himself. But on days like this, it doesn’t seem like enough. 

He’s never allowed anyone, even his wife and especially his daughter, to see him out of control. He knows you’re right, knows he gets edgy from holding so tightly on the reigns for too long, from pretending to be normal, from playing like this is the life he always planned on. But going through the motions of being normal and stable does make them true, to some degree. What’s the difference between performing the part of a good family man and actually being one? Just because sometimes it’s an act doesn’t mean it isn’t a part of him.

Jake always thought it’d go away, that he’d grow out of this itch under his skin. He married a nice girl because that’s what he was supposed to do. He bought the suburban house, got the white picket fence, the life that a decent military man gets when he grows out of sleeping with a different girl every night. 

He loves his daughter, he truly does, would die for her without a second thought. But sometimes he looks around, at this life that he was supposed to want and thinks, now what? 

He always figured there was something wrong with him, but that he’d be able to stomp out the rebellion burning in his chest the older he got.

He never considered maybe he settled before he really knew what love was supposed to feel like.

Too late now.

•••

Hangman’s mouth is drier than the Sahara. 

You’re wearing a dress. 

His brain has been short circuiting since he walked in and saw you in that tease of an outfit. He’s willing himself to say something, literally anything, besides breathing out an order for you to bend over.

“That’s a nice dress,” he says finally. Having recovered somewhat he jokes, “Can I talk you out of it?”

Only a couple steps above want to let me fuck you senseless in front of all these people? But he’ll take what he can get at this point. With your normally jean clad legs on display, his self-control has all but jumped out the window of a moving car.

You don’t know what possessed you to put it on for work, but you’ve already decided you’re not going to examine the impulse too hard. It’s nothing scandalous, a simple black sundress long enough not to give everyone in the bar a show when you bend down to grab bottles from the cooler, but short enough that it shows off your legs, soft from being exfoliated by the California sand. 

He doesn’t need to know about the warmth that spreads from your fingertips to your toes when he notices your outfit, you’ll take that little secret to your grave. 

You’d be an idiot not to notice his jokes getting more direct. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. 

It’s harmless, you try to convince yourself. He’s a flirt, you’re a flirt, it’s not like either of you would ever do anything about it. 

If he weren’t so tall, so tan, so blonde, so Hangman you’d probably think he was a creep. But there’s something about the confidence with which he says shit like that that makes the comments panty melting instead of disgusting.

“Go home and talk your wife out of hers,” you quip, ignoring how hot it suddenly is in the room in favor of indulging in your usual banter with him, making a show of rolling your eyes for good measure.

You expect another lewd joke in response, but instead receive silence and lift your eyes to see a beautiful man shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Stupid, you think. No one spends this much time in a bar when things are good at home.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “Bad joke, I—”

He smiles at you, not his usual smirk, more reassuring, but firm. “It’s okay.”

You almost thank him for interrupting, because you have no idea where that sentence was going. There’s a beat of awkward silence before he speaks again.

“That’s uh, not really an option at home, hasn’t been for years now."

Surely his brain is broken from that stupid dress, because that's about twenty paces beyond typical bar conversation honesty.  

You try not to react to the slight melancholy tinge in his words, but your face clearly betrays the shock you feel, because he immediately starts backtracking.

“I’m sorry, that was too much information.” He’s apologizing now, and you start to feel bad for making that face out loud. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your lips can’t help but twitch upwards a little at the ever-confident Hangman tripping over his words, how quickly your roles have reversed in a matter of seconds.

“You didn’t,” you promise, placing a gentle hand to still his fingers fidgeting with his beer bottle. “We’re friends, that doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Took me by surprise, is all.”

Because who could go a single day, let alone years, without ripping your clothes off is what you don’t say.

He nods once, eyes on where your fingers touch before trying to shrug, playing at nonchalance, but not quite getting away with it as he’s still uncharacteristically tense.

Well now, you really do feel bad for not being able to control your facial expressions.

“It’s hard, you know, with Callie. She’s our number one priority, other things tend to fall by the wayside.”

“For years?” you ask, using the gentle tone you’ve started to adopt when you know he’s opening up to you, well out of his element. 

Hangman picks at the label on his beer, avoiding your eyes. “I was gone so much before. We got so used to being apart I think we forgot how to be together.”

You hum an agreeable noise, not sure if there’s words that could help him at this point.

“I thought, well hoped, when I came back to instruct at Top Gun it would help us. Since I’d be around more.”

“But it hasn’t.” 

It’s not a question because the answer is that he’s sitting here with you instead of home in bed with his wife.

“No,” he confirms. “At least now I know it’s not the distance. We’re not in love anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.”

You settle into a comfortable silence, patting his hand again before moving on to another pint glass. 

“I get to spend more time with Callie this way,” he says, suddenly bright. “That makes it all worth it.”

•••

The thing about Alex is, he's handsome, hot even, but you err on the side of caution with him, assuming he's flirting with an angle. No one as conventionally attractive as him is actually this nice.

Plus, you feel pretty uneasy about him making conversation with you with Penny and Hangman a few feet away. You’re trying not to think too hard about why that is.

“Are you allowed to drink at work? Do a shot with me?”

You lean into Alex conspiratorially, gesturing to Penny and keeping your voice low, but loud enough that she can still hear you. “Thank you for the offer, but no. Between you and me, the owner is kind of a stick in the mud.” 

He outright chuckles at that. “That’s too bad, I guess she’s not as cool as I thought.”

“He was hitting on you,” Penny informs you after he’s gone back to his group, completely ignoring your dig at her.

“No, he wasn’t,” you reply automatically, no part of you wanting to have this conversation with present company. Penny means well, but she’s far too invested in your love life—or lack thereof. She’s always telling you what a catch you are, how she can’t believe you’re single.

You’ve never told her about the insecurities that simmer under your confident service industry persona. The fact that you’ve been burned by plenty of seemingly nice guys like Alex, texts going unanswered the moment they got what they wanted. That you got tired of playing games, of pretending not to care because showing you’re interested in someone always lead them to lose interest. It just seems easier to not bother, it’s not like you mind being alone. 

“Yes, he was,” Penny and Hangman say in unison. 

You shoot Hangman a glare, who’s side are you on? 

He shrugs in response, strangely subdued.

“Maybe he just wants a free shot,” you say evenly. “I always offer to buy my bartenders shots when I go out. Usually ends up being free."

Hangman snorts and you flip him off without looking over.

Penny hums in agreement with him, and you kind of wish she wasn’t your boss for a second so you could flip her off too. “That is not why he asked you that.”

Wishing you were literally anywhere else, you focus your efforts on cutting limes into perfect little wedges, refusing to look at the silent conversation they’re sure to be having behind your back. 

“You should ask him out,” she continues, and you should’ve known ignoring her wouldn’t end your suffering. 

“Pen, I’m not going to date every guy that comes in here.”

“Honey, middle schoolers have more dates than you do, you’re definitely not in danger of that.” 

Uh, ouch. You open your mouth to protest, but she barrels on. 

“When was the last time you went on a date? Better yet, when was the last time you got laid?”

Somewhere to your left Hangman chokes on his beer. You debate purposefully choking on a lime, so Penny is forced to do the Heimlich on you and forget about Alex. 

“Don’t overthink it, you don’t have to fall in love with him. All I’m saying is, a night or two couldn’t hurt.”

“You have to stop,” you groan, putting your face in your hands. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“I mean have you seen him?” Penny asks incredulously, she clearly hasn’t heard a single word you’ve said.

You look to the ceiling praying for strength. "I have seen him, yes, so I'm sure that's supposed to be referring to the fact that he's hot like the surface of the sun. He’s not my type.”

You hear another noise, something almost pained, from the other side of the bar, but you and Penny studiously ignore it. If you weren’t so distracted by your verbal judo with her you might have time to wonder if this is the longest period of time Hangman has gone without saying anything in his entire life. 

She waves her hand dismissively, like you couldn’t possibly know anything about your own type, turning to the bar. “Don’t you agree, Hangman? She deserves a nice man. It’s just a bonus that he’s gorgeous.”

He clears his throat, expression unreadable. 

“You do deserve a nice guy,” he concurs eventually with an upturn of his lips, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You crinkle your nose. “I’m not into the nice guy thing. Doesn’t do it for me.”

At least with assholes I know what I'm getting. Even if it's not what I really want.

That earns a full smirk from him, eyes sparkling with trouble, and you really would like to pour ice water over the comforting warmth spreading through your chest when you see them not carefully devoid of emotion. “Is that so, sweetheart?”

Penny clucks her tongue in a disapproving noise, and you almost jump, having forgotten she was there for a moment. “You going to save any sugar for your wife, or use it all on my bartenders, Hangman?”

That shuts you both up real quick. 

Don’t overthink it, you mull over in your head. You don’t have to fall in love with him, but a night or two couldn’t hurt. 

Penny, so comfortable with herself, so unabashedly free with her feelings while still being effortlessly tough and cool, sees a lot of herself in you, she’s alluded to it on many occasions. You’ve always taken it as a compliment, that your mask is so good even the people you’re emulating can’t tell. 

She’s broken many hearts in her day, you’re sure of it. Had her heart broken too, you have to assume, but it's never incapacitated her the way you're certain it would paralyze you.

If her wild stories are to be believed she's had plenty of fun nights, not overthinking things, able to have a spontaneous fling without agonizing over it for weeks afterwards, not always conflating romance and sex.

You’ve never mentioned to Penny how you never quite figured out how to untangle the two, how you’re embarrassed at secretly being a romantic, believing in everything romcoms have told you. 

That’s the thing about pretending, about putting up fronts. Everyone makes assumptions and you never bother to correct them, no matter how off base they are. 

So, when Penny, your friends, your regulars, pretty much everyone you know thinks you must be afraid of commitment, that you avoid dates because you don’t want to deal with other peoples’ messy feelings, you go along with it, even encourage it with sly comments of your own. Because it seems less pathetic than the truth.

Somewhere along the way you never learned that it was okay to love love. 

You always wanted to be different than the stereotypes, to prove you were more than the little girls they made fun of for planning their weddings, chided for being a romantic. You know you shouldn't care if other people think you're soft. But you do, and you haven't quite figured out how to stop.

You’ll never admit the duplicity, that you love love, want the happy ending, but can’t seem to stop chasing the spark that comes with winning over the emotionally unavailable assholes. 

•••

It’s Wednesday. If anyone asked, you’d vehemently deny it, but it’s quickly become your least favorite day to work. Not only is it your Monday, but it might have a little bit to do with the fact that Callie has soccer on Wednesdays which means your favorite pilot only stops in for a moment after work before leaving to take her. 

“I should ring the bell, since I’m pretty sure you know where I found this,” you tease, grabbing Hangman’s phone from behind the bar, after he’d left it on top to go greet some other officers.

Luckily for him you’re wearing jeans again, so he’s completely unfazed by your hint of a threat. He raises an eyebrow, challenging. “You won’t.”

That does not knock the wind out of you, that self-assured confidence radiating from him, that powerful inflection in his tone, it absolutely, resolutely does not make you weak in the knees and your panties wet.

And if it does, he doesn’t have to know. 

“Someone seems awfully sure of himself,” you murmur, trying to maintain your composure against his commandeering, unblinking stare. 

You forget, sometimes, that when he’s not undressing you with his eyes or cracking inappropriate jokes in your place of work, Hangman is actually in charge of other Navy officers. That fact seems abundantly clear right now, since it feels like he’s able to give you orders with just two little words. 

You wish every cell in your body didn’t want to comply, but you find yourself handing his phone back almost immediately after the remark leaves your lips. 

If you weren’t already so distracted, you’d notice a playful spark lighting up those green eyes, before he drawls, “Atta girl.”

You’re pretty sure your jaw goes slack. 

Not one hundred percent sure, because your brain has gone offline and all you can hear is your heart pounding in your chest.

He smirks. 

Suddenly, you’re thanking God it’s Wednesday and he leaves shortly after that little exchange because you’re not sure you’ll be responsible for your own actions if you hear that come out of his toothpick wielding lips again. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the door swings shut behind him. 

Later, you go to thumb through your phone while it’s slow, only to realize you must’ve switched yours and Hangman’s earlier. You’re not surprised, really, you both have plain black cases, and you were awfully distracted by his mood, whatever the fuck that was. 

Typing in your own number, you shoot a quick text, Missing something? 

Hangman is decidedly easier to deal with through the phone, without having to hear his husky voice and feel his praise raise goosebumps up your arms. 

He doesn’t answer, you don’t expect him to since you’re not a neanderthal and actually have a passcode on your phone, but you figure he’ll see the message lighting up on the lock screen eventually.

Long after the sun has set over the water he strides back in and you suck in a sharp breath, he’s in civvies.

Absolutely no one should look this sinful in jeans and a sweatshirt. 

You debate quitting on the spot, because how much can you really be expected to take in one day? 

Hangman shoots you a dazzling grin in thanks as you two switch your phones back and you’re glad he hasn’t said anything yet, since your brain is currently sputtering asefjsdflkjsibrjsl.

“You staying?” You ask finally, mouth still parched, after he settles into his stool. You move to pull a beer out of the case, just to have something to do besides stare at him open-mouthed. He seems marginally more relaxed now, less commanding, which is probably good for your psyche, but the way his thin blue hoodie is stretching over those shoulders is still not doing your ruined panties any favors.

“I don’t feel like drinking,” he admits, but he doesn’t move to get up.

You try to ignore the warmth that blooms in your chest at the clear indication he’s staying to spend time with you. You pull a pint glass, filling it with ice and soda water, topping it with a lime and barely resisting the urge to add cranberry juice or some other pink liquid before setting it in front of him. 

He smirks, like he somehow knows he won the battle because you didn’t bother to tease him with a vaguely girly mocktail. You’re still recovering from his atta girl hours ago so you’re immediately thankful he doesn’t comment.

The only issue on this otherwise now perfect Wednesday is Brian. You’re fairly certain that’s his name anyways. He usually comes in on Wednesdays and sometimes you pass the time by making small talk with him, but he must be feeling resentful tonight because with Hangman in the room your interest is emphatically elsewhere.

He’s coming up to the bar more than usual, creating excuses to leave his friends and force your attention away from the blonde sitting nearby. 

Brian is blathering on about some bar crawl in San Diego his friends want to go on this weekend, if you want to come along. You’re busy sneaking looks at Hangman’s biceps which are way too visible underneath that joke of a sweatshirt. After realizing a couple beats late Brian is actually looking for a response, you politely decline, citing that you work weekends. He unfortunately takes that as a sign to ask for your number, so that he can invite you out on one of your nights off. 

“No, I don’t give my number to customers, sorry.”

Hangman hopes the puffing out of his chest isn’t too obvious at overhearing your remark, proud that your number in his phone is proof that he’s not just another Hard Deck regular to you. He also studiously avoids that off kilter feeling that simmers under needing the proof at all. 

“Aw, come on, can’t you make an exception for me?” He asks. “I must be your favorite customer by now.”

Not by a long shot, buddy. You’re sure your eyes are rolling obviously at this point. 

“You should really learn how to take no for an answer.” Hangman’s voice slips into his syrupy southern drawl as he gets annoyed with Brian’s insistence. 

“This doesn’t concern you,” Brian replies dismissively.

“It does when you don’t seem to understand that no means no, pal.” He’s sitting up straighter now, muscles taut and tensed underneath his jacket. 

“I don’t know what your issue is man, she your girl or something? The bitch flirts with me every time I come in here.”

You were ready to let Brian off easy until this little gem of a comment. 

“She’s working,” Hangman spits venomously, volume rising. “Do you think strippers want to go home with you too?” 

You bite back a laugh because, honestly, this guy does strike you as the type. Luckily, you have just enough sense to keep your amusement to yourself and dedicate your efforts to deescalating before Hangman does something that’ll get him kicked off the island, paying very little attention the part of you that heats up at him coming to your defense. 

“Hey.” You wave your hand in front of Hangman’s face, his mind still sharply focused on the man on the other side of the bar. “You’re being a dick right now.”

He blinks once, twice, finally looking at you, expression softening a miniscule amount. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

His volume has returned to normal, but his jaw is still clenched, spine bristled straight. Your panties are probably drenched right now in response to the testosterone pouring off of him in waves, fighting a shiver at the stark difference between the sweetheart that rolls of his tongue in your direction and the incensed glare he sends to the man behind you.

After what is hopefully not a long, telling silence divulging all your dirty thoughts, you wave your hand again, less aggressively this time. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but don’t start yelling or sink to his level. You’re better than that.”

Oh, how Jake wishes that were true. 

He wishes he didn’t look at you with the same lust in his eyes that this creep does, wishes he didn’t want to bend you over the bar till you’re drunk on his cock and all you know is his name. He almost understands why this guy is so insistent, he’s no stranger to the dizzy, overwhelming air you fill every room with. 

But he’s a fighter pilot, the Navy’s best, supposedly a master at discipline. So, he’s able to keep those thoughts mostly inside his head, unlike this asshole. He has that at least. 

He stares at his club soda instead of answering. 

Only somewhat sure Jake is no longer two seconds away from hitting this idiot over the head with his pint glass, you turn back to the asshole in question.

“I’m done with you,” you inform him, ice in every syllable. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“C’mon I was only...” he tries again and either your face or Hangman’s—probably both—must be murderous because he snaps his mouth shut when he looks in your direction. 

“Leave,” you repeat stonily, “before I change my mind about letting Hangman here ruin your fucking week.”

He glances quickly between the two of you as he backs up from the bar, hands raised in defeat, before turning on his heel to powerwalk out the door. 

“I don’t know how you do this job,” Hangman grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Brian is already becoming a distant memory with him there to distract you and you can’t help but brush your hand over the knuckles of his other hand in silent thanks. 

“It’s not so bad with you as my bodyguard.” Your tone is light, teasing and ideally not betraying the electricity sizzling as you take in his strong fingers laying on the bar.

You swear your eyes must be playing tricks on you because his green eyes seem to flash a shade darker when you touch him. 

Shaking your head to rid it of that ridiculous thought, you turn around to take care of customers that were neglected during Brian’s little tantrum.

“I really am sorry,” Hangman tells you later when he stands to leave, hands in his pockets, he looks almost bashful. It’s annoyingly cute. 

“Phoenix has told me off enough times for things like that…I should know better by now.”

“I’m not upset.” You pat him on the shoulder, friendly, but it’s really just an excuse to touch him while you’re on your way to pick up glasses from empty tables. “I don’t want to set a precedent of needing you guys to take care of me around here, but I won’t lie and say it’s not charming when you do it.”

There goes that flash again.

“Plus, I was pretty worried about what you’d do to him, you had a crazy look going on there,” you tease, trying to maintain your light and breezy air, but you know your tone is heating by the second. “Better be careful, Hangman, or a girl might start getting ideas.”

“Jake.”

You furrow your brows as you attempt to read the expression on his face. 

“Call me Jake,” he reiterates, decisively. There’s a beat of silence as he debates whether he can really cross this line. “Or sir.”

Maybe he is no better than the piece of shit that just left. 

He’s not sure he cares. How could he, when it’s clear you don’t need to give in to him, but he’s pretty sure you might choose to anyways?

How could he resist that?

You have to actively stop your knees from buckling, feeling his quiet domination in every nerve ending. 

Idly, you think that no one in the Navy has probably ever described Hangman as quiet, he always preferred to be loud, brazen and inappropriate. This was inappropriate too, but in a way that made you want to rip his clothes off instead scoff and ring the bell at him, inappropriate in a very Jake way.

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, those strong fingers brushing against the exposed skin between your shirt and the top of your jeans, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

It’s almost chaste, really, but your body is ablaze, lips parting and air coming out in shallow breaths, barely holding back a whine.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Jake rasps in your ear, meeting your eyes with an intensity you assume is normally reserved for flying multi-million-dollar airplanes before striding out the door. 

You nearly collapse on the bar as soon as he leaves, mind reeling. 

•••

You’ve always taken Jake for a dominant guy, overly so. He certainly thinks of himself as an Alpha male, that much is clear. Never in a million years did you expect to have him shirtless beneath you, writhing on your bed, hands fisted in the sheets to keep you from slapping them down every time they get close to your body. 

“Please, sweetheart,” he’s begging now. “Let me touch you.”

You’re trailing your hands down his abs, tracing the defined ridges, playing at innocence. “But I want to make you feel good, don’t you want to let me take care of you, Lieutenant?”

Jake tenses, every muscle in his body going taut for a brief moment before he leans his head back, eyes on the ceiling and whines. 

And well, that’s just about the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

First palming your tits, you run your hands down your body, watching the way his eyes follow their path hungrily. You’re grinding your aching cunt on his jean clad thigh, and Jake is pretty sure he’s going to pass out. 

The sight of you, gorgeously flushed and fully naked on top of him while he strains against the confines of his jeans is too much. He knows he’s going to see it behind his eyelids every day for the rest of his life, can already picture it perfectly with his gaze fixed on the fan in your bedroom, praying for strength.

Rocking your hips back and forth on his leg, you lose yourself in the sensations. You had grand plans when you pushed him down onto the bed, intended on teasing him a little just for fun and getting your mouth on him, but after seeing him squirm underneath you, carefully laid plans are quickly unraveling. 

Intoxicating, is the only way to describe what it’s like having all six feet of self-assured Jake Seresin wanton and begging for you. That in itself has gotten you closer than you ever expected, the rough denim pushing against your clit with every roll of your hips doing the rest. 

Tension building, there’s a spark of pleasure building at your center, spreading out to your limbs on either side of Jake’s muscular leg. Then the dam breaks, washing away any scrap of tension you might’ve had left. 

You’re only vaguely aware of the noises leaving your mouth, some garbled mix of yesyesyes, fuck Jake, yes, as you grind out your high on his leg. 

The vein in Jake’s forehead is throbbing. 

He’s never been more turned on in his life, watching you take, take, and take from him. Not able to touch you, having to be a passenger in your ride, frustrating him more than he ever thought possible, forcing him to find depths of willpower he didn’t even know existed in him. 

You fight a blush when you look down at the wet spot on his jeans, but quickly move past it when your eyes reach the bulge of his cock beneath his zipper. 

Pulling his jeans off, you bite your lip when you see how achingly hard he is for you. He’s leaking precum, cock twitching under your gaze. 

“Please,” he gasps again, the lines of his body tense with need, eyes raking up and down your nude form as you kneel above him. 

You throw a wink in his direction, roles still delightfully reversed before you turn around and line him up with your cunt, facing away from him and giving him the perfect view of the back of you.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he grinds out, hands immediately going to grab your ass. You allow him a couple squeezes before pulling his hands off you again, biting back a giggle when he lets out a grunt of displeasure. 

Slowly, you lower yourself down on him, unable to keep in the breathless whimpers as he stretches you more than you ever thought possible. It almost hurts, right on the line of pain, but that’s quickly overtaken by white-hot, slick pleasure. 

You’ve never felt so full. 

Looking over your shoulder you see Jake’s mouth wide open, no sound coming out as you adjust to the size of him. His hands are white knuckled in the sheets again, you’re honestly surprised he hasn’t ripped them yet. 

You roll your hips, starting to find your rhythm and a guttural sound rips out of his chest, head thrown back on your pillows, long line of his neck exposed. 

When he meets your eyes again you hardly see any green in his irises, pupils blown with lust, just barely visible under hooded eyelids. He’s flushed pink all the way up his chest, lips swollen from being bitten. He looks absolutely debauched, exactly how you’ve been picturing him since the moment you met. 

You arch your back, breaking your gaze from the sinful sight behind you, fingers trailing down to your clit again and pressing in quick, decisive circles. You know it’ll be easy, coming again when you feel so full of Jake, with him hitting that spot inside of you over and over with every movement of your hips. 

He can feel you fluttering around him, can feel how close you’re getting as you take exactly what you need from him, mewls getting higher and higher and—

That’s it. 

The idea of you coming again without his fingers being the ones to send you over the edge makes his vision blur scarlet. He’s let you have your fun, but he will crawl out of his skin if another second goes by without his hands on you. 

He sits up, long fingered hands going straight to your hips. You’re not even sure how he manages it, but he pulls you off him and pushes your face down into the bed before you can even register the loss of him. 

You were wondering how long it’d take him to get fed up with your little games, using his sheer strength to overpower you. That thought sails away easily as he slides back into you, then drawing himself nearly all the way out and back in at a brutal pace. 

You reach back, fingers tracing those muscled quads, loving how they flex as he pounds into you. 

“No,” he growls, grabbing your wrists in one hand while the other reaches for the belt in his discarded jeans. “Teased me like a fuckin’ brat and now you think you’re allowed to put your hands wherever you want? I don’t think so, darlin’.”

Jake looks at you tenderly for a moment and it’s so out of place in the charged air between you, you almost don’t notice silent question in his eyes. You stare back defiantly, head twisted to the side, mouth closed and certainly not letting out your safe word. 

He grins, almost evilly, tightening the belt around your wrists. You take one look at the manic fire sparking off of him and try not to laugh, oh I may have just fucked up. Guess you shouldn't have pushed so hard.

Jake confirms your suspicions, slowing his thrusts as he runs his hands over your ass. “Wanna fuck you stupid, till my name is the only thing coming out of that bratty little mouth.” 

His gaze is fixed downwards, watching himself slide in and out of you slowly, the stretch of his cock in your pussy. You whine, pushing back to meet his thrusts in an effort to get the hard and fast pounding you crave. 

“So fuckin’ needy for me,” he grunts, hands wandering endlessly after having been denied for so long. “Tight little cunt’s taking me so well.”

Keening at his words, there’s unintelligible noises that maybe sound something like more, harder, please pouring out of you and he speeds up without even thinking about it, so intensely focused on the way you look writhing beneath him, wanting to give his good girl whatever she needs.

He realizes, even as he has you face down, ass up and wrists tied, you’re the one in control here.

Which is nothing short of terrifying. 

Seeing quite possibly the most captivating woman he’s ever had the chance to know falling apart because of him, he’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to give it up. 

He’s had plenty of rough, dominating sex before. Until you, he’d never put any thought into what it means, the responsibility that comes with taking. That you’re really calling the shots here, knowing he can only take what you allow him to. 

And he knows already, he’ll always be right there, chomping at the bit to take every single drop you’re willing to give him. 

He wants to edge you, wants to make you regret teasing him, wants to hear his name fall from your lips over and over and over again. He wants he wants he wants. 

Wants to take care of you, he thinks languidly, so misplaced in the scorching air between you. His hand snakes down, almost of its own accord, fingers deftly working your hot button, finding a rhythm when he hears your mewls getting familiarly frantic again. 

His hold on the reigns is slipping away, and he knows in this moment he doesn’t have it in him to deny you a single thing. 

“Come for me, honey,” he murmurs, soft and sweet, desperate fervor from being teased by you having dissipated as he watches you give everything to him, trust him so wholly so you can let go. 

Jake groans as you clench around him, head dropping to your shoulder blade and leaving panting, open mouthed kisses there, as you whine Jakejakejake, please, oh my god, Jake. 

He wants to last longer, wants to draw this out forever, you arching into him, blissed out and repeating his name like a prayer, but he can’t help the way your moans wreck him, the best kind of music to his ears, pulling him over the edge with you. 

Your wrists are untied, and you’re wrapped up in Jake’s arms, his cock giving a valiant twitch when he hears the sinful whimper leaving your lips as he pulls out. 

With you shuddering in his arms, clinging to him as you come down from your high Jake realizes he is totally, completely and utterly fucked.

It would be easier if it was just sex, but even he can’t lie to himself that extensively. Katelyn doesn’t light his mind on fire the way that you do. The way he feels with you, he never felt this with her, even at their best.

He’s always been Hangman with her, but with you he gets to be Jake. 

Somehow, he just knows, that you feel the same, that your souls are cut from the same cloth, that the same fire flickers in your chest. He trusts, like he trusts instincts in the air, that this is a part of you no one’s ever seen, that you constantly feel the magnetic pull between the two of you. 

Drawn to each other, like a moth to a flame, fatally attracted to something that’s destined to burn your lives down into the smallest of embers. 

When he goes leave, he kisses you deeply. Honeyed, like the Jake you’ve come to know. Affectionate enough that it softens the blow a little, that you can almost forget that he can’t spend the night with you, that you won’t be able to lace your fingers in his the next time he visits you at work. 

You glow when he walks in a room, but the longer he’s there the more you want. You want to be happy, want to feel special, having this secret part of Jake no one else gets to see, want it to be plenty for the love in your heart. 

You know it’s not enough, but you can’t ignore the insecure part of you that tells you it’s more than you deserve.