#skysficrecs

[firelilysky]

Fic: Whatever Returns From Oblivion

Author: @sulkybender

I legitimately can not say enough good things about this fic… I was lucky enough to read it early and have been sitting on this art and vibrating with excitement while Sulky shared their masterpiece with the world. Do yourself a favor and read this one, it’s one of my new all time favorites. ♥️

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

hey so ow

that was painful

thank you for the pain

but ow

Best Worst Christmas // Jake Seresin

Summary: After some life altering news. You confide in Hangman which leads you to ticking off something incredibly important on your bucket list.

Warnings: Terminal illness. Mentions of death. Dark humour. Jake Seresin x Reader. Angst & fluff—Jake being just the best version of himself.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: TRUST ME TO DO THIS. Because we can’t have anything nice here. Even at Christmas time. Got this idea from Bianca’s story line from Shameless. Not your typical happy go lucky Christmas fic.

Slow motion. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. From the way Bob brought the lip of his glass of lemonade up to his mouth to hide his infectious smile to the way Bradley twirled Phoenix under his arm and pulled her into his side. Dancing to whatever song had been blaring from the jukebox. 

Slow. Slow and silent. You couldn't hear a single thing beside the high pitched ringing in your ears that sounded like just the right pitch to break the glass of the windows out front. No laughter, no music, no mundane chatter from other patrons littering the Hard Deck on this oh so average Friday afternoon. 

Except there was nothing average about being told just forty five minutes ago that you were dying. Merry Fucking Chrismas. 

“I'm sorry, Payback.” You shook your head softly as you blinked a few times, the ringing in your ears clearing as everything seemed to come back into real time, sound and all. “What did you say?” 

“I said you don't look so good, Jake mentioned you left early for a doctor appointment off base, you good?” 

“What is Hangman doing with my name in his mouth?” You spat before you took what was left of your beer into your mouth, skulling the burnt amber liquid like there was no tomorrow. For you there really wasn't all that much time left. Paying attention to how your liver processed alcoholic beverages had become an afterthought. “But yeah, I uh– I did.” 

“Something any of us should be worried about?” Payback had always been a kind and gentle soul. You envied his passion for all things Christmas. His ugly Christmas sweater told you everything that you needed to know, his was down bad for the holiday season. “Nut?” 

“Everything’s just peachy keen Fitch, you don't gotta worry about me.” You tried your best to hide the ever mounting pressure you felt in your chest through a pained smile and soft gaze. “But–” You held your empty glass up as you twirled around on the barstool you'd been sitting on. “I'm tapped so I'm gonna grab another beer and then you and I are gonna have a game of pool once shit for brains is finished showboating.” Reuben followed where your eyeline had evidently landed and low and behold there stood none other than Jake Seresin, claiming his title as undefeated pool champion with a grin so prominent on his face it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Be right back.” 

You slid off the stool and fixed the ‘Christmas’ dress that had been sticking to the back of your thighs. It wasn't anything special, just a red mid length dress that fit the Christmas attire that had been mandated but Reuben Fitch himself. Head and only member of the party planning committee. It wasn't anything special, but at least the dress was red, right? 

You'd been excited for the staff Christmas party for months up until the moment your doctor had sat you down and handed you a one way ticket to the afterlife. You thought maybe the reason you'd been feeling so unwell over the last few weeks had been an imbalance in your birth control or a shift in seasons or just something, anything other than what your final prognosis had ended up being. 

“What can I get you Nut?” Penny asked when she saw you leaning against the bar, card in hand, swinging on the barstool. “The usual?” 

“Uh can I get a double Jamison please Pen, on the rocks if you could.” Penny got to work fixing up your order as Jake slipped in beside you. Not turning his head in your direction as he fished his wallet out from the back of his jeans as he sat. The stupid matching Chrismas shirt he wore with Bradley looked ridiculous on him. Only Bradley Bradshaw could pull off a Christmas themed Hawaiian shirt. It wasn't Hangman's usual attire, it looked idiodic on him in the best way possible. 

“Another beer if you can Penny, extra tenner on the bar for you too.” Jake was, if anything, a charmer at heart. But despite his ability to smooth talk his way out of any situation and into anyone that had a hole he could put it in, you couldn't stand him. “You seem even more shrewd than usual this afternoon there Nut, not feeling the Christmas cheer?” and he couldn't stand you either. Or so you both led on. 

“Bit me.” Penny slid you the class, brown bourbon had never tasted so good before as you downed the double shot you ordered before slamming the glass back down. It wasn't the best move you could have made because the second you swallowed? Your stomach churned. “I gotta go.” You were quick for a woman who could barely walk in heels, racing towards the nearest exit without so much as causing a scene. Leaving Jake in your dust as he almost gave himself whiplash trying to crain his head fast enough to keep up.

“Wait, hold on the parties just getting started?” Jake took the beer bottle from Penny, being gentleman enough to say a quick thankyou her way before making a dash after you towards the front door. “Nwet hold on!” Your call sign had you as the Goddess of the sky. The name originating from Egyptian Mythology, but for some reason or another that had been shortened even further. Everyone just called you Nut for short. 

“Not now Hangman, I’m serious I’m not fee–” You didn't get a chance to finish your sentence before you were throwing up the contents of your stomach in the nearest pot plant on the front deck. Down on your knees as your hands gripped at the ceramic. Coughing and splattering as Jake put his beer down on the railing and balled your hair into his first to keep it from falling into the backsplash. 

“Alright, I'm cutting you off killer, how much have you had to drink?” Jake crouched down beside you as you sat back on your heels, whipping your mouth on your forearm. “You good?” 

“Get me another drink and I'll be even better.” You had heard loud and clear what Jake had said but just chose to ignore it. You didn't have much choice anymore. Jake just looked at you like you were on another planet. His eyes wide as his mouth fell slightly open in shock. There weren't many people who could render Jake Seresin speechless–but you always seemed to manage. 

It was the same look he gave you whenever you'd get into a heated argument over training sessions or whenever you’d go head to head in another one of your PTI’s latest workouts. The same look he gave you when you said you were fine when you had to miss the last few days of flight training, the same look he gave you when he found you making your doctor's appointment in the rec room between his runs. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky just for him and once he’d finished admiring them you'd knock them out of the sky just to watch them shatter before him. Unpredictable and oh so beautiful. 

“Uh, no–I'm not gonna get you another drink when you're throwing up in Pennys plants.” 

“It's not the alcoholic, Jake.” You sighed out in response as you pressed your palm to your forehead. 

“It most definitely is I can smell it on yo–” You didn't know why, out of all the people you could have told first. Your Parents, Your Commanding Officers, any of your colleagues that seemed more and more like family every day, you chose Jake fucking Seresin to drop the biggest life ending bomb on. The worst Christmas Present ever. Deep deep down you knew exactly why. But there was no time left to figure it out now. 

“Jake it's not the Alcohol.” You cut him off, shutting your eyes as tight as you could because you couldn't look at him when you told him. “It's cancer.” 

“What?” When you opened your eyes again Jake's expression had softened to something you’d never seen before. “What do you mean it's cancer?” This couldn't really be happening could it? You wouldn't be cruel enough to play such a sick joke on him. But with the way you were looking at him right now? Jake felt his heart collapse into his stomach. The love of his life had cancer? “What do you mean by cancer Y/n?” Jake repeated as he brushed your hair away from your shoulder. “You aren’t being serious right now are you?” You didn’t respond right away because you were stunned at the saddened and stunned look Hangman had been stricken by.

“What I mean by cancer is that I have a shelf life.” You tried to make the moment a little more lighthearted. “A cosmic fuck you when you were just getting started huh.” It was the hardest thing you'd ever done, to sit in front of the man you loved to hate and hated to love and tell him you were dying. You hadn’t even had a chance to see what you could have been. You'd both been too caught up playing the long con that you'd wasted whatever time you had. 

“What's the uh–?” Jake didn't know how to ask as he stood with you and moved over to the nearest table that was clear and free. “What's the prognosis?” 

“Stage three Pancreatic–well basically stage four but—” Silence fell as Jake sat beside you completely stunned. His mind was running a million miles an hour, thinking of all the times you’d smiled at him. Beamed his way whenever he taunted you or teased you for something stupid and meaningless. You took everything like a champ because you could dish it out in return. He’d learnt to expect an elbow to the ribs whenever you had this one particular look in your eye. 

“And what's the going rate for stage three?” Jake wanted to hear you say at least something promising, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Two Percent, Doc said even that was being generous.” His heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t happening, not to you. Not to the one woman he had ever loved.

“Okay but what about chemo? What about other treatments that could surely raise that number up right?” 

“Oh, I ah–I don't wanna do any treatment.” That knocked the wind right out of Jake, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like the entire world had just been knocked out from under his feet. “I saw what it did to my friend's mother Cathy, she spent whatever time she had left being pumped full of poison, because of it she became so weak she couldn't enjoy the things she could have been while she still had time.” 

“You can't not try Y/n.” Jake had moved as close to you as he possibly could. So much so it was easy enough for you to accept your own mortality with your head resting gently on his shoulder. “It's probably really selfish of me to say this but I'm not ready to just let you go.” 

“Please, spare me the hallmark card sympathies Seresin.” Scoffing, you took the beer bottle Jake had been sipping infrequently on. Taking a gulp of the yeasty beverage. “I don't need you treating me any differently now that you know I'm practically worm food.” It was the way Jake looked at you like he couldn't believe what you had just said. Did you expect him not to laugh or something? Strifally back a laugh so pure Jake waited for you to crack first, the symphony of highs and lows that sounded like the most prim and proper orchestra surrounded him as you laughed with him. 

“When did you find out? You seem to be dealing with the inevitability of it all well.” 

“About fifty minutes before I told you.” The smile had been whipped clean from Jake's face once again. The laughter that had just filled the atmosphere around you both now replaced with silence so heavy you were sure you had just been buried alive. “I haven't told anyone, and I wasn't planning to either.” 

Although you and Jake pretended most days to loathe each other's existence, there was no real animosity there. It was simply a childish act. Your mother had told you at an early age that boys who pulled your pony tail on the playground at school must have liked you. So you learnt play rough too, showing your affection by taunting and teasing between lingering eyes and daydreams of what it would be like to be with Jake as more than just whatever the fuck you were. 

“Why did you tell me? I mean I thought I would have been the last person on earth you would have spilled your darkest secrets to.” Jake felt nothing but content when you let your head fall back to his shoulder. He decided this time though to wrap a comforting arm around you—drawing you further into his side. 

“Believe it or not you were the first person who came to mind when I was told.” You'd thought about what Jake would say. If he’d even say anything at all when he found out, if he’d change the way he treated you or if there would be a small part of him that would be relieved that you wouldn't be around to annoy him anymore or challenge him whenever he thought he was better than you. “I thought maybe you’d be a good person to tell because you wouldnt look at me like I was weak.” 

“If there’s one thing you are, it's not weak.” Jake shook his head as he finished the remains of his beer. Standing as he offered you a hand. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.” 

“What? Where are we going?” You didn’t protest all that much—knowing what Jake had in mind was probably better than wallowing in self pity. You took his hand gracefully as he guided you to stand, meeting his gaze yet again. 

“We’re gonna go back to your place—“ 

“Oh, as if you would.” You cracked a smile as Jake looked at you a little confused. “I’m dying Hangman, don’t get that confused with desperate.” It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, you would in a heartbeat—but the feeling you got from your back and forth taunting just made the prize all the more worth it. Jake just stood in front of you, eyes trailing from your gaze to your lips then back to

Your eyes. Committing every last detail of your face to his long term memory. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, but we’re going back to yours.” 

“I told Payback I’d play a game of pool with him.” You explained as you tried to push past Jake, all he did was grip your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. “Jesus Christ Jake what has gotten into you?” You stood there questioning his sudden need to be overbearing. 

“You just told me you have terminal cancer and you’re asking me what’s gotten into me! Jesus Y/n.” Jake let go of your wrist as he ran his hands through his hair, extinguishing a frustrated sigh as he looked anywhere but directly at you when he let his guard down. Nothing good ever came with Jake Seresin let his guard down, so he didn’t do it all that often. “I was just told the woman I’ve been obsessed with for the last year is dying and there’s literally not a single thing that I can do to stop it!” You let your walls down almost instantly at the confirmation, softening your shoulders and letting yourself just enjoy the satisfaction of the moment you thought would never come. Jake knew you were thinking—he could practically see the cogs turning in your head as you stood before him smirking a bashful smile. Suddenly doe eyed and willing to step a little closer. “What?” Jake scoffed as his lips curled into a smile that matched yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“So you’re obsessed with me huh?” 

“That’s your take on this whole situation?” 

“Oh yeah—“ Wrapping your arms around the back of Jake's neck you drew him all the more closer as his hands instinctively went to your hips. “Because I didn’t have to admit that I’m obsessed with you first.” You really didn’t give him a second to respond with some witty remark on how he was just saying it because he felt sorry for you—instead you let your lips press against Jakes softly. Testing the waters before diving into the deep end. Pulling back as you slowly opened your eyes. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to love me, especially knowing what you know—“ It was Jake's turn to cut you off before you could try and talk him out of spending whatever time you had left right by your side. His lips connected with yours as his hands came up to cup your cheeks as your tongue danced with his. Savoring every second because you’d always wondered what type of kisser Jake Seresin was. The answer? He knew what he was doing. 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Pulling away momentarily Jake tan the pads of his thumbs across your flushed cheeks. “How long?” Jake didn’t really want to know the answer but he knew deep down it wouldn’t be long. 

“Anywhere between six months to a year.” It broke your heart the way Jake dropped his chin slightly at the realisation. “Depends on my lifestyle.” 

“Then I’m gonna be by your side for the next six to twelve months.” Jake promised as he held his hand up to wrap his pinky with yours. “Till the end of the line.” 

***~***~***~***~***~

Not a single person had seen you or Jake leave the Hard Deck unannounced. Payback had texted you a few times before you decided enough was enough and sent him a quick message saying you were with Jake before placing your phone on do not disturb. 

“Okay so you’re sure this one has the built in lighting?” Jake asked just one more time as you both stood back and looked at the piles of broken down Christmas tree that you’d sectioned into piles on your living room floor. 

“For the millionth time, yes—“ You’d leant Jake a pair of your ex’s old sweatpants that you’d forgotten you had until he was long gone. They fit snug, but well. In true Hangman style though? He was parading around your house, shirtless. Sweats hanging low leaving very little to the imagination. 

“Okay well, let’s start by fanning these prongs out before we attach anything to the trunk.” You’d changed into your Christmas pajamas—a cartoon version of the grinch saying it’s about to get naughty right across your chest. Jake had thought your house would be full of Christmas decorations by now—always the life of every holiday season. But when he stepped through the threshold and saw you hadn’t been bothered he knew that had to change. 

Especially if there was a possibility this could be your last Christmas. 

“You got your tree up yet?” You asked as soft melodies of Christmas songs played from your speaker, filling the living room as you and Jake sat on the ground amongst a sea of fake Christmas tree. Jake nodded softly as he worked to fluff out the prongs. 

“Yep, had it delivered the first of November—got a real one this year.” 

“Yeah you would be the type of person to have a real tree wouldn’t you.” It’s not that you had anything against it, it’s just that a real tree always seemed like so much work. “But if I get the chance to see next Christmas, I’ll get a real one.” 

“We can go Christmas tree shopping, new ornaments and all.” Jake offered as his pile grew a little faster then yours. “How come you hadn’t put your tree up yet?” He asked, perplexed. “You’re always drowning on about how the holidays are your favourite time of year.” You didn’t answer right away, you were going to make up some lame excuse but then you remembered Jake Seresin was the o my other person besides you general practitioner that knew you were dying. You could tell him. 

“I just haven’t really had the energy to.” 

“The cancers the reason you haven’t been flying as much isn’t it?” 

“Yep.” You popped your lips at the P. “Probably won’t be too long now before I’m stuck behind some desk in the admin building doing some mundane Johnny pencil pusher projects.” Sighing, you reached for another set of prongs. “Even a swivel chair will eventually make me gag—I don't know how much longer I’ll be able to withstand G’s and barrel roll.” 

“Well damn Nut, who’s gonna keep the top of my head from popping off?” Jake teased as he came to sit beside you, leaning back on the couch as he legs fell either side of you. Your back to his chest as he took the prongs you were working on from your hands and finished it himself. “You’ve always kept my ego from inflating.” 

“God help the crew when I’m dead and gone.” You chuckled softly as you left your sink into Jake's embrace. “You’ll just have to remember who’s the goddess of the sky, I’ll still be around to kick your ass.” 

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna manage that killer?” 

“I’ll wiggle your ear whenever you do something stupid.” You grinned, reaching up and around to wiggle Jake's earlobe. “Like that, whoever you get a little too hot headed, you’ll feel me.” 

“Deal.” Jake smiled softly as he kissed your shoulder from behind. “Now, while I’ll sit here fanning these things out, why don’t you make a list of all the things you wanna do between the next six to twelve months?” 

“Like a bucket list?” You asked softly as you lulled your head back to catch the glint in Jake's eyes. 

“Exactly, whatever you wanna do, I’ll help you do it.” You really couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Settling back against Jake you started listing off things in your notes app. 

“I wanna get a tattoo, something stupid but meaningful—maybe even just something funny.” You’d end up getting a matching tattoo with Jake a few weeks later. Both in the same spot, on your tricep just above your elbow. Two hands pinky promising—till the end of the line written in calligraphy.

“Solid plan, I approve, what else Nut?” Jake reached for another pile to fluff up, almost having made his way through all the pieces. 

“I wanna skinny dip at the beach, at night, or even when the suns just starting to set.” Jake takes you. You both strip down and race towards the waters edge. You wrestle and fight until you're hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. Kissing him like you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. His hands hold you up by your ass—and you squeal when a rogue wave knocks you both down. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 

“Shameless Y/l/n, but deal—what’s next.” You add about six different things onto your list, telling Jake every single one as you both stand to place all the pieces of your tree together. Deciding that you were both committing to the entire project together. Making a trip into your garage for the ornaments. 

“Maybe I should have a threesome?” You held the ladder at the bottom of your manhole Jake had climbed up into to fetch the seasonal box. “Yeah, never had one of those before but maybe it’s worth checking out.” 

“Two guys or one guy and one girl?” Jake handed you the box before he jumped down with a soft thud. “Or you and two girls?” You just raised a brow in response. “Hey—“ Jake was quick to hold his hands up in surrender. “I dunno what your sexual preferences are! I’m just being inclusive.” He sent you his signature shit eating grin. “But uh, pencil me down for whatever you decide.” 

“You wouldn’t be included in the girl on girl fantasy.” You gained back as Jake took the box back from you, walking side by side down the hall back to your living room. 

“But you’re saying there’s a chance I’d be included in the other two choices.” You never do end up having a threesome, it never actually makes the list. “Can’t say I haven’t dreamed of that a few times.” 

“Really? Funny that, I had a dream that I dropped you down a well just the other night.” You didn’t even look Jake's way as you fished out a few ornaments and started hanging them on the tree. Jake followed curiously. “And get here you are dreaming of having sex with me?” 

“I definitely like my dream a lot better—“ You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you shook your head, turning on your heels to fetch more ornaments. 

“I’m not having sex with you Hungman.” Jake raised his eyebrows in response to what you’d called him over your shoulder. “Isn't that what they all call you?” 

“Seems a little rude, and also short sighted.” He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck as you tried to pull away. Secretly enjoying the affection you could have been experiencing for a whole year before now. “Add it to your list.” 

“I’ll reluctantly add it to my list.” It didn’t take you and Jake all that much time to finish decorating your Christmas tree. Stepping back to admire your work, you turned on the lights and dimmed down your overheads. Jake held his fist out for your to fist bump before he drew you into his side. You had told Jake you’d add to fuck him onto you bucket list—he even watch your write something down into your notes. But it wasn’t that. No—it was something much better. 

“Best worst Christmas ever, don’t you think Nut?”

“Best worst Christmas ever Hangman.” Turning into Jake you kissed him once again, only for a fleeting moment. “Thankyou for this, just being here—I felt like I was drowning at the bar.”

“Like I said, till the end of the line.” Kissing the top of your head, you asked Jake to say the night, it was the first time Jake Seresin had slept in the same bed as a woman and he didn’t fuck her. All he did was hold you till you fell sleep—and that’s when for only a few brief moments he let himself cry. He loved you, truly. 

***~***~***~***~***~***

Eighteen Months Later //

“Are you thick or are you fucking stupid Rooster!?” Jake barked as he walked down the tarmac towards his wingman. “I said break right and follow back and under—talley two at five o’clock low means exactly that!” Jake was seeing red. “Do you wanna get yourself killed in a real fight?” 

“Ease up, we’re alive and we still have the fastest time on the leaderboard—Coyote, Payback and Fanboy are nowhere near us.”

“That’s not the point, Bradshaw! You just didn’t fucking think!” Jake was seething, his face was red and if Bradley looked close enough? He swore he could see steam coming out of Jake's ears. “Something’s gotta be in there—it can’t just be air in that thick—“ Before Jake could finish, he felt a tugging sensation on his left earlobe. Shutting up instantly as he reached up to tug at the phantom sensation. 

“Nut got your ear?” Bradley asked as he tapped Hangman on the shoulder, Bradley had been the one Jake confided in when you finally passed on. He didn’t believe in the afterlife until he couldn’t let you go. “Mum used to say dad would whistle around the house, she’d smell his cologne too.” Bradley caught the sun catching on Jake's wedding band. You’d both decided fuck it one night and high tailed it to a Vagas to get hitched. “She’s probably trying to tell you to stop yelling at me!” 

Christmas had long passed and Jake still had his dead tree up. Something about taking it down meant saying goodbye and he wasn’t ready to do that. You’d only just managed to make it to new years before deciding you just couldn’t do it anymore. But you were wrapped to have two best worst Christmas’s under your belt. 

Jake held you close till you took your last breath, you weren’t in some hospital somewhere hooked up to all sorts of machines. No. You were down by the ocean, in Jake's arms. Talking about how you were so thankful to have completed everything on your lift. The final one being the most important. 

“Here—“ Jake remembers you saying softly as you handed him a letter. “I wrote them down so you’ll never forget everything you did for me.” 

Jake scanned the page of about fifteen different things you had done together, the last one though he never knew you wrote. He couldn’t help himself as he held you a little tighter, a little closer. He framed the letter and placed it on his bedside table—The tick next to number fifteen his favourite thing of all. 

Number 15: Know what it’s like to fall in love on the worst, best Christmas ever.

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

Welcome

I'm simply your friendly neighborhood's middle sibling so pop in and say hi! there's always some shenanigans going on around here <3

~About Me~

🌷sky 🌷pronouns: she/her 🌷ranty: #skyrants , #sky gets personal , #i’m an idiot &lt;3, #the chronicles of my non-existent love life , #sky's college adventures 🌷writing: #skywrites , #sky writes (specific fic name) -for series only , #sky talks ocs , #sky’s writing 🌷editing/creation: #skyscreations , #skysedits 🌷rec: #skysficrecs , #other’s brilliant work <3 🌷i take requests for fics/hcs, moodboards, graphics, etc. 🌷requests are: open 🌷i am not comfortable writing smut 🌷i do not consent for any of my works to be reposted, translated, or copied in any way shape or form

~Links~

🌷Fandom's List 🌷OC List 🌷Dialogue Prompts 🌷Masterlist 🌷Wattpad 🌷Spotify 🌷Pinterest (Personal) 🌷Pinterest (Tumblr) 🌷LinkTree

dividers by me <3

[firelilysky]

Fic rec: how to survive your hot best friend (a study in failure)

Author: @syciaralynx

“Zuko turns towards him as he resettles, tucking himself along Sokka’s side to sprawl across his chest, and finds himself nose to nose with his dragon.

Druk apparently had a similar idea, and has found a comfy spot along Sokka’s collar, to leave his head resting comfortably into the softness of Sokka’s pec. He blinks at Zuko a couple of times before heaving a yawn and settling down, nuzzling into the skin for a second before drifting off.”

[high-ct5555]

Welcome

~About Me~ 🌷sky 🌷pronouns: she/her 🌷ranty: #skyrants 🌷writing: #skywrites , #sky writes (specific fic name) -for series only , #sky talks ocs , #sky’s writing 🌷rec: #skysficrecs , #other’s brilliant work <3 🌷i take requests for fics/hcs, moodboards, graphics, etc. 🌷requests are: open 🌷i am not comfortable writing smut 🌷i do not consent for any of my works to be reposted, translated, or copied in any way shape or form

Things I WILL NOT write: -Age Gaps -Smut -Non-Canon typical Graphic Topics -Cl*ncest

I'm currently taking requests for Headcanons, One Shots, blurbs, and ships!

I DO NOT WANT ANY CL*NCEST OR CLONE x CLONE CONTENT SENT TO ME NOR DO I WANT TO BE TAGGED IN IT

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

GIVE ME HIM RIGHT NOW LET ME HUG HIM BETTER OH MY GOD

i love you, i’m sorry

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: injured character, explicit descriptions of wounds, brief mention of reader having a panic attack, emotional angst, bad dad Bruce implied

a/n: i just feel like jason showing up half dead at your door would be a massive turning point in your relationship, y’know? can be read as a successor to this or as a standalone.

divider credit: saradika

When Red Hood comes to you, he’s almost always hurt. You’ve learned to keep a first aid kit that would make any hospital jealous and with no formal training you’ve picked up skills that rival that of an army medic. Over the last year, you’ve seen gashes, bruises, concussions, even a dislocated shoulder.

You have never seen anything like this.

You spot him the second you walk through your front door. He’s slumped against the wall just below your window. His armor has gashes in it and blood steadily drips from the tears. There’s more blood dripping down his chest, making the red bat symbol look like it’s melting. More concerning than anything else is the helmet. It’s broken. There’s a huge chunk of it missing on the left side of his head. You can see the red domino mask underneath, the battered skin that’s already coloring the initial red-purple of a black eye, and the blood flowing from a nasty looking cut on his eyebrow.

You freeze. A bolt of panic shoots from your head to your toes. No, not panic. Fear. Pure, undiluted fear. Because he looks like he’s dying. The thought startles you out of your haze and you slam your front door shut, locking the five different locks he’d insisted on installing around three months into your partnership. You run to him. You don’t know what to do. All you know is you need to get to him.

You drop to your knees and place your hands on either side of his head. For the first time, your right hand meets skin instead of cool metal. Maybe another time you’d savor that, but your hand is slick with his blood the second you make contact.

“Red?” you call, voice frantic.

You repeat the nickname over and over, fear rising into your throat when he makes no acknowledgment of you, when there’s no sign of life. You continue to call for him, begin gently shaking his shoulder. Finally, the white lens of the domino mask narrows and expands. A blink. He’s alive.

“Hey.”

His voice is broken, weak, filled with pain. He’s hurt in a way you’ve never seen him hurt. Underneath the fear you feel a surge of anger. Whoever did this to him…you want their head on a pike.

“Hi…hi,” you greet him shakily.

You’re lost. He’s in such bad shape you don’t know where to begin. You decide to look at the wounds on his torso first. There’s many, but the blood that leaks from them is the bright red of surface wounds. Most of the blood he’s drenched in comes from a brutal gash situated just between his helmet and his body armor. It’s a tiny sliver of skin, maybe an inch of exposure, but it’s raggedly cut open.

Whoever hurt him had aimed just right to target the inconspicuous vulnerability. The rage flares again before it’s swallowed up by fear. You press your hand against the wound to stem the flow of thick, dark blood. Your heart breaks at the groan of pain he lets out.

Finally, you look at his head. This is the first time you’ve seen any part of his face. You’ve longed to know who your nighttime companion is, who your friend is. You never wanted to see him like this. The eyebrow cut is long, a slice from just above his eyelid to the middle of his forehead. Bruises cover his brow bone, his cheekbone, his forehead. Every bit of exposed skin looks battered. It clicks in your brain in one horrifying instant.

His wounds aren’t from a shootout or a tussle with a criminal gone south. He’s been beaten. Badly. And there’s only one person who you can think of that would be capable of harming him like this. You pull your curtains shut and say a prayer to whoever’s listening that the World’s Greatest Detective isn’t still hunting him.

“Red? I need to get you to the bathroom, okay?” you ask, the cracking in your voice betraying any sense of strength you were trying to convey.

He doesn’t respond and you feel fear shoot through you again. Then his arm wraps around your waist and you breathe a sigh of relief. You can’t lift him to his feet, nor could you support his weight if you managed it. You realize you’re going to have to crawl to your bathroom.

The process is slow and awkward. Red Hood lifts himself off the wall, slumping forward toward you. You pull his arm over your shoulder, and even with both of you on the ground his weight is heavy against you. You keep one arm wrapped around his waist, the other slowly helping to drag the both of you towards your bathroom.

Your muscles are burning and your arms are shaky when you finally make it. With his help, you manage one last burst of strength to get him into your bathtub. You think that that’s the last bit of help you’ll get from him tonight when he goes limp against the tub wall.

You feel a sudden wave of anxiety come over you. You’re going to need to get his clothes off. Worse, you need the helmet off. You feel wrong even thinking about it. Once when he’d had a bad concussion, you’d woken him every hour on the hour with your eyes closed so as not to see his face.

“Red…I know you’re not going to like this, but I have to take off your helmet, okay? I need to see if there’s any other wounds under there,” you say carefully, slowly, like trying to comfort a wounded animal ready to bite.

You feel his shoulders stiffen under your hands. You wait for him to tell you no, to fight you on it like he has every time before. Instead he gives a nearly imperceptible nod of his head. It makes you feel even worse. You had hoped that if he ever revealed himself to you it would be because he trusted you, not out of necessity.

His hands reach up to push on the undersides of the helmet and you hear the distinct click of it unlatching. He weakly pushes it off his head and drops it on the bathroom floor. It’s more of him than you’ve ever seen and you try not to look too long. But then his hands are up by his face again and you can’t stop the look of shock that creeps on your face as he willingly pulls the domino mask off.

For the first time, you see his eyes. They’re a beautiful seafoam green. You feel your breath catch in your throat. You already felt a fondness in your chest for the man that keeps you safe. He scoffed when you told him that for the first time. Made some snide comment about if you were aware of the fact that he kills people. You just remained steadfast, told him that he protected good people, innocent people. You told him that he was good.

You never doubted the phrase, but now you know firsthand how true it rings. Eyes are the window to the soul. Now there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s good. And no doubt that you care for him deeply. He lets out one shaky breath that pulls you from your trance. He looks a little nervous, a little vulnerable. You suppose he is, so you keep moving.

“Lean forward for me, just a little? I need to see the back of your head,” you murmur.

He obeys, a slight hiss leaving him at having to crane his neck. You’ve got your hand pressed against the cut under his jaw and you feel blood gush as he tilts his head down. Your other hand gently combs through his hair as you look for gashes or bumps. Thankfully you find none, though you suspect he might be concussed.

“I’m gonna patch you up now, but I need to get all this off. Is that okay?” you ask.

He looks extremely put out by the idea of being undressed. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable. After all, you don’t know how thrilled you’d be if you had to strip down in front of him. You think you could stitch him up through the tattered gear, but then he’d need to shower. He can’t even stand by himself right now. He realizes it too. He gives one jerky nod, his sea green eyes staring right through you.

You pull the easiest stuff off first. His boots, socks, and holsters lay abandoned on your bathroom floor next to your small waste bin. You move on to his body armor. He has to help you but you get it off without causing him too much pain. His tactical pants are next. Belt, button, zipper. Simple. You pull them off and add them to the pile of bloodied gear.

Now that he’s undressed you see that your lightbulb moment was correct. Bruises are starting to color across his body, a memento of blunt force. You fix what you can. It’s easy to stitch the little cuts on his torso, slightly harder to close the neck gash. Soon he’s all patched up, the blood beginning to dry on his skin in that uniquely gross sticky-crusty mix.

“Can I—I mean, would it be okay if I ran you a bath?” you ask quietly.

He looks wide eyed at you. You tell him that it’s fine if not, that you can figure something else out. It’s important to you to be careful of his boundaries, always respecting what he was willing to give. Perhaps that’s why he finally gives a slow nod of consent. His final item of clothing comes off and you add his boxers to the literal laundry list of clothing on your floor.

You start running his bath, leaving to grab a washcloth and toss his bloodstained clothing in the washer while the tub fills. As you're setting the cycle to run, your mind flashes with muddled, disjointed thoughts.

Thoughts about pain and sacrifice and betrayal and trust. The Batman did this to him. The Batman also helped him take down a Falcone drug ring three weeks ago. The man in your bathtub was Robin, a bright light in a city so dark that it snuffs any glimmer of hope that shines through. The man in your bathtub is Red Hood, a scourge to the ilk of Gotham with so much blood on his hands that he’s drowning in it. It’s all so much. Then you wonder if anyone has ever extended their hand to him and never curled it into a fist later on. And it hits you hard and soft all at once: you’re in this forever now. You won’t leave him. You love him.

It’s ridiculous. You love this man whose face you had never seen until tonight, whose name you don’t know. But you know that he loves classic literature after the night that he’d browsed your bookshelf after you wrapped his sprained wrist. You know that he has a fondness for chocolate chip cookies after the night he crawled through your window while you were baking a batch. You know he’s kind after the night he came by just to check on you, only to find you having a panic attack on your bathroom floor. You know he’s gentle after he picked you up off the ground and carried you to your bed, after he put your hand to his chest and made you breathe in time with him, after he held you until you fell asleep. And what was a name or a face compared to a heart and soul?

You swallow down the confession you’ve made to yourself and head back to the bathroom because right now it doesn’t matter. He needs help; you can worry about your being in love with him later. The tub is just about full when you get back and you turn the knobs shut. You dip the washcloth beneath the warm water and grab your bottle of soap off the ledge.

“This is all I’ve got, so you may just have to deal with smelling like me for the night,” you say, attempting to crack a joke.

“Well, y’smell nice, so ‘m okay with that,” he mumbles, Gotham accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

You can’t see yourself, but you’re pretty sure your face is as red as his helmet. You busy yourself by squeezing an unnecessary amount of soap into the cloth, scrubbing it until it’s more suds than fabric. You begin slowly, making sure his watchful eyes can see every move as you bring the cloth to his neck. You wash the blood and sweat off him gently, careful not to go near the stitched up gash.

“Can you raise your arms for me, Red?” you ask quietly as you run the cloth over his shoulders

“Jason.”

Your head snaps to face him and you feel like someone’s just slapped you.

“My name’s Jason.”

He whispers it like it’s a confession. You smile at him, soft and warm.

“Okay, Jason. Can you lift your arms?”

You spend the better part of an hour bathing him. Once all the blood, sweat, and grime is gone, you give him a towel fresh from the dryer to wrap himself in and leave him to dry off. You give him a thick red hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants you’d bought for him after the concussion incident. You still feel bad about him having to sleep in his gear that night.

You turn your favorite classical music playlist on low volume and the two of you sit comfortably in silence on your couch. You’re reading an Agatha Christie novel and Jason is resting with his eyes closed, no doubt nursing the migraine you gave him some Tylenol for. You think that maybe he dozes off a couple times when his breathing goes even and deep.

You take the time to memorize details of him, uncertain if you’ll ever get the blessing of seeing him as he is again. He’s got inky dark hair that’s on the longer side of short. There’s a stark white tuft in the front that stays neatly curled to itself, not a single hair slipping into the night black mess of waves and curls. His hooked nose and strong jawline give him a striking, rugged handsomeness. Scars litter his face. Some are barely there little white lines, while others are thicker and jagged at the edges.

Scars cover the rest of his body too. Every bit of skin you saw while bathing him has some form of scarring. You recognized healed slashes from knives or glass, thick circles with rough edges from bullet wounds. The one that took you by surprise is the largest of them. It’s red and raised in the shape of a Y, the two forks extending from the edges of his collarbones and meeting in the middle to carve straight down, taking a little curve around his belly button before disappearing into the dark trail of curls that leads to his pelvis. You’ve seen enough NCIS to know what it is: an autopsy scar.

You can’t even begin to fathom how he got an autopsy scar. You quickly remind yourself that it’s none of your business and push the sharp ache in your chest down, down, down. Your mind is still a hazy mess, a deluge of thoughts that leave a faint numbness and sorrow in their wake. You feel so deeply for this man that lies quietly on your couch. You wish you could protect him, as ridiculous as the idea sounds. You don’t even realize you’ve lost yourself to your thoughts until his sweet voice pulls you out.

“You’re in your head again,” he says quietly.

You turn your head to him slowly, still in a daze.

“Sorry, just thinking,” you reply, giving him a strained smile.

Anxiety washes over his face. He pushes himself forward, elbows on his knees like he’s trying to take up less space.

“I’ll get goin’ soon. ‘M sure I’ve wasted enough of your time,” he murmurs.

“Please stay here tonight.”

You spit it out without thinking. The last thing you want is him to think you were spacing out because you didn’t want him here or because he was an inconvenience.

“What?” he asks blankly.

His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks an odd mix of dumbfounded and agitated.

“Please stay. I don’t want you heading back out there tonight. Please, just stay here where you’re safe,” you whisper.

It’s a quiet request, but a desperate one. You need him to stay. You need to know he’ll be safe, that he’ll make it through the night.

“I…” he trails off uncertainly.

“You don’t hafta take care of me, y’know?” he finally spits out, “I’m not somethin’ you can fix.”

You bristle. Is that what he thinks of you? Even after all these months? That he’s some fixer upper to you? Some pet project?

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jason,” you say firmly.

His name is new in your mouth, but it feels natural even in the midst of your frustration.

“Good, ‘cause I can take care of myself. Been doin’ it for years now,” he bites.

Okay, now you’re starting to get a little annoyed. He’s done this a couple of times over the past year. Pushing you away when you just want to help him, just want to make sure he’s okay. And that’s fine. You can handle that most times. But not tonight. Not when you’ve just coaxed him back to life, not when you felt like you were so close to losing him.

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore!” you snap.

You see him tense at your harsh tone and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm your storming emotions.

“I…I’m not doing this because I’m trying to fix you. I’m doing this because you’re a human being. That first night…I’m sure you could’ve handled it yourself once you woke up. But I couldn’t leave you alone, hurting. Not then, not now,” you begin, leveling him with a stare so fierce that it holds him in place.

He goes to open his mouth, no doubt to argue, and you hold up a finger to quiet him.

“And I have no illusions that you won’t come back hurting again. None. I know you will. I know we’ll keep doing this over and over and over again. And I don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t do it. So push all you want, but I refuse to be anything less than someone you can count on.”

Silence. The weight of your words is heavy in the air. You’re expecting him to leave. Even with his clothes still in your washing machine. You’re sure if he wanted to go, he’d just unplug the thing from the wall and throw his damp gear back on. You brace yourself for it. A small part of you even feels the pang of heartache at the thought that he might never come back.

You’re not expecting him to surge forward and thread his fingers into your hair to pull you into a kiss. You’re not expecting the burning intensity you feel him pour into it. You’re not expecting the warmth of his scarred mouth pressing against your soft lips. You’re not expecting how easy it is to kiss him back, as natural and simple as breathing.

He pulls away all too quickly. Doubt flashes in those sea green eyes and his entire body recoils back from you. You don’t let him run far, fingers curling in his night black mess of hair. You pull him back to you, his forehead resting against yours even as his body is strung tight as a bowstring.

“Well now I can’t let you go,” you whisper.

“I shouldn’ta done that,” he mutters shakily.

“You should do it again.”

You have no idea where the sudden burst of confidence has come from. It’s so very unlike you, you who are normally so passive, so calm and docile. But it seems to bring Jason to his knees because a desperate noise sounds from deep in his chest and his big, warm hands come up to cradle your face as he slots your mouths together again. You sigh his name against his lips when he pulls you closer and then he’s pushing you away. With no effort at all, he picks you up and gently shoves you to the other side of your sofa. He rises too quickly and sways on his feet.

“I can’t–I can’t do this. I won’t do this to you,” he rushes out as he staggers toward your window.

You’re bolting in front of it before you can even think.

“You’re not doing anything to me. You’ve already told me the risks of being associated with you. I’m okay with them. I want this. I want you,” you tell him, and you’re so earnest that it leaves no room for doubt.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for. You can’t just show me a little kindness and fix me up to love you right,” Jason insists.

You should be mad again, but this time his statement lacks all the bite that it held before. Instead, you can hear the self-loathing in his voice, recognize the burn of it from the countless nights you two have sat on your floor debating whether he’s a hero or a necessary evil. And that just won’t do. You cradle his face and angle his head down to lock eyes, anchoring him in place.

“All I want is you, just as you are, come what may.”

There’s a shine to his pretty eyes, soft silver pools in the pale moonlight of the Gotham night. He shakes his head.

“Can’t make me somethin’ I‘m not,” he says, “‘m not made for this.”

And, oh, how your heart aches for this beautiful man. He’s so convinced that he’s violence incarnate, nothing but blood and gunpowder.

“We decide what we’re made for, what we want to be made for. What do you want, Jason?” you ask him softly.

Your hands are so gentle combing through his hair, thumb stroking his cheekbone sweetly. He flinches at the contact and you go to pull away, but he leans into your touch once he recognizes it won’t hurt him.

“I…don’t deserve it,” he whispers.

There’s something unspoken there. Something buried deep down in his chest. It aches to get out. He wants to scream it but the walls he’s built brick by brick around himself muffle the noise. I don’t deserve it, but I want it. He doesn’t have to say it, though. You understand loud and clear. And that alone is comfort to him, that he doesn’t have to say the quiet part out loud, that you just know him. No one has known him in years.

“This isn’t something you have to earn. And even if your answer truly is no, I’ll still be here in any way you want me to be.”

That’s what breaks him. Because it has only ever been something he’s had to earn. He had to earn it from his mother; earned it with cans of stolen soup heated in a rusted pot when Catherine was lost in the fog of her addiction, earned it with each spoonful he held to her mouth. He had to earn it from Bruce; earned it with every case solved, with every batarang that landed home in a bullseye, with every civilian saved. He had to earn it from Talia; earned it with every hit and kick, every blade mastered, every life taken. He’s had to earn love, earn affection, earn open hands instead of curled fists all his life. And you’re here offering up your love for free. You’re not even asking for him to love you back.

So as his defenses scream at him to tell you a thousand words that would cut you to ribbons–I don’t want you at all, go find another soul to save, you’re wasting your time–his heart hammers, demanding he be honest for once. He takes one shuddering breath before he whispers two words that change the trajectory of his life.

“…I’ll stay.”

And he does. He lets you nurse him back to health with water and painkillers. He lets you read to him after he sheepishly asks what your book is about. He lets you sit closer to him, shoulders and knees brushing under the soft blanket you’ve tossed over both of you. He even lets you guide him to your room, lets himself fall asleep tucked under your covers with your pinkies interlocked. It’s the first night that Jason Todd spends in your bed. It will hardly be the last.

[firelilysky]

Fic Rec: Burning Bright series

Author: @erisenyo

A Zukka classic that I will never be able to say enough good things about! Shan is a master storyteller and everything she writes leaves me in awe, and this series specifically houses some of the best fics I’ve ever read in any fandom. This had such a grip on me that I was reading this in every ounce of free time I had!

Exploring the relationship Sokka and Zuko could have if they knew each other in a different context, some really interesting and beautiful bending nuances, angst that hurts and makes you wish you could yell at them but makes the ‘good’ parts so much better, a hilarious Toph, and the kind of romantic scenes that make you put your phone down for a sec and kick your feet cause it’s so perfect… I can’t pick a favorite part (at least without spoiling anything) so just go read it if you haven’t!

[firelilysky]

Next installation in the art for fics I love series!

Fic Rec: u/oneeyedwonder

Author: @sulkybender

I loved the format of this one, with everything told through Reddit posts! As much as it hurts me to read about a broken Zuko I love how this was written with a hopeful tone and a soft, warm Sokka committed to helping him heal.

Show Sulky some love for this one!!

[firelilysky]

Two things I want to do more of this year are be more vocal about fics that I’ve loved and make more art. Soooo I’m going to start posting my recs accompanied by art bc fic authors are incredible and deserve so much love and praise and I personally want to be better about doing more than just dropping kudos on ao3!

Kicking this off with New Heights by my talented friend @adriancatrin - a sweet zukka getting together/coming to terms with feelings story with a beautifully written Zuko & Azula dynamic. The dialogue made me laugh out loud, the characterizations are spot on, and the actual ‘getting together’ moment is incredibly tender and soft.

Go read and show Adrian some love!

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

guys if you are any sort of Jason Todd fan I BEG read this fic!! Its so good and I know in my bones it's just going to get better!

not to mention the dialogue is 🤌 and y'all know how I feel about dialogue 🤭

The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City Update

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Chapter 1

Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

It was the signal again, burning bright against Gotham’s starless sky. 

Not Batman’s, but his. 

Jason’s. 

The last time he had seen that symbol, it had been because you had been trapped in the Monarch Theatre. The thought made his gut churn with unease. Alfred’s return had kept him on edge, and these days, he had a hard time keeping his emotions in check. Everything ran too hot, just under the surface of his skin. And now the recent message from you made him grind his teeth. 

I need your help. 

Then, a second message almost immediately after that. 

Please.

Read more on AO3

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

NANCKKDNDJSKDKNWKODKRNNFNNFIRNNDJXNKANXKNRNFJDNDNDJDNDNFNFBFBDNDKXMEK

GIMME HIM RN

~♡~ midnight visit ~♡~

In which Jason visits in the middle of the night after a mission goes bad. ~ jason todd x fem!reader ~ 18 + ~ unedited & raw ~ please reblog and leave notes thank you ♡

☽ ~ ♡♡♡ ~ ☾

The heat only seemed to work when it wanted to. Tonight was one of those nights it sat off in protest, letting the cold seep in through the cracked window seals. In the morning maybe you’d try the landlord again about getting it fixed, but your hopes remain low.

The only option is to layer. Sweatpants, a sweater, plus his hoodie – you wrap yourself in as much as you can, like Christmas wrapping paper hiding a meager gift. Fuzzy socks and hands pulled into sleeves when they weren’t wrapped around a quickly cooling cup of black tea sweetened with cream.

Outside the moon is high and full in an unclouded sky. Lights from the city wash away the stars but never the moon, always watching, an eye in the black. But your curtains are closed, another layer fighting back the cold.

Reruns of a show you watched as a kid play this late, another layer. Emotional warmth was just as important as the physical, guiding you into a half-sleep as you lay on the couch buried under the duvet pulled off the bed. You were too tired to make the few steps to the bed – you could cross the entire studio apartment in twenty big steps – and the couch seemed warmer anyway, being central in the room, making it far enough away from the offending windows.

Your eyes are heavy. They’re closed before you realize it.

Thud.

 Then they’re open. You shoot up, ice down your spine, jaw clenched, heart beating a bruise against your ribs. Panic. It’s just you tonight – Jason’s out, he’s working, vigilante shit – and it’s just you – the gun. It’s not near you – no, it’s locked in its case in the nightstand, where he told you to keep it, make sure it’s safe and you’re safe –

Tap taptap tap tap.

The rhythmic knocking is enough for you to take a breath. It’s not a threat. It’s Jason.

He taps again as you’re throwing the duvet to the side of the couch and getting up, stuff your feet into bat slippers. Again as you’re shuffling across the studio apartment to the window near the bed. You shove aside the star-patterned blackout curtains and there he is, still in his uniform, standing on the fire escape.

He’s hunched forward slightly. Usually he’s tall, imposing, especially in the red half-mask and domino mask with the evil eyes, red hood pulled over his head. There’s blood on his shirt and some splatter on his arms.

You narrow your eyes at him as you unlock the window – though you don’t mean the look. You’d rather him here on the fire escape than anywhere else, except maybe the front door like a normal boyfriend. As soon as you wrench open the bottom pane an inch his hands are inside helping you lift. You step back and watch him duck under and into the apartment. He closes the window with a thump and locks it again before fixing the curtains. The overhead lights are off, making it difficult to see if he’s injured, but he moves to you before you can really get a good look.

Arms wrap around and pull you in. Jason buried his face against your neck, the mask cold and rough. You pull back slightly and he quickly remedies the situation by removing both masks and tossing them to the bed before burying his face again. This time there’s nothing between his lips and the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your hands settle to the small of his back, your forehead to his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and exhales a shaky one.

Oh. Yes, something is wrong.

Jason was never the best at verbally sharing his emotions, save for that one, that very volatile, dangerous fire in him – no, he’d never had any difficulty sharing that anger, exploding on anybody who deserved it. Never you, though, and you could say that with confidence. But he also never shared when something was wrong, and so you’d learn to read it in his body, in the way his breaths shuddered on the exhale, the way his fingers dug into the fabric of his hoodie on your body, the way he leaned on you with half his weight like he needed you to support him.

You slip your hand between your bodies to cup his cheek. He inhales sharply, then laughs quietly. “Your hands are cold,” he whispers. His voice is rough and tired, like he’s been yelling. But the tone of it is good – soft, a little playful – though you remain reserved, knowing it’s most likely a cover.

“The heat’s not working,” you say. You stroke his cheek. Warm still, from being kept safe under the mask. You trace the outer shell of his ear with the tip of your finger. He shivers slightly but doesn’t pull back. Your fingers continue, tangling in his hair at the back of his head, scratching slightly the way he likes.

It’s enough to make him pull his mouth from your neck to meet yours. His lips are warm, firm but soft, as they take over yours. He holds your back as you lean slightly under the pressure of his body against yours. His tongue asks with a soft trace of your bottom lip, just barely touching, but you know what he wants and you answer accordingly.

It’s not long; in reality, the kiss lasts a few seconds, and once it’s over you realize it was too short. You’re left wanting more.

Jason smiles but only with his mouth. His eyes remain locked in that sadness you’re trying to remedy. He lifts your chin with his index and thumb, gloves rough against your skin eliciting a beat of excitement. He rests his forehead against yours. “I know a way we can get warm,” he says in a husky breath.

You roll your eyes. You walked into that one, really. And now that he’s said it, let the idea out into the air like that, it becomes the only thing on your mind – until you look into his eyes again.

You cup his cheeks and lift his head from yours. He raises an eyebrow, playful smile still stuck on his lips. You want to ask outright – what happened? Is everything alright? – but is that too much? Would that bother him?

He sees it on your face, thoughts running through your mind. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You lower your hands, letting your sleeves swallow them back. “Are you alright?”

He glances away, then back. “I’m fine,” he says.

You tug at the front of his shirt and slip your hands underneath the fabric. He laughs, his abdomen tightening at the icy feel of your fingertips against his skin. You slowly flatten your hands until he relaxes, he’s used to the touch, before sliding them to the small of his back. His muscles flex under your touch as he tenses once more – this time in excitement, as you press your body against his again.

Jason cups your cheek as he leans to kiss you again. You press your nails into his back, causing him to exhale, and you take the small moan into your mouth along with his tongue. His other hand slips under your hoodie and sweater, only to discover another layer – one of his shirts he’d left behind.

He laughs softly. “Just how much clothing do I have to get through before I reach the prize?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t dress sexier for you.” You drag your nails slowly downward to dip the tips of your fingers under the waist of his pants. “I’m going to call the landlord again about the heat. It’s not –”

His mouth crashes roughly on yours, shutting you up. Instinctively your fingers tighten around his belt and pull down – though the move does nothing – as he cradles the back of your head and slips his hand finally underneath all your layers. Rough, worn leather scrapes enticingly over the soft skin of your belly, bringing with it a trail of goosebumps up your arms, down your thighs.

He breaks the kiss for a moment to say, “I’ll take care of it for you.” And then his mouth is on yours again and he’s guiding you backwards to the bed. The back of your thighs hit the mattress and you drop to sit, losing both your grip on his belt and his kiss. He remains standing over you.

The sadness has left his eyes. You feel a small pulse of joy at that, seeing it replaced by lust, burning in need for you – maybe tomorrow you’ll ask him and he’ll be more forthcoming. For now, let him have this, you think.

Jason bites the fingertip of one glove to pull it off with his mouth, drops it to the floor before removing the next. Then the hooded vest, then his shirt, with help from you. At last it’s your turn as he grabs the hoodie and sweater and rips them over your head and off. Then the shirt you borrowed – it still smells like him because you never wash it – off and lost to the floor.

A moment while he takes you in. A scene he’s seen before enough times that it shouldn’t stun him like this but still it does – you in nothing but loose sweatpants, not remotely sexy by any means, but to him it might be the greatest thing he’s ever witnessed. Not as great as sans sweatpants, but he pauses anyway to rake his eyes over your breasts, his body tightening in now noticeable excitement.

You tug on his belt, loosen it. Pull it free as he watches, a smirk on his face. You don’t get further than that before he’s grabbing you by the cheeks and kissing you again. Your nipples stand pert, firm, because of the cold and the thrill of his tongue slipping over yours, exploring the inside of your mouth. You’re falling back under his control. The back of your head meets the mattress and the kiss breaks.

Jason stands over you, fingers already wrapping the waistband of your sweatpants, then they’re gone. Your panties follow in quick order. Instinctively your legs tighten, fight away the cold as it prickles your skin – but soon the cold gives way to the warmth of his lips as they find your neck. They kiss and bite, suck and nip, pull you in as his hands explore their own path. Fingers tweak your nipple, pull a whimper from you. He smiles against your other breast before closing his lips around your nipple, encasing it in warmth as he sucks. You arch your back off the bed, pressing yourself further into his mouth and hand.

Then his mouth is gone, your nipple wet with his saliva left to chill in the cold again. He’s moving down, forging ahead on the path he’s designed, planting kisses on your stomach in a hot, wet trail. You wiggle underneath him to make more room for him, bringing your head to the edge of the bed.

The hand not following his mouth is busy undoing the front of his pants and trying to push them off one side at a time. He bites gently at your thigh, taking the skin between his lips and leaving behind a pink mark that will blossom tomorrow. You pick your head up to watch when you lose track of his hand on your body – it’s gone to shove off of his pants, finally succeeding.

To the pillows, where your head lands soft, his mouth again on yours. His excitement is palpable as he presses it between your open thighs. Despite the body heat, you still shiver.

“Where’s the blanket?” Jason asks, lips floating over yours in a forced pause.

“Couch,” you manage to get out.

He’s gone only for a moment to grab the duvet, and then his body is on yours again, this time with the added weight of the blanket trapping in that delicious body heat you’re both emitting. His hands grip your thighs, guiding them around him to grip and hold, to pull him closer. Despite this he has other plans, ones that you quickly deduce as his mouth leaves yours again to retrace his previous trail.

You lift the blanket and try to push it down to watch, but he stops you – “You can’t watch,” he says, grinning. “Only feel.”

You frown as the blanket covers him again, and he’s gone from view. Quickly the look is ripped from your face as he buries his face between your thighs.

You arch and lift with a sharp gasp. That first tongue flick to your clit is electric, and your thighs seek to tighten and close on his head. He grabs the back of your legs and squeezes, and you relax only slightly as he eases you with his mouth. Another flick of his tongue, another spark. Your eyes roll back as his lips close around your swollen bud. Heat pools in the pit of your belly, the base of your spine.

Unable to reach for him – the blanket, damn armor – you grip the pillow instead, pulling at the innocent fabric and twisting it in your fingers as he sucks. His fingers join the fun, two sinking inside your wet heat almost too easily. He curves them and presses – he’s got your spots memorized – at the same time his tongue flicks around your clit trapped in the suction of his lips.

Your toes curl, feet burn, eyes pinch shut. Your body wriggles under him, lifting with an ache to bring him deeper, to have him harder. He responds in kind, working with more intensity to undo you. Fingers thrust as he sucks, quicker, harder.

You lift your head to see nothing but the blanket moving slightly. Oh, fuck it. You toss it off and bury your hands in his hair, holding him in place with your thighs. He pulls his fingers free only to bury his tongue inside. His nose presses your clit. He’s only there for a short taste, moving quickly back to continue ministrations on your clit until it’s too much. The heat swells, the pleasure rises and rises like a wave until at last it crashes. Your back is arched completely off the bed, your head in the air, your fingers pulling at his hair as you cry out in release.

Jason slows, tasting your release, the feel of his tongue overstimulating. You push at his forehead and whimper, unable to form words. But you don’t have to; he already knows.

He kisses a path up to your mouth again. Fingers, now able to reach him fully again, trace the scars on his chest, his abdomen, in a slow, steady path down. They have a clear goal in mind.

But you don’t wrap them around his swollen cock. Instead you tease with gentle strokes around – coming close but never realizing – as he does the same, teasing the skin of your breast as the two of you remain locked in a kiss.

He ruts upward, maybe seeking the warmth of your hand, or a different one. You smile against his lips. “What are you waiting for?” You ask.

He’s slowed. Something is different. Another kiss, closed mouth, leads to a kiss planted on your cheek that feels strange. Not uncomfortable, but warmer, sunnier. Then a kiss close to your ear, then words, whispered and low.

“I love you,” Jason says, barely louder than a breath.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, though you can count on one hand how many times he has. But tonight it feels different. He needs this. Needs you. Not in that way – no, in some other way that he won’t admit out loud.

And that’s fine for now. “I love you, too.” You turn your head to meet his gaze and find those blue eyes drowning. All you can think to do is kiss him again to close those eyes and bandage whatever is hurting him. The fix is temporary. Plastic tape on a crack in a dam, water bubbling and spilling forth.

You guide him back to the here and now with hands gentle and stroking, though it feels crude and strange for a moment until his mouth is on your neck, sucking and nipping and exhaling soft moans. He pulses in your hand, the hearty beat of veins, thick and full of life, and you give a soft squeeze to urge this game forward, an ask of him – “Fuck me now,” you whisper, somehow making the raw words romantic.

Unsurprisingly those were the words he needed to repair the distraction. Jason reaches to the nightstand, opens the drawer and skips past the gun in its locked case to grab a condom. He sits back on his heels between your legs and you watch as he tears the package open with his teeth. You rest your legs on his muscled thighs as he rolls it on expertly, snug and fit, the way you hope to be wrapped around him in the next few seconds.

Trash gone to the floor to be dealt with later, same as your clothes, his uniform…then his mouth on yours and his fingers intertwined with yours, pressing your hand into the bed as the other works…guides him to your entrance, to push and melt. He goes slowly, laboriously so, more than usual – he’s a lot to take and he knows, and he’s always gone easy on you, but tonight again…different.

A sharp inhale – fully rooted in you now, filling both body and mind, Jason stills. Bodies interlock, hands and legs and those most inner workings, hearts racing against the others’ ribcage, his mouth soft and unmoving against yours as you simply breathe him in. He swallows. His free hand brushes the hair from your sweaty forehead – sweat? In this cold? – before he kisses you again.

You bury your fingers in his back. Feel the strength in him, the scars painting his skin, knowledge that he is not innocent. That he is gray – or maybe a million different colors of man. His hands – one grips your thigh, squeezes and holds your leg around him as he gives an experimental thrust, something to see how ready you are for him – the other fisted on the mattress, holding his body at an angle over yours. Your chest is cold. He’s not looking at you, instead looking down, concentrating as he gives another thrust.

The third rolls your eyes back and causes your eyelids to flutter. Brings his attention to your face. He loves to watch as you come undone and seeks it desperately. Imagines it when he’s forced to be alone, can’t make it to you. The fingers on your thigh loosen and let go to aid him in his quest, and they move to your clit to bring you up higher as his movements inside you quicken and harden.

You squirm – can’t keep still – lift and meet his thrusts, aching to feel him deeper as you peak. His fingers give out and his body crashes on top of yours as he loses the last bit of control. Right now all he wants is to feel you, all he needs is to be inside you, as deep as he can, something to take away the edge of tonight – of what happened. Hands grab the backs of your knees and push them closer to your chest, opening you further for him, and he slams in roughly over and over.

The bed whines; the headboard smacks the wall. The neighbors can hear each pant and moan and whimper – “Ah, fuck – Jason – yes, yesyesyes –” but you’re too fucked out to care, too lost in this and him to worry about the complaint they’ll make to the landlord. You grab the back of his head, the back of his neck, pull him to kiss you, to feel every part of him buried inside you, as he fucks into you rough and lost, erratic in his need.

Sweat drips down his temple. The blanket has been kicked away, unnecessary now. All those layers peeled off and abandoned to the floor.

His body, sticky and hot, flattens against yours. His movements shorten but remain intense, slamming that spot inside that makes you see stars. Tongues tangle and hands grip the pillow, nearly tear the fabric, and he meets your moans with small ones of his own – your name drips from his lips, sweet and hot.

He slams a hand on the headboard, holding the carved wood in place against the wall to stop the slamming. The only sound now moans and skin on skin and the crude wet sound of where your bodies lock. He peaks, his body tensing as pleasure rolls through him. You feel the change, the tightness, the hand squeezing your hip too tight, the desperate way his mouth clings to yours.

His release shudders through his body. You feel it deep inside you, that twitch, and instinctively you tighten to hold him inside you, to take him for everything he can give.

The kisses slow, become lazy. Jason drops his head to the pillow and his body becomes a comfortable weight atop yours as he breathes in deep – steady now, no longer shaking – to regain himself. You draw your fingers up his back. He shivers.

A kiss near your ear. “It's cold,” he whispers, then laughs. You laugh too, because it's such a dumb thing to say, something you've both already established.

He pulls out carefully, brows furrowed in concentration as he removes the condom and ties it off. While he's in the bathroom, you fix the blanket and pillows and get dressed again. At least part way dressed, his shirt and your panties. The duvet and him will be enough to keep you warm now.

Jason emerges and accepts the sweatpants you find in the drawer for him. He's got a stash of clothes in your dresser for just this reason – a toothbrush on the bathroom counter, his own coffee cups. Slowly you bring him in, closer and closer, waiting for the day he decides to stay permanently.

His hands are warm as they envelop you again, press the small of your back under your shirt. You stand on your toes to kiss him sweet and lazy. The urge to ask again – what happened? – bubbles up in your thoughts, but you suppress it. It can wait. Don't ruin this moment.

“Stay the night?” You ask instead. Despite what you want, it's not a guarantee with him.

“I'm not going anywhere.” He speaks between kisses to your cheek. “Except to bed.”

You curl up in his arms under the blanket, your head on his chest for the moment to listen to the steady rhythm contained inside. The beat is a testament to the man --he's alive, he's here, he's safe.

For the moment.

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

hey so ouch

The Space Between Us

Contents: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst with no happy ending sorry

Jason Todd had always been good at letting people go. He told himself it was a survival skill, something you learned when the world took more from you than it gave. But as he stood in the doorway of your apartment, his hands trembling at his sides, he realized that letting you go would break something in him that could never be repaired.

“Say something,” you whispered, your voice fragile in the heavy silence.

Jason’s jaw tightened, the words caught in his throat like shards of glass. He couldn’t look at you—not when the hurt in your eyes mirrored the pain clawing at his chest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself. I thought if I stayed, if I loved you enough, I could fix it, but... you don’t want to be fixed, do you?”

“That’s not fair,” Jason muttered, his voice was low and strained.

“Fair?” You laughed bitterly and wiped at your eyes. “None of this is fair, Jason. I gave you everything, and all you’ve done is push me away. Every time I try to help, you shut me out. Every time I think I’ve reached you, you disappear.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, his voice rising, frustration spilling over.

“Protect me from what? You?” you shot back, your eyes blazing. “Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re so afraid of letting me in, of being vulnerable, that you’d rather destroy us than risk—”

“Risk losing you,” Jason interrupted, his voice raw. “Do you get that? Do you understand what it’s like to love someone so much that you’re terrified of what you’ll do to them?”

You froze, your breath hitching. “Jason...”

He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. “I’m not good, okay? I’m not the kind of person who gets to have someone like you. And I can’t keep pretending that I am. You deserve someone who can love you without ruining you.”

Your heart broke at the quiet resignation in his voice. “You’re not ruining me, Jason. You’re ruining yourself.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a storm about to break. Jason’s eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a war he’d been fighting for far longer than you’d known him.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “But I can’t be what you need.”

You swallowed hard, the tears streaming down your face blurring your vision. “Don’t do this,” you pleaded, your voice shaking. “Don’t walk away from us.”

But Jason just stepped back, his expression unreadable. “You’ll thank me someday,” he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

And then he turned and walked out the door, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his footsteps and the hollow ache in your chest.

You stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the empty space where he’d been, waiting for him to come back. But Jason Todd had always been good at letting people go.

And this time, he let you go too.

[high-ct5555]

I LOVE IT OMG

literal best way to end 2024 frfr

oh to have a pillow fight with the 501st 😔

AND THE LAST SENTENCE?? EXCUSE ME???

ahhh clone-uary sounds so cute!! and I love how you have it set up for yourself bc I've been there done that and it can get a little crazy otherwise xD

I thought I would mayhaps request Jesse and "Don't you dare throw that pillow." or "God, your hands are freezing. Here-" *holds hands* whichever tickles your fancy

~ @high-ct5555

thank you!! and i loved both of the prompts you gave but i went with the first one, i hope you enjoy it :)

Pillow Fight

words: 1,108

summary: after you stumble upon a playful 501st pillow fight, you decide to play a little joke on your favorite troopers.

clone troopers masterlist || request a clone-uary fic!

The clones were created to be fearsome warriors, at the top of their game when it came to strategy, ruthlessness, marksmanship, and hand-to-hand combat skills. You would no sooner want to meet an angry rancor in a dark alley than you would want to be the favored enemy of one of the GAR’s troopers, no matter what their rank or battalion was. 

And, as you quickly learned upon the joining the Republic’s forces as a strategist, when they weren’t in the throes of battle, the clones were the biggest goofballs you had ever met. 

The sound of joyful laughter was echoing through the durasteel walls as you walked through the halls of the flagship Resolute, returning to your quarters after a shift in the medical bay. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to check out the sounds of reverie in the barracks, but it was one you certainly did not regret. 

Every single item in the room was in disarray, including the bunks themselves (which you had thought were bolted to the floor, but apparently weren’t). Blankets were hung from the beds and even attached to the walls, created makeshift shelters for the troopers as they launched fuzzy projectiles at each other, and some of the braver clones were facing their brothers at closer ranges, large pillows in their hands as they whacked each other. 

When they finally noticed your presence in the room, the battle ceased in an instant. Pillows were still raised high in the air and not a single man stood from behind their shelter, but all eyes were on you as you stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised as you decided to have a little fun of your own. “Didn’t you hear what Rex was saying at the meeting earlier?” 

A sea of blank stares greeted you, which was what you had come to expect. You knew that every trooper in this room held endless respect for their captain, but you also happened to know that they tended to zone out when it came to longer meetings, and the one this morning had unfortunately been full of more organizational information than it had been battle plans and procedures. The looks on every single face in the room proved that no one had truly absorbed every single piece of information at the gathering, and it only made the next few moments more fun as you continued to speak. “Towards the end, he said there would be random barrack inspections this week by the commanding officers.”  

Okay, maybe it was a little cruel, but the sheer panic that took over every single one of the clones’ faces was something you couldn’t help but laugh out loud at. Immediately, the joyful mayhem of the previous moments was replaced by a new, more urgent chaos. 

“Whose pillows are these?” 

“Fives, did you nail those blankets into the wall?” 

“Rex is going to kill us.” 

In the midst of the chaos, you caught Jesse’s eye, but he was too consumed by the collective panic to really notice you. Your presence in these barracks at this point was something of a common occurrence, and you supposed that the group of men currently attempting to clean up the remnants of their bedding battle trusted you implicitly because of your connection to one of their ARC troopers. You had seen them at their best and at their worst, and while you’ll never love another like you love Jesse, every single person in the room at this moment has a special place in your heart. 

That special place in your heart did not grant them immunity from the occasional bout of playful tomfoolery, but you didn’t think anyone would be too mad when the truth finally came out. 

And it certainly did, much faster than you were expecting. 

The door to the barracks opened just seconds later, and every single eye in the room turned towards the doorway to see Rex standing in it, a cup of caf in his hand and the obvious expression of someone fighting back a yawn. As he stared at the mess before him and took in the sheer panic on every one of the trooper’s faces, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for what was about to happen. 

All at once, voices exploded. 

“Sir, can we have a little more time?” 

“We’re in the middle of a deep clean!” 

“Come on, we just got the notice today!” 

As Rex’s facial expression grew even more confused, you could feel the laughter bubbling up from your stomach. “What in Maker’s name are you all talking about?” 

“The barrack inspections,” Fives said expectantly. “From the meeting today.” 

“There was nothing about barrack inspections at the meeting today,” Rex responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who told you that?” 

No one even had to respond, because all the eyes in the room turned to you. After instinctively turning away, you could see a small smile peek at the corner of Rex’s face as he realized what you had done, and you just flashed a quick grin in return, before the chorus of chaos turned their attention on you. 

Through the shouts that blended together, your laughter finally broke loose. “Maybe if you all actually paid attention at the meeting, you would have known I was pulling your leg.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your boyfriend’s movements shift. “Don’t you dare throw that pillow!” But your words had apparently fallen on deaf ears, and you could feel the plush projectile striking the side of your head not a moment later. 

You didn’t know how it happened, or what had come over you, but the pillow was in your hands before it had even hit the ground, and you were winding up to throw it right back. And as Jesse ducked out of the way of your toss, the frantic cleaning of the barracks were abandoned once more. Even Rex joined in on the fun, after he finished the last sips of the caf in his hand of course. 

You were ducking behind one of the bunks when you heard Jesse’s voice next to you, cutting through the laughter and other glee that had taken over the room. “That was mean.” 

You laughed as you turned towards your lover, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe, but you know I learned from the best.” 

You watched him roll his eyes in response, but he didn’t resist when you looped your arms around his waist and pulled him closer. Your lips sealed together as the battle around raged, but in this moment, you were the only two people in the entire galaxy.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

me reading these headcanons fr bc OMG I AM OBSESSED!!!! THE JOE TOYE ONE?? HELLO?!??????!!!!????! AAAAAAAGH

you're literally speaking to me directly in each one of these swear to god

Thank you SO MUCH for this! I am literally obsessed! also I just cannot believe this is your first time writing for band of brothers bc it's just??? so good??? you actually deserve so much for these bc they're amazing 🫶

Meeting and Falling in Love with the Easy Company Boys (x f!reader)

A/N: These headcanons are my Secret Santa gift for the wonderful @hxad-ovxr-hxart (for @hbowardaily!'s yearly exchange)! I hope you enjoy them��this is the first thing I’ve ever made for Band of Brothers, despite being such a big fan. I had a lot of fun writing them! (BTW, I haven't watched BOB for a good six months, so I struggled a little with remembering what Talbert was like. I hope I did him justice.)

Characters: Joe Toye, Bull Randleman, Ronald Speirs, Joe Liebgott, Floyd Talbert

Joe Toye

This man is my short king (there is no way he is 5'10")

He may seem tough on the outside, especially toward his friends, but I know he would be the most caring person in the world to you. I mean, he broke out of the hospital in Bastogne to rejoin Easy Company–can you imagine what else he would do?

I figure you two would meet while he was in the hospital in Bastogne or after Market Garden. You would be doing your daily rounds, changing bandages and making beds when you come to him. He immediately thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, and thanks his lucky stars he ended up in your section.

He keeps requesting to see you, whether it’s under the guise of needing more medicine or needing someone to write his letters home for him (God, he thinks your handwriting is so pretty). It gets so tiring that your supervisor automatically sends you whenever he has an issue.

Of course, in an army hospital, there isn’t much Joe can do to try and be romantic, especially with a hundred other men needing your undivided attention. But he makes do with his pure charm and charisma, good looks, and maybe some candies he wrote home for. He makes sure to show you his brass knuckles and his plans to celebrate Joe Toye Day.

“Say, Y/N, when this war is over, how do you say we go out to dinner together? My treat.” Despite being bedridden, Joe’s affability shines through for you. You can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, Sergeant. I’d love to.”

As the war progresses and Joe goes back to active duty, you two exchange dozens and dozens of letters. They persist even as you’re both transferred to the most gruesome areas of the European theatre. He doesn’t sugarcoat it for you, but his stories of his friends and back home manage to light up your days. And he could say the same for the perfume and red lip-sticked kisses you leave on your letters.

He asks you to marry him in one letter (which he tried to keep hidden from the other men, until George found it and spread the news to all of Easy Company), and you immediately write back with a resounding YES!

Suddenly, though, the flow of letters to you goes cold. It isn’t until a few weeks later that his mother writes to you: Joe had lost his leg in Bastogne and was recovering in a hospital in Atlantic City. 

It was difficult getting through the latter months of the war knowing that an entire ocean separated you and Joe, but the letters and love continued. Once the war ended, you knew where you were going, and surprised him by his bedside in late May. 

“This is like déjà vu,” Joe chuckled, looking at you with all the adoration he could muster. The sun was setting over the New Jersey skyline, and the last of the hospital visitors were shuffling out into the night.

“Except you’re not leaving me this time,” you smiled, squeezing this hand, “And I’m not changing your sheets.”

Bull Randleman

BULL BULL BULL BULL (sang to the tune of “Bill Nye the Science Guy”)

I already know Bull is a big softie; I mean, not only does he look like he gives the best hugs on this here Earth, but we already know he is one of the best NCOs in Easy Company.

I think you two would meet prior to D-Day at Aldbourne. You’re a Donut Dolly helping the Red Cross lift the men’s spirits, and boy, do you certainly lift one paratrooper’s spirits. Bull comes back to your Clubmobile on a regular basis, sometimes multiple times a day, even if it is just to chat. 

Due to the Red Cross’ discouragement of Dollies having romantic relationships with servicemen, you can’t reciprocate the kind man’s feelings, despite how much you want to. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed that Bull gets his coffee and donuts for free whenever you’re working the station.

There’s an unmistakable tension in the air before D-Day, which inspires you to break the rules a little and accompany Bull to a local pub. Hours and a dozen endearing Southern phrases later, you are wrapped in his arms, dancing, as Glenn Miller plays on the jukebox. 

“Thank you for this, doll,” Bull said, as you swayed in the middle of the dark pub. Several other Americans were there, trying to drown their fear away. They were aware you were a dolly, forbidden from socializing with Bull in such a way, but they knew the gravity of the situation, and would never say a word.

“Don’t say that, Bull. We’ll see each other again.” 

A few days later, D-Day was in full swing, and the men you had spent the last months with were across the channel. However, you did not have to wait for Bull to come back for you, as you came to him. Within a week of the invasion, you and your clubmobile walked onto the Normandy beaches, footlocker in hand. 

You can not imagine the look of surprise and joy on Bull’s face when your truck joined Easy Company outside of Ste. Mere-Eglise; witnesses say it was the only time his cigar ever fell out of his mouth.

Everyone knew you had a thing for each other, but the rules were the rules, and they were enforceable now. So, you had to exchange letters and glances in private, with conversations and hand-holding reserved for when no one was around.

When VE and VJ Days were finally declared, it was like a load off your shoulders. Your first “official” dates together include swimming and walking in the Austrian mountains, and enjoying the left-behind alcohol and cigars. And let's not forget those hugs!

(A/N: Can you tell I've had a fixation on WWII Clubmobiles recently?)

Ronald Speirs

This man actually scares me, but that’s ok.

Speirs’ infatuation with you definitely comes from a place of respect. You work somewhere on the frontlines, whether it’s as a nurse, photographer, or another paratrooper in an alternate universe. While he may not vocalize it, he really admires your drive and bravery.

You two are acquaintances, having known each other since the early days of the Normandy invasion. You brush shoulders once in a while, but to your disappointment, nothing seems to develop between the two of you. His lingering glances go unnoticed.

He wouldn’t outright approach you. You would begin to notice small things added to your rucksack or station: chocolate, money, pawned jewelry, clothes–an entire set of fine china once appeared on top of your footlocker. You had no idea where it was coming from, and several attempts to find your secret admirer were to no avail. Whoever he was, you thought, he must be the most caring man in the world; who else would go out of their way to give gifts to a woman they barely know?

Someone would notice something, though. All the rumors about Speirs’ cruelty led some men to have a heightened interest in him and his daily happenings. It would be Luz who finally sees him bring a stolen pair of heels into your tent and exit without them–all while you were out doing your job.

“Hey, Lieutenant? You got a moment?” Luz called out to his superior. He walked across the ruined town square to Speirs, who responded with nothing but a blank stare. He had been caught and by no one less than George Luz.

“What do you want, Sergeant?”

“Well, I just wanted to say…” Luz looked around, half-jokingly making sure there were witnesses, “If this leaving stuff in Y/N’s tent is an attempt to ‘woo’ her, you might want to leave a note. Or just talk to her. How else will you know it’s you leaving her gifts and not Major Winters or Lieutenant Dike?”

With that, Speirs immediately goes out to find you. From the outside, he may appear to have all the confidence in the world, but he can not fathom you thinking all the gifts he has left are from the man he replaced. Speirs spots you mailing something back home; he pulls you outside, away from the attendant, and confesses that he has been the one leaving you gifts because of the feelings he’s been harboring. You quickly embrace him, causing Luz to whoop and cheer, which is only stifled by Speirs’ scowling.

From then on, you become the “First Lady” of Dog and Easy Company. You’re untouchable. Most of the men will bend over backward for you to stay on Speirs’ “good side.” You are treated with the utmost respect and courtesy, and privy to all the going-ons of the division. 

Toward the end of the war, Sgt. Grant is shot, and Speirs goes into full-blown protection mode. You accompany him as he locates the German doctor before initiating the manhunt for the soldier who shot Grant. You try to calm him down to the best of your abilities, but its no use. He hardly leaves your side after that night.

At the end of the war, Speirs decides to stay in the military, and despite the ups and downs that come with that, you stay with him. You celebrate with the rest of Easy Company as the men slowly start to return home with Speirs by your side. Not to be cliche, but you do live happily ever after, even if you’re never truly settled in one place.

Joe Liebgott

Call me David Webster, cause I would die for Joe Liebgott. He was my OG.

I think its safe to say that Liebgott is very tru cocky. I wouldn’t call it a superiority complex, perse, but he knows he’s good-looking and suave, and he’s confident enough to put it to good use. He can wine and dine any nurse and WAC he wants in a matter of moments. It’s a foolproof strategy; that is, until he sees you.

It’s Aldbourne, 1944, and he spots you in a pub while playing darts. He is immediately captivated by your looks, as even the drab green of your uniform manages to compliment them. He’s too busy staring at you and completely misses the target on his next throw. It costs him a pack of cigarettes, and you giggling at him, but man was it worth it.

You spend the evening huddled up together in a booth, him trying every one of his usual pick-up lines, and you shrugging them off like they’re nothing. It confuses Joe to no end that the one girl he wants doesn’t fall prey to his anecdotes. In reality, they do work, as you fall more and more in love with him throughout the night; you just want to hear him work for it.

He walks you back to your barracks, dizzy from infatuation (and dancing). You leave him with a peck on his cheek, and it's there he promises you will be the last girl he chases.

Before D-Day, Joe asks for a picture of you to keep during the war. You happily oblige, signing your love on the back of it with a kiss. He keeps it with him until the very end of the war and can not count the number of times he has shown you off someone else. By May, everyone in Easy knows what you look like.

Despite his addiction to Dick Tracy comics, Joe isn’t much of a poet, but this doesn’t keep him from writing to you daily. Sometimes the letters don’t contain more than an “I love you” or ramblings about how terrible his rations tasted or German lessons. Other times, they were more macabre, even though he attempts to sugarcoat things for you. Your favorite letters are when he describes life back home in California and everything he hopes to show you one day.

Obviously, the war was hard for Liebgott, even more than other soldiers. But knowing you are waiting for him and will stick with him helps get him through the hard times. I imagine Liebgott turns into Harry Welsh now that he’s smitten with you. He tells everyone about you, and wherever he goes, he looks for something to ship back to you. 

After the war, the two of you find yourselves a nice house in California. No matter what happens, you are there for each other through thick and thin. The picture you gave Joe in Aldbourne is framed in your living room for years to come.

Floyd Talbert

Unfortunately, I don’t remember Tab that much since it has been so long since my last rewatch. But if I know one thing for certain, I know he’s a cutie pie. (But I’m very sorry if these headcanons don’t match the character well).

You two would definitely meet while Floyd is recovering from being bayonetted by Private Smith in Carentan. You tend to his wounds and listen to him recall the harrowing story of how he received his injury. Its only when Easy Company returns to England and you meet his friends that you learn the injury was a simple mistake. Of course, Floyd is embarrassed, but you find it endearing.

Much like with Toye, you return to Tab’s bedside innumerous times. Since you’re in England, you can relatively safely go out for a “date” once he is healed. You enjoy the best British food the two of you can afford, and when that gets too sickening, you stroll through London like tourists.

He insisted you be there when he returns to Easy and informally receives a Purple Heart. His beams with pride, and in his confident state shows you off to the rest of the men as his fiancee. Well, that isn’t exactly true until a couple days later, when Floyd pops the question hours before departing for the war again. You wouldn’t think of saying anything but yes.

Like the other men, you exchange letters for months. You remain stationed outside of London, and despite wartime rationing, send him anything he needs. Cigarettes? Bought and shipped. Pictures of you? Taken and sent. Some baked goods? Consider it sent. If he could, he would reciprocate the favor, which he tries to do whenever they stop through a somewhat intact town. The tulips he sends you from the Netherlands are permanently placed by your beside, even if they arrive a little dried.

Once the war ends, Tab can not wait to see you and shows up unannounced in your ward. The excitement and love is palpable, and you marry within days. After that, he feels no rush to end the honeymoon phase, and you dawdle getting back to the states to begin life together.

[hxad-ovxr-hxart]

OH MY GOD

I need him STAT my heat is broken and it's COLD

hiya love !! so just a little headcannon that i have is reader curled into jason’s side when watching a movie on the couch, especially in the colder months and he just realised and teases her about it :D

(currently freezing my ass off next to my broken radiator :( )

A Warm Touch

I hope your radiator got fixed!! (Hopefully, this fluff is tooth-rotting enough to warm your heart this winter)  ~900 words

Jason Todd knows he runs hot. Be it summer or winter, rain or shine, he's practically a living furnace. It's just a fact, one that's never really affected him either way.

Sure, whoever joins him on whatever stakeout he's on may shift a little closer to his side and joke about him being their personal space heater once in a while, but it's not a life changing truth.

Jason Todd is warm to the touch, and that's just how it is. He's never spared it a second thought, never felt good or bad about it. That is until you come along, and now he's never been more grateful for it.

He didn't notice it at first, the way you unconsciously (or consciously) sought out his warmth on colder Gotham days. The days wind pounded at your windows, the days snow piled so high on the fire escape his entire boot would disappear into it, the days frost seemed to seep into every crack in your building. 

But he was certainly noticing it today. What was supposed to be a simple movie night has his head spinning, his face fighting back a grin as you cuddle into his side. The blanket thrown over your laps is soft and fuzzy, but it doesn't exactly keep out the chill that settles in your bones no matter how warm your apartment is. 

Jason knows he should offer to get you another blanket, but he's more delighted by the fact you would rather curl into him– hook your arm with his and rest your head on his shoulder– than get up. He should keep quiet about his epiphany, the fact that you enjoy how he runs hot, but he's never been one to pass up the opportunity to tease you. 

"Cold," he asks, voice a whisper of a question and low enough that you have to tilt your head to hear him better.

"I'm okay," you answer, seemingly distracted from the movie by his nose brushing along your temple.

"You seem cold," he prompts, ghosting his lips over the top of your head. It takes all his effort to keep his voice from falling into a teasing tone, to tickle and poke at your sides until you admit that while you were cold, he's doing a wonderful job of fixing that. (He's digging for your praise, sue him)

You almost seem to pick up on what he's doing, your eyes finally leaving the screen to focus solely on him, which is exactly what he's been wanting. "I'm not cold," you say easily, but your fingers move to grab at his sleeve– like you're worried he's planning something. (He is, kind of, but nothing more than this)

"Well, if you're not cold, I could go sit over on the–" he starts, grin going sly and eyes filing with mischief.

"No," you cut him off, eyes narrowing at the thought of him leaving your side. "I was cold," you correct, "but now I'm not."

His grin goes wolfish, but he lifts his arm to sling it over your shoulder, letting you snuggle closer into his side, "And that's because," he drawls out, almost sing-songy. He fights back the laugh that wells in his throat when you roll your eyes, a tinge of embarrassment painting your face.

"And that's because of you. Thank you for having a body temperature that anyone else would akin to a fever, Jason," you finally huff out, holding back a smile of your own at his antics.

He rewards you relenting by littering kisses over every inch of skin he can reach, from your face and down your jaw and to your throat, he doesn't stop until you're both a mess of laughter and smiles. 

It's not until you're holding your stomach with one arm and tugging at his shirt with the other, that he pulls back to study your face, the way the light catches in your eyes, just how happy you look. (You study him too, the way the lines of his face soften, how one corner of his mouth tugs higher when he smiles than the other)

'Not too warm, though. Right?" he murmurs, the briefest hint of insecurity flashing in his eyes. It's a bigger question that he means to ask, even if it's worded as innocently as it is. 

"Not at all," you soothe, fingers brushing back his hair so you can return his kisses with one of your own. A slow, soft kiss that wipes every doubt from his mind as quickly as it appeared. 

"It's the perfect temperature," you breathe out once you've pulled away, fingers lingering against his cheek, and Jason has to wonder what he did to deserve this moment– to deserve you.

"Oh, Good– I mean– That's good," he stumbles out, and tries to ignore the heat that threatens to rise to his face when you kiss his jaw and turn back to the tv.

"Stay here a while and keep me warm," you ask, head nestling back against his shoulder. (Right where it belongs, if you ask Jason)

"Yeah, sure, of course. Happy to," he agrees, giving into the urge to kiss the crown of your head, "For as long as you need me." And he means that, when he tells you, for more than just sharing his warmth. No matter what it is, no matter how simple or grand, as long as you need him, Jason will stay by your side.