#you can always ask me to tag a specific thing if you don't want it on your dash

[weirwolves]

in light of the new got trailer, here’s a friendly reminder that there’s a blacklisting filtering system built in your tumblr settings!!! you can put in both anti tags and regular tags to blacklist them so you don’t have to see things you dislike, be it negative posts about your favs/ship or positive posts about a ship/characters that you don’t enjoy! you can curate your dash to your desire, and not have to deal with negativity (to some extent as not everyone tags appropriately) if you don’t want to. 

just go to settings > account > filtering on your desktop or go to your profile > account > general settings > filtering on your mobile to filter out tags! happy blacklisting ❤️

[kakusu-shipping]

💕 - BNHA?

Blessed with anons today let's talk My Hero ships.

Over on my main I have this shipping chart that I made last year that goes over a lot of the main cast's dynamics in my mind. It's a little out dated though so I'm excited to talk about it again

Also this one too got a little long so under the cut it goes

I am once again showing my entire ass here as when a fandom has a lot of characters I tend to pick my favorite and ship them with everyone, and said favorite for MHA is my wonderful son Neito Monoma

Right off the bat my absolute favorite is Monoma/Ojiro/Shinso. I'm fully obsessed with them, the ABC of polycules I adore

I was super attached to Monoma/Aoyama for a while there as well, just for the French Fan vibes of it

Monoma/Izuku is solid, cute, possibility for fluff

Momona/Bakugo is better, rougher, harsher, cannot stop being mean to eachother for a second

My boyfriend has shown me the light that is Monoma/Kirishima and I refuse to elaborate but it's god tier

I saw Monoma/Iida exactly once and I've never recovered they do not mesh well but I think it'd be funny

Monoma/Sero is just a one sided crush I thought about for a while when Monoma was speaking in my headspace at all times

Monoma/Honenuki is very good, the no energy and too much energy

Never minded Monoma/Kendo, especially as queerplatonics

Monoma/Tetsutetsu, smartass and his enabler himbo

Monoma/Mirio is funny to me because Mirio is so so SO mean to Monoma for no reason and I think Monoma really looks up to Mirio

Monoma/Mei queerplatonics in a very Aro way

Monoma/Kuroiro feels very age regresser and carer to me and I'm never letting it go, little baby Kuroiro

Ah ha. I'm biased. Now to literally everyone else.

The age old Izuku/Bakugo is strong in my heart I will not lie. They were dating in elementary in my head.

Also basic but Bakugo/Kirishima is just as up there if not more so I am not immune to bro but romantic

Iida/Mei but Mei is aromantic and Iida did not consent to being her boyfriend but he is

Iida/Ochaco was my first My Hero Ship believe it or not he’s got the money she wants and also respects her so much and also the Bi/Pan energy of the two of them. Solid.

Same vein quickly fell for Ochaco/Bakugo?? He respects her, sees her as an equal, and she honestly almost has him. I think she could kick his ass and he is really in to that.

Uraraka/Toga is *Chefs kiss* obsessive girlfriend, unhinged, cat like relationship. Babe what's in your MOUTH

Kirishima and Mina dated in middle school

Todoroki/Inasa is something I post about often I adore them so much the height different the Very Much that is Inasa and chill that is Shoto

But also Shoto/Inasa/Tenya is very very very solid two wide chest loud autistics and their scrawny quiet boyfriend and they all kiss

Alone in this one but I think Koda/Shoji is really really cute they both give the best hugs in the class and should hug more often

Tokoyami/Aoyama is 10/10 raven and love for shiny things cute. Include Dark Shadow as her own person and make it a polycule

Kuroiro/Tokoyami darkness on darkness edgy teens role playing a darker tale in the darkness. I love them. Kuroiro very certainly has a crush on Tokoyami

Even better tho Kuroiro/Komori?? He has such a crush on her he is so quiet she has been talking about mushrooms for 43 minutes and he has heard every word and loves her. "Excuse me. He asked for no pickles"

Kendo/Tetsu is very "THAT'S MY WIFE!!!!!" energy and that's my favorite kind of male energy. What a himbo

Tamaki/Mirio/Nejire/Yuyu 3rd year polycule is everything to me. Tamaki can and will swear but only when Nejire is pissing him off on purpose

I am not immune to Aizawa/Hizashi friends to lovers to old married couple propaganda.

Same vein is Vlad/Houndog tho as they are the exact same situation same age same time period just class B flavored

One more then would be the wlw flavored version which is Midnight/Ms. Joke. Love them.

While we're talking about UA Alumni; Tensei and Koichi had like. A thing. He flirted mega hard core with him in Vigilantes and I think they made out real hard

Toshinori/David as well had something going on in collage and certainly still have feelings for one another and I love that for them

All Might/Sir Nighteye as well. Had a thing, broke up, was still in love with him till the very end

Every once in a while I get a glimpse at the glory that is All Might/Fatgum and I simply must admire it. Just sweet yellow heroes being sweet. Self ship polycule possibilities

Fatgum/Rappa is FANtastic and should be around more honestly. The obsession. The roughness. The big boyfriend possibilities. More self ship polycule thoughts all the time

Toga/Twice isn't one I talk about often but the vibes are so there. He loves her so much he can barely stand it

Gentle/LaBrava was so very much my gender I'm so incredibly in love with them I hope they get married by the end of the series

Compress/Gentle queerplatonics

Compress/Magne queerplatonics as well

Kurogiri/Compress has grown on me in fandom only

Twice/Compress is ideal mostly because self ship polycule reasons

Tomura/Suichi is the peak of Shigiraki ships for me. They are gamer boyfriends. They are a boss and his right hand. They are against the world together.

Shigiraki/Dabi/Hawks was something I was following for a while and it's faded in and out sense Twice's death

Hawks/Endeavor is the same kind of thing, a friend got me into it with his self ship dynamic but sense he's stopped talking about it I've been back and forth on it. Homewrecker slut Hawks is funny tho

Tomura/Izuku is very very good in my opinion especially villain Izuku raised by OFA along side Tomura like brothers?? Lovely. Canon's good too don't get me wrong. I just love them as bros raised to replace AFO's brother. Parallels

Speaking off All For One/Yoichi is my brainrot. Love a brother who's so obsessed with his brother he'd do anything to bring him back over and over and over again. He's off his rocker. I love it

Any combination of AFO/All Might, AFO/Izuku, or AFO/Tomura all hit the above for me perfectly and I adore it to no end

Exact opposite energy is Toshinori/Izuku which I think is sweet and cute at times

Toshinori/Bakugo tho is PEAK. Bakugo AGGRESSIVELY taking care of All Might because the old fool won’t take care of himself. Serious Tsundere action. “Young Bakugo”. I think they’re sweet and love a chance to housewife Katsuki Bakugo

I could be convinced to get on the Rody/Izuku train, purely by my nephew who saw the movie with me and was concerned Izuku was going to cheat on Bakugo with Rody.

[cupcakeslushie]

————

Patreon Ko-Fi <— Commissions [closed]!

——————

First of all I just wanna say, I am so flattered by the response from y’all for this little au!

This fandom is the best. ❤️💙🧡💜💛

———————————————————

None of my AUs are based off existing fanfic! Only my own artwork and replies to asks! ✌️

The main story behind the this AU actually started from a simple concept of me re-watching Arcane and thinking how interesting Donnie would be as Jinx, and wanting to sketch a few ideas. This led to me wondering about the other boys and everything spiraled into splitting them up as follows: Donnie grew up with Draxum from the beginning as his personal test subject, driving him mad like Jinx. Leo and Mikey get separated from Splinter and Raph about five years after Splinter escapes with them. Leo gets kidnapped by the Foot clan where Shredder is alive and trains him as his pupil as revenge against Splinter. Mikey finds his way into to Big Mama’s loving arms until she gets bored of him and throws him into her Battle Nexus. Raph is the only one to stay and be raised by Splinter, who is more diligent in his teachings. He befriends April and they grow up together, training to become ninja. Eventually the boys find each other again.

Mikey’s rescue arc: The starting point of the entire story!

Leo’s rescue arc: Just completed! (Donnie’s arc up next!)

If you wanna read it on AO3! (Each new arc will be added, after they are completed!)

Shorts!

Stuck On You In The Leg

Leo's Cringe Moments 1, 2, 3

Don't ask Donnie about his past

Raph & Donnie bonding

Brutus Animatic - Leo and Raph's storyline

Donnie and April being silly

Usagi & Leo's history

Maps- Raph and April meet

Rise/Ew crossover

Distractions-ways the boys help Donnie on his bad days

Leo's concerns over Draxum

Leo & Splinter argument

Thirds- Donnie has a bad day

Raph Time- Something's been bothering Raph

Old Secrets- Mikey and Donnie get into a bit of a spat

Important tags are also in the search bar

#Sep!au life -a ton more everyday moments for the brothers

#Sep!au infodump

#Sep!au ref

#Sep!au future- Doomed timeline

#Sep!au fanwork - all the lovely works I've received!

Also massive timeline for anyone looking for a clearer explanation of events and don’t want to have to scavenge though all the mess of my previous replies!!!!!!

BOYS AGES

Warnings: This story has plenty of humor and family fluff but it can and will get pretty dark, please take care when checking it out. TW for child abuse, blood, horror, experimentation, self harm, mental health issues, abandonment issues, mind control, dark humor, and language (mostly from Mikey and Leo lol).

———

As far as anyone looking to make something based of the Separated AU, I am totally okay with most anything as long as credit is given but I will not be chill with tcest of any kind. I also ask you include no romance aside from the confirmed ships.

You can absolutely make anything that covers the things I’ve already mentioned in my replies, or if it’s just fam shenanigans, hanging out and dealing with recovery. I would love to see it and share it! You don’t have to bother with asking for the O.K. in that case. But I do ask that you maybe hold off on anything anyone might consider plot related or that’s not been addressed in the asks, and would be mostly speculation, cause I’ll be covering a whole host of before, and after reunion events, either in quick sketch comps or comics. If you’re still unsure you can always ask me. I would consider myself pretty easy going, so I’ll probably only say no if I think it’s something I have plans for, or if it really just doesn’t fit with the feel of the AU. I’m more likely to say yes if you have an idea of what you wanna do. Please, be specific in your ask, if you can. I don’t like telling people flat out no, so the more info I have the better!

That’s all for now! Again, I wanna thank y’all for being so awesome. I look forward to causing you all pain in the future!

[sapphire-writes]

hey! I was just passing by and wanted to know if your requests are still open? If so, I would like to request one about Aemond x yn (who is the daughter of Rhaenyra) yn is visiting Kingslanding, she is seeing Viserys and begins to receive "timely" visits from lords who want to ask the king directly for her hand since Rhaenyra has not been able to convince her to marry one. She ran away from all these suitors since she was a little girl and Aemond helped her when they were kids but the adult Aemond doesn't want to do such "childish things" so she keeps coping, eventually he gets fun by the ways she scares them away everyone, until he sees a persevering one who is still there and when he sees him talking to her, he feels jealous and scares him with Vahagar, she is happy and thinks that in a certain way, they can still be united as when they were children. After that she has no visitors (Aemond is in charge of scaring everyone away with Vhagar) and spends time with him, eventually she returns to Dragonstone and he appears one day and finds her hiding because she heard that she would receive a visit of a new suitor, he helps her hide while she talks about how she will scare off the new idiot who comes to ask for her hand, how he will make his stay in Dragonstone a hell and Aemond is just there, watching her with a smirk while hears her bc he's the idiot who came to Dragonstone to ask for her hand. sorry if this is too long or specific, but i was thinking in this idea so long and i don't found one with this dynamic i just want a Aemond with a soft spot with a sunshine and witty reader that is his opposite. Thanks! x

Catch Me If You Can ~ Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

note: I absolutely loved this idea! all my lovely requests are always so creative, I'm enjoying writing these so much! Also haven't been tagging people on requests - is that something people still want me to tag them on? just let me know, happy to do so! word count: 2.3k masterlist warnings: mentions/descriptions of fainting 💚requests are open💚

The first lord who tried to kiss you returned to his father with a blackened eye. Your grandsire, King Viserys had laughed, a sound deep within his chest at your angered expression and reddened knuckles. 

“The blood of the dragon burns fiercely in your child, Rhaenyra,” he told his daughter while placing a loving hand atop your head. Rhaenyra had smiled weakly at her father, knowing the trouble you were likely to give her was a lot like what she gave her father. 

Though you were a small child, lords flocked to your mother desperate to arrange a betrothal for your hand. As the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, it was quite the competition for your hand. Your mother looked for your counsel, wanting to share with you the same autonomy her father had allowed her. 

“I do not wish to marry,” you told her, a fierceness in your small voice. You sat atop your father’s lap, as the maester applied a salve to your reddened knuckles. Ser Harwin stood close behind you, inspecting the damage done. 

“Sweetling, you need not be wed for quite some time,” she assured, “but a betrothal-”

“Ever.”

Rhaenyra’s brows lifted and she looked towards your father and Ser Harwin. Laenor shrugged, while Ser Harwin chuckled, a soft expression on his face as he gazed upon you. 

“She shall grow out of it,” Laenor insisted to Rhaenyra later that night, “look at us, we said very similar things and are married.”

But Rhaenrya knew her daughter well. 

As more lords approached Rhaenyra, more attempted to court you. Lords laughed at Jacaerys and Luke, saying they were unafraid of the young princes, lest they attempt to scare them off from marrying their sister. 

“It is Y/N you need be fearful of,” Jace and Luke would say, causing faces to drain of color. 

You were a clever child, evading suitors in the gardens, hiding within the walls of the sept. There was even a time you told a lord of the Reach to meet you down near the black cells. The boy left screaming, causing you to snicker. 

Your uncle Aemond would help you with your antics as well. You often pretended to have fainting spells, as many maidens did in hopes of wooing a suitor. You did so far less gracefully. When your mother forced you on a stroll with a lord from Riverrun, you crumpled to the ground as soon as he began talking of his adventures fishing. 

Aemond was quick to your side. 

“I must apologize for my niece,” he said, scooping his arms underneath you, as though to drag you from the scene. 

“Is she quite well?” the lord asked, a look of concern on his face. 

“Yes quite, she shall be alright,” Aemomd insisted, as you let your legs hang heavy as though weighted with lead, your head hanging over your shoulder. You fluttered your lashes holding a hand to your forehead. Aemond suppressed a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oh uncle, I had the most terrible dream,” you said as he dragged you away, “ a rather large fish was trying to swallow me whole!” Aemond burst out a sharp laugh before composing himself.

After the events of Driftmark, your mother does not bring up the matter of a betrothal for many years. Rhaenyra requested the help of her father to set you up with a match and sends you to the Red Keep as you reach maidenhood. This is unknown to you, as your mother has you believing you are going to the capital to spend time with your grandsire.

You fill your days with visiting your grandsire, whose health is steadily declining. You sit in his chambers and read to him often, though you are unsure if he can hear you. Soon after you begin this, Queen Alicent begins depositing lords to sit by Viserys bedside, keeping you company. You spot the trick right away, furious. 

You have just stormed out of your grandsire’s chambers when you run into your uncle. Aemond looks down at you, a smile playing on his lips as you crash into his sturdy chest. He has grown to be a fearless warrior, the years of training have hardened him. He towers above you, looking like a knight from a song with his long silver hair, and eyepatch that covers the memory of years ago.

“You must help me,” you tell him, and Aemond raises a brow. 

“With what, niece?” he questions, taking in your blushing cheeks and annoyed expression. 

“There is a plot to marry me off,” you tell him, glancing behind him and seeing the lord walking down the hall attempting to catch up with you. 

“Quickly, I shall faint,” you whisper to Aemond, who holds you upright as you begin to lean into his lithe frame. 

“Stop that foolishness,” he insists, wrapping his fingers around your forearms, “you are not a child anymore.” 

You frown at him, tearing your arms from his grasp, cheeks burning at his insulting tone. 

“Princess Y/N!” the lord says, standing next to you, “I had thought I lost you-”

You cut him off with a sharp stomp on his foot. The lord yelps in pain, hopping on one foot as you speed away from him. Aemond raises his eyebrows in surprise, watching as you dash away. 

Though Aemond refuses to take part in your antics, he does find humor in them. You enlist Helaena to help, having her cover you in fuzzy caterpillars one morning during a walk in the gardens. The lord you are with turns green as you place a caterpillar on his nose. 

It is all in good fun, and Aemond enjoys watching how you laugh and laugh when one by one the suitors disappear. He doesn’t believe any of them are worthy of you anyway. 

That is until a lord of the Westerlands comes to win your hand. He is a dashing fellow, with a sly smile and golden locks who sets his sights on you as though a lion cornering its prey. The lord takes your antics in stride, the first is you knocking a goblet of wine on his white shirt during supper. 

“I do apologize, my lord,” you told him, “I am a terrible klutz you see, hardly a lady who can be expected to run an estate.”

“Nonsense, it is no bother,” the lord says, “besides, you are a princess, you behave how you like.”

This shocks you, and to Aemond’s displeasure, the lion lord keeps up with you. Even when stepping on his toes while dancing, even when arriving late for dinner. The lord simply smiles and continues to dote on you. 

You grow frustrated and worry that Queen Alicent will send word to Rhaenyra that this is a good match. You try to concoct a plan one day and take him to visit your dragon at the dragonpit in hopes she shall scare him off. The lion lord is not easily frightened and instead calls your young dragon sweet. You frown in displeasure. 

As you exit the dragon pit, a shadow covers the entirety of the clear blue sky. Your lion lord looks up, stricken with a fearful expression. You follow his gaze, a wicked smile appearing on your face. 

Vhagar is a monstrous beauty. She is far too large for the dragonpit, and she lands instead behind it. You look at the lord’s face and take his hand.

“Come now, let us greet my uncle,” you say happily, dragging him behind you. 

As you reach Vhagar you watch as Aemond descends. 

“Niece,” he says, “my lord.” 

Aemond had watched you on your way to the dragonpit, an uneasy feeling of jealousy in his stomach. He had observed your attempts at ridding yourself of the lion lord, and how desperate you had become. Aemond had seen your dragon; your dragon would not scare a small dog, let alone a man. Aemond told himself he had no choice but to come from your aid. 

“Uncle!” you say, smiling so wide Aemond feels his heart nearly stop beating, “would you care to introduce Vhagar to my lord?” you say, gesturing to the man beside you. His knees have begun to buckle, his face is pale as he looks at Vhagar. 

Aemond’s smile is feline and Vhagar roars loudly, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You laugh as she does, a sharp joyful sound. 

“Come my lord,” Aemond says, beckoning the man forward, “though I must warn you, Vhagar is very temperamental. The last time she met someone she did not like, it ended rather unfortunately for them.”

The lord’s eyes nearly pop from his skull. He shakes his head and Aemond scoffs. 

“My lord,” he says, in a disapproving tone, “you wish to marry a dragon, and yet you cannot face one?” 

Your grin is wicked as you watch the lord’s mouth open and close, a squeak leaving him. Aemond chuckles darkly.

“You are more of a house cat than a lion, my lord,” he sneers, “run along now.”

The lord leaves hurriedly with the permission of the prince, racing back towards the streets of King’s Landing. You laugh and laugh, much to Aemond’s pleasure. The sounds send warmth throughout his body. You look towards your uncle, a strong feeling of unity in your heart. 

After that, you do not have any other visitors as you spend most of your days on dragonback with Aemond. Those who try to gain your affection must face a trial to deem them worthy of you. This mainly includes Aemond introducing them to Vhagar. Not one lord lasts long when staring down the beast that lived beside the Conqueror. 

Eventually, Queen Alicent writes to Rhaenyra that the efforts are fruitless and you are summoned back home. You depart King’s Landing, promising Aemond you shall write to him, as you have greatly enjoyed his company during your stay. The last month has rekindled a fire within your heart for the one-eyed prince. Aemond hates watching you leave, your presence in the Red Keep was a warmth that is not easily replaced. 

Weeks go by, and there is no news of any suitors coming to visit you at Dragonstone. You spend your days flying and attempting to learn High Valyrian, something that has not come easily for you. 

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra calls, “come here my love, we are to have a visitor.”

You freeze with fear as you hear your mother’s voice from the great hall. Slowly, you back down the hallway urgently trying to find a place to hide. Rhaenyra knows Dragonstone like the back of her hand, better than you do. You curse at the thought of her finding you and presenting you to another dreary lord. 

As you pitter-patter down the hall away from your mother’s calls, your back hits something sturdy and warm. You turn and to your surprise, come face to face with Aemond. 

“Aemond!” you say in a hushed whisper, relief flooding through you. You smile at him, throwing your arms around him. He hugs you close, burying his face in your hair. Reluctantly you pull away. 

“Thank the gods you are here,” you tell him, taking his hand in yours, “you must help me.”

You pull him towards a nearby veranda, as a smile plays on his lips. 

“With what, dear niece?” he asks, eye flickering all over your face. He has missed the sight of you this past month. 

“A suitor, how mother keeps finding these fools is beyond me,” you whisper, gazing over the edge of the veranda, “perhaps this time I have a spell, I shall fall over here.” You motion to the edge of the balcony. Aemond looks at you, an amused look on his face.

“You mean to throw yourself to your death?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“You shall catch me,” you tell him, smiling eagerly, “ride below on Vhagar and you shall be my savior.” Your eyes are aglow with glee at the thought. 

“Ingenious, I know,” you tell him, “the fool shall wet himself with fear. Surely that shall be enough, lest I am sure you and I can make his stay here dreadful.”

Aemond cannot keep the smile from his face as he watches your face light up with mischief. 

“Y/N, I cannot,” he says, though reluctant to deny you. Your smile falters, brows knitting together in confusion. Aemond has always proved to be your partner in crime in the end, and his denial of your wishes sends a stabbing pain in your heart. 

You believed you would never feel ready for marriage, wanting nothing more than to fly on dragonback for the rest of your days exploring the pleasures of the known world. But after your stay in King’s Landing, you decided marriage may not be so bad if your husband enjoyed similar pleasures. 

“Please uncle, just once more,” you beg, clasping your hands in his. Surely he wouldn’t let you slip away from him, not when he had so willingly scared away previous suitors. 

“I cannot,” he repeats, and you feel like screaming. 

“I do not understand,” you tell him pouting, “you have helped so much before-”

“I cannot help because it is I who has come for your hand.”

You blink, looking up at him, your lips parted in surprise. You look down at your hands that are still intertwined with his. 

“I am the fool,” Aemond tells you, an amused smirk on his handsome face. 

He lifts your hands towards his mouth, placing a kiss atop your knuckles, violet eye never leaving yours. Aemond watches you closely, sizing up your reaction to his reveal. You do not speak for several moments, as a blush forms on your cheeks. 

“I feel quite faint,” you whisper, and Aemond chuckles. 

“Do you jest?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

You shake your head, a dreamy expression on your face as you smile.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” you say and Aemond drops your hands, snaking his arms around your waist to press you against him. 

“Do not fret,” he murmurs, placing a kiss atop your head. You can feel him smile into your hair. 

“I shall catch you.”

[hangmanssunnies]

Double Tap

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: You were hesitant when your friends told you about their other friend who needed a roommate. Living with a man, let alone a Naval aviator, isn't your ideal living situation. However, you are desperate to get out of your current house. So, you will have to suck it up and make a deal with Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Now you just wish he would stop doing things that make you fall in love with him.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 19k

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with Abuser, Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, Implied calorie counting, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, taxes, Neurodivergent coded! Hangman, Fiscally responsible!Hangman, Protective!Hangman. Please let me know if I missed any for this part, I know it is a long one.

Authors Note: This got so completely out of hand. It started as one scene and then grew a mind of its own. Part two is written, just not edited, I'm planning on having that done later this week. Hangman Coyote BFF supremacy.  I apologize for writing the most hyper-specific!Jake you have probably ever read. 85% of his personality is just things I find attractive in men.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had been at your friend Marlee's house for almost an hour before she couldn't stop herself from confronting you. She had at least let you get settled and offered you a drink while pretending to be distracted by the lasagna she was making. She had spun towards you expectantly when it was in the oven, having reached her limit on waiting. 

"What happened?" Marlee asks. 

"It's nothing." You respond. 

"It is something. I don't want to reread your texts back to you, babes."

"Marls," you sigh, briefly closing your eyes, trying to fight the exhaustion you feel. 

"You can't live there anymore. We need to get you out."

"Yeah, let me just move and find a place to live. It's not that easy, Marlee." 

She sighs heavily. "I know, babes, but at least stay here with Javy and me. If he touches you like that again."

"It was just a one-time thing," you quickly cut her off. But, from the pitying look in her eyes, she knows it hasn't been just this one time. 

"If something happened."

"Nothing is going to happen." Marlee was too bright and too good of a friend. She knew something had already happened, and she knew things had been happening. Her frown and eyebrow raise say it all. 

"I can't just crash here," you say. 

"You are always, always welcome."

"You are," a voice pops up, and you both look over to the couch. You thought Marlee's husband, Javy, was thoroughly invested in the game he was playing on his Xbox, but it turns out he had an ear on your conversation. 

It wasn't something that bothered you. You loved Javy, he had been an excellent partner to Marlee, and you considered him a friend. He was fun and easygoing, something you hadn't expected from a Navy man. You also weren't bothered because everyone knew they were the type of couple that told each other absolutely everything. So, Javy would have found out one way or another.

"I know that. Thanks, you two." You tell them, trying to get them off your back. 

"Marlee is right. We can't have anything happening to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Javy," you say, now trying to reassure them and stop this unnecessary worrying. 

"You know. I have a friend who has actually been looking for a roommate." Javy says. 

"You do?" you ask, surprised you hadn't heard about this sooner. 

"Yeah, I mean, he can be a lot. But he is a good guy and a great roommate."

"Who ?" Marlee cuts in. 

"Jake."

"Hangman?"

"Yeah, Hangman." The two of them stare at each other, and you can see that they are having one of those conversations of glances and small expressions you weren't entirely privy to understanding. 

Marlee then shrugs, nodding, and looks back at you, "It would be a nice safe place." 

"I mean, it's an option and would be a nicer place to stay than anything else you'll find. Plus, someone who is not a total stranger as a roommate." Javy tells you. He pulls off his headset and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets his hand on your shoulder and gives you a kind smile. 

"I'm not sure about living with a man."

"If you don't want to live with Jake or you aren't interested, we will find somewhere else. Or you stay here with us, but you can't stay there anymore." The seriousness behind Javy's smile isn't lost on you. So you start to slowly nod. 

"I guess I could at least chat with your friend if y'all think it's a decent option." 

"Yeah, for sure," Javy said with a grin. "I'll ask him about it, then maybe y'all can meet this weekend. We are still having a big bonfire on the beach. I'm sure he will be there."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on going to the bonfire." You start to say, which makes both Javy and Marlee frown.

"Why aren't you coming to the bonfire?"

You tried to think of a valid excuse beyond that being in open public spaces was terrifying to you right now. An excuse past the fact that you knew your bruises wouldn't be gone by Saturday. 

"I've just been stressed about finding a place to live, you know." You gave them both a weak smile, but neither of your friends seemed appeased. 

"Well, now you have a reason to come," Marlee says. 

"Yeah, exactly, and I'll talk to Jake." Javy presses a kiss to your forehead and then a lingering one to Marlee's lips. He returns to the couch, but not before looking at you seriously. "You know if you ever need anything, you call us?"

"Sir, yes sir," you tell him with a laugh, making Marlee giggle too. 

Even with Javy's reassurances, you are unsure about this whole idea. However, whoever this friend Jake is, you know he had to be better than your current living situation. After dinner, Marlee and Javy both reiterate their feelings on the whole issue before you leave their house. You did your best to wave them off and tell them you would see them in a few days.  

When Saturday rolls around, you head to the pin Marlee sent you for the bonfire. You are thankful it is a cooler day and will only be colder once the sun sets. It allows you to not look so out of place in your conservative clothes, ensuring all your bruises are covered. 

You arrive purposefully late and park far from the beach. By the time you make it to the group of people, you have sufficiently hyped yourself up to interact with the others. You decide to ease yourself into the party. You walk around the different coolers, opening them and investigating the available drink options. 

You are in the middle of shuffling through one when you hear a voice behind you.

"Anything specific I can help you find, sweetheart?" You turn around and are met with one of the most attractive men you have ever met. He is tall, with dirty blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. 

"I'm just browsing," You tell the man with a shrug, proud of yourself for being able to put together a sentence. 

"I think I know what would be perfect for you, sweetheart.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," He says, flashing you a grin. His smile makes something in your stomach swoop a tiny bit. 

"And, what would that be?" you say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Me, of course."

You can't help the shocked laugh that falls out of your throat. Which just makes his handsome smile widen. 

"I was thinking something a bit stronger, actually."

"I know I look like a tall glass of water but let me tell you, I won't disappoint you."  

"Well, looks certainly can be deceptive."

"That's true. Are you really as sweet as you look?" 

Before you can answer, you hear Javy's voice to your right. "Oh good, you two already met." 

You turn your head to see Javy jogging over. He stops next to you with a smile on his face. You process his words and feel your stomach drop. The incredibly handsome man you were trying to flirt with was Javy's friend. Javy's friend he thought you could live with. 

"There haven't been any formal introductions," you say. 

"Jake Seresin," he says. He sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand, give it a firm shake, and share your name. He repeated it softly, giving your hand an extra squeeze before letting go. 

"Javy said you are looking to move," Jake says casually. Your voice seems stuck in your throat. You examine Jake's handsome face again and know you can't do this.

"Yeah, she is. Soon, too." Javy says after you haven't said anything leaving an awkward pause. 

"I have lots of space."

"Oh well, you know." You say, trying to figure out what to say by saying nothing at all. Jake nods along with you, but his eyebrows pull close together while his eyes narrow. 

"Plus, Jake is really clean," Javy adds. 

"That is good to know. Maybe Jake and I can talk about it later?" You say, giving both of them a smile. You turn back to the coolers and grab the first drink you see. 

"Yeah, we can talk about it later. Javy owes me a spike ball game anyways," Jake says. He flashes you another smile while grabbing a High Noon out of the cooler, gesturing for Javy to do the same. You leave them to find Marlee and chat with some other people at the party. 

You are considering how to best say goodbye and leave the party while sitting next to the fire later. You stare into the flames hoping they might provide you answers. 

"You would actually be doing me a huge favor by moving in, "Jake says to you casually. You are startled by his sudden presence, and you look over at him, quirking an eyebrow in response.

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah. I haven't had a roommate for a while, and I would prefer someone who isn't in the military. I don't want to bring work and ranks home. You know?"

"Oh yeah, sure, that makes sense," you say, following his line of logic. 

"Also, rent these days is," Jake doesn't finish the sentence, instead just whistling quietly.

"Yeah, rent is expensive," you laugh. You find it much easier to talk to Jake if you don't have to look directly out at him. 

"You don't have to let me know right now, but I don't have any issues with it."

"We haven't talked about it much," you tell him, surprised he had decided so quickly.

"There is this saying that beggars can't be choosers."

"I would want a roommate contract. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that would be fine by me, Sugar."

"Okay, cool, but we should think about it."

"Tonight is a party, and we are supposed to be having fun. Not doing business. So, why don't you text me, and we will hash out the details this week. Plus you can see the place, which you would probably want. Maybe you could move in next weekend if we can work it all out?"

Part of you thought you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so you decided to text Jake throughout the week to hash out the details. And the next thing you know, Javy, Marlee, and Jake are helping you move your stuff. 

Living with Jake wasn't as hard as you worried it would be. In fact, it was much easier than you were anticipating. Jake led his life with strict regiment and routine. It was something that stretched beyond that he was in the military. 

Jake would wake up in the mornings and go on a run before coming home, making breakfast, showering, and going to work. Then he would come home, change and go to the gym, come home, shower again because he needed to, and then eat dinner. Every night if you were home while he was cooking, Jake would always offer you some. That leads you to find out he is a phenomenal chef. 

Then Jake would read in the large armchair in the living room and half-watch whatever you put on the TV to watch yourself. He only requested to use the TV when one of his sports teams was playing or on Wednesday nights, where he would spend an hour and a half playing Animal Crossing with his niece while they facetime. 

You had told Jake that the TV was his, and he didn't have to ask you to use it. Jake just laughed and shrugged before telling you he wasn't the biggest TV guy. Jake had been telling the truth when he said that. You realized that Jake was more interested in his books. If he wasn't reading a book, he sat silently with one of his sudoku puzzles and country music playing on vinyl. Then Jake would go to bed after whatever chores he deemed he should do. 

It was a strictly followed pattern, only differing on Fridays when he would sometimes go out to a bar with the guys or sometimes Saturdays. However, even on the weekends, he would follow the schedule closely. Regardless if he had gone to the bar, he would still wake up outrageously early in the morning, work out, do chores, and then go to the gym again. Sometimes Jake would venture out of the house to see his friends, but more often than not, he was reading or in the workshop in the garage with some project. 

Marlee had not prepared you for how amazingly hot Jake was. When you moved in, he had been very polite, if a bit curt. Never venturing to flirt with you again like when you first met. As the weeks living with Jake passed, though, he definitely warmed up to you. But still never pushed the roommate line between you. 

You worked hard to push your attraction for Jake to the side or shove it into a safe in the back of your mind. That was a challenging task to accomplish because, just like Javy said, Jake was very clean. It wasn't that he was a clean freak per se, but he was definitely an orderly and well-kept person. Everything in the house had a place it belonged. 

Jake always did his dishes and tidied up after himself in your common areas. He also never leaves any of his laundry waiting around. You had watched in a mix of awe and horror the first time he pulled out clothes from the dryer within five minutes of the machine going off. Then Jake started folding, halfway through the laundry, stoping to pull out an iron and ironing board. 

The sight was all so attractive that you had to excuse yourself upstairs. That was something that you often had to do. Anytime you felt heat build in you towards your roommate, you would quickly excuse yourself. You knew giving into your attraction for Jake in any shape or form would not lead anywhere good. You needed a place to live, and this place you had with Jake was way too good to risk anything. 

Given his career choice, it was not entirely surprising how regimented Jake is. However, what did surprise you was when he started to incorporate you into his routines in small ways. Jake would automatically set out an extra plate for you when cooking, and picks up snacks you like from the store. One day you come home and find a second shoe rack by the door just for you. On the days you had to be up for work, you would find that Jake had already put your morning drink together for you when he returned from the gym and was making his own breakfast. You like the steady rhythm and consistency that living with Hangman provides you. It's seamless and easy to fall into step with him. 

You had been living with Jake for a few months, and things were going really well, almost too well you sometimes felt like it was too good to be true. Your nightmares weren't as frequent. You get full nights sleep and feel comfortable here with Jake. The only times you don't feel content are the times that you think about how hot Jake is. Or when Jake does something that makes it hard not to try and smash your lips against his in a heated, passionate kiss. 

Then one day, you get home from work, and worry suddenly sweeps over you as you glance at your phone and realize what time it is. The house is completely dark and quiet. Jake should have been home several hours ago and on his way to the gym already. In fact, right about now was when he should have been getting home from the gym.  

You resist the urge to call Jake and check that he is okay. You know that action would be overstepping the roommate boundaries that exist clearly between you. You tell yourself it's silly to worry all because he wasn't following the schedule you made up for him in your head. It's not like Jake had ever written down his routine and given it to you. Maybe today was a special anniversary, or maybe he had after-work plans you didn't know about. 

Your worry is eased about twenty minutes later when you hear Jake's truck pull into the driveway, followed by the garage door rumbling open. You find yourself easing further into the couch, some of the tension you weren't wholly conscious of easing out of your body.  

Jake comes in, and you cut your eyes over to see him still in his flight suit. He doesn't say anything to you as he unlaces and kicks off his shoes. He passes you while walking to the stairs and manages a short but gruff hello. Then, without another word, he is gone. You stare after his back in shock. Something is definitely not right with Jake. 

He left his shoes sprawled on the ground by the door. It was not a sight you had ever seen in the house, not even the times Jake had stumbled home drunk and giggly. Jake always pulled off his boots, neatly tucking the laces in and then setting them up on his small shoe rack by the door. 

You get up from the couch and walk over to fix his shoes, tucking in the laces. You tell yourself it is so no one will trip over them, not for any other reason. Then you hear Jake's shower turn on, and the water runs much longer than the twenty-minute showers you are used to him taking. It all feels so odd and out of place. You decide to make some pasta for dinner, convinced Jake is planning on not eating at all with how far he is off his schedule. 

You are just finishing dinner when the water in his bathroom finally shuts off. Then fifteen more minutes later, Jake comes downstairs in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a thread-bare Annapolis shirt. He appears to be looking around downstairs, almost a bit dazed and lost. 

"I made dinner. How about you have some?" You call out to him from the kitchen. Jake follows your voice to the kitchen and looks at the food you have made and dishes up. Hesitantly he sits down at the table. 

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. I know this may shock you since you normally cook, but I can do it too." 

"I've never thought that you couldn't cook." Jake quickly responds. 

"I know, Jake. I'm just teasing you. Now eat up." 

Jake follows orders and takes a bite of the pasta, letting out a small groan. "So good," he mumbles before taking another bite. 

"Do you want the macros?" You ask him conversationally after eating in silence for a few minutes. 

"Oh. No, thank you. I appreciate you making something and sharing. No need for you to put in extra work. I will be fine not tracking my macros for one meal," Jake says. 

"Okay," you say and give him the kindest smile you can think of. You don't want to push him on why he isn't okay. However, you can't stop yourself from sliding the piece of paper you wrote the macros on across the table to him anyways. 

Jake stares at the note card for a long moment and then looks up at you. It's not a look you have ever seen on your roommate's face before. You aren't entirely sure how to decipher the way his green sea-glass eyes are gleaming back at you. He folds the paper once before putting it in his pocket. 

Jake clears his throat, and the edges of his lips quirk up. "Thank you."

"Of course, anytime, Jake," you say back. He puts away his plate a few minutes later after finishing his food. Then packs up the leftovers into some tupperware. 

"I'm going to bed," Jake tells you. Jake doesn't even stop to grab the current book he is in the middle of from where it is placed next to his chair in the living room. 

The moment Jake disappears up the stairs, you are frowning again, considering his behavior. It bugged you, something clearly was off, but you weren't in the position to ask him what it was. As you start to settle down for the evening, you notice that Jake had put it in the laundry basket next to the washer that morning. Seeing that you knew he originally had every intention of starting it before going to the gym that night something that never happened.

You briefly considered that maybe it isn't normal how you have memorized his routine, but also maybe that was just part of living with Jake. You didn't even think before you were throwing his laundry in the washer for him. You stay up to put the clothes in the dryer. Then you find yourself folding items and hanging some of them, not confident that you could iron them correctly. About halfway through the chore, you stop realizing just what you are doing but finish it out, imagining the look on Jake's face when he sees his laundry done. You are in too deep to back out at this point. 

🏡🧩🏡

You knew it wasn't the best idea that morning when you had left to go pick up some of your remaining stuff and random mail from where you used to live. However, you didn't expect it to go as badly as it had. You were still shaking from the interaction you had when you got home. Every moment of the interaction repeats over and over in your head. You hazardously throw your keys into your little key bowl, not caring to notice Jake's there as well. 

You were still trying to take calming breaths and push away the tears streaming down your face. Standing at the entrance to the living room frozen, you aren't sure if you are actually at home or back there with him. 

You startle and jump, letting out a small shriek, hearing a sound in the kitchen. You turn slowly, shocked to see Jake staring at you dressed in his NWUs instead of his flight suit. You are equally surprised by the sight of him home in the middle of the day, in a uniform you rarely see him wear. 

The adrenaline of being scared forces your brain into letting go of the nerves and panic you had barely been keeping in check. Tears spring freely from your eyes as you take gasping breaths. J ake sets down the knife he is holding and takes long strides across the room to quickly reach your side. His hands hover near you but don't actually touch. 

"What's wrong?" Jake asks in a deep voice. 

You just shake your head at him, unable to respond, instead focusing on getting air into your lungs. 

"Can I touch you?" Jake asks then, and that does seem okay, so you jerkily nod your head yes. 

First, his hands settle lightly on your shoulders. Once it seems like you are okay and comfortable with that. Jake goes a step further and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You press your face into the material of his shirt. Your hands come up to bunch it slightly on his chest as you find purchase to clutch him closer. 

He makes gentle shushing noises but otherwise doesn't say anything while holding you. He is so warm, and his arms feel strong around you. Jake's hold on you doesn't waiver once while you cry. Only relaxing slightly when your sniffles and crying start to level out and you let go of his shirt. 

You take one more deep breath of him. Jake smells of a pleasant mix of his body wash, y'all's fabric softener, and his cologne. Letting the calming effect of the smell flood your system before letting go of your hold on him completely, only then does Jake let his arms slip away. 

Pulling away from the hug, you shyly look to see Jake's face. You find that he is already looking at you. For one of the first times since you met him, you don't like how Jake's face looks. There is a soft and sad demeanor that you see in his eyes. His eyebrows crease and his lips are pressed into a flat line. You feel embarrassment and shame flood you. The way that you just broke down and cried on your roommate, fully processing in your muddled tired head. 

"You're home," you eventually say, trying to break the ice and put a brave face back on. 

"Yeah, I'm not flying today. So, I had the time to come home for lunch."

"Sorry to interrupt." You say, looking down to examine your feet. 

"You didn't interrupt anything," Jake reassures you. He goes back to the kitchen, and you watch as he continues to cut ingredients for his salad.

"Do you want me to make you anything?" He asks.

"No, thank you. "You say not feeling even a little hungry. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jake asks next. 

"No, thank you," you say again and settle at the kitchen island to watch Jake cut the veggies and toss them in a big bowl. 

"Okay," he says. You like that Jake doesn't push you for things. He respects the boundaries you set and doesn't even try to toe up against them. 

"Am I allowed to know why you aren't flying today? I thought someone had broken in. Plus, I hardly recognize you out of a flight suit."

"You don't like these?" Jake asks, looking at the Navy camo print he is wearing as if this uniform suddenly offended him. 

"I didn't say that," you tell him, giving a small laugh. Obviously, Jake could make anything look good, even things that shouldn't. 

"Can't fly every day." He says with a shrug. "Also, I'm going through some maintenance stuff and checks with my sailors." 

You hum, but otherwise, don't comment watching Jake wash the knife and cutting board he had been using then. Then, after he drys them and puts them away, he turns back to you. 

"There isn't anything to be embarrassed about," he tries to venture lightly. 

"You don't come home and cry on me," you say, frowning. 

"You sure about that one?" He asks, shoving a mouthful of salad into his mouth. 

"Pretty sure that I would remember such an occasion." 

Jake just hums. One of those sounds that makes you feel like he doesn't actually agree. A few bites of his food later, he sets his bowl down. His green gaze is trialed on you, but then he glances at his watch, huffing in annoyance. 

There is a slight caving feeling inside you. You feel bad. How much of Jake's lunch have you taken up? You had never actually seen him come home for lunch before, so he must not get a long time. 

"I do all the time. Maybe just a bit less of the wet physical crying." Jake tells you, putting a container lid on his bowl.

"You could," you utter to him, a little embarrassed. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, wouldn't bother me if you ever needed to. You know. I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Darlin," Jake says. Then glances at his watch again. "I got ten minutes before I have to go. What would you like to do?"

"I'm fine," you tell him. "You should use that time to eat." 

"I'll munch while I'm doing some paperwork later."

That was a lie. You knew that Jake would never eat around paperwork. However, it was the kind of lie that settles warmly. It was one of those lies born with good intentions and made to be soothing. You could never be upset that he is even trying to comfort you at his own expense. 

"I don't want to talk about it, Jake." You reiterate again.  

"I know, and you don't have to. I won't ask again. However, if you ever decide that you do. I'm here for you too. Always." 

"Thank you, Jake. You're a really good roommate."

"I hope you can consider me a friend too?" 

"Of course, we are friends too," you reassure him. Jake's lips quirk upwards, his dimples flashing upon hearing that. 

"Now, I can't go back to work without seeing at least one smile." 

"That's a pretty tall order." 

"Well, they don't call me the best for nothing."

"Do they really call you the best or is that something you just tell people?" You ask him, mostly joking. Jake pretends to take offense, pressing his hand dramatically to his chest. 

"Ma'am, you wound me," Jake says, pouting. 

"I don't know. I think it is a pretty legitimate question." 

"I am the best." 

"And how do they determine that exactly? Who the best is." 

"Well, there are a lot of ways. Many different factors to consider." 

"Oh really?" 

"Yup. Also sorts of stuff, but they get us all together once a year, and we have a competition." 

"What kind of competition?"

"Only the elite members of the Navy participate. We all take turns sliding." 

"Sliding?" 

"Yup," Jake confirms, sounding one hundred percent serious. "We set up a huge slip and slide on the carrier runway. You only get three tries, and then we add them for scoring. I may have ripped off all the skin on my chest last year, but it was worth it to win." 

You can't help but let out a laugh. You picture Hangman competitively sliding down a yellow tarp that doesn't have enough water on it. It's such a silly concept you aren't sure where he came up with it. 

"Ahh there she is," Jake says with a broad smile. 

"I never would have thought that was a skill the Navy values." 

"Yes, Ma'am. It's actually the second part of the Naval academy mission," Jake tells you, still maintaining a serious tone despite his smile. Then Jake stands up straight to his full height in parade rest. 

"To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor and loyalty in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship and government." Jake repeats dutifully and then adds. "In addition to putting these ideals to the test by hosting the world's most competitive slip and slide competition. Weirdly, people don't talk about that second part much." 

You only laugh harder, shaking your head at him. "Yeah, an absolute mystery. I can't believe that isn't common knowledge." 

Jake chuckles along with you. Then you two are interrupted by a timer going off from Jake's phone. He sighs and silents it. 

"I'm sorry. I've got to go, sugar. Are you going to be okay?" 

"Yeah. I promise I'm okay. Thank you, Jake." 

He bites his lip and nods at you going to put in his shoes and lace them back up. "Are you going to be home later?" 

"Yeah, I'll be home." 

"We could do something if you're feeling up for it. Or I can pick up takeout." 

"That's sweet, Jake, but you really don't have to." 

"I want to," he says with a shrug. Then checks his reflection in the mirror, making sure he is presentable to go back to work. After that, he turns back to you. 

"I'll think about it." You tell him before playfully shoving him out the door so he isn't late. You try not to melt when Jake gives you another hug. You catch his hand just before he is too out of reach.  

"Thank you, Jake. For making me smile."

"It's the prettiest thing I've seen all day," Jake says, squeezing your hand with his own. His words muddle your brain a little bit. You don't get to say anything else before he heads off to his truck, waving at you one more time and driving off. 

You also pretend you aren't screaming on the inside when Jake comes home from work that night with your favorite food and ice cream. The night feels easy and warm, sitting and eating with Jake. The events of that morning can't cross your mind while Jake tells you all about some of the weird contraband he found in the junior sailors' barracks that day. He is no less than spellbinding. 

🏡🧩🏡

Jake is sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work. He is surrounded by neatly organized papers spread all along the table in various piles. Jake is wearing a button-down, tie, and slacks that make you do a triple-take on him.

"Welcome home," he says, glancing up from his laptop that is open in front of him. That's when you see he also has a pair of glasses on. 

"Thank you," you say, slowly making your way to the kitchen but still looking at him. 

"What are you working on there?" You ask. 

"Oh, I'm doing my taxes," Jake says while giving you one of his winning smiles. 

"Taxes?"

"Yes, Ma'am"

"I guess that makes sense," you say while looking around the kitchen for a snack. 

After a few minutes of silence, you decide to ask another question. "Do you have a date later?" 

You knew Jake dated. A man who looks like that has to date. However, you had yet to see him ever bring someone home, which felt odd considering everything about Jake, and the persona he liked to put on as Hangman.  

"No. What makes you ask that?" Jake asks you. 

"Oh. I don't know. You're dressed like you are going on a date."

"No, I'm not," he says, looking down at himself. 

You laugh at him and shrug. "If you say so."

"I would never wear this on a date," Jake mutters, clearly offended. 

"Well, then, why are you wearing it?"

"I'm doing taxes," he says again. 

"Yeah, we have covered that. What does that have to do with your clothes?"

"I'm dressed like an accountant," Jake tells you. You can't hold back your giggles at his phrasing and bring a hand up to your mouth to try and stifle them before giving up entirely. 

"What? What's so funny?" 

"Two things," you say, holding up two fingers, finally biting back your giggles. 

"One, the fact that you got dressed up to do your taxes. The second is that being an accountant is a euphemism for being a sex worker." Jake chuckles at your explanation but shrugs. 

"Well, Mrs. Celeste said I should always dress for the day. It helps you present your best self. If you dress the part, it helps you act that part." Jake says that like a well memorized and treasured quote. A saying he clearly remembered with much fondness.  

"And today is my tax day, so I am dressing like a tax professional. I will have you know. Since I started doing them myself, I have never had one problem with my taxes."

You couldn't help but chuckle more at his explanation and give him a fond smile. Sometimes the way Jake was so perfectly built and attuned for the military was endearing. Of course, a career Naval man would think a uniform was essential for each different activity. 

"So, are the glasses part of your tax uniform too?"  

He made a show of pushing the said glasses further up his nose. "Yes, Ma'am. They also are blue light blocking, which helps prevent migraines."

You nod along to his explanation. You finish putting together your snack and lean against the kitchen counter while munching on it. "Who is Mrs. Celeste? A teacher?"

Jake's lips flatten slightly before the expression relaxes just as quickly. "No, Mrs. Celeste is my Babula." 

"Your Grandmother?" You guess. 

"Yeah, sorry. My grandma, but she was strictly Mrs. Celeste growing up, only Babula occasionally." 

"I don't think I've met someone who calls their grandparent by their first name."

"Well, not really her first name. You have to be respectful and throw the Miss in there with it. She is a very particular lady."

"Is it a southern thing?"

"Yeah, maybe," he says with a small laugh. The edges of his lips quirk up, and you have to look away from Jake to distract yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of how beautiful he is, with the sparkle he can get in his eyes. Or how even the smallest of his smiles makes you want to grin back. 

"So, how are the taxes?" 

"Oh, it's good. I'm almost finished up."

"Awesome, congrats Jake."

"Have you done yours?" He asks you. 

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the idea. "No, I definitely haven't."

"But you got your W2s in the mail last week."

"Jake, are you snooping through my mail?"

He raises both his hands up in defense. "No, I'm not! W2s just have a very particular look." 

"I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't snoop through my mail. Yeah, I got them, but I've been busy. I guess I should make a Tax Masters appointment or something."

That crease in between Jake's eyebrows appears, the one that haunts you, that you pretend you don't obsess over. Followed by a small frown.

"Tax Master?" He asks, clearly appalled. You shrug back at him, not entirely seeing the issue. 

"I could do them for you," Jake says, then quickly adds on. "I mean, I can help you do them. If you have the time. I'm already dressed for it, and I won't charge you or anything."

"Oh no, Jake, that is so sweet, but I can't ask you to do that."

"No, really, I wouldn't mind. I think it would be fun. Plus, then you will have it done, and you won't have to worry about it." 

"Really, thank you so much, but it's fine." 

Jake's frown deepens at your answer, and he seems almost genuinely upset at your denial of his help. The warm feeling in your chest likes to flip over and grow a little bit more each time he is too sweet in moments like these. 

"You know Javy warned me that you were an asshole when I was going to move in. However, you have not once lived up to that. You could stand to be less nice to me, Jake." You tell him. You mean it to come off as almost flirty and a bit of a joke. However, it doesn't seem to land with him that way. 

The change that comes over Jake isn't something entirely tangible. It is almost like a shift in the air around him rather than anything physical. The way Jake looks at you just feels heavier and more charged. The confidence he always exudes seems to double with how he sits up just the smallest bit straighter but then leans back against his chair casually. 

"Go get your W2s." He tells you in a perfectly level tone, but it has a demanding edge. 

"Jake," you start to say and roll your eyes at him. 

"Nope," Jake says, popping the p. His voice takes on a lower candace, leaving no room for arguments. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going to do your taxes." 

"No, we aren't doing my taxes." 

"Yes, I am. I can't be caught not living up to my reputation. So, I'm not going to be nice and accept that you don't want to. This is one of the few situations I won't take no for an answer." 

"It was just a joke." 

"No, it wasn't," Jake says, giving you a small shrug. You can't tell if he is actually hurt by how he is acting, but you suspect some part of him was twinged at his best friend's description. 

"It really was, Jake. Javy adores and trusts you. I'm sure he never would have suggested me moving in with you if he actually thought you were an asshole." 

"I know I'm an asshole. It's fine, sugar, don't worry. I'm not going to tattle on you telling me that to Coyote."

"You aren't an ass, though. That was my whole point."

Jake just shook his head at your answer. "I am one, and I don't want that to be a surprise when you inevitably witness it." 

You aren't sure how to respond to that, so you are relieved when Jake changes the topic. "Now, get your tax stuff, so it doesn't take us all night."

"Okay," you sigh, giving in to defeat. Jake gives you a mega-watt smile, and looks back at his computer screen. 

As you are walking up the stairs, you hear him yell across the house. "Dress like your best accountant self!"

"I won't be doing that," you yell back. 

"Please! It's important." Jake yells back.

When you are in your room getting all your stuff and paperwork pilled together. You find yourself opening your closet and pulling out an outfit that you could imagine wearing if you were an accountant.

You also spend several minutes too long wondering what would happen if you went back downstairs in the most provocative lingerie you own. After all, Jake didn't specify which type of accountant to dress up as. You wondered if it would be tempting to Jake. Could you provoke him into falling into lust with you? Tempt him enough that he took you on the dining room table on top of all the Tax paperwork? Jake has expressed attraction to women before, so there must be at least some part of him that is at least a little attracted to you. 

You smash down your thirsty thoughts and try to screw your head back on straight before it can drift too much off on track. When you get back downstairs, Jake is still at the table. You dump all your stuff on an empty spot there. 

Jake looks up from his computer and smiles at you, quirking an eyebrow. Then, Jake speaks to you teasingly, "And here I thought you might dress up as the other type of accountant you were telling me about." 

Your brain has no choice but to start short-circuiting, and you open and close your mouth twice. Jake starts shuffling through your paperwork, looking at what you have brought him. 

"I ordered us some pizza too," he says before you get out a proper response or say anything teasing back to him. 

"Yum. I'm excited," you tell him sliding into a seat and opening up your own laptop. 

He stops his shuffling and examination of the papers to level you with a serious look. "Thank you for indulging me, by the way." 

"Anything for you, Jake," you tell him and mean it. Unfortunately, the way you feel about your roommate is rapidly spiraling out of the tight control you tried to keep it in. 

"I like when we do fun things like this together," Jake says to you, grinning. 

"Me too," you tell him. Then add, "Only you would find taxes fun, though, Hangman."

"I am about to show you just how fun taxes can be and how you can get a great return," Jake says, taking your words in stride. 

Jake does your taxes almost entirely by himself, only asking occasional questions. He also then organizes all of your paperwork in an extra accordion binder he has. The taxes aren't fun, but spending time with Jake is.  

"Thank you," you say to Jake daring to press a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. You linger for a moment, the prickle of his end-of-day stubble ticking your lips, but you don't mind it.  When you pull back to gauge his reaction, Jake looks almost pained and upset. You worry for a moment that even just a cheek kiss could make him react this way. You briefly thank god you didn't actually try to seduce him earlier. 

"Always, anytime." He finally says. However, Jake is now glaring down at his keyboard and not looking at you. 

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you venture, confused by this mood shift. 

"Sugar?"

"Yes, Jake?" 

"I don't think you should pay so much rent." 

"What?"

"Listen," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it all out of sorts. "I just don't think it's fair for you to pay so much."

"Of course, it's fair. I live here," you explain. 

"Yeah, but no. I get BAH, and I don't have any student loans from school. Plus, the Navy pays me plenty as an officer. I was paying for this place all alone before you moved in anyways."

"I'm not going to pay less rent because you saw my financials and feel bad." You tell Jake quietly, trying not to actively become upset. 

"Please don't be so stubborn," he pleads with you. 

You cross your arms over your chest, "Take your own advice."

"I'm the one being stubborn?" 

"Yes! You are. You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."

Jake's frown deepens, and that sad look in his eyes at your words starts to break through to you. Then he responds, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try and work on that." 

Jake starts meticulously putting things away into different folders. He moves through each of his piles on the table and doesn't spare you a second glance. It leaves a crushing feeling in your chest. 

"I'm sorry for snapping at you." 

"There is no need to apologize. I'm the one who is sorry." Jake says, shrugging off your apology. 

"No, you don't need to apologize. I understand why you said what you did. I know you were trying to be sweet." You start to say but are cut off. 

"I wasn't trying to be sweet."

"Oh my god. Okay, fine, trying to be nice, then," you say, rolling your eyes. 

Jake sets down the folder he is currently holding, and it thumps a little bit on the table. The force and loud sound make you flinch. 

"I'm not sweet, nice, good, or kind. Okay? I'm not any of those things. I call things how I see them. I look at facts, figures, and numbers. Then I run calculations and act accordingly."

"And how is it mathematically possible that me paying less rent possibly works out for you, Jake? You will be losing money." As he shakes his head, he huffs at your words a little bit like they are funny. 

"You could do a lot and make a lot of gains if you paid less rent, and I don't mind picking up the extra amount. You might be one of the few people I haven't hated living with. I don't want you figuring out you need to live somewhere cheaper and moving out on me. So, I'm not being nice. I'm being a selfish asshole." Jake clenches his fists hard, and you see his knuckles start to turn paler. With a deep breath, he relaxes and shrugs. Loosening the tight coil of his muscles, Jake gives you a curt tight lipped smile with a nod. "I'm just a selfish asshole, okay?"

"Please stop. Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true," he says, rolling those beautiful eyes at you. 

"It's not true. Also, I would prefer if you don't use the word selfish around me, please." You say in a surprisingly steady voice. You don't really want to get triggered right now, and you could only hope that you wouldn't have to explain triggers to Jake. It takes him one moment to think and another to process before he says anything. 

"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry. I won't use it again." Jake promises, no questions asked. His words blow up a balloon in your diaphragm, making it feel like your breath is about to catch. Then he adds on, "If there are any other words…" He looks around and grabs a loose pen and one of his notebooks. Jake slides them across the table to you. "Write them down. Maybe? If you can." 

The warmth Jake inspires in your chest is unparalleled and drowns out anything you can think of aside from how endearing he can be and how fond you are of him. Jake doesn't take the lack of response from you well.  

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. You spring from where you had been sitting, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. You make sure to give him plenty of time to protest and say something. 

Jake looks steadily back at you. However, he looks like he is preparing himself to be slapped or punished, holding perfectly still. Instead, though, you wrap Jake in a tight hug. He is stiff as a board beneath you. After a long moment, as you consider pulling away, Jake relaxes and wraps his arms around you. They are wrapped loosely at first but then tighten in small intervals until Jake is practically clinging to you. 

"You are so good," you whisper to him, a little dazed. You are almost stunned by how desperately Jake tries to pretend otherwise. 

"Don't say that," Jake whispers in a broken voice, hugging you a bit tighter. 

"Too good." You left the words for me unsaid, but you felt them. 

"I'm really not."

"It's okay if you don't see it. I see it for you. I'll make sure everyone else sees, too," you tell Jake curling your hands into a fist in his shirt. 

He doesn't say anything but keeps holding you tightly. You don't know how long the two of you stay embraced like that until Jake finally eases his grip on you, and you reluctantly pull away from him as well. 

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Please stop paying so much in rent," he requests again. 

"That will not be happening, Hangman."

"So stubborn." He sighs. Jake kisses your forehead again. He leaves his lips lingering, and you start to count the breaths memorizing how warm his lips are. Three breaths later, he is pulling away. Jake grabs his laptop and a stack of folders heading upstairs without another word to you. 

You stare after him for a while, trying to parse out the mystery Jake presents, and coming up a bit short, just like you always did. He is one of the most outwardly confident men you have ever met. Yet, other times, Jake is the first person to make a self-deprecating comment about himself. You swallow down how much you desire more from him, wishing for more, knowing you can't and shouldn't have it.  

🏡🧩🏡

You and Jake were lounging on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, avoiding going to the gym, half-heartedly trying to convince you to go with him. You were also scrolling your phone while deflecting Jake’s offers. 

That was when your doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking. You and Jake both look up at each other. He raises his eyebrows, and you just shrug, having no idea who could be at the door. Jake looks back to his phone, clearly ready to ignore it, when the doorbell rings twice more, and the pounding on the door gets louder. Jake sighs and gets up, walking across the house towards the noise. 

“Hold your horses out there!” Jake yells towards the door before opening it. 

You wait for a moment, trying to hear who it is, curious about who would be so rude and what they needed. However, you don’t hear anything from where you are on the couch. So you stand and follow Jake into the entry hallway. 

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You hear Jake say. He is standing at his full height in the door frame. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You hear from on the other side of the door. 

Nervousness shoots through your whole body hearing that voice. Anxiety immediately pops up, and your stomach drops. You know that voice. You have heard it a thousand times before. Why was he here? How was he here? 

“I asked you to leave, Sir.”

“Just tell that little bitch that —”

Jake steps further forward onto the front porch. “Now, we don’t speak about ladies like that where I am from. And I’m going to ask that you act accordingly while at my home, Sir.” Jake cuts him off with that well mannered southern military niceness. 

“I don’t give a fuck where you are from.”

You flinch at his tone of voice, feeling bile rise up in your throat. You lean against the wall slapping your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from throwing up. 

“I asked you politely to leave. I won’t ask again. I can call you a taxi or an uber. But don’t you dare take one more step on my front porch.” Jake says in a deep tone. You are hit with the sudden, horrifying realization that he is going to hurt Jake, and that is something you just won’t let happen. 

You are trying to go through possibilities in your head. Anyway, this could shake out; it would be bad for Jake. Jake would either get hurt and get in trouble, or he would kick ass and gets in worse trouble. This would end badly; either way, Jake is going to get in trouble, and it would be your fault. You would be responsible because you caused this situation. Jake was going to pay the consequences all because he was trying to protect you. You were roommates, so Jake must think he has some obligation to protect you. 

You feel swamped in stress knowing how easily Jake can escalate a situation and provoke someone; sometimes, all it takes for him is one well-placed smile. That stress is finally what unfreezes you, and you stumble towards the front door. 

Jake’s large, broad form still mostly hides your view of the other side, but you cautiously approach and set your hand gently on the back of his shoulder. You feel how tense Jake’s muscles are under your hand and can see it in the line of the back of his neck. 

“Sugar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Jake says in a deep voice. He doesn’t budge an inch or look back toward you. “But I would like to suggest that you go back inside. I have this handled.” 

You want to cry. You want to cry for so many reasons: cry because you are in this situation, that you have to deal with this again, that you feel so small. However, you mostly want to cry because Jake “Hangman” Seresin is such a good man. It’s startling sometimes, not because it’s really unexpected, but rather that it is so completely and bluntly genuine. 

Having Jake here defending you, trying to protect you from the person who has probably scared you most in your life, it feels so silly to pretend like you don’t have feelings for him, to pretend that you aren’t more in love with him than you ought to be.

The realization doesn’t really feel shocking; it is closer to acceptance. A given truth that is part of your life now. An empowering truth that swells in your bones like a swift tide, filling up the spaces that have been empty for so long. 

You love Jake more than you are scared. The warmth of affection towards him is so hot it burns out the freezing ice in your veins and the numbness in your fingers. You love him, and you will be damned if you let Jake be hurt, touched, tainted, or affected by this man who has hurt you. It seems cliché that loving someone like this is enough for you to finally break through the barrier of fear you have lived your whole life in. However, now it just feels so simple. 

Your heart is beating hard. The adrenaline is pumping through you so strongly that you can hear it echoing in your ears. Your hand slides up Jake’s back to his bicep, and you give him a gentle push. Jake shifts with the movement. He slides to the right so you can finally fully see the front porch. However, he doesn’t move enough that you are fully exposed. Jake’s body is still partially concealing you from view. 

Then you hear your name, and your attention snaps away from its hyper-focus on Jake. You turn it forward and brace yourself. You drift your eyes to the ground, landing on the feet of your visitor, staying there for a minute before meeting his burning eyes. 

“Hello, Dad.” 

“Ah, so she is here,” your father says, throwing his hands up and glaring at Jake. You can smell the booze on him from the doorway. It makes your stomach turn. You resist the urge to wretch, squeezing your hand, which is still on Jake’s bicep. He flexes, and his bicep digs into his shirt as your nails also dig in. You don’t like those angry, hateful eyes on your Jake. Jake doesn’t budge an inch or react to your nails on his skin.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” You ask him. Your hold on Jake acting like an anchor point for you. 

“You don’t bother to answer my texts or anyone else’s calls and texts. Just because you moved out doesn’t mean you get to be a selfish bitch” your dad spits out. 

“I’ve been pretty busy,” you defend yourself in a small voice.  

“Oh, I bet you have been so busy. What are you doing these days?” He growls at you. “You know it doesn’t really count as moving out if you are spreading your legs to pay for it.” 

You flinch, your hand falling from Jake’s arm and balling into a tight fist at your side. You hate how easily he can make you feel small, even when you are angry. 

“Watch your mouth,” Jake hisses, rejoining the conversation. You glance at him, and Hangman is shaking with contained rage. You know this is not a good situation; anytime, someone could blow up. 

“You should go inside, Hangman,” you tell him gently. 

“Absolutely not,” Jake responds instantly. 

“So you are playing the part of a pathetic little whore wife for this pretty boy.” Your dad says, cutting in. 

You grit your teeth as he continues on. “Come on. I thought you gave up pussies after our talk when you were in high school.” 

With the reminder of just what he is referring to, You are overcome with anger, and you finally can’t take it anymore. You recognize his words for what they are, a direct bait at Jake and undercutting you. It makes you so angry you start shaking. Tears burst from your eyes, trying to let off some steam bubbling inside you. It boils up, so you can’t take it anymore, and you whisper, “Shut up.” 

“What?” Your dad asks, clearly shocked. You take a step forward fueled by your anger. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You pronounce each word slowly. Then continue on, “I’m tired of this. You don’t get to be mean to me and still expect a relationship with me. You don’t get to hit me, yell at me, and abuse me just to show up at my house on your bullshit. And you sure as fuck don’t get to say anything about Jake.” You suck in a rapid breath, the words fueling the fire in you. Your angerburning brighter with every word. 

“You made me think that kind, decent men didn’t exist, Dad, but Jake is good. He isn’t a pretty boy. He is smart, sweet, strong, and kind. I will not hear you say one more thing about him. Ever.” You punctuate the sentence with a jab of your index finger at him. He looks like he might be cowed, and before you can even finish a prayer that he will be done, the fire in his eyes lits again. 

“You could have at least found someone who stands up for you. A real man.” Your dad isn’t even looking at you when he says it. Instead, he is staring at Jake. 

“That’s a rather rude thing to say about an active duty Naval Officer,” you hiss. Your dad takes a step back, his eyebrows raising, reexamining Jake. He shifts his weight between his feet nervously. 

“You aren’t welcome at our home. So leave and crawl back into the bottle you drank before coming here. Don’t come back, Dad. I don’t want to see you.” 

You try to force your body to relax, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard in your veins. So, you start to walk backward back into the house. Jake still hasn’t taken his eyes off your dad, and he makes no move to come with you back into the house. 

“Jake?” You ask. 

“Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to have a talk with your old man here and make sure that he makes it home.”

“I don’t want him near you.” 

Your dad still looks blown away by this turn of events. Like he is scrambling to put words together. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Jake. 

Jake breathes out heavily through his nose. He turns his head enough to glance at you. Whatever he sees on your face must break his resolve. Jake clenches his jaw, and you watch the muscle flex once, then twice. After that, he rolls his shoulders, and it’s like Hangman is physically able to just shrug the tension of the situation off. 

“Get home safe, Sir. I suggest doing so soon. MAs are known to drive down our street.” Jake says it in a light, easygoing tone, border lining on cheery. Then, plastering that practiced, perfect smile on his face, Jake nods his head toward your dad and comes back into the house. 

Jake closes the door but doesn’t move, staring out the frosted window on the front door. His body is tense again, standing rigidly at his full height. You are still shaking from anger. You slump against Jake’s back, letting your body weight shift into his. One of his arms bends backward a bit awkwardly, sitting on your waist. His large palm is burning hot. You can feel it through the fabric of your clothes. Then Jake’s fingers flex to give you a small squeeze of reassurance. 

When Jake finally does move, it is just to turn away from the door and wrap you tightly in his arms. You enjoy the warmth of his strong embrace, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline starts to fade. Jake is still shaking, though. 

“He’s gone,” Jake says into the crown of your head. You let a little sigh escape you, feeling a bit more of the tension release. 

“Good,” you manage to tell him. 

“I wanted to defend you. I wanted to slam his face so hard into the porch that he wouldn’t ever be able to open his mouth again. Wanted to tell him how you are—”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you cut Jake off before he can continue. You don’t want to know what he thinks about you right now. You can’t handle whatever words could spill out of his mouth next. 

“I’ll make sure he never comes back here,” Jake says, his voice dropping, and you feel the rage contained in him, the subtle shake and heat coming from how tense he is. 

“I don’t want him near you. If something happened to you because of him….” you trail off. Your hands wander the expanse of Jake’s back in an almost soothing motion. However, you don’t know who it is soothing more, you or him. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He takes a deep breath and then releases it in a heavy sigh. “What if you just give me his full name and social security number? You wouldn’t have to know about anything else.”

“Jake,” you whisper in a tone that is almost reminiscent of amusement. 

Jake sighs again. He draws back from your hug and cups your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have been lingering. 

“You are the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met,” Jake whispers. Considering how he is looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes, it’s clear the emotions of the situation are still running rampant. That look, paired with how he is holding you, makes you think Jake might be about to kiss you.  

“No, No. Stop.” You don’t know if you are trying to ask him not to kiss you or to stop talking. Either way, you feel like you might explode if this interaction isn’t over soon. 

“Yes,” Jake says. “Let me, please.” 

His thumb is still tracing along your cheek, and you can’t help yourself from leaning a tiny bit into his palm. An action that momentarily freezes his thumb before it picks up steadily again. Not hearing an explicit no from you again, Jake continues on. 

“That man has no say over you. Who you are is so stunning. You never deserved to be treated the way you were. I am so sorry you ever had to go through that. I am so sorry he showed up here. You don’t owe him a single second of your time or attention. You are valuable. You are amazing. He is trying to make you small because he sees how good you are.” 

A shudder racks through your body, hearing Jake’s words, and fresh tears start to fall unprompted from your eyes. As soon as they do, though, Jake pushes them away. “I am so proud of you for getting away from him. You are so strong and brave. It makes me awed. I’m so glad that you moved in here. You are…” Jake doesn’t finish the sentence, he seems to lose his train of thought. His mouth parts a little bit, and his eyes flash down to glance at your lips. 

Jake is going to kiss you, and it might possibly be the worst thing that could happen. If he kisses you right now because of your dad, you know you might break into a million different pieces. You don’t want Jake to kiss you for any reason but pure desire and affection. You don’t want him to kiss you in comfort, or pity, or convenience, or as an outlet. You don’t want him to kiss you just because emotions are running high from the incident that just happened. Most of all, you don’t want Jake to kiss you and not mean it. You don’t want him to kiss you without the intention of kissing you again. 

So, even though you are desperate to feel his lips, and memorize their shape, how they feel against yours. Desperate to discover what he tastes like, curl your fingers in his hair and take comfort in the form of his body. You know you can’t, it has the power to break you, and you already feel so broken and exhausted. 

You cover the hand Jake has on your face with your own and pull it away. However, you don’t immediately let go holding his large palm. Hangman takes your hint and steps backward, giving you a little space so that he is pressed against the door again. You decide to thread your fingers with his. Jake’s skin is still almost hot to the touch in your hand.

“Thank you, Jake,” You finally say, meeting his piercing green eyes again. You squeeze the hand you are holding. He gives you a tight nod and then tips his head upwards, so he is looking at the ceiling. Jake rests his head against the door as well and closes his eyes. 

You observe him for a moment, then you go to release the hand you are holding. Jake stops you, though, his hand tightening as yours loosens, and you try to pull away. You give a little tug, and he tightens his fingers even more. Jake’s head is still tipped, and you hear him sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out.

 “Please don’t let go,” he begs you. Jake’s eyes flash open again, and he is looking down his nose at you. “I just, I need you.”

You inhale sharply at his phrasing, and he sighs heavily. “I might do something terrible if you let go of me. If you don’t need me here, there won’t be anything to stop me.” 

“You’re not going to do anything terrible,” You say, retangling your fingers with his. Jake’s hand flexes in yours, and he takes another big breath. 

“I’ll make sure he loses our address and forgets it too. Make sure he doesn’t remember anything at all anymore. I’ll—”

“You’ll stay right here, Jake.”

He lifts his head so it isn’t tilted against the door anymore and stares down at you. He looks like he is holding on to every word you are saying to keep his sanity. His skin is flushed from anger, and his palm shakes slightly in yours. You were in awe he was able to hold back this reaction so long, remaining calm and collected throughout the entire encounter. 

“You will stay here with me, Jake. I need you.” 

“Yeah?” He asks shakily. 

“Yeah. Need your help, Jake.”

There is a low rumble in his chest, almost resembling the hum it was probably supposed to be. You step closer to Jake, once again closing the gap between you.

“Tell me what you need.” It comes out as a demand, and he seems to realize that when he adds on a small quick “Please.”

You look at him then, trying to read his face and those eyes that haunt your dreams. You examine the creases and lines his face makes with the severe angry look he has plastered on. You take the time to observe how his hair is hazardously falling out of place for how many times he has run his hand through it. You don’t really find any of the answers you are looking for. You just find Jake. And Jake is an oh-so-wondrous thing to find. 

You step closer to him and tug the hold he has on your hand again. His nose scrunches for a moment, and his frown tightens. His eyes lift upwards towards the ceiling again as his jaw clenches; he lets go of your hand. Jake’s hand falls heavily back until it hits the door making a smacking sound. You flinch at the sound but take another step forward, crowding Jake against the door. You lift your hand up to trace over his neck and then settle on his face, encouraging him to adjust his gaze back to you. He follows direction and leans into your hold, just like you leaned into his earlier. 

“Need you to stay with me,” you start slowly, encouraged as Jake nods his head in a small jerk. 

“I need you to leave the front door.” 

He considers your words for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry, sugar. I need to protect you.” 

“There is no one in the world I feel safer with than you, Jake.” He squeezes his eyes tightly closed at those words and pulls in a ragged breath. “So, you can’t leave me alone here.”

He nods again but still has his eyes closed. “Ain’t leaving. You need me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I hold you?” Jake asks, then once again remembers his manners throwing out another small, please. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper. Jake doesn’t waste a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snuggly against him. The change of angle causes your hand to slip from his face, so you wrap it around his neck instead, your fingers drifting against the short hairs there. You go to wrap your other arm around his waist but instead awkwardly hit the front door. You hiss out a small breath at the momentary pain. 

Jake responds to the sound. He starts walking forward, making you walk backward. Walking while he is wrapped around you proves to be difficult, and you stumble a little. That seems to be all Jake needs; he wraps his arms under your ass and lifts you. 

You are terrified at the concept that Jake is going to try to carry you, and you open your mouth to protest. However, with only one small grunt that honestly sounded more like pure sex with how low and husky it is, Jake is carrying you down the hallway. You wrap your arm around his neck more securely, adding a second one for more leverage. 

Jake doesn’t stop to set you on the couch like you had expected. Instead, he continues up the stairs and right into his room. He sets you on his bed gently, and you unwrap your arms from his neck, letting him pull away. Jake goes back to the door of his room, closes it, and clicks the lock into place. You raise an eyebrow at his action.

"That’s rather presumptuous, Hangman.” 

“What?” He looks at you confused before he looks back at his door. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I’m not.”

You shush him motioning towards yourself to try and get him to come closer again. “I know.” 

Jake comes back to your side. Now that you have been given the temporary clearance to freely touch him, you cannot stop yourself. Jake sits next to you on the bed, and you are scooting closer so that your thighs are flush side by side. Jake throws an arm across your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Do you need to talk about it?” He asks you softly. You let a hollow dry laugh at his question, your laughter starts to devolve until it’s nearly hysteric giggling. Jake takes it in stride, holding you close and his thumb drawing small soothing back-and-forth shapes. After you are almost breathless and heaving, you finally start to recover. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I definitely need to. Not with you, though, Jake.”

“Why not me?”

“Because it’s the kind of fucked you talk to a therapist about.”

“I’m a great listener.”

“I know you are, but this isn’t your baggage to pack around and deal with, Jake.”

“Baggage? Sugar, that’s why we have the attic. If that isn’t enough space, or you fill it up. I’ll build a shed in the backyard.”

“What if that’s not enough room?”

“Then we have the garage. We’ll just park in the driveway.”

“You would give up your shop?” You ask, thinking of Jake’s favorite place in the house. 

“Yup,” Jake says without hesitating. “And after that, well, I’ve never been too fond of the extra guest room anyway.” 

“If that’s all not enough?”

“Then we’ll move. Or we go through it until we find some we can let go of.” Jake says, his free hand crossing his body to settle warmly on your knee. 

“It’s not physical baggage.”

“I know it’s not.” 

The feeling of affection you feel for him grows even more. Every time you think that there is no way possible you can fall further in love with him, Jake turns around and proves you wrong. He does some kind, funny, sweet, unexpected thing that makes you fall a little harder. 

You lift your head and look at him. Jake’s eyes meet your own, the severe stormy look in them a little less present. He is a bit more at ease, no longer shaking with anger. You let your eyes fall to his lips. You briefly think you love him so much it might be worth the risk to shift forward and kiss him. That maybe it wouldn’t lead to disaster like you’ve convinced yourself it would.

“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” Jake asks, breaking you from your trance. You shift a bit further away from him but not far before giving him an answer. 

The two of you watch your favorite comfort movie. You are cuddled into Jake’s side the whole time. The two of you had shifted back into the bed, cuddled close while watching the wall-mounted TV in Jake’s room. Exhaustion hits you like a wall as the adrenaline leaves your system, accompanied by the heat radiating off of Jake, the way everything smells like him, and his Tempurpedic bed; you relax more than you have in a long time. 

As you start to drift asleep against Jake’s chest, his heartbeat has a steady, soothing rhythm under your ear. You think out of all the times you have dreamed of falling asleep with Jake in his bed, none of those fantasies come even close to how good it actually feels. None of your dreams prepared you for how safe you would feel.

Your dreams also didn’t prepare you for sneaking back to your room at three in the morning when you woke up. Or pretending the next day that nothing had happened. After all, nothing had happened except some tense moments and Jake getting a glimpse of your past. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t, either. You catch him watching you closer than he would typically for the next few days. 

More time starts to pass, and you are thankful that nothing was risked or changed between you and Jake or has affected you as roommates. There are only the slightest moments when both of you are much more casual about physical affection. Hugging Jake was now a commonplace part of your day, and you occasionally catch yourself daydreaming about what it felt like to fall asleep in his bed. 

🏡🧩🏡

You had started to pick up what the signs were when Jake wasn't okay, and something was bothering him pretty early into moving in. He had some pretty obvious tells. However, something had been really really bothering him for a while now. He didn't say anything to you, but he didn't have to; Jake's mannerisms gave him away. Jake wasn't following his routine and had started obsessively cleaning.

The other night, he knocked on your door, bursting open seconds after you told Jake he could come in. Then Hangman had all but begged you to let him deep clean your room. When you told Jake no, he gave you a look like you just insulted his Babula and stalked out of the room. Half an hour later, he was back in your doorway, asking the same question phrased slightly differently. You had finally given in after his second time double-checking. However, you insisted that you helped and supervised his cleaning. Once you agreed, Jake had done his happy dance. It was so cute it managed to cover the embarrassment that was crawling in you at letting someone else, let alone the man you loved your roommate, clean your room. 

The next day Hangman decided to reorganize all the bookshelves. First by color, then by genre, and even one time by the number of pages. His last reorganization was to put them all back to by author's last name. This was only after Jake talked to you for over an hour about the pros and cons of the Dewey decimal system in modern library science. 

After the books, you come home, and there is a puzzle on the table. A 2500-piece puzzle of the painting Meeting On The Turret Stairs. Jake works on it constantly. Only stopping to go to work and the gym. For three days, he doesn't read and doesn't do his sudoku. Jake doesn't sit with you in the living room at night. Instead, he just works on his puzzle, blowing past his typical bedtime every night. Then he stops going to the gym, and a day after that, he cancels his weekly call with his niece. That's when you know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is bothering Jake must be significant. 

Finally, you can't bite your tongue or try to keep your nose out of his business anymore. The concern you feel is too much to handle. You had gotten up at 3 am for some water, and Jake was still puzzling at the table. 

"How's it going, Sport?"

"No, I'm Hangman," Jake answers in a quiet voice. 

"What?" you ask him, confused. 

"Not my callsign," Jake mumbles to you. You squint and try to piece together what he means in your still half-asleep brain. 

"You know someone named Sport?"

Jake just shrugs his shoulders, engrossed in his task. "There are worse callsigns to have." 

"Like Hangman?" You tease him. Jake finally looks up at you when you say that. Jake's eyes are bloodshot, and he has a hurt look. The small frown, paired with his glassy tired eyes, makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy. 

"Hangman is cool," Jake protests. 

"Hangman is very cool," you tell him placatingly, holding up your hands in surrender. 

 "You don't actually think it's cool," Jake whispers, his tired eyes falling back to his puzzle. Jake sounds so sad about it that your feet are moving before your brain, and you are sliding next to him on the bench for the long side of the table.

"Hangman is cool," You say and then nudge him affectionately with your shoulder. "You are cool." 

His lips quirk upwards from his frown before falling again. “Well, I am the Hangman.” 

"How is the puzzle going?"

"Fine, good. I like puzzling."

"You have done other puzzles?" You ask. 

"Yeah, I have a whole box full."

You hum at his words, tiredly wiping your eyes. "You should have been Puzzleman." 

Jake's eyes flash over to yours, slightly worried. "Do not ever say that around Coyote." 

"Hangman, It's three AM." He looks surprised to hear the time, and you watch him turn his wrist to confirm the time on his watch.

"Go to bed," You add softly. 

"I like when you call me Jake." 

"Then why do you listen better when I call you Hangman?" 

"Hmm, maybe because that's the name I hear most often. Maybe because it's easy to be Hangman."

"Is it hard to be Jake?" You ask him gently. 

Jake is quiet for a long moment after your question. Before answering, he sets the piece he had been holding back in its color pile. All he gives you is a whispered, "Sometimes."

You aren't sure what to say, so instead, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. "It's time for bed, Jake. It'll be here in the morning." 

Jake nods his head, listening to you. You get the water you initially came downstairs for and wait until Jake starts up the stairs. Following behind him, you make sure he goes into his room. You aren't really eased about the situation when he shuts the door. However, you are glad he will at least get some sleep. 

Before you go back to bed, you shoot your group chat with Marlee and Javy a text. 

Have you ever seen Jake do a puzzle?

You wake up to texts from Javy and Marlee, both asking all kinds of questions like: what you meant? What kind of puzzle? With how many pieces? And, how long has Jake been working on it?  

From the questions alone, you gather that your worries are correct and Jake puzzling is not a good thing. Getting out of bed, you make yourself presentable enough to venture out of your room and downstairs. 

In the mid-morning light, you are once again greeted with the sight of Jake hunched over his puzzle. A steaming cup of tea sitting next to him, and Chris LeDoux playing from the record player. 

"Good morning," you say. 

"Morning, sugar," Jake says back. You are glad to get a response, but the worry is still gnawing at you. You start putting together your own morning drink, and your eyes keep drifting back to him. 

"Jake, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He says, not looking away from the puzzle piece he is currently studying. 

You stop leaning against the counter, taking your drink with you and walk over to his side. Jake is completing this puzzle concerningly fast; you notice examining his progress this morning alone. He keeps staring at the piece in his hand, unblinking even as you approach. You watch him for a few more moments before deciding it's time for you to intervene. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You pose cautiously. His eyebrows crease, and he still doesn't look away from the puzzle. 

"About the puzzle?" he asks you in a hopeful tone. 

"No, Jake. About what's bothering you." 

He finally does spare you a glance, and you don't like how dull his green sea glass eyes are. The normally vibrant, mischievous glint isn't present, and they are slightly bloodshot and red, even after you forced him to get some sleep. 

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just work stuff. I've got to finish this puzzle." He tells you, then looks away. 

You frown at Jake's answer. Puzzles are supposed to be fun, and you don't think this is actually a healthy, cathartic activity for Jake anymore. You almost preferred his book reorganization or when he went to every door and oiled the hinges, the top and bottom hinges twice but the middle ones only once. When you asked why not the middle one twice? Jake had told you something about middle children that had made you laugh. 

While Jake normally released stress through organization, order, and control. The frenzy and energy he has with this puzzle is different. This wasn't like the month after you moved in, and he decided to rearrange his shop in the garage. Jake had reorganized his tools, labeling where they all went. After that, he made you a booklet of where everything in the garage was located, just in case you wanted to use something. Jake was very genuine about it, too. As if he really believed you were about to start borrowing his screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, lathe, and various other tools. 

Your frown deepens, and you pull out your phone, shooting a text to your group chat with Marlee and Javy. Answering some of their questions from the morning and shooting back a request of your own. 

After texting with them for a few minutes, you set your phone down on the table, taking the spot next to Jake. He gives you another short look but doesn't say anything. You take a moment to look at the piece he has been staring at for over five minutes at this point. 

Taking it gently from his grasp, you examine it yourself. A moment later, you place the puzzle piece into the correct spot. Jake ghosts over the piece you just placed and taps it twice as your hand retreats. 

"You got to tap it into place," he tells you softly. Then Jake is back digging through his piles, looking for the next piece. 

You help Jake with his puzzle for a little bit, pleasantly surprised at the textured surface of the pieces, enjoying how tactile they are. You know this must be a very expensive and nice puzzle. Any time you place a piece, you make sure to tap it twice for Jake. Each time you do, Jake gives a small nod of approval. The one time you forget, his fingers quickly find the piece again and tap it twice with a small annoyed huff. You don't try and coax Jake into a conversation again, simply enjoying just being with him. 

Y'all's work is broken a while later by the doorbell ringing. The sound startles Jake, and he jumps in his seat and his head snapping towards the door. You place a hand on his shoulder again to try and ease the sudden tension.

 "It's okay," you tell him quietly, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'll go get it."

"No, I can get it," Jake says, starting to stand up. You know he doesn't like you to answer the front door anymore. He hasn't ever since your dad showed up unannounced. Jake has never explicitly told you he doesn't want you to answer the door. However, you have picked up on it because he has not let you answer the door once since the incident. One time Jake had even sprinted across the house to beat you to the door. 

"Don't worry. I know who it is," you say. Jake gives you a concerned look but then nods a little bit. His eyes trail after you as you make your way to the entry hall. 

You open the door to Javy's tall form and are immediately wrapped in a tight warm hug. You lean into his embrace, enjoying the comfort for a moment. 

"Is it really bad?" Javy asks you in a low voice when you pull away from his hug. 

You shrug but then follow it up with a nod. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe not? But it's the worst I have ever seen." 

Javy gives you another reassuring squeeze before he saunters into the house towards the living area. Jake's eyes are trained on the hallway, clearly waiting for you to come back. However, when he sees Javy, he blanches, dropping his eyes back to the puzzle. Jake's shoulders hunching tight almost up to his ears. 

"Hey, Hangman," Javy hums. 

"Machado," Jake says gruffly, fiddling with a piece. 

Javy shocks you by not immediately going over to Jake. Instead, he meanders over to your TV. He shocks you even more by opening a drawer in the entertainment center and pulling out an Xbox. Javy starts hooking up the console, and you shift your eyes to Jake again. 

He is still sitting there digging through his puzzle pieces. You aren't sure what to do. If you should leave the two of them alone, join Javy in the living room, or go back to the table with Jake. So instead, you end up in a weird middle ground lingering in the hallway. Finally, when Javy has everything set up, and the Xbox booted on, he goes over to Jake. Coyote sets his hands down so hard on Jake's shoulders that it jostles the blond a bit. 

"Wow, buddy, this is a nice puzzle," Javy says casually. 

Jake just hums in response, placing a puzzle piece and tapping it twice. Only answering once he picks up another piece. "It's a watercolor by Frederic William Burton. He painted it in — "

"It's time for a break, Hangman," Coyote says, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

"Naw, you see this section," Jake gestures generally towards the entire surface area of the puzzle. "It's almost done."

"Nope, it's break time," Javy repeats more firmly. 

Jake's shoulders hang, and it looks like it takes him physical effort to stand up from the table. Jake's joints and back audibly pop from the action, and he raises his hands above his head to fully stretch. 

You try to root yourself in concern, not thinking of the flash of skin you saw where Jake's shirt rode up a bit. Jake blinks a few times, and when he finishes stretching, he turns to fully look at Javy. 

"How long are you staying?" Jake asks, daring to glance back down at the puzzle. Javy snaps his fingers in front of Jake's face twice and then points aggressively toward the couch. 

"As long as I want to," Javy responds with an upbeat tone and a wide grin. He gives a light shove, and Jake shuffles over to the couch. Jake looks at you as he walks, and you can tell that he feels betrayed. 

"I'll leave you to it," you say, ready to retreat into your room. 

Jake looks away from you then, and you don't like the flash of embarrassment on his face as he does. It's been odd seeing Jake so completely out of his element and uncomfortable in his skin the last few days. Embarrassed wasn't a look that fits well on Jake. It made you want to rush in and remedy the situation. 

"You don't gotta go," Jake calls to you.

"Javy came over to hang out with you, Jake." You say plainly. You want to give them space to talk and hang out. 

"Yeah, bro, feeling the love," Javy says jokingly. It earns him a sharp jab to his side from Jake. The action just makes Javy laugh, though. "Don't worry so much, Hang. Marlee is coming by later with dinner, and then all four of us will kick back, but right now, it's me, you, and the Master Chief." 

"You'll hang out with us later, though? Or are you doing something tonight?" Jake asks, ignoring Javy.  

"There is nothing I would rather do tonight than hang out with you," you tell him. Jake's eyes snap up from where they had drifted to the left, lowered just enough not to meet yours. The burning bright color in them is startling after the dull, distant look he has supported the last few days. You can't stop the words you say next, needing to try and back peddle. It takes a long beat before you say, "and Marls and Javy. I don't know if you've ever had Marlee's green chile enchiladas, but they are to die for." 

"They are so good," Jake agrees enthusiastically and looks down at the controller he is holding for the first time. Javy then shoots you a smile with a thumbs up, and you are reassured enough that you head upstairs and into your room. 

You hear Javy's voice behind you, "You know Marlee only cooks for two reasons." 

You close your door before hearing Jake's answer and resist the urge to eavesdrop. A few hours later, you hear loud yelling and laughter from the living room. Then get a text from Marlee to send the boys to help her get the food out of her car. 

The rest of the night is mostly light, and Jake almost passes for his normal self. He jokes with Coyote, eats two helpings of Marlee's enchiladas, and with you... well, with you, he is hot and cold. One moment Jake will be flirting with you in a heavy bravado, then the next, he falls into a quiet, contemplative silence. Javy has to herd Jake away from his puzzle three separate times. It gets easier to draw Jake back in every time; the last time only took a question directed toward Jake to draw him back to you guys. 

It is a good night, and everyone seems happy at the end. Jake hugs Javy and Marlee goodbye and leaves you to walk your friends out. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing Jake walk up the stairs and not back to the dining room table. 

You talk with the couple for a few more minutes on the front porch, then hug them goodbye. You are thankful for them, to have such good friends who are willing to be a support system, for you, for Jake, and for their other friends too. It warms your heart, and it feels a lot like family. 

Jake's puzzling is less frenzied after that night, and he starts to reign back in. He has full conversations with you again and goes to the gym after work as well. He follows Javy's rules that had been texted to you both and doesn't puzzle by alone again.

 For the next week or so, Javy and Marlee end up in your living room in the evenings. Keeping Jake from becoming too obsessed, you also notice that he won't let Javy or Marlee touch his puzzle pieces. But when Jake does work on the puzzle, and you are home, he always invites you to join him. 

Jake makes an effort to converse with you while working too. The conversations you two get into range from academic to childhood memories, favorites — books, movies, foods, bands, animals— funny stories, and anything else that would pop in your heads. Of course, each puzzle piece must still be double tapped into place, and you are meticulous about following that rule. 

Puzzling in the evenings with Jake surprisingly becomes one of your favorite times of the day. Sometimes you would even just sit there at the table with Jake, scrolling on your phone while he works on the puzzle. 

Hangman's presence is a comforting steady grounding force, so much so that you can only hope you provide half of that for him. You knew you were roommates, and Jake may not carry the same romantic feelings you do. However, you couldn't deny the plain platonic affection that poured from him, so much you sometimes think M aybe . Maybe he does feel more. 

When you enter the kitchen, you see the puzzle is finished. You go to examine it and realize two pieces are missing. You feel a bit of worry creeping up in you, not sure how Jake will react to having lost pieces and being unable to complete the puzzle. 

You start to look around, checking every chair and bench to make sure a piece hasn't fallen. You shine a light under the couch in case they slipped under there. Then you are flipping up the edge of the rug in the living room and trying to think of any other feasible place the pieces could have disappeared. 

"What are you doing?" you hear, and you snap your head to see Jake standing on the other side of the couch, looking at you bemused. 

"Sorry, I was just looking for your missing pieces," you say, straightening up and fixing the rug. 

Jake quirks an eyebrow then he follows your gaze to the table where his puzzle is. Jake's mouth drops open, lips barely parted, and a soft "Oh." falls out like he didn't even make the sound intentionally. 

"No luck so far, though. I'm sorry. I'm sure they will turn up. Only so many places they could have gone," You say, making sure to project an upbeat, positive tone and attitude. 

Jake looks between you and the puzzle twice before suddenly you are graced with the rarest of Jake Seresin's smiles. It is one you have only seen a handful of times. It's different than his smirk and his confident panty dropping smile. It's not the smile that he gets when he laughs, and his eyes crinkle around the edges or the mouth wide open smile. It's not his practiced perfect smile he uses for pictures. 

No, this smile is closed-mouthed, those pearly whites hidden from view. It's a quirk of his lips like Jake is trying to hold it back from showing it on his face but he isn't entirely successful. His bottom lip is tucked a little bit between his teeth as if he is physically trying to bite back the expression, none of which prevents Jake's dimples from popping up. 

It's a smile that always leaves you a little stunned, and this is no exception. Not that there are many things about Jake that don't leave you feeling that way. This smile, paired with the soft look in his eyes, makes you want to melt into the floor. 

"I have the pieces," Jake tells you then. It takes you a few moments to process his words. 

"Oh, you do?"

"Yeah, I do," he says and pulls out a ziplock baggie from his pocket with the two pieces in it. 

"That's great!"

"They weren't lost. I was saving them, actually."

"Saving them for what?"

"For you. Well, for us."

You don't think you are able to hide your surprise at his words. "For us?"

"Yeah. You know, so we can finish this puzzle together. We worked on it together. So, we should finish it together. Few things match the feeling of putting the final piece of a puzzle into place."

God, you want to kiss him. You want to grab his face and smash your lips against his. You want to taste him and thread your fingers in his short dirty blonde hair. The little fantasy starting to form in your brain is cut off by Jake walking over to the table. 

You follow him there, and Jake sets the last two pieces on the table, letting you pick which one you want. Once you make your selection, Jake grabs the other one. 

"Okay, on three," he tells you with a grin. At his countdown, you both place the pieces of the puzzle. Automatically you double tap your piece into place. Jake was right; it is an extremely satisfying feeling finishing the puzzle and seeing it whole for the first time. 

Your gaze drifts over the puzzle, and you look up to see Jake staring at you instead of the finished piece. After a moment, you realize what is wrong. Your hand reaches across and gently nudges Jake's to the side. Then you tap Jake's piece twice, realizing that for the very first time, he seemed to have missed that compulsion of his. However, you knew it would bother Jake when he realized he had forgotten, so you make sure to complete the ritual. 

Jake's gaze snaps down to the piece you had tapped for him. Then his knuckles purposely brush against the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

"Thank you," spills from both of your mouths at the same time, which makes you laugh.  

"Jinx," Jakes says in a rushed voice, making you laugh harder. That odd tension in the air between you two disappears. 

You walk into the kitchen and grab a white claw from the fridge, bringing it back for Jake, handing it to him. Jake is a strict enforcer of the jinx soda pop rule. The two of you look at the puzzle for a few more minutes. Taking in the stunning painting, the yearning and sadness of it never fails to impact you. 

While the two of you had been working on the puzzle, Jake had told you many different facts about The Meeting On The Turret Stairs. How it was a watercolor painting by Frederic William Burton, the poem it was based on, the era it was painted in, and its place in Irish art. 

When you asked Jake more, he surprised you by knowing hyper-specific details and answers off the top of his head. Intrigued, you learned how he had double majored at Annapolis in Aerospace Engineering and History. However, because Jake was golden boy Midshipman Seresin, he had gotten away with his final history thesis being art focused. Hangman more than understood how to be charming when he needed to be. 

"What now?" You ask him. 

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused. 

"What do we do with the puzzle?" you ask. It sounds much better than what you wanted to say. What now between the two of you? What were you going to do to keep spending time together? 

"We take it apart." Jake shrugs. 

"No," you gasp, horrified thinking of all the time you had put into the puzzle just to undo it and throw it back in the box.

"What else would we do?" Jake asks you. You think for a moment before smiling at your own idea. 

"Let's Mod Podge it, and then we can hang it up. We have some pretty bare walls in the house, and it is a stunning piece of art," you suggest. 

Jake doesn't even take a moment to think it over before saying, "I love that idea." 

So, you two are driving to the craft store to get cardboard and Mod Podge. A week later, the puzzle has been cemented and hung on the wall in between your and Jake's rooms upstairs. After the puzzle is finished, Jake is back into his sudoku and his various other reading books. He still lingers near you in the evenings, waiting longer than he used to before retreating to his room for bed. 

One night almost a month after you two had finished the puzzle, Jake brings the subject up again. You two are lounging on the couch, he had just gotten home from watching the Army-Navy game at a bar with some of his friends, and he is definitely a little bit tipsy. 

"I am going to build us a puzzle table," is the first thing he had loudly declared, walking in the door. 

You were instantly worried about why Jake might want to start a new puzzle. "Is everything okay?"

Jake doesn't seem to hear you, though, as he continues on. "A really nice one that opens and closes with velvet or something so we don't have to worry about losing pieces, and maybe I can even make it an adjustable height?" He is talking to himself more than to you. 

You watch as he grabs a notepad and pencil out of a drawer. Then he slumps on the couch. Before you know what's happening or can stop it, Jake has his head on your lap and is sketching design ideas, potential measurements, and materials. 

"How are you doing?" you ask him again, staring down at his face, unable to contain your enamored smile. Jake just nods his head and keeps sketching while mumbling. 

You run a hand through his soft hair tentatively. It is a bit longer than usual right now, almost out of regulation. He will need to get a haircut this week, but the strands are so soft, and you can't help but enjoy that there is a bit more there to run your fingers through. His eyes instantly close, and he hums contently at your touch. 

"Hangman?" you ask him almost teasingly, halting your movements.

"Yes, sugar?" 

"Are you okay?" 

He blinks his eyes open and looks at you. Their gleaming sea glass green color is a little glazed over and so very soft. His mirth is open and obvious to you. "I'm so great. Navy won." 

"That's great. Go Navy." A wide grin splits his face wide, and Jake's eyes actually crinkle closed, hiding their unique color from you again. 

"That's right, Honey. Ooh ahh!" Jake responds automatically, making you both laugh, and maybe you had been drinking a little bit of wine before he came home; perhaps you were warm from that, or maybe Jake was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes lock with his, and your hands pull out of his hair. You let one drift trace his face helping him relax the furrow in his eyebrows. 

"Why do you want to start a new puzzle?" You ask. 

"No new puzzle. A new table." He corrects you. Jake taps his pencil on the notepad pointedly. 

"For a new puzzle?"

"You liked doing a puzzle with me, right? Well, after the first bit, you liked it?"

"I loved it." The words slip out of your mouth before you can amend the sentiment to come off less forward.

"Me too,"Jake says and trails off for a moment. Then he continues asking, "So you would be open to doing another one with me? Just for fun this time, not my mental health." Jake doesn't say the last sentence with any bit of shame or embarrassment, which you admire. However, the vulnerability is obvious and glaring. 

"Yeah," you confirm, once again having to run your fingers over his brow to relax his face. 

"Perfect. I'm building the table, then. You can pick the puzzle this time." 

You can't help but let your hands slip back into Jake's hair, and he returns to sketching on his notepad. It was a moment of quiet peace you knew you didn't ever want to let go of. 

"Javy said that you don't like to do puzzles with other people, and that's what helps you pull out of the pit." 

Jake's eyes don't leave his notepad, and he turns the page. You watch Jake start to scrawl the pros of a dovetail joint versus a dowel joint before he starts to draw it out as well. You almost don't think he will say anything back by the time he finally does. 

"You aren't other people," Jake tells you, as he starts drawing in shading, which is completely unnecessary for anything beyond aesthetic. He bends the lines from a basic blueprint to a detailed drawing of a realistic table joint. It was distracting watching the engineer in him flow into the unexpected artist. 

The idea that you ever had thought his talent for art and engineering were such radically different things was a bit funny. Now that you see him dance between the lines back and forth so elegantly that you understand it wasn't two competing sides of Jake. It was just him. It was how he worked and operated. 

It was how he was Hangman and also Jake. It was how he could fill out sudoku then go to bed at 9 pm and how he could shoot pool until closing with the squad. It was how he was a cowboy and a pilot. It was how you wanted to cry a little bit, knowing he enjoyed you there, knowing you weren't like other people. 

And you are struck with the thought that you don't ever want Jake to do a puzzle with anyone but you. You never want to see him sitting alone at three am with bloodshot eyes putting pieces into place again. And you don't even want to consider him explaining animatedly why he believes a piece goes in one color pile and not the one it was originally sorted to anyone but you. 

You want to be selfish with Jake. You want to have him, and you want to keep him close, never letting go. Surely you could convince Jake to be yours. It was a selfish act that could be forgiven if you promised to cherish him. After all, there were worse things in the world than loving someone, so entirely the fact they might not love you to the same degree didn't hurt so much.  

Jake flips to the next page in the notepad and starts to sketch out the living room. As he works, the living room table starts to look significantly different than your current one. 

"Oh. It's for the living room?" You ask him.

At first, he just hums in response, but when he finishes rounding out a line, Jake lifts his pencil from the paper. It pauses there, poised and frozen, as he asks, "Do you want the dining table instead?" 

"No." As you continue, the pencil falls back to the page, "It just wasn't what I was originally thinking."

"I could do a dining room table too. They could even be made of the same wood." Jake says. His green eyes broke from the page to glance up at your face for the first time in a while. He searches your face trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion. 

"Two puzzle tables?"

"Think of all the possibilities. We could do two puzzles at once." Jake gasps. You kind of hate the excited timbre that Jake's voice picks up at the idea, but you actually mostly love it. 

"Just one puzzle at a time, please." You say, giving his hair a teasing gentle tug, ignoring the sharp inhale of his breath that immediately follows. You refuse to give away the unexpected thrill sent straight through your body that settles at your core. You have to consciously make sure your words do not fall out rushed, "I think it would be nice to have out here, comfier." 

"I thought the exact same thing."

"Oh really?" You ask, amused. 

"Yes, Ma'am. I've got two words for you, puzzle naps." 

You huff a small laugh at him and bite your lower lip. He flips back to his first page of notes, where he had a small list of wood. He adds cherry to his list after oak. 

"Juniper is really pretty," you suggest. He immediately starts to write down your suggestion with a little heart next to it. When Jake starts to shade in the heart, you feel like the one in your chest might actually burst out. Something very similar to butterflies was fluttering around in you, but it is much less nervous and rather born of pure fondness. 

"Sounds beautiful. I'm sure it's perfect," Jake tells you. 

"Let's pick one together, though. It should be our choice."  

"No," Jake says, drawing an elegant oval around juniper. Then he goes back and strikes a straight line through the other options. "No one else has ever remembered to double tap."

Jake spends a few more minutes detailing the design before his eyes start to get sleepy, and his pencil marks become light and halting. It doesn't take much from you to encourage him to go to bed, just a whispered suggestion. 

He stumbles up from the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. Jake puts his notebook on the counter in the kitchen. After that, Jake circles back to press a second lingering kiss to your forehead. You watch him go all the way around the house to double check the locks, the front door, the garage, and the back door. Finally, after sending you two finger guns, Jake drags himself up the stairs, humming Anchors Aweigh. 

"Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home!" You loudly hear him sing. You listen to Jake as he hums his fight song while randomly peppering in other lyrics. When you finally hear him close his door, your mind makes a decision on the war it's been having. 

You are going to do whatever it takes for Jake Seresin to agree to be yours. Potential consequences be damned; Jake is worth the risk.

[dimepdf]

DATING KURT WOULD INCLUDE. + KURT KUNKLE

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. what being in a relationship with Kurt would be like.

pairing. kurt kunkle x reader

genre and warnings. 18+ under cut MDNI, none gender specific, incel Kurt, fluff, gamer boyfriend trope, not canon to movie, just silly little headcanons, i honestly don't know how to tag this. | — feedback is always welcomed & don’t forget to reblog 🤍

Honestly, I can not believe that you guys convinced me to write this. You literally put a gun to my head and told me to start writing this with my black ass. 

Ight come get y'all juice ig.

Kurt is the type of boyfriend who just doesn't know what to do when you show him affection, the man takes a minute to process every compliment that you give him.

"Wait...Did you just call me a pretty boy?"

"Kurt, I said that an hour ago, babe."

Your first date is going to be cheap.

I'm just being honest here, but that doesn't mean that this man wouldn't burn a hole in his pockets just to buy you whatever you want from the McDonald's dollar menu. 

He will randomly just check up on you throughout the day.

Even if you're spending it together, he’ll suddenly just stop what he’s doing and analyze you for a bit.

Despite you two being in a relationship, Kurt pulls zero bitches, no matter how much he tries to present himself as this super confident guy with a super hot partner.

And because of that, he’s very inexperienced when it comes to relationships.

You have to be the one to initiate everything when it comes to your relationship. 

But when you are being affectionate, you have to turn it all the way up a notch because this man is kind of dense.

You would wrap your arms around him as he sat in his gamer chair watching him play one of his silly little games. 

The sound leaking from his headset as you shifted to his lap, unaffected by your presence, thinking you just wanted to cuddle.

But then you start kissing him on the collarbone...

Man's is instantly hard.

here's where it get's a little spicy...

You discover that Kurt is quite vocal during sex.

Like a modern day porn star, you cannot shut him the fuck up.

Every little touches from you makes him feel like he’s experiencing sex for the first time, every time.

It isn't that hard to please him since he’s never felt the touch of a everyone ever in his life, so you would give him the most sheet gripping, teeth clenching, knuckle biting head of his life.

Kurt has this thing with eye contact.

You have to look him in the eye while you guys are having sex or he just can’t cum.

Same with biting.

He doesn't do it to you, but he’ll burst at the seams if you tease him by sinking your teeth into any part of his body.

Do not try this with his slong.

He has accidentally hit you before the time that you tried to jump scare him.

His reflexes are insane. 

Also he cries. 

You have to give that man aftercare because he literally breaks down.

That post-nut clarity hits him like a ton of fucking bricks.

All he wants to do is be the little spoon and cuddle with you. 

okay back to being cute again...

Whenever he wins a round, you have to kiss him. 

He’ll spring from his gamer chair at the end of the round and jump onto the mattress just to steal a kiss from you.

will brag about you to the ten-year olds online that he’s playing with

“Yeah, well my partner is super freaking hot so…no im not lying dude!” 

“Y/N! COME TELL THEM THAT YOU’RE TOTALLY REAL AND NOT MY MOM!”

waking up and seeing him on the game or making his little "beep boop" music in the corner of the room with the lights turned off.

“Jesus Christ Kurt, turn on the light at least you look like a serial killer.”

“Oh I'm sorry honey, I just didn't want to wake you!”

He constantly asks you for your opinion on everything.

He just can’t help it.

He just constantly wants your approval and wants to impress everyone, especially you.

Lowkey, he has this thing with taking pictures of you while you're sleeping, like his entire camera roll would be just you sleeping in random places he likes to scroll through whenever he’s bored.

You guys do fight, just not very often, but when you do, it's usually over something very serious.

“....are you mad at me Y/N?”

“You literally drove off and left me in a random fucking parking lot because of a game sale Kurt.”

Since he is very into being social media famous, you do have to bring the hammer on him sometimes to stop him from doing dangerously stupid trends.

But other than that, your relationship is usually just shits and giggles.

🔖 @quinnxmunson @lluvin @summerhornet @coralluminaryinternet @jonathansmalewife (for Kurt)

tap here to be added to taglist.

[thatspookyagent]

Hi I was hoping you can do an enemies to lovers headcanon between thor/reader and how that go.

Being enemies to lovers with Thor (GN!Reader) would include...

Warnings: Mentions of eating, drinking, and intoxication, Heimdall & Odin cameos lol

a/n: Hi! Thanks for being my very first video game headcanons request! I haven't gotten and answered a request in awhile and it feels good to do them again! Hope you don't mind the reader being gender neutral. And as always my readers are diverse friendly even with no specified details about the reader (which is how it should be)! Hope you enjoy! :))

If you want to be tagged in any of my content, don’t be afraid to tell me via my ask box or through messages! Just remember to be clear about what specific kinds of content, characters, and fandoms you want me to tag you in or if you want to be put on my general tag list! I’m always looking to add more people and I’d be more than happy to add you (if you wish)! :3

Being an enemy of Thor is a... precarious position to be in lmao

Even if it isn’t full blown “you owe me a blood payment” kind of enemy to him

I feel like the major turn point in how you both become Thor’s lover but also how your perceptions of one another change, is how you view the everyday things that he has to deal with and how it drives him to self destruction

You didn’t care that he was a God and wouldn’t have long term issues from drinking so much, you cared about the hurt it put him through and root of the problem

Because of that he began to see the many layers that make up your own life, your character, and how you deal (or don’t deal) with things

Basically you and him become positive influences for one another and confidants to each other’s issues

Expect a LOT of bickering between the two of you like even after the two of you become lovers, it’s still a main part of your relationship honestly

Though the kind of bickering changes after you and him become official

Beforehand it could be pretty backhanded and snippy, like you were just quipping back and forth cause there was some resemblance of bad blood between you and Thor

When you and Thor become official the bickering evolves into older married couple type bickering

Overall it’s pretty light hearted and in good fun

There isn’t a layer of venom behind each word anymore but instead softness and kindness

At times Thor will playfully scold you whenever you’re not careful or just plain naive lol

When you were enemies with him, his pet name for you was basically bone head

Now it’s bone head (affectionate) :”

With the changes in tone comes changes in behavior as well

Like whenever Thor needs to jump from place to place with his godly might, he’ll give you a heads up, and cradle you carefully in his arms while he makes his leaps

Before he used to just grab you and fly through the air like the menace the is

Other things that have changed is that he will continuously invite you to have drinks with him and eat amongst the Einherjar

He hangs out with them from time to time and could use someone to keep him company

Will absolutely share his food and drink with you and if you wish, he’ll go to a more private place in order to spend quality time with you as well

When y’all were enemies, if you walked in to spend some time at the hall, he wouldn’t even so much as glance at you

And if he was drunk around you, he was a total ass, not just because he was white girl wasted but because he also really didn’t like you

Now, if he’s drunk around you, he’s still a bit mean, or mainly unresponsive

Though if the two of you are both drunk together, than that’s not a good thing for anybody lmao

Imagine being drunk with Thor and going up to the Asgardian wall where Heimdall is and just absolutely verbally destroying that man

[Heimdall will remember that]

If the two of you find yourselves within or going to a realm with a cold climate, he will put his heavy fur cloak on you to keep you warm

Won’t ask for it back once y’all leave the cold realm, you can keep it, he can always get another <3

If you asked him for his fur cloak while you two were still enemies, he’d just straight up ignore you or go “no.” </3

Another perk of being lovers with Thor is that you now have unlocked being able to snuggle with him

Yes he is as warm and fuzzy as he looks, a true bear in that sense of the word

Prefers to be the big spoon but will not grumble if you asked to be the big spoon

Gives the best back rubs for some reason ??? maybe it’s because his hands are the size of mallets and though they’re calloused, they just feel good!

Also Thor gives me bathing for hours mindlessly with his partner enjoyer type of vibe so expect that as well

And yes the two of you do take turns washing and doing each other hair <3

Or just relax with you for hours in silence if that's what you'd prefer that

Will let you pet Mjolnir as much as you like and even attempt to pick it up

He’ll even pick up Mjolnir himself while you’re holding it and lift you up into the air just to mimic what it would be like to wield it

Thor is down to let you braid his hair or beard if you wish

Usually he doesn’t have the time to care about his appearance that much and doesn’t care to call attention to his looks but if braiding his hair makes you happy, it will not deny you the opportunity to do so

He does minimal braiding on his own beard and would secretly like to have something elaborate or longer

Will totally get more tattoos if you recommend some to him or would like to see Thor with some more in certain places

You’ve always admired his tattoos and now that you’re lovers with him, you get to inspect them up close, admire and trace them with your fingers

You'll become curious about what they mean and how and why he got them and he'll be more than happy to tell you those tales

It takes some encouragement to get Thor to have some fun and actually relax for once

He’s so used to being ordered around, controlled, degraded, and having no chill time, either that or nobody caring enough to give him a break or spend genuine quality time with him

That and almost everyone around him is a major prick lmao 

A lot of the relaxing is just Thor being away from everyone except for you

Quiet dinners, naps, baths, drinking & eating contests, walks, etc, are all some of the best parts of your relationship with Thor

A much needed break and acts of self care that also involves you, his favorite person in the world

Speaking of everyone else, it’s pretty amusing to see folks react to you and Thor getting together tbh

Odin and Heimdall especially since even they were pretty sure that y’all two would pretty much stay forever bitter to each other

The look on Heimdall’s face when he realizes that he’ll have to deal with Thor from now on whenever he heckles you

The look on Odin’s face when he realizes that he’ll have to deal with you from now on whenever he heckles Thor

Also Thor undeniably will come to your aid whenever an issue arises even if it’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things

You do the same for him despite him not really caring what others think and say but the thought is what truly counts

Cause there was a time when he was the one attacking you and part of him does feel bad for his past actions

He wants to make up for that and show you through actions that he indeed thinks and feels for you differently from now on

And even you feel the same which you confide in him about

That leads to both you and Thor making vows to instead be by one another’s sides instead of against

[voxofthevoid]

Being an extremely picky reader, I have a lot of sympathy for people who can't find the kind of fic they want to read, who don't resonate with many popular fanon, who have tastes that just aren't often addressed in most fic. The smaller the fandom, the worse off these woes, usually. What I don't give two shuddering shits about are the folks who make this the authors' problem.

Fanfic detractors love to say it's not real writing, but even putting aside the 101 ways that's total bullshit, the sheer act of writing takes time. At my fastest, I could write maximum 1200 words an hour; these days, it's closer to 500. Yet, you have so many writers churning out fic after fic, ranging from bite-sized bits to epic-length monstrosities. That's hours and hours of our lives. I set aside 2–3 hours a day for writing, and you can bet those add up fast.

So here you have these people creating scores of content for the hell of it, putting it up for free, and expecting damn near nothing in return. There are outliers, of course, but the general sentiment I've seen is that we don't want money, and we don't demand comments, though we appreciate the everloving shit out of them. At the core of it, writing fic is a labour of love, and fandom is a gift economy.

You know what's not a gift? Being a little shit in the comment/ask boxes of your local fandom writers.

It's fine, absolutely a-okay, spectacularly acceptable to not like or even viscerally hate any given character, trope, ship, or even specific fic. But listen, that's a you problem—and it doesn't have to be problem at all if you just click that pretty X and exit the story posthaste. The author won't even know you'd been there, and you're free to go wash out the taste of whatever fuckery made you nope out. If you're inclined toward writing yourself, you can even give the tried-and-true art of writing out of spite a go.

But, for the love of god, don't hop into the comment box and list all the ways in which the author could've made the story the one you wanted.

It's not your story. It's also clearly not for you. The writer wrote the story they wanted the way they wanted it. Leave it the fuck alone.

Some writers may ask for concrit; feel free to give it, provided you've nailed the constructive part of constructive criticism.

But their writing has typos and grammar errors: Shit happens, and we're not robots. Ignore it, or if you can't stand it, stop reading.

But it'd have been better if it was another ship/character/direction: That's your opinion, which will remain valid for only as long as it stays solely in your head. Again, stop reading. Exit quietly.

But the content is problematic: My brother in Christ, it was meant to be. We're not all pearl-clutching puritans. Stop reading things that upset you, especially if they're tagged!

Harassing authors won't get you the content you want. Nor, for that matter, will politely pestering them make them see the holy light of whatever crusade you're on. Most you'll manage is break the confidence of a fledgling writer or drive someone vulnerable out of fandom. And if that's your endgame, you're the kind of trash a handful of words from voxofthevoid.tungle.com can't change, so fuck you anyway.

Creativity begets more creativity. In every fandom I've written for, I started writing because, after a point, reading wasn't enough. I have specific tastes that don't always align with broader fandom tastes—for instance, I like out-and-proud sadists and writing my favs as tops/doms, whereas the predominant trends seem to favor the opposite. I also like very specific kinds of fuckery with my fluff, which are often hard to find. All that's fine. I have MS Word and the will to use it.

Granted, writing fic deliberately tailored to my tastes isn't the same as reading fic that's coincidentally tailored to my tastes, but that's fine too. I can be immeasurably grateful to the wonderful folks whose writing does strike a chord in me while also endeavouring to one day make someone say, "Damn, voxofthevoid, this is exactly the story I needed." That's what I want to give to fandom.

Others are free to think, "Yikes, voxofthevoid, you're fucked in the head," and be on their merry way; just don't make it my problem.

And if you, personally, don't have the time or inclination to be the porn fic you want to see in the world, there are other ways to encourage the kind of content you want to see. Participate in fandom exchanges. Seek out writers that take prompts or requests. Send positive encouragement (not rude demands) to the writers whose work you enjoy.

Don't throw a tantrum in the comment/ask box. It helps no one. It pisses off a lot of people. Nobody benefits.

Sincerely,

Someone who's very, very tired of seeing entitled shits make fandom a nightmare for everyone

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

😥Please watch the video until the end Look what happens to us We don't know what comfort is We are tired of this situation. Every day we are in constant danger Please help us and stand with us Please share this video with your friends We have the right to live like other children in the world in a healthy environment, away from fear, killing and hunger

Donation link 👇🇵🇸

(this is a new donation link since the old one got frozen! If you've donated to Shehab's family before, please ask gfm for a refund and donate it back to here.)

More info here

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Please help support Sahar's fundraiser by donating however much you can and sharing her gofundme as much as possible! We can help her and her family escape the brutalities of the ongoing genocide with our support. Every action counts! No matter how little.

Blog intro under cut ↓

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Hey, besties! Welcome to my art blog :) [also known as: porpledotcom on ao3]

I'm Charlie (he/she/it), and this is my silly billy blog of whimsy and fun!! (join my niche little group of weirdos, we have poem nights here <- convincing you)

The askbox is open! :]

Professional multifandom-er and yapper. I switch fandoms very fast and they tend to last from a week to several years, so this is an early apology for my followers for the roller coaster ride you've just joined :(

HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU Masterpost!!

Tagging system!

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Fandom tags will all be tagged accordingly by their names! i.e:

#tf2, #trolls, #tadc, #wreck it ralph, #gravity falls etc etc...

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My doodles and drawings are at #my art

Most of my asks now are through #submissions or #submission, since my askbox is closed!

#asks are obviously the asks (but beware because if you send me any kind of ask, I might be sending back a disgustingly long answer, and very late)

#rebloob are where all the reblogs are, but when I reblog things related to Palestine I tag it with #palestine

#my post or #silly/sput chatters is where my babbles and text posts are at

#my fic or #my writing is where my fic and writing stuff are at. I also do poems now! Which are at #charlie poems :) (<-smiley face included!!)

#requests are where all the art requests are at

#sona stuff and #my sona are where my sona content are at

Specific Tags!

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If you're here for the Gravity Falls "HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU", the tag is just that! Everything should be in there :)

There's also the #stanley's sketchbook tag

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If you're here to look at content for my ao3 tadc fic: "Escaping Virtuality" go check out #escapingvirtuality! (although I don't think there'll be much to look at there asdhjgk)

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For those of you guys who came for the job switcheroo au, the general tag is #job switcheroo au or job switcheroo!

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For those who came for the disability/mobility aid tf2 mercs, the main tag will be #disabilitymercs

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If you want aything else tagged just ask!!

Since tumblr is such a broken app, you can always just click on whichever tag you want underneath on this pinned post

Anyways, cheers bestie, love you :)

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Main blog: @scarilylackingofcommonsense

Old blog (very much dead): @would-it-hurt-if

Other art blog (also pretty dead): @mister-chucklefuck

[spnexploration]

Bad timing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, reader

Summary: Set in season 5, what happens when Dean and Sam are trying to avoid angels and demons at every turn, but then Sam's girlfriend falls pregnant?

Tags: Sam angst, pregnancy, protective Winchesters, maybe a bit of hurt/comfort

Warnings: small amount of swearing, canon-typical violence. No smut.

Word count: 2.5k

Now with a Part 2!

I’d met Sam and Dean through Ellen and Jo, done a few hunts with them. Flirted a lot with Sam, before finally progressing to hooking up with him. Every so often, maybe weeks apart, sometimes months, our paths would cross and we'd fall into each other's arms again.

I knew Sam and Dean were having issues with angels and demons after them, but I didn't know the specifics. They were pretty cagey about the topic, and I didn't press it.

I’d taken a couple of days off hunting, as I never felt at the top of my game when my period arrived. Too many cramps, always hitting at the worst moment. So I’d get a hotel room and veg for a couple of days.

But it didn't arrive.

Ok, sometimes these things are a couple of days late. I did some research on cases, expecting it to arrive any hour, any day now.

Nada. Nothing.

I started to panic when it was now more than a little late. I reluctantly made my way to the local pharmacy, face feeling hot as I paid for a box of pregnancy tests and headed back to the motel.

Then the impossible two-minute wait after I peed on the stick.

Two lines.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I held my phone in my hand, Sam’s contact on the screen. I nearly clicked dial a dozen times, but didn't.

Eventually, I sent him a text.

📱Hey Sam. Need to chat. Urgently. Where are you?

He rang instantly, concern in his voice. I told him it was something I had to say in person, couldn't be done on the phone. I was pretty sure he thought it was information about the demons, and I didn't dissuade him of that assumption. We teed up a town to meet in, tomorrow.

I got in the car and drove.

---

“Hey, kid,” Dean said, walking into my hotel room. I was a year younger than Sam, hardly a kid.

Sam followed behind him, walking past Dean to give me a hug. I turned away from his kiss, terrified of telling him. “What's wrong?” Sam said, concern painted all over his face.

“Uh, can we chat alone?” I asked Sam quietly.

“That's my cue to leave, I see,” Dean said, standing up. “I'll be outside.” He left.

I turned to Sam, embarrassed and unable to meet his eye.

“What is it?” he asked gently, his hands on my arms.

“I'm- I'm pregnant,” I said cautiously. “Surprise!” I added half-sarcastically.

He pulled me into a hug, tucking my head under his chin. I started to cry against his chest.

“Hey, hey, it's ok,” he said, rubbing my back.

I calmed down and pulled back, meeting his eyes. He didn't seem upset, which I’d been worried about.

“Have you thought what you want to do?” he asked, a little hesitantly.

“Do you want me to get rid of it?” I asked him.

He paused for a second, clearly considering. “No,” he said earnestly, looking into my eyes deeply. “But if you do, I'll support you.”

I grabbed him and hugged him again. “I don't know what I want, but I don't think I want that. Oh, I don't know!” I cried to him.

“We don't have to make a decision now,” he reassured me.

I calmed down again, and pulled away from the hug again. Sam sat on the bed and pulled me to sit on his lap.

“We have to tell Dean,” Sam said, studying my face for my reaction.

“Already?”

“I'm sorry, but yes,” he replied. “Dean and I have a lot going on, angels and demons and every other thing after us. He needs to know.” I nodded and he phoned Dean, telling him to come back up.

“Do you want to say or will I?” Sam whispered to me, as I heard Dean approaching the door.

“Me,” I whispered back.

Dean came in, noting that I was sitting on Sam’s lap. It occurred to me that he might have thought I wanted to break up the arrangement with Sam, and this was evidence to the contrary.

“Hey Dean, we uh, have some news... I'm pregnant.”

He froze for half a second.

“Congratulations,” he said, a bit gruffly. Emotional moments were never his strong point. His eyes flicked to Sam and it looked like there was some unspoken conversation there, “I'll get the car ready. Is there anything you need from your car?” he asked me.

“Wait, what?” I asked, looking between the two of them. “Where are we going?”

“Bobby’s,” they both said, not quite simultaneously but close to it.

“Why would we need to go there?”

“He's got a demon-proof panic room,” Dean replied.

“What?! I'm not hiding in a demon-proof panic room for 9 months!”

Sam tried to rub my back reassuringly. “You don't need to be there all the time.”

“Oh, what, but sometimes you're going to phone and I'm going to be a good little girl and go sit in my box?” I spat at him.

“Lucifer is after Sam,” Dean said, locking eyes with me. “He has already tried to torture me to force Sam to say yes to him. What do you think he's going to do when he finds out that not only does Sam have a girl, but she's pregnant with his child?”

“This is ridiculous, I have looked after myself fine up until now and I will continue to do so! What about my job?”

“You're not hunting,” Dean said with finality, as though it was his decision.

“The hell I'm not!”

“Y/n,” Sam said more gently, and I turned my attention to him. “What's going to happen when a demon throws you against a wall? Or you get kicked or stabbed?” His hand moved over my belly. “I don't want to risk either of you,” he said lovingly, looking at me with his puppy dog eyes.

I sighed. “Fine, we can go to Bobby's. But I'm still not living in a panic room.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, kissing my forehead.

“And I'm taking my car.”

“No,” Dean interjected. “I'm driving.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed again.

---

It would apparently take us more than a week to get to Bobby's. I refused to let Dean and Sam drive all day and all night, taking turns to sleep in the backseat. I’d had to refuse to get back in the car after a toilet break before they would agree to stopping overnight, but I'd won that argument.

I'd lost the argument about being left alone or doing anything by myself. I wasn't even allowed to go for walk. Both Winchesters seemed to have turned their protective streak as high as it could go, not letting me out of their sight.

The first night, Sam had gone to get dinner and returned with a bag full of pregnancy multivitamins, ginger tablets for morning sickness and skin moisturiser. He shrugged at me, “It's what the lady in the pharmacy said a pregnant woman would want.”

It was now day 3. We pulled into another random town, got a room at the motel. I begged them to let us go out for dinner, sick of just seeing the car and motel rooms. “I'm pregnant, I'm not made of porcelain!” I yelled.

Sam shrugged at Dean, and Dean reluctantly sighed and agreed. These boys were ridiculous.

We headed to the local pub, getting burgers, beers and my lemon, lime and bitters. It was nice to be out, seeing people and sitting at an actual table instead of eating take-away sitting on a motel bed or in the car. The boys were both tense and on alert, but at least I could also get them to crack a smile.

---

I woke the next morning and couldn't feel Sam in the bed. I opened my eyes, surprised to find Sam and Dean hunched over a laptop at the little table in the corner, whispering to each other.

“What's going on?” I asked, worried.

“Looks like demon activity in this town,” Sam answered.

“Why are we still here?”

“We don't know if they've seen us. And we are still hunters...” He glanced at Dean, it seemed like there had been some disagreement on this point before I woke up.

“I'm going to do some recon,” Dean said, standing up.

“Give me a minute and I'll be ready to come,” I said, pulling back the covers.

“No!” Both Winchesters exclaimed, simultaneously.

“Seriously?!” It was like being a child, first they wouldn't let me go anywhere without one of them and now they wouldn't even let me do that.

“It’s not safe,” Sam said with his big doe eyes.

“Fine,” I huffed.

Dean left.

---

Dean brought some dinner home with him. It had been a boring and tense day, unable to leave the room and with Sam clearly on edge. Not exactly the ‘spend a day in a motel room alone with your boyfriend’ scenario that magazines would talk about.

I went to the bathroom and came back to Dean and Sam speaking in hushed tones on the other side of the room.

“Am I cramping your style?” I asked, frustrated at being excluded.

“There's just a lot going on,” Sam said apologetically to me, before turning back to his brother and seeming to continue their conversation through the medium of significant looks alone.

“I need to go stake out the building they're in,” Dean said to me, moving towards the door.

“No, you need to sleep,” Sam said. “I'll stake it out.”

“I'm fine, Sammy.”

“You’ve been out all day, you'll stay there all night, and you'll still insist on driving tomorrow morning. I'll go and I can sleep in the car while you're lead footing us out of here once we're happy it's safe.”

Sam and Dean glared at each other until Dean finally conceded. Sam gave me a kiss goodbye before heading off.

---

I woke up to a hand over my mouth in the dark of the room. I started to struggle before my brain interpreted my vision enough to realise it was Dean. He held his other index finger up to his lip, a clear ‘stay quiet’ signal. I nodded and he took his hand away from my mouth.

“Power’s been cut,” he whispered in to my ear. “Take these,” he handed me a large container of salt, a gun, and my phone, “and barricade yourself into the bathroom. Message Sam.”

He pulled the covers back off me and guided me to my feet, marching me to the bathroom with his hand around my upper arm. “Do not open this door for any reason,” he continued, still whispering.

“Dean-“ I started to reply.

“I don't care if you think I'm dead, you do not open this door,” he hissed. “You understand?”

I reluctantly nodded and he carefully shut the door, avoiding making any noise. I quickly poured the salt out in a line behind the door and on the small windowsill. Then I pulled my phone out and texted Sam.

📱Power cut. Dean worried. Are you ok? What's happening with the demons?

I heard the motel room door bang open. I quickly typed

📱Someone’s here

I could hear a scuffle going on, but couldn't make out what they were saying to each other. The wall shook and I heard loud crashes. I hoped it wasn't Dean being thrown around like a ragdoll.

I nearly opened the door to help him dozens of times, but I stopped myself. He had been very, very insistent that I not do it, and I remembered Sam’s fear about me being injured and losing the baby. I clutched the gun and gritted my teeth to the sounds.

Sometimes there were pauses. Then there was a long silence, which was somehow worse than the fight sounds. What if they'd killed Dean? Did they know I was here?

After what felt like an eternity, there were more crashes and bangs. And then silence again.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when there was knocking on the bathroom door. Real professional, I thought at myself angrily.

“Don't shoot,” I heard Sam say as he opened the heavy door. “Are you ok?” he asked me.

“I'm fine,” I said, crashing into him for a hug. He led me out of the bathroom and I saw Dean, sitting slumped against a wall, blood running down his face.

“Dean!” I exclaimed, running to him. “What happened?”

“3 demons,” Sam said, getting down to help Dean up. “He got 1 of them but the other two had nearly killed him when I got here, but I was able to surprise them and we finished them both off.” Sam took Dean to his bed and sat him down.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry Dean, I could have helped!” I gushed, feeling incredibly guilty.

“No,” he said sharply, although clearly exhausted. “I'll be fine.”

“Get your things,” Sam said to me. “I'm going to clean Dean's wounds and then we're going.”

We got Dean into the backseat of the Impala to rest, and Sam jumped into the driver's seat. “You know, I can drive,” I said to him.

He smiled at me, although it didn't reach his eyes. “Maybe later, I'm not sure how much avoiding demons we’re going to need to do.”

---

We drove almost non-stop for 3 more days, rotating through drivers. Dean even let me drive his precious car, but only on the highway in daylight.

We made it to Bobby's in one piece. I was not expecting Bobby to be an older guy in a wheelchair, how do you even survive to be an older hunter?

Sam showed me the panic room. He seemed like he was worried I was going to blow up in his face.

“Do you think this is necessary?” I asked him.

“I'm worried about you, Y/n,” he said, hands holding my waist. “And Dean's not wrong, they will come after you and try to use you against me.”

“Why does Lucifer want you so badly?”

He hesitated.

“Seriously, I'm pregnant with your baby and I can't know?!” I pushed Sam’s hands off me, a week's worth of frustration of being babysat and kept in the dark spilling out of me.

“I just- it's not something I tell people. I'm sorry.”

“Does Bobby know?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Fuck this!” I yelled, marching past him to the open door.

He caught my arm and tugged on it for me to look at him. I was about to give him more of a piece of my mind, when he opened his mouth.

“I'm Lucifer’s vessel.”

“You're what?” I exclaimed, confused.

“His vessel. His meatsuit. He wants to possess me.”

“Oh.” I took a moment to reflect. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Now what?”

He put his hands on my waist again and I didn't stop him. “Tomorrow, Dean and I are continuing our journey to stop him.”

“You're leaving? So soon?”

“I'm sorry,” he said, puppy dog eyes on full.

“Are you going to be ok?”

“I don't know."

I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck and he pulled me into a hug. I cried against his chest.

“What- what about me and the baby?”

“Bobby will look after you.”

“And what if they find us?”

There was a long pause. “I don't know,” he admitted again quietly. I felt his tears fall on to my face, mixing with my own.

The next day he left.

[elucubrare]

re: your tags: would it be terribly gauche of me to ask you to get started on how bad fantasy churches suck? i would love to hear it

yeah that's super fair.

Fantasy Catholic Church analogues (FCCAs) tend to suck for a couple of reasons. Most of them boil down to working with the vague concept that The Church Was Really Important In The Middle Ages and not going any farther than that.

Disclaimer: The medieval church was very powerful & absolutely asserted control over almost every aspect of life. The church was often more tolerant of minority opinions and of queer people than the common stereotype, but only in that things would be used against you as a political move rather than, for the most part, hunted out.

So: I think some of my problem is how few characters of real faith there are. I get it. I'm an agnostic: it's hard for me to get deep in the mindset of someone who has the hard certainty of faith, or the belief that whether you take communion standing or kneeling has an impact on whether you get into heaven. But I think you have to try, because I get the feeling from a lot of FCCAs that the writer believes that the church structure was imposed by a few fanatics on a less fervent population. But that means that main characters, and "good characters" in general, tend to go through the motions of their faith rather than really believing in their gods. What I get from reading medieval primary sources is that people - ordinary people - really cared about their beliefs. Maybe not always the really fine distinctions in heresies, but definitely in the core tenets of the faith. I feel like the FCCAs I've liked least have fanatical priests terrorizing a mostly apathetic populace, which is, to me, a boring simplification.

The Church is a political entity as well as a spiritual one, and that tension runs through the whole period. Many cardinals are corrupt and venal and don't keep to their oaths (especially that of chastity); when they call emperors to do homage to them or submit to their authority, it's not necessarily because they have a strong religious justification for it: sometimes it's because the Pope wants the Holy Roman Empire out of Italy, or to stop appointing cardinals who owe more to the emperor than the Pope. But it's also because it's the Pope's duty to guide the Emperor in faith. So many of these questions of "politics or religion?" in the middle ages are definitely both, and both in different mixtures depending on the specific people involved.* So when your FCCA is all cynics, or all witch-hunting fanatics, it's just less fun for me.

Less significantly, I think various medieval popes would give their eyeteeth for the level of control the FCCA has. The Church is important, yes, but it simply does not have complete control over a) the political actors or b) people's lives.

Even less significantly, I think the FCCA is more likely to welcome and promote magic users than to persecute them. I'd love to see a fantasy reformation that was about who was able to use magic and when - Fantasy Luther thinks anyone can learn to use magic while the Fantasy Pope believes only the priesthood can.

So: my problem is that FCCAs tend to be monolithic - either all cynics who use faith for their ends or all fanatics who only care about faith and not at all about politics. And they also tend to not really be important to the characters as anything other than an opposing force. I'd love a subtler, more nuanced take on a fantasy papacy.

[bonny-kookoo]

💜 𝓝𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 💜

🫂 YOU CAN SUPPORT ME ON PATREON NOW 🫂

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[honeybeedewdrops]

Lost Friends | B.Bradshaw

Summary: You are Mavericks kid and had a falling out with Bradley when Maverick pulled his papers. Years later you meet up again at The Hard Deck.

______________________________________________________________

When one of Maverick's random one night stands showed up on his door step with you. He was shocked to say the least but he took you in despite knowing so little about children. Sure he's babysat Bradley but he had no idea how to care for a child. Over the years with some help Maverick became a great father to you.

From the moment Maverick introduced a 7 year old Bradley to you he knew you'd be best friends despite the age gap. He knew Bradley would protect you when he couldn't. He sure was right about that. As you two grew up together you grew attached at the hip and spent nearly every waking moment with each other. You even grew to have a crush on him but you never told anyone that.

Sadly that all went away in a flash the minute Maverick pulled Bradley's papers he cut all ties and that included you. So when Bradley stopped answering your texts and phone calls you knew something was up. You asked your dad but he just gave you some bullshit answer. You called and texted Bradley everyday even when they stopped delivering, But as you got older Bradley fizzled out and just became another memory buried deep down.

Time went on and you moved out going to college but for some reason you would always find your way back to North Island so that's where you lived now.

-

You were wiping the bar top down when your dad walked in. "Dad" You call forgetting about the customers and running up to hug him. "Hey kiddo" you roll your eyes at that one "I think i'm a bit too old to be called kiddo" you say walking behind the bar again. "Nah your never to old besides you are my kid" "whatever you want something" "sure i'll take your cheapest beer" you grab a glass and start pouring.

You talk to him for a while before Penny told you could go on your break before the big rush came in. You spent your break a little ways down the beach listening to the calming waters.

You step behind the bar again and see many faces you recognised and some you didn't. You kept your eye on a very specific group in the corner playing some pool. That's when you heard it "Bradshaw" You froze hearing that name. It can't be. You watched as a man walks up to the group. You couldn't tell if it was him because you had yet to see his face but how many Bradshaws are there in the world and how many are there in the Navy.

When the man turned you knew it was him. It had been so many years he looked good. You watch Bradley's every move not being able to take your eyes off him. but you were interrupt by Penny ringing the bell and you looked over and saw your dad looking at you for some help but the Bar started to chat overboard making you shrug. "Sorry rules are rules" you mouth as he gets picked up.

You watch the three men throw your dad as the singing started. Hearing the familiar tune you smiled he's still got it. Hearing this simple song made you think back on all the stories your dad would tell you about Goose.

The song finished and many people came up and asked for more drinks. That's when you spoke to Bradley for the first time in 15 years. "Hey miss can I get a beer" "yeah sure" you say. He looks at you like he knows you "Do I know you" you bite your lip and turn away "no I don't think so" "yeah no no I do" and he looks to your name tag and every thing clicked. "Y/N. Y/N Mitchell" "hey Brads" you say tucking your hair behind your ear.

He stays silent so you turn to walk away "wait I didn't think i'd every see you again" "yeah and who's fault is that?" you mumble "Y/N-" he starts "no I don't want to hear it" you say "I'm sorry" you scuff, the nerve he had. "Sorry, you're Sorry. Bradley I was 13 when you cut me off stopped talking to me and I didn't even know why. and my dad wouldn't tell me so don't tell me your sorry. Just leave me alone" You say walking out the bar Penny calling after you.

__________________________________________________________

A/N: I will be doing a part 2 so enjoy this for now sorry it's not Fluff but we gotta change it up a bit.

[prettyboykatsuki]

attention-seeking | k. bakugou

☆ tags ;; imbalanced power dynamics, dubcon!!!, caning, punishment, ambigious relationships, handjobs, reader is implied to be 'master of the house', bakugou is a brat kinda, age gap but reader is older, gn!reader, bkg is meant to be like 20ish, 18+

☆ wc ;; 1.3k

☆ a/n ;; sorry for being a sicko (lying). i know this is indulgent. leave me alone man.

☆ synopsis ;; you punish the maid boy who keeps acting out in your presence.

"Lift your skirt, boy."

This is beyond the realm of what you're supposed to be doing. As master of the house with duties to attend, important ones, one of the first things you learn is relegating to tasks to capable staff. Your head maid is a capable woman, one who looked after you near birth.

And she's never once made you intervene in house affairs. She takes cares of the maids and all the other servants, and only asks for assistance to sign off on new hires or something else administrative.

For her to talk to about some new hire is strange. More strange for her to complain. Apparently, he's the only son of the Bakugou family. A family of tailors which apparently their son doesn't wish to inherit. That his mother called in a favor for job in the house. He wasn't suited for other duties, he excels at housework and when he's not blowing a fuse - is very capable at that job indeed.

Your head maid seems very fond of him, exceptionally so. He must be a little younger than you, no older than 20. He's got the temperament of a spoiled brat, his face is all screwed up with tears. He swears often and only respects the hierarchy in the house when he wishes to.

And if he wasn't so adamant on disrespecting you specifically, you'd be willing to let him off without giving it much thought. The truth is you don't really care what people say about you. All sorts of rumors spread about you bedding men and women often, about your supposed gambling and drinking problem, about your cold temperament.

If you were a little younger, you think it'd hurt your feelings. It doesn't though, not really. It all just seems sort of silly. As long as people respect you in your presence, you're willing to let them sort out their own feelings.

But this maid, this brat - is insistent on getting on your nerves. Has been from the minute you met. You can't really understand why, what the reasons been for as long as he's been in the house. You're told he behaves well when he's not around you, but when he is around - he can't keep his snark around. And that's forgivable, passable when no one else is in the house.

But not in front of your esteemed guests and important clients. That just won't do.

This is beyond your realm of duties. Telling a maid off and disciplining them like this isn't something you enjoy. You've never had to do it before now, so his impudence and bad attitude is really starting to grate on your nerves.

"I have a name," He grits. You scoff, picking up the cane again. The room is dark, the moon illuminating the raised welts on the back of his calves. You want to smooth your hand over his skin, pristine and pale and red.

He looks a little like the moon. Beautiful as much as he is frustrating, you really aren't sure what compels him to be here. You're not stupid enough to think he simply wants to be a maid, but his motives are odd.

"So do I. I have a title too. You've yet to use either,"

He scoffs as he turns over to look at you.

"Titles are earned through respect,"

You frown.

"Respect is mutual. Maids I respect can call me my name if they wish, most just don't. I don't mind it. But they've earned it. What have you earned other than disciplinary action?"

"You're a scumbag,"

"Really? I thought you must find me quite charming since you always act out for some attention?" You must, holding the cane in both your hands. "That's the only good reason I could think of your attitude,"

He's silent at this. Easy to read, the tips of his ears are red.

"Step down from there and lean over that. Pull your skirt all the way up,"

"W-What?"

"I know you heard me. If you want to act like a petulant brat, you can get punished like one too. Now move,"

His movement is begrudging but he follows instructions hastily.

His skin is red when he pulls his skirt up. He's toned. His thighs are clenched with tension as the fabric pulls up over his ass. You aren't sure what you thought he'd be wearing, maybe briefs. The panties are pretty, white and lacy against. You resists reaching your hand out and touching it. Instead, you position your cane and tell him to count to 15.

The sound of the cane hitting fills the room, the dull thud echoing down the halls. You have to commend him for taking it well, that his sobs are soft even when it's painful.

When you're ready to excuse him back to his quarters, your eyes catch on something you don't think you're supposed to see.

Pitching a tent in the fabric of his panties, his cock is tucked and leaking against the back of your couch. You stare at him slackjawed.

"....That's unexpected, I must admit." You say, amused, "Getting aroused from being caned. Even for you, that's..."

"Shut up," He croaks, voice dripping with arousal. He makes no effort to move.

For your entire life, you've been nothing but good to your staff. Nothing but kind. You never fraternized or used your position, it always felt slimy. Against your better judgement, you fall victim to your temptation.

"Would you like some help?" You pose, gently, "Rather, is that you've been seeking out? Did pushing my buttons satisfy for your urges?"

He lets out a mewl, so pitchy you can't believe it's him.

"Turn around,"

He hesitates, but does so. His face is dripping with tears, spit pooled in the corners of his mouth. He's a pretty crier, and he can't bring himself to look at you. You cup his jaw, scratched your manicured nails along them until he's shivering.

"Would you look at that," You hum, glancing at him "You were acting like this because you wanted special attention, is it?"

"Fuck you,"

With your hand reaching up, you pull his skirt up over the top of his thighs till it's pooled at his stomach. His cock is hard, and there's a dark-spot right at the tip. You glance at him, than back down - reaching your hands to pull it away. The tip is pink, angry. It curves left, heavy in your hand.

Hesitant, you wrap your palms around the shaft. With your thumb over the slit, you watch him squeeze his eyes shut.

"I nearly can't believe it's the same person," You jerk him off slow, entertained by how easily he feels pleasure. Coming from a strict family like that, you'd bet he's never had the time. That he doesn't know "What a good boy you're being. I always thought you were incapable."

He moans, head dropping back throaty and hoarse. He's twitching in your palm like just a little more will push back. Saying good boy makes him harder in your hands, hotter.

"Oh, that's all it takes? You needed a little encouragement and you're eating out of my palm? You haven't earned it at all, but you want it anyway?"

He hiccups.

"N-no, I'm" He stops like he can't get the rest out "Fuck, please, it's—please,"

"Swallow your pride and ask for what you want this time,"

"Make me cum,"

"And tell me I'm—I'm good,"

"Good boy," You coo "Go ahead and cum,"

You watch as he spills into your head with a desperate hiccup, turning to tuck his head in your neck. You click your teeth a little, unsure of what else to say.

"Who knew you'd be so needy afterwards? I guess I do have a type after all,"

"Shut up,"

Your heart squeezes with unmistakable fondness. You close your eyes, beyond fucked. You let him cling to you anyways.

[lcvernat]

I’m Sorry | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Request: Hey :)

Idk if you’re doing requests or not but if you are…

I wanna ask if you can please do a Nat x TeenR with Angst or Nat x femR with anxiety

Tbh as long as it has Angst in it :)

You dont have to give me any recognition for it as long as you tag my bestie @romanoffs-widow in it bc she loves this type of thing 🥰 thanks!

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: definitely very angsty, anxiety, panic attacks, overall bad mental health + pls read at your own discretion!

A/N: hi anon! i chose to go with nat x fem reader for this request :) i hope that’s okay!! and i hope your bestie enjoys <3 + for everyone out there who suffers from anxiety i hope this fic gives you some sort of comfort and just know you’re not alone, i promise you, and my dms are always open if you need someone to vent to!

Living with anxiety was like having a shadow following you constantly: you could never get rid of it, could never quite catch a break. It convinced you of things that you knew logically couldn't be true, but that didn't matter because your brain couldn't help but believe in it and send you spiraling. It made you second guess and overthink everything, and it made the simplest of daily tasks impossible. Sleeping was really the only time that you were free from the torment that was your thoughts.

You never quite fit in anywhere. Your friends quickly became tired of you bailing on them at the last minute when they invited you out, so they eventually just stopped inviting you. You couldn't quite blame them, but you didn't know how to explain that the very prospect of going outside made you feel so violently nauseous you spent most of the morning sitting on the floor of your bathroom beside the toilet, and then every time you ended up cancelling because you just. Couldn't. Do. It. And you felt pathetic for it.

All you wanted was to be normal. To make these thoughts go away. To stop freaking out about every single thing. Yet they never went away, no matter what you did. The physical symptoms had to be the worst to deal with. You could manage the thoughts sometimes, could ignore them sometimes, but the nausea, sweating, shaking, and the constant feeling of something being stuck in your throat was a nuisance to deal with. You felt so drained from it some days that all you wanted to do was lie in your bed and cry.

Oddly enough, the only time you felt solace was on missions with the Avengers. You had to be focused, with one specific goal in mind: the mission objective. It left no room for your anxiety to manifest, and it was one of the only times you were free from its grasp, despite it defying all logic - death-defying missions should’ve been the one thing that elicited anxiety in you, but it didn’t, and instead simple, mundane tasks such as going to the grocery store seemed catastrophic. It was stupid.

Through the Avengers Initiative you met your girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, and she made everything better. You’d told her about your anxiety, knowing you couldn’t keep it a secret from a super spy who would inevitably find out, and despite you thinking it was pathetic because she had gone through so much more in her life and had seemingly never been left debilitated by the mere thought of going outside, she assured you that you weren't pathetic, and your feelings were completely valid. She understood you. She didn’t push you, and she didn’t get angry if you had to back out on dates because you couldn’t handle it. She quickly learnt what usually overwhelmed you or triggered a panic attack and made sure you avoided those situations or if you couldn’t avoid it, she’d be there by your side throughout all of it. She knew exactly how to help you when you had a panic attack and she was so loving and patient towards you, you were so eternally grateful for her. You don't know how you had managed to get this lucky, she was well and truly a miracle.

But of course, anxiety just couldn’t let you have good things without poisoning it. ‘She hates you’, ‘you’re literally so annoying’, ‘she doesn’t love you’, ‘she’ll leave eventually because everyone does’ - constant thoughts of self-hatred wormed its way into your mind, despite your best efforts of keeping them out. It got tiring, sometimes, trying to get better, because anxiety had to be one of the most persistent monsters on the planet. It never went away, no matter how hard you tried to make it go away. Your chest constantly felt tight, your hands constantly shook, you felt nauseous nearly all of the time and your mind was on constant overdrive: the thoughts never stopping. You just had to live with it.

Some days were worse than others. Today was a particularly bad day. You didn’t have any energy to get up, and had spent all day lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Nat and Steve had an important and quite dangerous mission coming up, so the redhead had been away all day preparing for it, which meant you were alone in your shared room. It was late evening now, and the room was starting to get dark, but you didn’t have the energy to get up and turn on the light. This morning, the thought of getting up and facing the day was so impossible you were nearly sick, so you just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t battle it today, you just couldn’t.

The sound of the bedroom door opening and footsteps walking in filled the room. The footsteps soon stopped in their tracks though, when they saw that it was nearly pitch-black inside and the light wasn't on. The only light was the screen of your phone, barely visible under all of the covers you had covered yourself with in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the world. The light switched on then, the room filling with the glaring yellow of artificial light as you squinted your eyes, letting out a grunt of annoyance.

"Y/N?" Natasha's voice sounded cautious, as her footsteps slowly resumed, getting closer to the bed. "Are you okay, moya lyubov?" Her voice was soft as you felt the bed dip with her added weight. Her hand came up to gently remove the covers from your face so she could see you. All you do is shake your head the tiniest bit, such a small action that anyone else would’ve missed, but Natasha didn’t.

“What’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

You frown. That was a tough question. What was wrong? You didn’t know. Nothing bad had happened to you recently to make you feel like this. You didn’t have anything major happening this week that would’ve caused you to feel anxious. You simply woke up today with an insanely overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Worse than normal. There was no actual reason for it. There rarely ever was an actual reason.

Sitting up in the bed, Natasha moving back slightly to give you space, you start to play with the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know,” you mumble almost incoherently, your voice so small and fragile from not being used once today.

Natasha’s gaze softens as her hand reaches out to tentatively take yours. She gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m always here if you need to talk, you know that,”

You inhale, the familiar feeling of your chest tightening an unwelcome accompaniment. God, why were you feeling like this today? Nothing. Was. Wrong. “I don’t-“ Your throat feels tight. You swallow, the object in your throat not loosening, “I just- I need to be alone. Please.”

You never pushed Natasha away. Never. She was your rock, your medicine, your cure. The only thing that could make you feel better. But right now, you needed to be alone. So, it wasn’t surprising when confusion quickly followed by pain flashed across her features. She didn’t say anything, she just simply nodded. Natasha got off the bed, slowly making her way to the door. The soft clicking of the lock sounded as she left.

You couldn’t breathe. You rubbed your chest, but the tightness didn't ease. You clench your fists so tight you know crescent-shaped marks are engraved into your palms. 5 senses. 5 things you see. Hear. Feel. Taste. Touch.

You’re okay. Okay. You’re fine. Nothing’s wrong. You’re okay. You’re fine. Fine. You’re okay. You are okay. Nothing’s wrong.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

You hold your head in your hands and cry.

You’d fallen asleep after. Your body and mind so tired you couldn’t stay conscious for another minute. You woke up feeling disorientated and groggy. The light was still on. Checking your phone, you realized it was well past 3am. You bite your lip before running your hand over your face. Chancing a glance at the other side of the bed, it was to no surprise that it was empty.

You felt horrible to think that Natasha never went to bed because you wanted to be left alone. You’re a horrible person. Horrible. You needed to find her. Your body screams in protest as you get out of bed for the first time in ages.

You opened the door, not surprised to be greeted with darkness as the team had clearly retired to bed hours ago. You make your way quietly through the Compound. You don’t know where Nat could possibly be. Unless she was rooming with Wanda tonight to give you space. Maybe she’d be better with Wanda anyway. At least Wanda wouldn’t have to cancel on dates because she couldn’t do it.

No. Don’t be stupid. Nat loves you; you know that.

You decide to check the kitchens first and are thankful that you don’t need to explore any further because there she is: sat at the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in front of her. She turns at the sound of your footsteps, and her eyes widen when she realizes it’s you.

Natasha is in front of you in an instant. She doesn’t touch you. She doesn’t say anything. You play with your fingers nervously. You look down at the ground as you attempt to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you start, your voice shaky. Natasha interrupts you before you have a chance to continue by gently lifting your chin to get you to look at her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she says softly.

Frustrated tears spring to your eyes. Frustration at yourself and for feeling this way, for not knowing how to fix it, and pushing Natasha away too. God, you hated yourself sometimes.

"I do," you say, "I'm sorry for pushing you away, you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry for being like this for no reason because my life really isn't all that bad, you know? People have it worse and yet they aren't anxious messes all the time. You've had it worse, and you manage fine. I don't know why I'm like this and I hate it and I'm so-"

You cut off, unable to continue because the object in your throat has gotten bigger, preventing any words from getting out. You can't breathe again, and tears are streaming down your face. The next thing you feel is Natasha's arms wrapping around your body. You wrap your arms around her as tight as you possibly can while your head goes to rest in the crook of her neck and all you can do is just cry.

Cry because everything's been too much recently, too overwhelming, your mind has been a hellscape that you can never escape from, and it's just gotten too much to handle. So, you let it all out, you cry, and Natasha holds you through it all; her arm rubbing up and down your back, a steady rhythm to comfort you.

You don't know how much time has passed since you've stopped crying. Your throat is dry and sore, your cheeks are stained with tears and Natasha's shirt is wet from where you've cried. You pull away, hands reaching up to wipe away your tears, but Natasha gets there first. She dries your cheeks with her thumbs, her touch so gentle and tender as she cradles your face in her hands.

She kisses the tip of your nose and your nose scrunches in response.

"Don't ever say you're sorry for feeling the way you feel, okay?" She starts, her voice soft yet said with so much conviction you nearly start crying again, "Your feelings are completely valid, you are not a burden, or a mess, or anything else that your brain tries to convince you that you are, because none of it is true. You want to know the truth? All of us are messes, really, and it doesn't matter whether someone has it worse or not because we're all going through our own shit and battling something on our own and it is still completely valid even if you think your battles aren't valid. Some people are just good at hiding it. I am so sorry you have to battle this anxiety all of the time, and I know it must be exhausting, but you are the strongest person I know, okay? You will get through this, and you will get better. Whether it takes months or years, you will get better, and I will be right there by your side all throughout it. Some days will be worse than others, but I know you and I know that you can get through it, and you know you can go to me for anything. I love you so much, you know that right?"

Tears have sprung to your eyes again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Complete love and adoration for the redheaded woman that is currently cradling your face in her hands fills all of your senses. You nod, a smile making its way onto your face for the first time in a while.

"There's that smile I know and love," Nat says softly, returning your smile as she pulls you in for a hug again. Your smile widens as you lean back to kiss the love of your life.

You break apart to lean your forehead against hers, "I love you so much, you're the best girlfriend ever," you whisper against her lips.

"No, you're the best girlfriend ever, and I love you most."

It was 3am, you were standing in the Compound's kitchen wrapped in your lover's arms, but that was when you knew that every single word that came out of Nat's mouth was true. Even if you wake up tomorrow and have to battle your anxiety all over again, Natasha will be right by your side throughout it all. And you'll get better someday.

Maybe not today, but someday. And that was enough.

tags: @sheneonromanoff @olicity-boo @r4nd0mgir1 @tigerlillyruiz @dj-bynum3718

dm me, send me an ask or reply to be added to my taglist!

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Helloooo!

I don't really know how this thing work, because this is my first time and all.

But maybe heartslabyul people with a easy to forget Yuu?

Like Yuu could forget that they haven't eat yet and stuff, and could go on for hours before feeling hungry.

Yuu is pretty much dumb?? I wouldn't say dumb but more of a himbo? They can comfort you in their own way

Maybe you could call me

☕ Anon?

Or

Cafe anon ?

Is that how you do it???

Thank you to you this message, because you reply to this message!

- New Anon

Hi there, Cafe / ☕️ Anon! Thank you so much for sending in this ask. I know it can be a little intimidating and confusing if you don't do it often, so I appreciate it! And yes, this is how you can tag yourself as anon when you're still shy, though I've also seen some content creators dub anons based on the topic of the ask they sent in, so I guess it's whatever makes you comfortable!

I know I had done an "easily forgetful Yuu" in this post here, though it was more generalized rather than dorm specific. I can go a little deeper though, since I'll be focusing only on a handful of characters! Since you didn't specify any pronouns, I'll be using they/them for now so please keep that in mind if you want to send any future asks! >w<

I hope you enjoy this! I'll go ahead and say this now, but I imagined Kronk while I was writing this, and it made me happy~ ÚvÙ

////-------////

It was Ace and Deuce who realized early on how forgetful Yuu was, having to remind them why the four of them were prancing around an abandoned mineshaft dodging and not just having a midnight field trip. Despite being oblivious to the danger they were all in (especially when Deuce practically threw them onto his back and kicking away a giant centipede trying to bite them, or when Ace had to yank them back from falling into a large hole in the floor), Yuu somehow managed to stay calm enough to create a plan to beat the sludge phantom monster. As soon as the four retrieved the mage stone and destroyed the phantom, Yuu was so proud of their friends that they couldn’t resist reaching out to pet them while saying, “Good boys!”--much to the embarrassment and confusion of the monster trio.

As the days passed, Yuu and Grim spent the majority of their free time hanging out at Heartslabyul, getting to know everyone–including Riddle–very well. It was almost uncanny how easily Yuu was able to calm others down before trouble could start, whipping up spinach cream puffs with Trey and fawning over every animal in the dorm. So cheerful and content even with the visits with the researchers, it was hard to imagine the human ever getting angry–a little upset and pouty, but they would always bounce back with a smile.

“Totes a himbo,” Cater commented, adding a few hashtags to his latest post.

“What’s a himbo?” Deuce asked.

“It’s someone who’s big and strong yet oblivious or dumb,” Ace explained, smirking as he added, “Just like you!”

“Oi! I’m not stupid, Ace!”

“If the horseshoe fits!”

“Guys, take it easy,” Trey said. Thinking for a moment, he said, “It doesn’t exactly sound like a nice word to describe them…even if they are a little oblivious and forgetful.”

“It’s fine, really!” Cater said. “Himbos are described as being attractive but not quite so smart. Those tend to be pretty popular characters in media. See? As NRC’s only human rez, Magicam has been blowing up with likes and comments. Everyone loves Yuu!”

“Wow. Wait…what’s with the video of Yuu in a frilly apron and oven mitts?”

“Oh, that? I caught Yuu trying to open a box of treats for the lil’ hedgehog they were watching, and they forgot to take off the oven mitts. See the lil’ guy in the apron pocket? Totes adorable~!”

It was at that moment that Yuu came in, looking worse for wear as Riddle followed after them with a concerned expression. “Dude! What the hell happened to you?” Ace asked in shock.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Yuu asked, looking confused.

“I found them on campus near the forest,” Riddle said with an exasperated sigh, the faun pulling out the first aid kit and guiding Yuu to a stool. “They were attempting to climb a tree. Fortunately, they landed on a bush from a high point, so they didn’t get severely injured…as you can see, unfortunately, it was a thorned berry bush.”

“A baby bird fell out of the tree-ow!” they yelped, wincing when Riddle began plucking the thorns out of their clothes and skin with tweezers. “The little guy’s mom was worried, so I carried her baby up to her-ouch!-nest.”

“Jeez, did you slip off a branch or something?”

“Well…after I got it back in the nest, I…kinda forgot that I was standing on a branch and walked off.”

“...you…walked off the branch…”

“Yeah?”

“...how the hell have you not broken a leg?”

Yuu shrugged, wincing as Riddle began cleaning the scrapes and spots the thorns had been. “Aaaand…check!” Cater said, having taken another picture of Yuu’s messy self and typing away. “Ridiculously nic and oblivious. That’s our Yuu-bo!”

/—-----/

“Dinner’s ready!”

“Sweet! Breakfast for dinner? What’s the occasion?”

“I figured I’d do something nice and easy to make for everyone as a treat for helping me when I got hurt earlier,” Yuu explained, twirling the spatula in their hand before scooping up another pancake and flipping it onto a plate atop a stack of fluffy goodness. “Plus, Trey’s been working hard to feed us, so I wanted to help out!”

“Whoaaa, look at this spread!” Grim said, already drooling as he sniffed. “Eggs, bacon, sausages…oooh! These waffles have a heart stamped in the middle!”

“Oh yeah! I wanted to try out the new waffle iron one of Cater’s fans sent, and it works really well! It makes it easy to make a breakfast buffet.”

“I’m pretty sure the fans wanted you to have it anyway,” Trey uttered with a wry smile. Aloud, he said, “Thanks for making dinner, Yuu, but why don’t I take over? You’re still recovering from the fall.”

“I’ve got it, thanks! You already do a lot for everyone, so it’s your turn to relax.”

“Well…if you say so. Is this what you made for breakfast this morning?”

“...this morning?” Yuu repeated, expression going blank. “Oh…I think I forgot to eat breakfast this morning. Oops!”

Just then, a long, loud gurgling growl erupted from Yuu’s stomach, the room falling silent as everyone stared at them. It was Deuce who spoke as he asked, “Yuu…when was the last time you ate?”

Thinking for a moment, Yuu admitted, “Since…last night…I think? I remember feeding Grim, but…I got distracted and forgot to get a plate for myself.”

“Seriously? How in Twisted Wonderland are you still functioning on an empty tank!?” Ace said.

“I got so busy that I forgot I was even hungry! Let me just finish up this batch of pancakes and I’ll get some food, okay?”

“Nope. Not good enough,” Trey said.

Before Yuu could respond, the mixing bowl and spatula was plucked out of their hands by Trey while two of Cater’s clones appeared on either side of them. Led to a chair that was pulled out by a third clone, while the original hippogryph finished stacking a plate full of food before sliding it in front of them. “There we go! Make sure you eat every bite now, okay, Yuu-bo~?”

“Wha-? But what about the pancakes and waffles?” Yuu asked, looking concerned. “I gotta finish them–”

“I’ve got it taken care of,” Trey said, the pans sizzling as he added several more strips of bacon and poured the batter on the griddle. “Just sit there and I’ll finish the rest. We don’t want you passing out on us just because your blood sugar is low, got it?”

“Trey is correct,” Riddle chimed in. “Given your status as a critically endangered species, if word reaches the research institutions, they may suspect the school for neglecting your health and may seek to relocate you for closer monitoring.” His stern gaze softened as he said, “We also worry about you as fellow students…and your friends. We can only do so much, so please…don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

For a moment Yuu sat there in stunned silence, seeing their friends nod in agreement. Then…they smiled, looking misty-eyed as they sniffled. “Thanks guys…that means a lot. I’ll do my best to take care of myself!”

/—----/

After that day, Yuu did their best to remember to eat, the Heartslabyul students making sure to remind or invite them over for a meal. Slowly this began to trickle into the other dorms, some of the other students inviting them to sit for a meal as well. Even Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts chipped in, either packing extra lunches or helping them clean up and reminding them to eat whenever they get preoccupied. While Yuu was still forgetful at times, they had nothing to worry about so long as their friends were by their side.