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fordaryl · 2 days

Text

Breathe.

minors dni. spencer reid x fem!reader. angst (drowning). soft confessions. office sex.

after a brush with death, long pent-up feelings are released.

do not translate or repost.

The small disused space was busy with piled boxes, an archiving chore put aside for an unspecified future day. It made the forgotten room a perfect meeting place when the office had cleared out for the night.

You saved it only for the especially hard days.

The days you needed to see him alone.

He knocks softly, like you aren't the only two left on the floor of the building at this late hour – like he doesn't know you're waiting just for him.

You wring the hem of your cardigan in your hands as he enters, as he closes the door gently behind him and twists the small lock – just to be safe.

Then you're both still. Quiet. Waiting for the other to speak first.

Your lips part. You'd planned to be the first to speak, but instead you suck in an unsteady breath. You're not in control. Not at all.

"That bad?" he asks, taking one big but hesitant step towards you.

Bad? Bad wasn't the right word. He'd meant it like you'd had a rough day in the office. Like you could sleep it off. Like it was just another heavy case and you'd come out a little worn but soon ready for the next.

He'd died.

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

"Hey," he soothes, closing the distance between you. "I'm fine, really. Coughed up a bit of pool water, that's all. I've got the all clear," he offers you a lopsided smirk, "despite how bacteria ridden the average chlorinated pool is. I don't recommend drinking the water. If you can help it."

You blink up at him as one tear breaks free, spilling over your lower lid and down your cheek.

A complete lack of any minds eye spared you from the image of him laid out on the cold tiles — soaking wet and completely still.

Aphantasia, he'd explained to you one day a few months earlier. A woefully understudied characteristic of some people that meant an inability to visualise.

You've never been more grateful for your deficiency. It was different for him; his memories. Spencer could see them all. You often wondered how he coped.

"You drowned," you whisper into the dark room. "You were dead."

"My heart never stopped, I–"

"Spencer," you interrupt, heart racing. "You weren't breathing. You were so still and I thought I wouldn't—"

"You saved me," he says softly. "I'm okay." He reaches up to your temple and ever so gently brushes some of your hair off your forehead. It's a completely pointless gesture, apart from being the final straw, that is.

The dam bursts as his finger brushes your skin, feather-light. "I can't do it," you gasp. "I can't. I can't do it."

"Please. Please, don't cry." He pulls you against him. "I hate when you cry."

You bury your face in his neck, wetting his warm skin with fresh tears.

"You won't have to do it ever again," he says, misunderstanding your meaning entirely. "No bodies of water for me, promise."

You shake your head, too busy choking on tears to verbally correct him.

"Everything's fine," he soothes. "Ple-ase." The last word comes out a little broken, a crack in his voice splintering the vowels in the middle.

You pull back from him, enough to look up into his sad eyes. "I didn't mean... I mean't..."

His thumbs wipe at your cheeks.

You suck in a shaky breath. "I mean't... I can't feel all this anymore. I'm so afraid." Another shaky inhale. "Every day. Anytime you aren't near me..."

His hands drop from your face. Confused. This was his confused face. He was attempting to interpret.

"I can't make it go away," you whisper. "I love- I love you and every day you might..." He's blinking at you, a lock of wavy hair falling over one of his eyes. You need him to speak now, take some of the weight off you. You're so tired. "I'm afraid," you confess again. "You can't do that again. Please. You can't–"

"You love me?"

You pause, processing his simple words. Then, "You didn't know?"

He blinks. Again, "You... You love me?"

"Yes," you breathe. A release. "Of course. I'm in love with you. I thought you... how could you not know? I—"

"You've never told me."

He says it simply. Like that's the only way he could possibly have known. You didn't tell him, therefore how could he ever interpret your blatant lovesick adoration as anything other than friendly consideration.

Everyone else knew. The entire team had known about your crush from the earliest days. Some of them had known before you had figured it out yourself.

But not him. Apparently.

"I'm sorry," is what you find yourself saying, eyes burning again. You drop your eyes to the floor. "I'd really.... I'd like to stay friends. Please." You pick at a loose thread in your cardigan, a consequence of your nervous habit. "I need you, I think. I think I need you."

Every move he makes after the last word of your confession leaves your lips is incredibly delicate; he's slow and almost cautious as he hooks his fingers under your chin.

He looks sad when your eyes meet his. He's doing that thing that always leave your chest aching. They're big and dark and so, so full of feeling. "Don't cry," he whispers again.

You nod, like you have any control at all. Anything to stop the sad eyes.

Then he's leaning down. His lips ghost against your cheek, just enough to collect a tear. Then the other cheek. Just a brush of soft lips to wet skin. Then he's ghosting over your lips. His final word is so quiet you almost miss it. It's so quiet you aren't entirely sure he meant it for your ears at all.

"Please."

His lips are wet against yours when he finally closes that tiny little gap. It's too much for your entirely overwhelmed and exhausted mind to process properly. Your fingers drop the hem of your cardigan, suddenly lax and completely free of any responsibility.

His hand rests at your lower back. You're grateful for the support, for the grounding. You're not entirely sure that you'd stay standing otherwise.

He's kissing you. Which means... something. It means something that you'll spend many hours thinking about... some other time. Some time when he's not kissing you. Right now, right now you think you'll just think about the way he feels. Or maybe the tiny sound he makes when he steps into you, like he can somehow get closer. Like you weren't sharing a single breath.

You're half convinced you might wake at any moment. Like this might be some fucked up dream your brain has concocted to contrast the cold kiss you'd been forced to share hours earlier as you'd forced oxygen into his lungs.

No.

No, he's too real; too warm and solid. He presses you against the edge of the desk. It cuts into the backs of your thighs.

You're awake.

He releases your lips only to pull you firmly against him, his arms wrapping around you tight. It's a desperate sort of hug. One you might give a loved one after a long separation... or a close call.

You lift your arms to join him, to add an extra layer of security to the embrace—lest someone try and pull you apart.

His lips press into your neck as he buries his face into you. Closer, the action screams. You understand the feeling entirely.

"You love me, too?" you mumble against his skin.

His head moves as he hums. Yes. He loves you.

He loves you.

You grasp at his shirt, the stiff fabric of the dress shirt crumpling in your fingers as you attempt to get a firm hold. You just think you've managed a secure grip when he's tugging you back and pressing his lips to yours again.

It's different this time. Desperate. You understand that, too. Desperate is disorganised. Desperate is irrational. Desperate is messy.

Messy is fine.

Messy is wet kisses and marks on your neck. Messy is the noise the lamp makes when it hits the floor. Messy is the way his hands tug at your cardigan and grip your thighs when he finally has them bare.

Messy is nice.

He's halfway over you eventually, using the desk to lay you out beneath him. "This okay?" he gasps between kisses. "You're okay?"

"Mm," you hum into his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah. I love you."

His lips leave yours in a lingering sort of way, like neither of you are willingly to release the other. But still, he manages it. "We shouldn't do this here," he says, a little breathless. His fingers press into your thighs as he says it.

"But I want to."

He looks at you like he's calculating, interpreting. You know you must look a mess. Your lips feel a little tingly with the nips he's given you. That's something you didn't expect from him. You'd always imagined his kisses to be gentle—sweet and soft.

His eyes drop to your lips like he's heard your thoughts. "Yeah?" he breathes. "You really... you really want to?"

"Please."

His jaw clenches once before he's falling over you, his body weight pressing you into the wood beneath you.

His lips brush against your neck when he speaks next. "Anything you want," he mutters as his fingers trace up your inner thigh.

By the time he finally presses himself inside you, you're on the brink of tears again. You're lost, you realise as he whimpers into your neck. Everything depends on him. You may as well crawl into his chest and make a home there. You're reliant on his survival in the same way you're reliant on your own heart beating.

He whimpers again as you clench around him. "Please," he gasps on an uneven breath. You're not sure what he's asking for. You curl your fingers in his hair. He could be asking for anything at all and you're sure you'd give it to him. Anything at all.

#spencer reid x reader #mine: spencer reid

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veillenel · 2 days

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Jealousy.

MDNI!!! NSFW

CW: I refer to Uraume as a woman, pre established relationship between Sukuna and reader, Sukuna hits it raw 😈, mention of the 2nd d but that’s it, first smut so this might be 👎👎👎, it’s kinda late so ignore the errors, mmm I think that’s it 😁

Uraume. She has been close with Sukuna for many years. She is trusted by him. She is his servant, serving him with her finest meals. So why are you jealous of his chef? You didn’t really know.

It could be how close they are. That he is happy around her. That he treats her with greater kindness and respect than almost anyone else.

You and Sukuna were already in a relationship, so what’s the need to be so jealous for?

You pass Uraume in the hall. She, on the way to Sukuna’s chambers and you, just leaving. You glanced over at her. She had a plate in hand that was filled with a delicious meal she had prepped for the Lord.

She continues on but you can’t help but stop and look back, debating if you should follow her.

Against your better judgment, you decide to. She knocks on the door twice before being met with the deep, familiar voice.

“Come in.”

She does so, leaving the door cracked. You take your place behind the door, peering in slightly before deciding to just sit against the door and listen. You rest your back against the hard wood, careful to not force the door into making the painful ‘creeeeekkk’ sound.

“Here you go, Sukuna”

The only thing you hear from Sukuna is a grunt. The sound he makes when he’s given food. His grunt of approval. You try to scoot a little closer but hear foot steps coming towards the door so you move back.

Uraume, presumably, closes the door completely and the sound behind the door is completely enclosed.

“What the hell” you audibly say, not too loud.

Later on, you greet Sukuna in his chambers. He sat upon his thrown, his eyes inviting you to take a seat.

You accept the invitation and sit on his lap. Your legs laid across his lap and your feet dangled over the edge of his thrown. Your arms wrap around his neck.

He begins talking to you about his day, what he’s done, his plans for the week, all the usual talk that you share at the end of the day.

You look at him as you listen to him talk. You could listen to him all day. Your lips are formed into a somewhat pout as you contemplate voicing your feelings to him.

He makes the decision for you when he looks at you and sees the face you’re making.

“What?” He bluntly ask.

“I don’t think I should say it. I’ll sound silly”

“Nonsense. Tell me, now”

You cave and begin to speak but stop, unsure how you’re supposed to say this.

“Uraume. How do you feel about her?”

He cocks and eyebrow at you, unsure where this conversation is going.

“Why are you asking that?”

“I..I just feel like maybe you’d be happier being with her. Just her”

Now he’s truly confused. Him? With Uraume?

“You’re jealous of Uraume?”

Your arms move from his neck to rest in your own lap as you fiddle with your hands.

“Sometimes I think she’d be a better match for you. She’s very pretty. She cooks well. You trust her. She makes you happy. You’ve known her since forever”

Sukuna takes one hand and forcefully grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Uraume is not who is sitting on me like this. Uruame is not who takes me so well every night. Do you understand, silly girl?”

You nod. Shocked at his movements.

“I don’t know if you do”

He moves the hand holding your chin to grip your neck. He pulls you in so he can kiss you, his tongue sliding in your mouth immediately. When he pulls away and moves his hand off your neck, you move to adjust yourself so that you’re straddling him.

You put your hands on his shoulder and continue the kiss. One set of his hands grip your ass while the other has a firm grasp on your waist.

You feel his two now hard dicks from under his robe. That robe he’s always in. That slutty robe. The one that he always leaves open so that you always have a view of his upper chest.

It drives you absolutely insane. In a good way, of course.

You move a hand to the inside of his robe, moving it down his abs. Before your hand can get too far, he grabs your arm with one of his own.

He pulls back and you do the same. He tugs at your shorts and you stand up on your knees so he can pull them all the way off. He does so, your panties going too. Next, he pulls your shirt over your arms.

He glares at you and you grow nervous under his gaze. This was evident to him by the face you were making.

He pulls his robe open, and moves one arm to move up and down his length while another arm goes to your hip. He guides you down to him and he moves his hand off his cock.

You put your hands back on his shoulders for support and he forces you down on his dick.

“Ah!”

The stretch never really gets easier, no matter how many times you two have does this. He was just so big.

He kisses you again and slowly moves you up and down. “Sukuna~”

He begins to move at a faster paste. “Gonna make sure you know you belong to me. No need for jealousy”.

“Hah. Ah. Ah.” Are the only noises you could make. His fat cock fucking all the thoughts out of your brain.

“Such a pretty thing” He puts his finger on your clit and rubs circles on it. “Bet you pretended to be jealous just so I could fuck you, huh? Naughty naughty.”

“Sukuna! I’m s- so close. Please!”

He bounces you up and down faster as he continues his circular moments on your sensitive clit.

“Do you think Uraume could make me feel this good, hm? Because I don’t think so”

You gasp as his dick hits that special spot.

“N-no! Only me. Only I can- gah! Ah! Su..Sukuna”

His grip on you tightens as he fucks into you faster. “That’s right. Only you”

The sound of the both of your skin slapping fills the void.

Your face scrunches up as your orgasm washes over you. Your head falling into the side of his neck as he keeps drilling into your cunt.

“Almost there too” he grunts as he roughly thrusts into your poor abused cunt. He thrust into you one final time, his cum shooting inside of you as his nails dig into your skin so hard he draws a bit of blood.

You moan at the feeling of his sharp nails breaking your skin at the same time he cums inside of you.

“Sukuna!”

He remains inside of you for a few moments after he finishes.

“Fuck. The only woman I will cum inside. Don’t forget that, fuckin brat”

#uraume #jjk uraume #jjk smut #jujusu kaisen #sukuna smut #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut

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tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 2 days

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i just saw your post about Ran, Rindou, Baji and Chifuyu and their partner who took a knife for them and i loved it. could you to this with Kazutora, Smiley, Angry and Hakkai as well?

Sure, here's how Kazutora, Smiley, Angry and Hakkai would react to their partner taking a knife for them!

Kazutora

It's like time slows down for him, he's just staring at you in shock, watching you fall.

Struggles to breathe properly as he frantically hovers over you, pressing down on where he thinks most of the blood is coming from

He badly wants to beat the guy that dared to do this but concentrates on you instead and trying to stop the blood.

Mumbles "please" a lot and yells at the paramedics to hurry up when they finally arrive.

He can't sit still in the waiting room and walks around while waiting for news. He just feels so guilty, he should've been the one to get stabbed not you.

Cries when he sees you're ok, he tries to hold it in but ends up crying anyway as he hugs you and tells you to never scare him again.

Hunts the guy down later

Smiley

He doesn't even think about punching the guy so hard he goes flying back, it's just his response to seeing you get hurt.

Kneels over you, trying to talk to you and crack jokes with you, he's trying to stay calm and although you're not replying he hopes you can still somehow hear him.

"If you die then I'll kill you so stay with me"

He sounds like he's on the verge of tears but doesn't cry.

Holds your hand, softly stroking it for as long as he can before you're taken away.

Sits with Angry in the waiting room, telling his brother how strong you are and how you obviously won't die. He's trying to convince himself as well as Angry of this.

Teases you a little once he sees you're ok, he's just glad to have you back.

Angry

Stares in shock, he really wasn't expecting this and hesitates, his emotions getting the better of him.

Smiley slapping his shoulder brings him back, stops him from crying and instead he rushes over to you as his brother takes care of the guy.

Tries to recall all former injuries he's dealt with, thinking of any info that could help him out here.

Calls the ambulance as he's applying pressure, begging them to get here quickly, they need to get here quickly.

Rides with you in the ambulance, telling you what's going on and how it's going to be okay. He doesn't want you to be scared if you can hear what's going on.

Asks Smiley if it's going to be ok while they sit in the waiting room for you. Smiley nods but Angry notices the way he hesitates before doing so.

Hugs you very tightly when he sees you're okay, asks you a lot about your condition too and how you're feeling

Hakkai

Rubs his eyes, thinking he might be seeing things for a moment before shouting your name as he watches you fall.

He's horrified, punches the guy twice making sure he won't be getting up anytime soon before checking on you.

"Hey, hey come on!" Shakes you lightly as if you were sleeping, trying to get a response from you.

He winces at all the blood and takes his jacket off to try and use it to stop the blood from pouring out of you.

His voice is very shakey as he calls the ambulance, he's so scared and it feels like they take forever to get to you.

Asks a lot of questions to the paramedics, wanting some reassurances from them. He's also very good at giving them your info, even remembering your blood type from the one time you mentioned it to him.

Calls Yuzuha for moral support while in the waiting room.

Buys you so many flowers too, bringing them all to you when you wake up

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #kazutora hanemiya #nahoya kawata #souya kawata #hakkai shiba

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 days

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Anon angst! May I request some Smokescreen being a prime angst? More likely, what would the team think that Smokescreen is the new prime and OP's death? :3

Anon, you know EXACTLY what to ask me for. *cracks knuckles*

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Optimus's vitals were completely untraceable. That could have meant he had been offline since the blast from the Nemesis or that he was hiding somewhere. Logically, Ratchet was inclined to believe in the former of the two scenarios. No mech, not even a Prime, could walk away from such devastation unscathed. Even Prima himself fell before the might of enough blasters and bolter shells.

Even still, the small hope that Optimus still lived kept Ratchet moving. There was no body yet. There was no Matrix. No confirmation that his Prime was gone. There was still time, and while there was still time, Megatron had to be stopped. His rulership of Earth could not be allowed to continue.

And so Ratchet handled the groundbridge while the team and Ultra Magnus went to war. Smokescreen was unaccounted for, but his groundbridge had also been rather unstable. His signal was, much like Optimus's, similarly untraceable. The rookie was too energetic to die. Yet another reason Ratchet wanted to believe that Optimus was still functioning, if only in some dark hole in the ground. He had to believe in something, and so he believed in his Prime as he guided the team in their work.

The battle began to spiral quickly. Their numbers were too few and even with Ratchet and Rafael throwing themselves into coordination, there was little that could be done. Their hope was dwindling, and as it did so, Ratchet found himself praying to a god that may or may not have even been real, begging for Optimus to again rise from the ash and smoke as he had done countless times before.

"Ratchet! Look!" Rafael pointed to the screen frantically, and within moments, Ratchet was speaking to the entire team with disbelief and fearful hope.

"It's an Autobot signal, but its... airborne." The signal was strange and largely unrecognizable. It had no ID attached, but its size specs fell well within Optimus's range. With Ultra Magnus fighting for his life, Ratchet could only come to the conclusion that his Prime had, again, somehow wormed his way out of death.

He smiled and his spark sang as he watched the signal. He had no video feed of the events playing out, but he could hear the sounds of exclamation from the team. He could hear Optimus's weapons firing through the team's open comm links and he could hear Megatron's scream of rage. Optimus was back. He was alive-

"Soldier... what is your designation?" Ultra Magnus's voice broke through the blur of joy and relief that flooded Ratchet's mind as the battle drew to a close and the team gathered to begin the trip back. The children sat a little closer to the screen, watching the Autobot signals clumped together as they listened to the audio coming through.

Did Ultra Magnus really not recognize his brother in arms after so long? Perhaps time and the damage from the blast were merely making things difficult for him to see-

"Nebulous Prime. The inheritor of the title Last of the Primes." The voice that came through the link was deep and baritone just like Optimus's. But there was a youthful lightness to it, a sweetness and silky sound that came from those who had not yet spent millennia screaming orders on the battlefield. There was no rattle or gruffness to his tone, whoever this Nebulous might be.

Ice cold fear shot into Ratchet's spark as he fell silent. He stopped listening to the audio and paced frantically as he waited for the team to arrive. It couldn't be possible. This wasn't possible. Optimus ALWAYS came back. Even from the brink of death. There was no way there was a new Prime. This had to be a mistake.

Optimus would never die. Not to Megatron.

"Ratchet, I'm sorry." Arcee came forward first. She looked tired on a spark deep level. The rest of the team followed her as she entered the hangar that Ratchet had moved everything to. The children watched with nervous eyes, their gazes uncertain as Bumblebee stepped forward next. His doorwings were dipped and he merely shook his helm, dried coolant streaks staining his face. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were came after him. Neither were pleased and both seemed grim.

"What happened? Where is Optimus?" Desperation laced his voice, and he was sure he sounded a moment away from breaking down into tears. He frantically scanned each of the team, silently assessing their minor wounds while he searched for familiar red and blue paint. Ultra Magnus was the last to come forward, and he held himself with as much grace as was possible considering the damage he had sustained.

Ultra Magnus opened his intake to speak, but his vocalizer halted. He looked to the ground, seemingly trying to come up with the words he wanted to say. Ratchet shook ever so slightly, his usually steady servos twitching erratically as he fought against his growing fears. Optimus couldn't be gone. Not for good.

"Step aside Commander." The command echoed in the hangar, and everyone froze as a mech stepped in with imposing but soft pedesteps. He was tall, just as tall as Optimus, if not slightly shorter. He strode forward with grace that was unnatural, seemingly new to the mech as he focused on his steps. Most of his frame was obscured in shadow as he approached Ratchet and the team. But for the briefest of moments, Ratchet saw familiar blue optics cycling wide in greeting.

He almost believed his faulty vision. But then the mech stepped into the light, and Ratchet's entire world came crumbling down.

"I am Nebulous Prime... I am sorry that this is how we have to meet again." Blue, yellow, and white. The colors were wrong, the frame shape was wrong. The new and deadly weapons weren't of the right caliber. The doorwings now made flight capable were nothing like the smokestacks that Ratchet knew and familiarized himself with. The face that greeted him was too young, even with the new and very clearly Primely classical additions.

This was not Optimus. This was not his Prime.

"No... Optimus always comes back." His whispered denial echoed in the silent base. Ratchet could feel his systems heaving in panic and grief, and yet he was helpless to stop it as the Prime before him frowned in that all familiar and yet entirely new manner Ratchet found dooming above all else.

"Optimus Prime became one with the allspark roughly six hours ago. The damage he sustained was too great, and he refused to use the Forge of Solus Prime when I brought it to him." The mech who was once Smokescreen shifted on his pedes. He looked like Orion just after he returned from Primus's core. Uncertain and confused.

Ratchet could not find it in himself to have any sympathy.

"He told me to restore the Omega Lock and Cybertron." Nebulous spoke with a commanding air that even he seemed unsettled by. The team looked to him instinctually, watching his every word and action as they once did for Optimus. Ratchet merely seethed.

What had Smokescreen done to be worthy? What had he done to warrant his life being preserved over Optimus's?

"YOU SHOULD HAVE RESTORED HIM INSTEAD!" A venomous cry escaped him before he could stop it. His plating flared, his fists shook, and never more in his life did he wish he had a valid reason to strike a mech.

"Despite his shortcomings, he always found a way! He, WE would have found some way to fix the Omega Lock without the Forge!" Nebulous watched him with tired optics that were unfitting of his youth. He frowned and seemed to watch Ratchet with a vague sense of detachment. The team refused to meet Ratchet's gaze as he tried to vent.

"Cybertron and our people take priority over any one mech. Even if that mech is a Prime." Nebulous declared softly. Ratchet almost saw red as he reached up and grabbed the new Prime by his neck guard, forcing to Ratchet's level.

"That mech was YOUR PRIME!" He could feel coolant begin to gather in his optics. He ignored his blurring vision in favor of watching in hatred as Nebulous remained still.

"He led us through the darkness!" He remembered Orion Pax and how he had gathered armies to lead forth to war. He was still just an archivist. He was no warframe, and he had never raised a weapon with intention to kill. Despite his fears and insecurities, he guided them all the same.

"He fought until the bitter end against every foe!" He remembered Optimus Prime, fresh from Primus's core and unsteady on his pedes. He had been so full of life then. So eager to throw himself into combat in order to preserve even one more life. Optimus's frame had been covered in so many scars by the time they left their world.

"He deserved to see our home restored!" He remembered his Prime, the mech he had dutifully stood beside until the very end. Optimus didn't smile often anymore, but when he did, it was full of fond affection. They had been through everything together, and Ratchet had been of the belief that they would remain companions until the end.

Looking at Nebulous, he saw that familiar depth in the Prime's optics. But it was that wealth of hidden knowledge that left Ratchet reeling in the truth.

"He did. And if I could have changed things, I would have. I never wanted to be a Prime, but this is the burden that was given to me." Nebulous slowly removed Ratchet's servo and held it softly, kindly even. It was not how Optimus held his servo on those rare occasions where Ratchet's oldest friend felt the need to show his affection. Optimus liked to cling to one or two digits at a time, a soft brush that would not be noticeable to any watchers. Nebulous held his whole servo firmly, and yet with enough ease that Ratchet could easily break away.

"I am not Optimus. I do not have his skill or his experience. All I have are echoes of knowledge that I do not know how to find or apply." Meeting the new Prime's gaze, Ratchet's anger began to fade. In Nebulous's optics, there was indeed the knowledge of the Primes. But lingering in his optics was also fear. Primal and deep fear of the unknown just like Orion when he took on the mantle.

He looked so much like the scared archivist Ratchet had spent vorns upon vorns comforting as he grew into his station. It was painfully familiar, but also saddening. Just a cycle ago, Smokescreen had stood before him, eager and willing to jest and fight at a moment's notice. Now a terrified youngling held himself with as much strength as he was able, desperately trying to not show his terror.

"I am not used to this frame. I am not used to this weight on my mind and spark." He shifted on his pedes, and only then did Ratchet see the way his new wings dipped to the ground, a form of communication any mech could easily read as distress. Nebulous's kibble was heavy and while he had been reformed to handle the weight, his unused arm hung limply at his side. Guns and other weapons seemed to crush him.

He was used to speed, but now he was a proper weapon of war. Just as Optimus had changed, Nebulous would as well. Given time, his frame would continue to shift until the Matrix was settled. But until then, he would continue to carry weight that Optimus had been comfortable with, but Smokescreen likely never would find himself at ease with.

"I am not Optimus." A tremor rang out in Nebulous's voice. For a moment, he looked like Smokescreen again. He looked scared and lost without his idol to lead him. Ratchet wanted to be upset, but the longer he watched, the more he found himself easing into his new and unspoken role.

Nebulous was lost. He bore the burden well enough for now, but he was grieving and enduring the weight of the Primacy all at once. Ratchet could weep later, in private. For now, he had work to do.

"But I will finish what he started, if only to honor him." Nebulous looked defeated even with his proud statement. The team looked to him in concern and then to Ratchet for guidance. Ratchet was the eldest amongst them. They needed a leader.

"We will finish what he started." Nebulous startled, his optics wide and his wings perking up. He must have expected Ratchet to decide to leave or possibly defect.

Maybe he would have if Nebulous didn't look so much like Orion Pax. Maybe he would have joined Megatron in order to kill him from the inside.

But not now. Not when Optimus's legacy stood on the brink of collapse.

"We will end this war." He clasped Nebulous's servo and hastily schooled his expression. Optimus would be avenged. But in the meantime, Nebulous needed all the help he could get.

Just as Ratchet had been a friend to Optimus Prime, he would be a guide to Nebulous, the Last of the line of Primes.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #ratchet #alternate universe #bumblebee #arcee #bulkhead #wheeljack #ultra magnus #tfp kids #smokescreen #the matrix of leadership #angst #optimus prime dies yet again #huzzah for pain for dear old smokey

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condensed-ink · 3 days

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I've been thinking a lot about #FixTF2 and I know that some might have their doubts about the movement, however, I've realized that, even if it does not succeed in getting Valve's attention, it will end up contributing towards an important development in recent years - the shift in the public perception of Valve.

If you are person who was growing up in the early 2010's then you obviously remember how Valve games were essentially the cultural zeitgeist of the time, how you would see pictures of King Gaben on every meme/YouTube thumbnail during a Steam Summer Sale. As I understand it, Valve essentially rode this wave of good will throughout the 2010's. Even when everyone was getting frustrated with the lack of sequels for games such as HL2 and L4D2, some people would just excuse it with "ah y'know Valve, not communicating and not doing anything is just their style, this is just probably part of Gaben's 5D chess - tier master plan". However, the cracks in this image have been slowly showing up for a long time:

Portal fans haven't had anything since Portal 2's release back in 2011. We have had some small VR titles but that's hardly any consolation.

Left for Dead 2 came out all the way back in 2009 with nothing afterwards. As of June of 2024, the game still has more than 10 thousand concurrent players yet it is also unplayable for a significant amount of people due to reported DDos attacks.

The suffering of Half - life fans at this point is a meme in itself. The only thing we got was HL:Alyx back in 2020 and, even though it's a very good game, it was inaccessible to a lot of people at launch due the costs and lack of VR hardware. We were left on a cliff-hanger AGAIN and four years later we have no news of any follow-up.

In my opinion, Valve to some extent could ignore these fandoms since they were smaller compared to their big earners. But it is the recent issues with these bigger titles that have started to test everyone's patience and tolerance for Valve's bullshit:

Team Fortress 2 - I mean what else is there to say: rampant cheating and idle bots, bot hosters doxxing and swatting people. The bots crisis has been destroying the game for the past 5 years. If we remember the original SaveTF2 movement, it had a more positive tone, i. e., people talking about how much they love the game and pleading Valve to fix it. Well, one shitty tweet and two years later the tone has gone from "Please fix the game" to "FIX THE FUCKING GAME YOU ASSHOLES" and rightfully so.

CS2 also has a myriad of issues. CS:GO became CS2 after the game jumped to the Source 2 engine, but the resulting game, by many accounts, is a downgrade. A lot of game modes and maps from the original game were not included and are still not present as of June of 2024. Cheaters are rampant. To what degree I cannot say but it is to an extent where a significant enough portion of the player base is affected. Also, the game hasn't had an operation (major content update) since 2021. The player count is still high, but a lot voices in the community have been chewing out Valve for this level of incompetence.

With DOTA 2 I cannot say for sure. Some people talk about neglect whilst others say the game is in a decent state considering the game still gets frequent updates and patches. At most I can say that there is a portion of players that are dissatisfied with the state of the game but most likely to a much lesser extent than in the previous cases.

HOWEVER

All of that is just one part of the double whammy, the second part is probably is much worse than the first - a lack of continuity for Valve's legacy.

I mean, let's think about it for a second here: most of us who grew with the Valve classics are probably in our mid-to late twenties at this point. Of course, I'm not saying that there aren't any younger fans but the bulk is the old guard. I'm pretty sure a lot of kids and teenagers don't even know a lot about these games and it's not their fault, they weren't old enough to experience them. The blame lies SOLELY with Valve because they have done NOTHING to boost the visibility of their older series due to the fact that they haven't bothered to make a single proper sequel for any of them.

And speaking of visibility, Valve's advertising strategy is non - existent and downright insulting . They really have this holier-than-thou perception of themselves, where they think "I am THE Valve softworks, makers of TF2 and Half-Life! How could you NOT know of us?!?!" and then expect everyone else to spread news of their games through word-of-mouth. Like, I'm sorry, Gabe, but we don't owe you shit. I'm not gonna advertise your shitty card-game and upcoming mediocre 5v5 hero shooter just because I had fun playing TF2 back in high school. Like, it's no surprise that you're not gaining any new fans when this has been your modus operandi for the past 10 years.

TO CONCLUDE

This is where we are right now: the old guard is either apathetic or straight-up hates Valve for their negligence, the younger generation barely knows about most of Valve's OG game series due to the lack of any meaningful output. At the end of the day, Valve isn't going to bankrupt, they're gonna keep taking their 30% cut from Steam and peddling gambling addictions to kids via cases. However, the era of good will is over, nobody is cutting them any slack anymore and, frankly, they deserve all the shit that's going to get thrown at them.

#ngl I kinda got sick of my writing half-way through but I squeezed it out in the end #this is the shit that I do instead of doing my academic writing lol #valve #valve games #tf2 #team fortress 2 #fixtf2 #savetf2 #portal #left for dead #csgo #cs2 #counter strike #half life #gabe newell #dota 2

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queercontrarian · 2 days

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Azris Week 2024: Contact

Azriel and Eris are not quite as overt in showing their affection as Azriel's family is. You might not even know it's there... unless you know where to look.

this summary is shit also let's all just pretend i posted this on the right day okay? thank you

@azrisweek

“I’m getting old,” Cassian groans, letting his heavy body drop onto the bench with a crack that doesn’t bode well for the structure of the piece. After all, the birchin is almost as old as Cassian is now.

“Must be the constant losing because I feel great,” Azriel lies through his teeth as he sits, much more careful than his brother to not damage the old furniture more. He does feel great; winning always feels good, especially when it’s their traditional snowball fight and even more so when it’s his fourth year in a row. Still, he too can feel the years bearing on his bones and joints, especially now that he doesn’t spend nearly as much time training his body as he used to when he was still Spymaster of the Night Court.

“The only reason you can keep up your winning streak is because you don’t have any children to run after,” Rhys complains, stretching his leg out in front of him to gently massage his knee. ”You have no idea what real tiredness is until you’ve chased a nearly eighteen year old across all seven Courts trying to keep him from causing the whole continent to blow up.”

Azriel snorts. “Actually, I do know a thing or two about how that feels.”

“Oh fuck you, I was never that bad,” Rhys replies, but it has no real bite. He leans back and closes his eyes. Azriel shrugs, which Rhys can’t see now but might just feel through some brotherly intuition or simply the fact that they’ve known each other for nearly their entire lives.

“And anyways, it can’t be that hard,” Azriel adds, “You love your children, that’s why you had them. That’s why you continue to have them.” He shoots a pointed look at Cassian. He and Nesta just welcomed another two children into their home: twins, no more than ten years old, both from the far islands which crown the north of Illyria. That makes for five kids that his friends have adopted so far. Luckily, the House of Wind has enough room for all the youths they invite to join their family, and Nyx and Jasmin both go nearly green with envy since Noura is the only cousin with siblings. That is, until Elain gives birth again, which won’t be for a couple months now.

“True that,” Cassian mumbles, eloquent as ever as he too leans back against the wall. “Why don’t you have children anyway?”

Azriel just stares at him, trying to decipher what it is his brother is really asking. It's not exactly like having a child is something that could just happen to him and Eris like it did for Rhys and Feyre. He knows of course that Eris will be expected to produce an heir some day, but it’s been barely fifteen years since he became High Lord. They still have time, time to figure out how they will construct this future family of theirs, time to be a family of just two. Azriel isn’t ready to share his husband with another soul yet when he already shares him with an entire Court, but that feels like too earnest of a thing to say here and now. It’s not that he thinks his brothers wouldn’t understand, he just doesn’t want to bring it up yet.

“It’s not like we don’t try,” he says finally with a sideways grin on his face, waiting for Cassian to look at him again. “We try so hard, you know, every night, but it just doesn't seem to be happening for us.” Cassian cackles and then coughs as he breathes in the hot air of the birchin, enriched with a thousand healing herbs - at least that’s what it smells like.

“I’m sure you do,” he rasps through coughing and Rhysand smirks too, though Azriel doesn’t know if it is at the joke he made or Cassian’s face, which has taken on the color of pickled beetroot.

“You’d never know,” he says, and Azriel just gives a noncommittal hum.

“Right?” Cassian agrees, his voice still rough though he’s stopped coughing for now. “I mean, you’d never know if you just saw you guys.”

Azriel frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just, you know. You don't really act like a couple. I mean, compare that to me and Nesta or Rhys and Feyre; they’re all over each other.”

Azriel has half the mind to turn his back to them to show them the clear proof that Eris, too, is all over him more often than not, and likes to leave his mark, thank you very much, but that feels childish. The truth is they don’t act like the other couples in the Inner Circle. That doesn’t mean they love each other any less.

“What, just because we don’t fondle each other in the presence of others?” Azriel responds, unable to suppress the slight defensiveness, his inner walls shutting down almost automatically. He knows his brothers mean no harm, but it still feels like a challenge. Eris and him are just much more private people than his brothers and their partners.

“Yeah but there’s private and then there’s whatever you guys have,” Rhys voices his opinion from the bench across the room. Azriel barely has time to admonish him for reading his mind without asking - which is something he promised he wouldn’t do anymore when Azriel became Lord Consort of Autumn, but old habits seem to be hard to break - when Cassian adds, “It’s not like it’s bad or anything. It’s just different from what we’re used to.”

“I suppose,” Azriel says. He’s not trying to spend the limited time he and his brothers have nowadays bickering - even though they are of course dead wrong…

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

▪︎

There is no way they will be able to talk to all these people tonight but Eris seems to be hellbent on trying, and if the High Lord is convinced of something it is harder to change his mind than to go along with it. Azriel has always been the type to choose the path of least resistance. Eris's hand is firm on his back as he leads him through the crowd of fae gathered in the throne room. He can feel Eris’s heartbeat, reverberating through their bond. It rarely feels stronger than when they are next to each other.

He’s been standing on the balcony for a while when Eris finally joins him. His wings are practically being baked in the hot sun of the Day Court but it’s still bearable. Better than being inside anyways.

“Taking a break, are we?” Eris says with a smile. Azriel just rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t really want to stick around to watch my family stick their tongues down their partners’ throats,” he grunts, and Eris laughs.

“The topics of conversations have changed quite drastically since this morning,” he admits, and that’s putting it lightly. The official visit that had been scheduled for diplomacy reasons has been derailed entirely. Now it seems more like they were only moments away from an orgy taking over the room.

“Just… stay with me for a little while,” Azriel asks, with more vulnerability in his voice than he would usually allow himself. It’s hot, he’s tired, he feels a little overwhelmed. He shifts slightly to his left so Eris can lean against the railing next to him. Their arms brush against each other and Eris reaches for his hand, locks their fingers together.

They watch from the sidelines as the courtiers inside bicker and flirt and debate and disappear off into their own little corners away from prying eyes until Helion finally calls them to order (“So unlike him,” Azriel mutters and Eris grins).

Minutes turn into an hour and the afternoon sun sinks further into a beautiful sunset. Finally Eris separates himself from the railing and makes a step back towards the hall. He turns to look at Azriel, their hands still joined between them.

“Ready to go back in there, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel raises their hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Eris’s hand.

“Yes.”

▪︎

Azriel never thought listening to two brothers argue could be calming, but with Sasha and Bas bickering on the couch opposite him he feels like he could fall asleep at any moment. Then again maybe it’s not the heated discussion about grain import but the friendly fire that the Lady Vanserra had lit in the family’s private drawing room, the dog snoring at his feet, the sound of the wind outside the stained glass windows. Maybe it’s Eris’s hand, curled at the back of his neck, playing absentmindedly with his hair.

Azriel sighs and leans in closer, Eris’s low chuckle a familiar and comforting melody in his ear.

▪︎

People have slowly been filing out of the great ballroom for the past two hours. Personally, Azriel is elated. He does not mind balls, in fact there are two very good arguments why he should enjoy them a lot more than he does - those arguments being that usually, he gets to see his half of the family, and he gets to see Eris even more dressed up than he is on the day to day. Still, he likely won’t ever get used to being the host, and he is very glad that at least for now it is over. There is only one more breakfast to get through tomorrow before the last of their guests leave and he will only have to share his husband with one Court instead of all seven of them.

“There you are.” Speak of the devil. “Ready for this to end?” Eris’s smile is slightly lopsided, and the way he holds his shoulders betrays his exhaustion, but he looks happy and it instantly lifts Azriel’s mood as well. When he turns to fully face his husband he can’t help but reach out to smooth down the spangles on his coat, which still looks practically impeccable. He knows it would bother Eris though, if he noticed it.

The male places his hand over Azriel’s own and pulls him closer by his arm until they are standing only a few inches apart.

“Dance with me,” Eris says, the look in his eyes so earnest that it feels impossible to deny him anything.

“Here?” Azriel asks weakly, his resolve already crumbling before he can even try to say no.

“Yes. Here, now.”

“Alright.”

There’s barely anyone in the hall now anyway, and even if there were a thousand guests still around them it wouldn’t matter; all Azriel can see is Eris.

▪︎

Azriel feels like they've been sitting here for hours, listening to Helion drone on and on about regulations in the creation of new subsections of the principal disciplines of magic. Eris at least manages to pretend to show interest, but Azriel is pretty sure that it's very evident on his face that he wants nothing more than to take another break from this meeting, or better yet, leave it be for today and return back to their room.

He is distracted again when Eris moves his hand to rest between them on the narrow wooden armrest of his throne. He watches, mesmerized by the way his husband's many rings glint in the sunlight as he begins tapping his fingers against the armrest.

Tap tap tap. A signal?

Azriel glances up at Eris, who is still following the debate that has now started between Helion and Kallias, but his expression is a bit too fixed to be natural.

Tap tap, Eris's pointer finger sounds softly against the wood. Slowly, Azriel places his own hand next to Eris's, eyes tracking every movement his husband makes, watching as his mate extends his pinky finger until it rests against Azriel's own scarred hands. Slowly, so slowly, their fingers entwine, Eris’s rings scraping against his skin. When Azriel looks up, Eris is still staring straight ahead, a slight smile on his lips.

▪︎

The House of Wind is as crowded as ever on Starfall, but Azriel can barely hear his family cheering for the spirits as they travel across the sky, nor can he hear the music or the noise of the party. He’s too wrapped up in his mate, standing as close to him as he possibly can to take in his warmth, his scent, his quiet words even as the world around them seems to get only louder.

Under the light of a thousand stars, of spirits and candles and magic sparks Azriel leans in closer to wrap his arms around his mate just as Eris turns to kiss him.

Eris doesn’t say a word when Azriel slumps onto the couch next to him. He only moves his leg a little so he can fit comfortably, shifting his book from one hand to the other. Azriel sighs, his head rolling back as his muscles slowly relax from the long day. Eris’s thigh is leaned against his, with no pressure but a warm, comforting presence that makes him melt deeper into the couch.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The trip from Night to Autumn is an arduous one, even more taxing in the winter months when it's cold and wet and generally unpleasant to be flying in the Solar Courts. He wants nothing more now than to simply curl up here with Eris, not talking, not moving, just listening to the rain patter outside their window, the fire crackling and the sound of Eris’s breathing. He sighs, his shoulders slowly relaxing as he lets the day pass by again in memory, from the early morning snowball fight to Solstice dinner, which had dragged on forever. He loves and misses his family, even more so now that they live so far apart, but his longing for Eris, for home, always wins out.

Azriel stretches his tired body out across the whole sofa with a sigh, feet hanging off one end as he reaches for one of the pillows to rest his head in Eris’s lap. Eris helps him maneuver his wings into a more comfortable position and Azriel can hardly hide his groan of relief when all the weight is finally taken off of his back and he can feel fully at ease. Eris’s fingers get tangled in his hair as he starts to gently massage the back of his neck and his head with one hand and Azriel can feel his mate’s pulse against his ear, on his lips, across the bond, like the steady beat of his own heart.

“How was your trip?” Eris asks finally, though he still doesn’t look up from his book.

I’m getting old, Azriel thinks, I missed you. They are so wrong about us.

“I love you.”

Eris smiles.

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bisexualhomelander · 2 days

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400 words of angsty Butchlander because "I'll miss us" gave me bigger brainrot than Billy has.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”

Billy is slammed against the wall hard enough that he can’t breathe for several seconds, pain radiating down his spine and up into his head. His head always hurts.

Homelander holds onto him so desperately tight that Billy thinks the wall might be more forgiving.

“What, you think you can just-” Homelander chuckles helplessly. “Just die on me? Just like that?”

“Ya should have been quicker, luv.”

Homelander roars and presses their bodies together, connects their lips. They’re both hard, and they start mindlessly rutting against each other.

“We can do it here, now. Tonight.”

Homelander shakes his head, not breaking the kiss. Billy isn’t sure, but he believes he can taste salt on his lips, amidst the hot breath.

“Least let us get to the bed,” he suggests.

They never make it to the bed. The first and last time they fuck is on the floor of Billy’s drafty apartment, pants haphazardly pulled down just as far as they need. Homelander presses Billy into the wood, sits down on him, doesn’t let him get a single word in. In the low lamp light, Billy can see the supe’s eyes fixated only on his brain, never once making eye contact.

It isn’t gentle, and it isn’t fun, and it isn’t even particularly satisfying, and Billy is sure some of his bones are at least cracked by the end of it, but they both do eventually come.

“Offer still stands,” Billy says and buttons his jeans again. There’s movement in his head, that thing clearly agitated by all the hormones flooding his brain. “I ain’t too weak yet. It won’t be lasers on lasers, but… we can.”

The supe doesn’t even look the slightest bit tempted. “I’d like to, believe me. But there’s no saving you. If I lose or we kill each other, who will be there for him?” Homelander takes Billy’s face between his hands and kisses him again, first his lips, then his forehead.

Billy sees the unsteadiness in his eyes, hears the airiness of his voice, knows that he himself won’t be the only one who won’t hold on for much longer. The damage done to Homelander’s brain is not lesser than the one done to his – just less visible.

“Maybe that’s better for him, don’tcha think?”

Now, Billy is surprised to see Homelander falter – if only a second.

#billy butcher #homelander #butchlander #my writing

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lanafofana · 2 days

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WIP wednesday

I want to write something cute and fluffy and sweet but all my heart knows is hot chip and angst.

The Inescapable Inevitability of Goodbye

It started with Lae’zel. Tall and proud. Regal. Astride a dragon that Tav had been powerless to talk her down from. The look she had given Tav could have cleaved her chest wide open. A lifetime of words in one fierce stare and then she had nodded, just once, and the dragon had launched to the skies.

Goodbyes were inevitable, she reminded herself, heart pounding with loss.

Next had been Karlach and Wyll. Beautiful, incadescent Karlach who had nearly given in to her fate but for dear Wyll, the voice of reason and conviction to change her stubborn mind at last. Their goodbyes had been hasty, desperately quick. Tav’s not even sure she could remember the words they exchanged, nothing specific.

But long after they’re gone, in the secret quiet places of her mind she hears Karlach’s voice saying, “My friend, my companion, I adore you.” She keeps it close to her heart so she might be warmed by it when all other sources of warmth were sapped from her.

She’d hardly taken a beat to process the emptiness of a Faerûn without Karlach Cliffgate and Wyll Ravengard when Astarion had gasped, his skin flaking away like burning ashes. He’d run for cover and that had been that. Another gaping wound in her chest. She wondered how it kept beating.

Standing at the edge of the docks, grasping for something to feel victorious about Gale had materialized, staring at the horizon. Right. The crown. His duty. She was proud of him, he’d come such a long way from the wizard who had fallen out of the portal so long ago. Traded his pride for humility, his ambition for wisdom. His course was set, soon he would retrieve the crown and reforge it, taking it to his goddess.

Tav smiled and cupped his face, ignoring his surprise. No matter how long they took dithering at the door, the goodbyes were inevitable, she had learned to grasp at what comfort she could when she could. So she stroked his beard with her thumb and memorized the exact shade of his eyes when they’re emblazoned by a smoldering city. Before he could give voice to the concern in his gaze she’d patted his cheek fondly and stepped away.

Their night of celebration passed in a blur of music, laughter, drinking, dancing and fucking. When she woke up and rolled over to see Halsin already looking at her softly she felt another hole burning through her chest and she hated that she wasn’t even surprised. Only resigned.

Goodbyes were inevitable.

When he began to explain the path he was now set on, his place in this post-Absolute world she smiled and nodded. Said all the right things. Because she had learned a long time ago that goodbyes were not for her, never for her, they were for other people. An opportunity for them to glean a measure of comfort and it was her place to provide it.

So she smiled while her heart cracked open and she congratulated and she soothed while the brittle spaces between her ribs turned to dust. She promised to visit because lying came as naturally to her as breathing. And then she left.

Sometimes you had to be the one to leave first when someone told you goodbye.

She lingers in the city, telling herself it’s to help the wounded. Tending and nurturing and healing she fills her days with servitude to those in need. At night she sits at her window, staring out at the view being rebuilt. Each night the scenery changes little by little, the wounds closing, the Gate piecing itself back together. Erasing the scars with repairs.

She sits, and she watches, and she plucks at the chords of her heart, testing how sharply the pain twangs, and thinks about how a thing must be broken beyond recognition before it can be fixed. And wonders, if there’s nobody left to help with the restoration, can a thing be pieced back together at all.

Or if it really matters, when all her heart has ever learned to play was the same melancholy tune.

She wakes one day and Shadowheart and her parents are gone. Jaheira and Minsc and Boo too. Forging the new paths of their lives. Tav wonders what it must feel like to hold a world of possibility in your own hands. Is it heavy? Does it burn? She packs her things and goes to the dock one last time.

The sky is no longer on fire, the streets are no longer littered with corpses. When she drinks in the air she can smell fish and wet stone and something briney that gusts in off the water.

“Good bye, sun,” she says to the gulls that cry over the harbor.

“Good bye, sea,” she says to the horizon, blue and sparkling in the late morning light.

“Good bye,” she says to her adventure, the Gate, and the million and one tiny little might-have-beens that tumble out of her heart and into the sea.

She dries her face and tells herself the ache in her chest is a bruise and not a tear.

“It’s time to go home.”

#WIP #bg3 #bg3 fanfic

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xoxochb · 15 hours

Note

BEGGING something based on afterglow with Jason Grace x Reader.

I'm obsessed with your latest Jason post and I definitely need moree.

( I apologize for the request if I'm confused, this is not my first language )

meet me in the afterglow!

warnings: arguing

pairing: jason grace x gn reader

summary: based on the lyrics “but it’s not what I mean / sorry that I hurt you / I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you / I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you

you knew you messed up, you knew you should’ve just told jason what was bothering you, but when he kept insisting on it, the more you didn’t want to tell him

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, yet you keep insisting!” you yell

“that’s because I care about you” jason says in a calm voice

“did I ask you to care about me? I’m not a child, I can take care of myself” you cross your arms

“y/n, you’re my…” he sighs, “best friend. I care about you probably more than anyone else on this earth, I’m not purposely trying to make you seem childish, I just want you to be safe, I don’t want to see you hurt”

oh gods you messed up didn’t you?

you watch as a few single tears stream down his face, and he looks at you with the most wounded puppy eyes you’ve ever seen

“I’m gonna go” you sigh and turn to walk away, but a gentle hand taking yours stops you

“wait- I’m sorry, it’s my fault”

you turn back around and tears start pooling in your eyes, you hate when he speaks so poorly of himself

“jason, it’s not your fault, it’s mine, I shouldn’t have snapped at you” a tear trickles down your cheek

“no, it’s not. It’s my fault because I didn’t realize that you were uncomfortable” he pouts

“stop blaming yourself, it’s really my fault, I haven’t slept in weeks, I’m exhausted, and I have so much work to do, I’ve been up all night” you ramble

“y/n if you need any help with anything I’ll do it. I’ll ditch everything for you, I’ll even kill someone for you if that’s what you really want” he cracks a smile and takes your other hand

“I know a few people” you mirror his smile and step closer

for a second you thought you made him uncomfortable, because with the way he’s blushing you think he might pass out

but you’re quickly proven wrong when he pulls you in for a kiss, a gentle one, and it says more than just his love for you, it says that he would do anything for you, you know it, and so does he

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #xoxochb #heroes of olympus #jason grace imagines #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader #jason grace

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eekshade · 19 hours

Text

hey!! sry for not writing anything for 5 months, school has been yucky, but im back!! i started with an alphabet bc it was an easy way to ease myself back into writing. also happy gay month 🫶

Bucky Barnes Fluff Alphabet

bucky barnes x m!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings/info: letter J depicts a make out sesh ig, internalized homophobia is mentioned, Buck cries, use of you/your for reader but is said to be male, there are scenes after the hcs for a little bit but I gave up on that lol, made in my notes app so sry for any formatting issues, not proof read

A - Admiration. (what do they admire about their S/O?)

☆ Bucky loves your hands. He likes how "innocent" they are compared to his. He adores when you hold his hand, especially the vibranium one. It makes him feel all warm and soft. It makes him loved. The kind of love that causes one's stomach to ache, it makes him want to love himself.

The two of you are slowly making your way through the crowded farmer's market, somewhat resembling a can of sardines. You were walking in front of him, taking notice of a small clearing off to the side, grasping his metallic hand, pulling him behind you. He follows without question, a small smile pointed at your two interlocked hands.

Once stopped in the empty area, before you could even think of letting go of him, he pulled you into him, placing his cracked lips onto your own.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do."

He kisses you again.

B - Boldness. (how bold are they in regards to their S/O? who confessed first?)

☆ Bucky was a confident man in his youth, always the one making the first move. Ever since he started living in Brooklyn again, he started to notice the anxiety crawling up his throat whenever he interacted with others. This is why he wouldn't start talking to you, even if he's interested in you, so you would need to initiate the first few (dozen) conversations before he starts to feel comfortable around you. That being said, given that you've been talking as friends/acquaintances, he'll have no problem asking you out, it might just take me some time.

☆ Once in a relationship he is extremely bold, there are still some topics where he would be more hesitant to talk about (such as the full extent of his past), but when it comes to you he won't having any problem charmin' you like there’s no tomorrow.

Bucky lingers in front of your shared apartment building hoping to catch you on your way home after a day out, he nervously switches from leaning on a tree to sitting on a bench, then back to the tree. He only waits for about five or so minutes before he notices you walking on the pavement leading to the building, but after locking eyes with him, your course changes.

"Hey, Bucky!"

"y/n! I'm glad I caught you, can I walk you up?"

You simply smile and nod in the direction of the door. You smell like newly washed clothes, but to Bucky, it might as well be heaven. You break the silence by asking him about his day, he breifly responds, giving you some of the highlights, you two chit-chat for bit, not able to dive into much as the trip is rather short. By the time you two reach your door, he realizes that he longer can try to find the perfect segue so he might as well just go for it.

"...Well, thanks for walking with me." You smile at him, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, y/n, I wanted to talk to you about something." You raise your eyebrows as a sort of permission for him to continue.

"I hope I wasn't misreading this, but would you like to get dinner together sometime?" His voice remains unwavering, with a sly smile dancing across his face.

You roll your eyes at his tone, but it's hard to hide the smile forming at the corners of your mouth,"I guess I don't see why not."

"Yeah, yeah," he snickers, "here." It's his number written on the back of receipt, a small smiley face had been drawn next to it, then erased.

"See you, Bucky."

"Bye, y/n."

C - Comfort. (how do they comfort their S/O?)

☆ Bucky is more of an advice guy than a comfort guy, this is due to him getting extremely awkward/uncomfortable during touchy, feely situations (and not because he doesn't know how to confront his own emotions!!). However, he does understand the need for warmth during hard times, he just opts to show it through acts of service instead.

Your thoughts thrash against the walls inside your head, the throbbing only getting worse as you slowly pull yourself out of his bed. Your face caked in sweat and dried tears, your bloodshot eyes drift to the phone resting upon the on of the nightstands, your unsteady hand grips the device, checking the time.

The late afternoon sun coats the walls in an irritable light, despite the curtains being mostly closed. You notice on the second nightstand that he left a glass of ice water (which was mostly melted now) and a note, which read:

"EVERYTHING NEEDED FOR A BATH IS ON THE BATHROOM COUNTER - ILL BE BACK WITH YOUR FAVORITE ASAP :)"

D - Dates. (do they prefer going out or staying in? do they prefer fancy or simple?)

☆ Bucky has a really hard time with this one. All he is used to are the classic dinner and a movie type dates, but in his heart, he likes the more intimate, at home, kind. Over time, he finds a sort of balance between the two, like a picnic at a drive-in movie.

"Bucky, where the hell are we?"

The two of you are currently driving down backroads you've never seen before. The road is slightly too narrow for anyone to get fully comfortable, the night sky darkening the path. Bucky has been relatively quiet, letting you do all the talking, and control the music; he never has liked modern music, but there's something special about when you play it.

"Well, if I tell you it's not really a surprise, is it?" He answered, turning his head to you slightly. The smile on his face is almost aggravating, if it had been anyone else's, you would've jumped out of the moving vehicle.

"You're not funny," you playfully roll your eyes, "if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're trying to kill me." You pretend to study him as if trying to find a motive.

"Well, I can promise you I'm not doing that." The smile changes to softer, genuine.

The car is almost silent for the rest of the way, the soft music leading you two down the road. The car pulls into an unpaved parking lot, bringing you back to reality. You look around and see a white screen proudly standing twenty or so feet ahead of you, realizing what's going on, you turn to Bucky. A nervous grin shines back at you, he's holding a basket filled with dinner, and movie snacks.

"You like it?"

E - Equal. (are they more dominant or passive?)

☆ Due to Bucky growing up in the 40s, he does still have quite a bit of internalized homophobia. Therefore, he tends to try and be the stereotypical, manly, provider. He does unconsciously feminize you to make himself feel better, but the second he realizes, or you tell him, he'll do everything to stop, as well as profusely apologize.

☆ Other than that, I do see him as being in the middle. He can obviously take control when he needs to, but also because of his past, he loves when you take the pressure off, and take care of him.

(I can't think of a scene for this rn, and I rlly need to finish this so sry, if anyone want more about this just ask)

F - Family. (do they want to start a family?)

☆ Bucky loves kids, and is great with them, but he doesn't want to have his own, at least until he's stable. So for now he's okay with being the cool uncle.

After spending a lake day with the Wilsons, it was noticeable that Bucky wanted to say something. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even as he waited for everyone to finally call it a night. A little after the kids were put to bed, Sarah called it in, then Sam. You went to follow, seeing as it may be weird to stay up longer than the hosts, but Bucky ushered you to follow him to the back deck.

You sat on the stairs next to him in silence, waiting for him to speak, the warm air surrounding you two. He bit his lip and looked at you, studying you.

"I love you," He smiles at you, his tone signifying a second part of what he needs to say.

"But?" You laugh, nervousness now making its way into you.

"But I can't give you this." He has tears in his eyes, threatening to fall if he says anything else.

"What does that mean?" Confusion grips you tightly, his face giving nothing away.

"An apple pie life," he laughs at his own words, "I can't give you the house, and two kids, dinner by 6, it's all too much for that." He looks to the lake as if it could help him.

"Bucky," you gently take his chin, making him look at you, "what makes you think I want that?"

"The way you looked at me," he wipes a fallen tear from his cheek, "when I was playing with Cass and AJ today.

"Oh, Bucky." You kiss a tear away from the side of his nose, "I don't need any of that, hon. I just need you."

G - Goofy. (how serious are they when it comes to a relationship?)

☆ When it comes to a romantic relationship, Bucky can be pretty serious, while he is smooth/sly, 'goofy' isn't really the word I'd use to describe him. Not to say he wouldn't be funny, but I feel as though his humor is more sarcastic than anything.

(same thing as before)

H - Hugs. (how do they hug?)

☆ I imagine Bucky's skin to be cold, so that transfers to his hugs, but he's cold like a soft breeze on a hot beach. His hugs would also be very firm because of obvious reasons. If he's in an emotional mood, they may be slightly too hard, but never enough to hurt you.

You shiver slightly as his arms wrap around your frame, his head resting upon your shoulder. You two stay like that for a moment before he shifts his head into the crook of your neck, leaving a chaste kiss on it before planting his nose to touch your skin; eyelashes softly tickling you as he blinks.

"I miss you."

I - Interests. (what Interests do they want to share with their S/O?)

☆ Bucky's a fucking nerd, his main interests being motorcycles, fantasy novels (reading in general), folklore, and ancient history.

Bucky smiled widely as he firmly gripped some obscure fantasy novel with a dragon on the cover, unintentionally waving it around. He's excitedly explaining the novel to you, about how well written the book is, about how interesting the character dynamics are, and so on. You mirror his smile as you watch him talk, hanging on to every word that falls off his tongue.

You stand, your smile never wavering as you walk toward him, he stops talking, confused. Once you reach him, you pull him into your grasp, kissing his cheek, holding him close.

"What?" His voice lacking confidence, his smile now unsure.

"Keep talking." You mumble into him, "I like it when you talk." He grins and continues his rant.

J - Jealousy. (do they get jealous?)

☆ He can get jealous, this is do to his trust issues, but he's mature enough that he won't be a bitch about it unless you want him to, he'll just talk to you, and the two of you will work through it one way or another. He does get rather clingy when jealous, though, wanting to touch you in some way.

You and Bucky are currently at your workplace, your boss decided in order to boost morale that a company party was needed, and you (thankfully) convinced Bucky to go, promising it'll be quick.

Both of you were chatting with one of your work friends when they asked you to come help them get refreshments, leaving Bucky alone with their spouse. Bucky wanted to be nice, he did, but the spouse would not stop going on and on about some shit Bucky had never even heard of. So, naturally, his eyes wander trying to locate you, hoping that you'll come back and save him from this dreadful conversation, and that's when he saw it. Your co-worker was basically feeling you up, their eyes traced your figure as you bent over to grab a couple of waters from the case on the floor, and when you stood back up they grabbed your waist to "move you out of the way" of someone walking by.

The final straw was when you attempted to walk back to Bucky and their spouse, they grabbed you by the elbow stopping you from moving, the grip wasn't very hard from what Bucky could see, but the look on your face was enough to get him moving.

Bucky walked away from the spouse mid sentence. They called out at him, but he paid it no mind. He reached the two of you, and you smiled at him, saying something along the lines of "What couldn’t stand to be without me?" Bucky rolled his eyes when the co-worker asked what he was doing.

"Sorry to cut this short, but honey, we got to go." Overpronouncing the pet name, as he pulls you toward him.

"What? You just got here!" The co-worker joked, "Come on, y/n! The night is still young." He whined out.

"I'm sorry, but Buck's right. I promised to make dinner tonight in order for him to come." You laughed, pulling Bucky's hand into your grasp, "See you on Monday though." You smiled at them, causing Bucky to tighten the grip of his hand around yours.

The second the two of you walked out of the building Bucky pushed you against the wall of it, just barely out of view from the window, kissing you harshly. You opened your mouth in shock, giving Bucky the opportunity to slide his tongue in. His hands roam your body in search for nothing in particular, he smirks when you moan into the kiss, motivating him to pull as much of those pretty little sounds out of you as he can. He thinks of your co-worker, the slimy bastard, they could never have you like this, this thought makes his smile grow as he attaches to your neck, and slips his knee in between your legs. Once he's satisfied with your disheveled state, he silently walks away to the car, leaving you to follow him, confused, calling out for him to slow down.

K - Kiss. (how they kiss/favorite place to be kissed, and vise versa.)

☆ Bucky’s kisses are tender/soft, this is attributed to him subconsciously not wanting to hurt you in any way, so any time he touches you it's rather gentle. His lips tend to taste a little like blood, because he has a habit of biting them.

☆ His favorite place to kiss you is on your cheek, specifically with his hands on your hips as a form of greeting.

☆ His favorite place to be kissed is his neck, it feels special, a place just for you and no one else, it's a form of intimacy he hasn't been able to truly experience until now. He especially likes it when you hug him from behind kissing up from the top of his spine to his nape hairline.

Bucky uncomfortably cleaned the kitchen as he waited for you to return from work; he had recently moved in to your place, and it was just now starting to hit him how serious you guys were. You and him have been dating for quite a while, he stayed over more times than not, so it was only natural for you to ask him to move in. He said yes of course, how could he not? He thought about the two of you, about him no longer sleeping in your bed, but sleeping in his. Next to you. It's driving him insane, oh god - when did he start crying? Seriously though, how could you chose him? He just doesn't understand how this happened, how could you, of all people, want him? More tears. God, Bucky, pull yourself together man.

His thoughts screech to a halt as he hears the door open, he hears you call out his name, he doesn't respond, wiping the tears, this proved to be a lot harder to do as one's tears are still actively falling. You find him within a few seconds, he's facing the sink, you snicker at his concentration; you walk up to him, making sure not to be silent, though there’s not a doubt in your mind he knows you're there. You wrap your arms around his lower torso, placing your chin on his shoulder. His hands stop moving as he leans into the touch.

"Hey, Buck." You softly whisper, "You get out today?"

"Of course I have." He turns his head down slightly, trying to avoid eye contact, "You worry too much." He grumbles, he attempts to move his arms forward, but stops when he feels your lips graze his nape.

"I like worrying about you." Another kiss. "It keeps me grounded." You laugh into his neck.

"Please." He drags out the word in an almost whiney tone, moving his head back to get even closer to your mouth, "Please don't stop."

You consister teasing him, turning his chin to look at you, but stop when you see his wet cheeks you decide against it. You leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth as a sort of apology, before going back to what you were doing to the back of his neck.

"God, Buck, you know how much I love you?" You mumble into his skin after a few moments.

"No, I don't think I do," He smiles at the wall, "how much?"

You unravel your arms from around him, placing them on his shoulders, turning him to face you. You deeply press your lips onto his nose, causing him to scrunch his face, the kiss makes a humming sound, before a soft pop of your lips.

"That much, times like a thousand." You giggle at his soft expression.

"Wow. That's a lot." He remarks with faux amazement, trying to make it seem like you didn't just make his heart nearly beat out of his chest.

"Yeah it is." You exaggerate the words, gripping his cheeks for one last kiss.

L - Love Language.

☆ Bucky's love language is definitely acts of service. He enjoys doing things for you, and putting his skills to use, I think this can been seen in fatws when he helps Sam with repairing the boat, and getting him a new suit. He likes surprising you with household takes already completed when you get home, he absolutely basks in the praise you give him for doing this.

(yuck. This is where I officially give up on the scenes, as said prior if you want to see any specific ones just ask!!)

M - Meals. (kitchen dynamics.)

☆ Bucky doesn't like to cook with other people, you can watch for sure! But he doesn't like to share the space too closely, it just annoys him when people do things he believes he can do more efficiently.

☆ The two of you will most likely do A/B days when it comes to cooking and clean up, unless one person is pampering the other/it's a special occasion.

N - Nicknames. (what do they call their S/O?)

☆ His nicknames for you are obviously older, and slightly feminine (unless you tell him off), he starts you relationship with names like, doll, darling, and dove. As time progresses he will start incorporating handsome into his list of pet names. All that being said, I don't think he's too into pet names, for the most part he'll just say your real name.

O - Openness. (how open are they about their past/emotions with their S/O?)

☆ He starts telling you about his past in the form of jokes (like that one date scene in fatws). He's able to tell you about everything in a factual tone a few months into dating (just so he knows he trusts you), as far as his emotions surrounding it - that does obviously take longer, but in my opinion not by that much. The amount of emotion shared does vary, but maybe a month or two after he tells you about it for the first time, he'll start venting about his nightmares and such.

☆ also it does depend on how you view/retain media, because you might have already recognized his face/name.

P - PDA.

☆ Bucky is in the middle when it comes to PDA, he likes holding your hand, will give you goodbye kisses and such, but he doesn't go father then that. Half due to his social anxiety, half to him wanting the more intimate things to stay private.

Q - Quarrel. (how they apologize/ how long it takes them to forgive their S/O?)

☆ If Bucky feels he's in the right he can and will be petty, such as brushing you off, or making sarcastic comments. He typically won't confront you because of the attitude he holds, but when you decide to apologize he's ready to talk it out. He accepts your apology in time, (depending on what you did) but he is still standoffish for some time after, due to his trust issues.

☆ When he fucks up he is all over fixing it. He starts the apology in a very formal manner, stating how he knows he what he did was wrong, how he'll do better. The second part of the apology is him being (too) nice for the next week, as said on L his love language is acts of service so he'll overcompensate, and do every task you needed done.

R - Rules. (boundaries they have.)

☆ His "main" boundaries are focused around his past, such as you're not allowed to pry when it comes to asking about it - he will talk about it in his own time. You're also not allowed (at least for a long time) to touch the scars he has next to where his arm is attached, or the attachment itself. As far as other boundaries go, he doesn't want you to go further than hand holding, and a quick goodbye kiss in public, and he hates it when you pity him out right - keep that in your head.

S - Security. (how protective are they of their S/O?)

☆ He is very protective of you, not in a weird controlling way, but he always checks in out of fear someone will use you to get to him for one reason or another. This protectiveness isn't really that obvious, more just him checking in on you, and keeping an eye out when you're out together.

T - Time. (how long does it takes to fall for their S/O?)

☆ Bucky does take quite a bit of time to actually fall in love, but him finding you attractive/intriguing is very fast if not immediate. It takes about 2-3 months for him to ask you out (though he does flirt for a while first), and about 5-7 months of dating to "love" you.

U - Upset (what things upset them in a relationship?)

☆ He can get upset from a few things namely; everything said in R, when you grab him first in his post nightmare state or during/after a panic attack (he wants to be the one to initiate contact, because sometimes he doesn't want to be touched), and if you disagree on politics - although Bucky isn't the kind of guy to compromise on those so it most likely won't happen, because he wouldn't be dating you in the first place.

V - Vacation. (what kind of traveler are they with their S/O?)

☆ Bucky's a NERD!! He likes to go to places with rich history/culture, and he won't take a second to rest, he just wants to see everything, can you blame him? If you're the kind of person who wants to spend a day relaxing by the pool, I'm sorry, but he will leave you behind without hesitation.

W - Words. (promises they make to their S/O.)

☆ Bucky promises to never hurt you in any way shape or form, he promises to protect you agianst others who wish to harm you, and he promises to never leave you behind as he doesn't want anyone, especially you, to feel how he felt.

X - Xenial. (how they make you feel welcome/what makes them feel welcome?)

☆ Bucky likes to do little things for you to make you feel welcome/comfortable around him. This comes in different shapes and forms, such as complimenting you in every which way, making mental notes of things you like, and always being ready to help you out with anything you may need.

☆ Bucky feels the most welcome when it's explicitly said that he is. You using your words to validate him, not even compliment him, but just say he's doing fine, it does more for him then you could imagine.

Y - Yearning. (do they miss their S/O easily? what do they do about it?)

☆ Bucky is able to survive being isolated for long periods of time, even going as far to do it intentionally, but you've weakened him. He misses you rather fast. Now, it's not like he's going to cry over it or anything, but he will sometimes sit up at night unable to sleep without you next to him.

☆ Let's say that you two, for whatever reason, can't call. Bucky is an old fashioned guy, he likes to keep a least one physical photo of you on him at all times. He says it's his good luck charm; he would never tell you however, is that when you two are separated he keeps the photo as close as possible at nights because it calms him down from his nightmares.

Z - Zzz. (sleeping habits/how they cuddle.)

☆ As said so many times throughout this list, Bucky gets nightmares, and sometimes he can't fall back asleep afterwards so he gets up to go do his own thing, because of this while the two of you do sleep near eachother, you rarely cuddle. It's not even that he doesn't want to cuddle, he does, it's the fact he feels like a burden any time he wakes you, so instead he lied and told you he doesn't like them.

☆ Other sleep facts about him is that he runs hot at night, somewhere earlier it's said he's cold to touch, but for whatever reason he can not have more than one blanket on him, plus your body heat.

☆ His typical sleepwear is a pare of shorts, and if you want to count them, his dogtags. During the colder months he'll add a long sleeve shirt, or even just a standard tee, depends on his mood.

MARVEL MASTERLIST

#marvel x male reader #bucky x male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #male reader #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #mlm fanfic #gay

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1mnobodywhoareyou · 1 day

Note

MORE BIRTHDAY PROMPTS

"if i hear the word 'birthday' one more time-" for Luke.

i haven't proofread this but i imagine you'll forgive me. 😏 and i was GONNA write one more scene at the end but then i knew that it would be a slippery slope into this spiralling out of control so it ends where it ends. thank you <3

“Where’s Luke?” Julie asks as she looks around the room. She mentally counts everyone present and reconfirms to herself that they are down one guitarist.

She’s met with shrugs and unknowing hums from everyone else and sighs. “How did we lose Luke? We haven’t even gone anywhere yet!”

“Have you checked the studio?” Reggie asks.

“No, I haven’t checked the studio. I’ve been busy helping Alex in the kitchen. Have YOU checked the studio?” She’s shorter with him than she means to be but she’s been working her ass off to make this day perfect and now everyone else has somehow managed to lose the guest of honour.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I’ll go check. Just…” She pauses to point at everyone, “nobody move. Please.”

Julie yanks the door open. She turns to glare at the others one last time before marching outside.

She reaches the studio and stops. She takes another deep breath. If he’s not in here, she has no idea what she’s going to do. If he is in here… Well, that’s a whole other problem.

Then, she hears the plink of a piano key. And another. They’re just barely loud enough to be heard and try as she might, Julie can’t pick up any sort of pattern or melody to them.

Julie grabs the handle and pulls the door open.

It’s dark. The only sources of light are the windows behind her and the greenhouse at the back of the space. There’s just enough to make out Luke’s figure hunching over the piano.

“Luke! Where have you been? It’s time to go!”

“I’ve been… here.” Luke lazily waves his arm, gesturing toward the space.

There’s a slight crack in his voice and Julie’s face screws up in concern. She takes a few tentative steps toward him before quickly making up her mind and rushing up to him.

She ducks down to catch his gaze, eyes wetter than she’s used to seeing on the larger than life ghost. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

His voice cracks again as he tries to answer her, “If I hear the word ‘birthday’ one more time…”

Juie’s brows furrow in confusion, “Do you not want-”

He shakes his head to silence her. “No, it’s just… hard to explain.”

“Do you want to try?”

He drops his chin to his chest. “Not really,” he mutters.

“Okay, well you don’t have to.” She stands back up and shoves him over to make room for her on the bench.

She sits beside him and holds her arms out.

Luke collapses into them. Julie lets out a light huff when his head hits her shoulder but wraps her arms around him without comment. They hadn’t really talked about his birthday in the last year and how it feels for him to be back but not. Everyone else’s birthdays had come and gone and he’d been his usual, bubbly, loving self for all of them. Julie imagines that they’ve all been doing quite a bit of acting since the ghost boys first showed up in her studio, herself included. Nobody quite knows how to navigate this weird half-life they’ve found themselves in so they’d just been taking each moment as it comes. Unfortunately that means some feelings were probably being left unprocessed by the lot of them.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers to him as she rubs her hand up and down his back.

Luke’s entire body starts shaking as he starts to cry in earnest.

Julie coos platitudes and shushes gently as she holds Luke through his sobs.

He pulls away as his crying slows and Julie reaches out to cradle his face. She wipes the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything today. What do you want?” she asks softly.

Luke places his hands over hers. “I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t even remember the last time I had a truly good birthday. Last year was… Well, you know. And before that it was just… complicated” He leans further into her touch.

Julie takes her free hand and sweeps Luke’s hair back from his face. “Well, we can do whatever. We can ignore today completely. We can hang here with the crew. We can kick everyone out so you can be alone. Whatever you need.”

Luke’s silent for a moment. He takes their hands down from his face and holds hers in his lap. “You made cake?”

Julie nods. “Yeah, with Alex. He said it’s your favourite.”

“Can we… can we take some to my parents?”

Julie cocks her head to the side as she considers the request. “You don’t want to-”

“No,” Luke interrupts her thought, “I know they can’t see me and it’s better that way. But could you do like you did for the song?”

“Yeah. We can do that… Do you mean like, right now?”

Luke squeezes her hand and looks up at her. “Well, in a bit? Maybe we could just sit here a little while longer?”

“Yeah, Luke of course. Whatever you need. I imagine the others will start getting antsy soon though.”

Luke leans back into Julie. “Let ‘em.”

With a soft chuckle, Julie wraps her arms around him and breathes in these last few moments of peace.

#thank you!#answered ask #prompt fill #nobodys fics #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #julie molina

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the-authoress-writes · 1 day

Text

Up Where We Belong Part Two

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties), some to-be-expected cursing, depiction of the beginnings of a panic attack (it doesn’t become a full blown one).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: I intended this to be a two part story, but as always, it didn’t turn out that way (my brain is like a mushroom farm at this point), and the third part of this (fingers crossed), is going to be the final part.

I’m choosing to look on the bright side and I’m telling myself I’m more than halfway done with this.

*sighs in frustrated writer*

This part is a little more MavDad than shippy, but it’s where this wanted to go, so…

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs)

I can’t stop, apparently.

So here we go!

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had been expecting a normal day when he met her.

Or, well, as normal as a day could get for him.

It was a bright and sunny weekend at the Apple Valley Airshow, where Mav had just flown an aerobatic sequence for the gathered crowds in Bianca, his beloved P-51, and Bradley had not taken much convincing to come out for a day with his dad and the chance to see planes, despite the fact that he was already around them Monday to Friday.

Most aviators were plane nerds after all, and airshows like these were heaven for aviators like him and Bradley.

“You okay back there, Baby Goose?” Mav asked through the comms, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the engine of the P-51.

“Yeah—yeah, I’m fine,” Bradley breathlessly replied from the backseat, his exhale turning into a weak chuckle. “You’re crazy, you know that, right, Dad?”

“Your father and uncles might have mentioned that a few times,” Mav grinned.

He gracefully looped the venerable Mustang around and brought her smoothly onto the runway, mindful of the P-51’s unstrengthened landing gear, gently flaring the aircraft so she caressed the tarmac, unlike the unflared, hard landing he instinctively would have done in any Navy aircraft.

After an uneventful taxi back to the flight line, he pushed the canopy back and climbed out of the cockpit, Bradley a second behind him.

“At least we didn’t have anyone shooting at us this time around,” Mav half-joked, patting his boy on the back, once he’d also jumped down from the wing.

“Thank Heaven for small mercies,” the younger man muttered.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, Brads.”

Bradley chewed the inside of his cheek, before amusement shone in his eyes, and he cracked a smile. “Okay, yeah, it was pretty cool.”

“She’s still got moves, huh?”

His son looked affectionately at the P-51. “Yeah, she does.

But it’s not the plane, it’s the pilot, isn’t it?”

“I’m willing to share when it’s this girl,” Mav grinned, patting her sun-warm silver fuselage.

After the two of them had stacked their parachutes and harnesses between the landing gear, Mav was busy putting the chocks on the wheels, when he heard a smooth female voice say, “Excuse me?”

“Yes?” Bradley replied.

“Is this the P-51 which flew a few minutes ago?

She is a P-51, right?”

“That’d be a yes to both questions, ma’am.”

A low, rich chuckle. “Are you the owner?”

Bradley scoffed amusedly. “Nah, that’ll be my dad.

Hey Dad, someone wants to talk to you!”

Mav ducked out from beneath the undercarriage and under a propeller, coming face to face with a very unexpected, but not unwelcome sight.

The first thing he noticed about the woman standing before him was her air of extreme competence, which immediately had him wanting to know more about her.

(He was decidedly ignoring the memory of Halo saying he had a competency kink after he’d told some stories from when he was in relationships at a Dagger Squad get together [non-explicit; the Daggers, especially Bradley, didn’t need to hear… intimate details of his life, after all].)

A quick appraisal had him estimating her to be older than Bradley, but younger than him.

She was beautiful, with lips glossed just right, shining, lush hair that he could already imagine running his hand through, a smile he could look at forever, and a figure that ticked all his proverbial boxes, visible even with her long, loose brown cardigan and cream button-down shirt over black jeans.

But what hit him like Mach 10 (and he would know) was the spark in her eyes, keen and intelligent, and they held a warmth and passion that called to him.

“Hi,” he began, extending his hand, ignoring the fact that he was stunned by this woman so he could attempt to be his usual self.

He’d been delighted to show her around Bianca, and he even went so far as to let her sit in the old girl.

Mav had not been expecting what she said about the book she was writing—her granduncle’s story hit home on practically every level possible.

He was absolutely honest with her when he said he wanted to help, but… he’d absolutely be lying if he said he didn’t give it with the hope that she’d call him in the first place.

It’d been years since he’d felt like this about someone, and he tried to stifle a smile as he recalled how they’d collided on Bianca’s wing, his quick reflexes preventing them from falling off the wing with a snapped-out right hand on the cockpit edge, his left instinctually protectively pressing her against him.

He’d never forget the way his heart raced as he realized their proximity, his battle-honed wits prompting him to swiftly move his hand before she could register his touch, though he kept his arm close enough to catch her if she began to slip off the trailing edge.

“What’s with that look, Dad?”

Bradley’s voice brought Mav back to the present, where he sat on his favorite chair in his hangar, Bianca’s flight log book in his right hand, pen in his left. “What look?”

Bradley shut the locker for the safety gear, the last thing on the P-51’s post-flight checklist, and strode over to the couch opposite. “You look sappy.”

“I’m just happy I had a great day flying in my girl, and with my Baby Goose, no less.” It was not a lie at all, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Any other person would have probably bought that excuse, but Bradley was one of the very few people he’d ever met in his life who could read him like a book in every situation, a skill unfortunately inherited from his father. “Uh-huh, sure, I think you’re just thinking about __,” his son incisively replied.

Mav absently bit his lip, “…That obvious, kid?”

“…It’s about as obvious as an F-14 in cloudless sky at 2,000 feet.”

“So, pretty damn obvious,” he squinted speculatively.

“Yeah.

You guys were like something out of a romcom, honestly.

Was that thing on the wing on purpose?” Bradley grinned.

“No, it wasn’t,” he smiled.

“Because you know, if you were any shorter, you might’ve ended up kissing her.”

Mav felt himself turn a little red, but was still amused despite himself. “Shut up.”

Heedless, Bradley continued, “You would have liked that, I’m sure.”

“You’re just as bad as your father,” he sighed.

His gosling’s grin turned sentimental. “Learned it from both of them.”

Bradley had openly called him “Dad” for years before, and again after their reconciliation, but statements like that never failed to warm his heart.

Helpless, Mav stood, and, going over to his son, stooped slightly to place a hand on his shoulder and a kiss at his temple. “Love you, Baby Goose.”

Before he could pull away, Bradley wrapped both arms tightly around him. “Love you too, Dad.

Mav was more than content to let the moment sit, the two of them still making up for almost twenty years of no hugs from the other.

Bradley eventually broke the silence with, “I’ll go heat up that pizza we got from the grocery last night, Dad, how about that?”

He frowned, pulling back, “I can do that, B,—”

“I’ll do it, Dad, you just sit and relax,” Bradley said, already walking towards the Airstream, and just as he was about to step inside the silver trailer, the kid fired off, “Think about your writer!”

Mav spluttered, looking incredulously at the Airstream’s door.

Bradley was really too much like Goose and him, he chuckled silently to himself.

The weekend’s end saw the two of them return to the duplex he and Bradley had bought together last year, sitting about fifteen minutes drive in the Bronco (about half that on the Ninja, at full Mav power) away from TOPGUN, where they were both posted as instructors; Mav himself permanently, Bradley, for a three-year period before his next deployment cycle.

Monday dawned, and he found himself glancing at the screen of his phone every time it dinged, so much so, that said son repeatedly glanced between him and the cellphone laid out on the Officer’s Mess Hall table over lunch.

“What?” Mav asked, confused at the younger man’s consterned expression.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my Dad?

You have not looked away from your phone since we sat down, Mav.

You used to have no idea what TikTok was, and now you look like Hangman after he posts a new photo on Insta, and I would know—God, he was insufferable that time in Sigonella.”

“…I’m guessing Insta is Instagraph?”

Bradley made a noise quite like his callsign. “l—you don’t even—Instagram, Mav, Instagram.

It’s like you’re expecting a call or so—” brown eyes excitedly widened as dots were abruptly connected, “—ohh shit; you gave her your number, didn’t you, your writer?”

Mav rolled his eyes, “She’s not my writer, Brads, but I… I did give her my number just in case she needed more help with—research.”

“Oh, research, sure, Mav; I bet you’d love to help her with her research,” the younger man chortled.

“You sound like your Uncle Slider.”

“Uh-huh—” Bradley brushed off, “we’re getting off topic here, did she say she’d call you or something?”

“No, she didn’t.

I told her to call if she needed me.” He wondered if, instead of being subtle, he should have just out and asked her to call him—or even just asked her out directly; the Maverick of over thirty years ago would have.

His son’s eyes comically widened. “Please, for the love of God, tell me you did not say it like that—that is as bad as you serenading that ex of yours with, of all the songs, “Abracadabra” by The Steve Miller Band.”

“Hey, that’s a good song!” Mav protested.

“It’s also creepy as hell—‘I wanna reach out and grab ya’?

Tell me you hear that?!”

Well, when the lyrics were said like that… “In hindsight, I hear it, no, I did not say it like that, and now who’s getting off topic, Roo?”

“Fine—so you were playing subtle, huh?” Bradley wrinkled his nose, tilting his head from side to side. “Well, we’ll just have to see if the subtle play works, because the Maverick charm was on max power, so you likely made an impression—”

“Thanks, kid?”

“—so I’d say… there’s a sixty-five percent chance she’ll call you,” was the determination.

Mav paused and raised an eyebrow. “Only sixty-five?”

“I’m taking into account the variable that she might not go for… people like you, you know.”

“…No.”

Mav could see both himself and Nick in Bradley’s shit-eating grin. “Old men.”

“An old man, huh?

Well, this is an old man who can still kick the asses of people less than half his age, and you too, Brads, six ways to Sunday, in the air or on the mats.”

A fork promptly got brandished daringly. “I almost had you when we did that demo on the death spiral two weeks ago, Dad, and if you hadn’t slipped my headlock on Wednesday, I’d have gotten you to tap out.”

Mav reached over and affectionately ruffled his son’s brown curls. “Almost only works with grenades, Baby Goose; now eat your shitty mashed potatoes.”

The week ticked by, and after every hop, he tried not to make it too obvious to Bradley, whose locker was right next to his in the Instructor’s Locker Room, that his phone was the first thing he checked.

By Wednesday evening, he was starting to lose what hope he had, and he ignored his son’s sad look as he surreptitiously looked at his phone.

On Thursday evening, Bradley slung an arm around his shoulder as they walked together to the parking lot. “I know I give you shit about being old, Dad, but you’ve still got more than enough charm and looks for women to be attracted to you.

I mean, you should have heard the stuff Phoe and Halo were saying about you during the detachment training—ugh, especially after Dogfight Football.

The thirst was real.”

At his confused look, Bradley continued, “Long story short, they said you were—bleh—hot.

I’m not repeating exactly what they said, even though I can, it’s all seared into my memory, unfortunately,” he finished, shuddering.

Mav laughed, “I’m sorry for the trauma, but, what, uh, brought this train of thought on, Baby Goose?”

He was pressed closer into a Hawaiian shirt-clad side. “I know you’re sad about not getting called by your writer.”

Knowing it was useless to deny it, he shook his head, “I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sting, because I really thought we had a connection, but it’s probably for the best, because I’m… well, you know.”

“No, I don’t,” his son adamantly stated. “Because you’re… kind and loving, with a heart about a billion sizes too big for his body, who gives so much of himself in literally everything—except maybe following orders; any woman would be happy with you.”

Mav reached and gave the vague vicinity of a shoulder a loving pat. “You give me too much credit.”

“No, Dad, you would make someone very happy—I want to see you happy,” Bradley squeezed a Nomex jacketed arm.

“I am happy, kiddo;” he cheerfully stated, “I can fly, I have the rest of the Flyboys, the Daggers, Bianca, and most importantly, I have you, my not-so little boy, who’s become a better man than I could have hoped.”

Bradley halted in his tracks, and tugged him into a hug with a laugh that could have been a sob. “Fuck, Dad, how do you just say shit like that?”

“Like what, that I’m so proud of you?” Mav beamed.

His son’s heatless “Shut up, will you, old man?” sounded suspiciously wobbly, but Mav chose not to remark on it, and hugged back before they continued walking after a moment.

“But back to my point,” the younger man pointed, “unless there’s something you’re not telling me about your relationship with Bianca, she doesn’t count as a woman in your life.

I know you have me, the Daggers, and the Flyboys, but it’s different from being in love and getting that love back.” Bradley suddenly snapped his fingers, “I know, I should start you a dating app profile!”

“Oh no, I’ve heard horror stories about dating apps, and I’m not desperate, Baby Goose.”

Bradley threw both hands up, “It’s not about desperation, Hangman has—okay, that’s not a good example—but you know, you need to put yourself out there more.

Meet someone.

Come on, Dad, please?”

The kid looked so hopeful, he couldn’t outright say no. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yes!

It’s not a no, I’ll take it.

I’ll look through the photos at the hangar tomorrow night—we gotta pick the right one—that can make or break things!

Maybe one of you in the dress whites or blues—or hey, ladies love the flight suit, and it’ll be even better if you’re in front of your F-18…”

At Bradley’s musing, Mav had a smile on his face all the way to his Kawasaki, and the whole way home, trailing in the Bronco’s wake.

After work early Friday evening, both men began the preparations for their weekly getaway to the hangar, packing their respective bags with whatever they deemed necessary for a two-day stay in the Mojave.

Mav was busying himself with checking his duffel before he hopped in the shower when he heard clattering from his kitchen and immediately, a dismayed “Damn it!” rang through the house.

“You okay, kiddo?” he called out.

“Yeah, I just—we’re out of Doritos!”

As amusing as it sounded, that did constitute a little bit of an emergency—the triangular chips were Bradley’s go-to snack, ever since he was a child, and he’d be bemoaning the lack of them the whole two days at the hangar if they really were out. “Did you check your kitchen?”

“I looked there first—we can’t leave without Doritos, Dad!”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You still have time to go grab some if you want, I still have to take a shower, Brads,” he offered.

“Good idea, I’ll just go to the store and grab some, be right back!”

“Okay, drive safe!”

“Always!”

Mav waited to hear his front door shut before turning for his bathroom and starting the shower, tossing his shirt in the hamper on the way.

A few minutes later, he’d just begun to rinse off when he heard a faint noise from downstairs; his phone was ringing, he realized.

He initially paid it no mind—he’d been getting scam calls the last few days, which always ended up disappointing him—but then… it kept ringing.

And ringing.

Hope suddenly bloomed in his chest, and he hurried to get out of the shower.

He nearly faceplanted on his own bathroom floor in his haste, stumbling when his lunge for his towel missed, but he was able to keep himself upright and the second attempt had the fabric in his hand, then around his waist.

Mav dashed out the bathroom and down the stairs, tapping the green “accept call” button.

“Pete Mitchell,” he spoke into his phone, trying not to sound like he’d just run a marathon while his chest heaved.

A slight pause later, a hesitant “Hi,” came over the phone, and his heart leapt. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at the Apple Valley Airshow—”

She had to be joking if she thought she was that easily forgettable. “__, right?

The writer,” he replied, pushing the dripping strands of his hair out of his face.

“Yeah, that’s me, you said I could call if I had any questions.”

“Uh-huh.

I’m guessing you have one,” he smiled.

The following invite to the hangar was twofold; he’d be able to help her without the hassle of dealing with emails or something like that, and he’d be able to gauge if she was actually interested in him.

He remembered the way she’d slightly frozen, when he stepped out from under Bianca, how she’d glanced at his hand when he’d extended it for a handshake.

But he’d been wrong about a great many things before, and he didn’t want to immediately assume she was interested, because everyone knew what the first three letters of assume were, and for all he knew, she really just needed help.

Regardless, he smiled while they bantered as easily as breathing; it was invigorating, and… maybe a little bit of a turn-on, if he was honest.

(Maybe Halo was right.)

Shortly after they said goodbye, Mav sent the address of the hangar with a “How does 3:30 sound to you?” to her number, and three beats after it registered delivered, a “That’s perfect—see you tomorrow 😊” message came in, which had him sigh like a teenager as he leaned against the counter for a moment, before he pushed off to get dressed.

By the time Bradley came back with four grocery bags full of Doritos, from two different groceries, Mav was already dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, ready to go. “You got enough Doritos there, Baby Goose?” he gawked at the sheer amount of chips.

“I’m restocking us, Dad, it’s not all for the weekend,” the younger man replied, emptying one grocery bag and a half into Mav’s snack cabinet. “I just need to put another bag and this half at mine, and the rest I’m taking.”

He bit down on his laughter and watched as his son dashed next door to stock his own snack cabinet, before returning in time to catch him staring at the “That’s perfect—see you tomorrow 😊” message on his phone.

“You’re looking sappy again,” Bradley squinted suspiciously at him. “It’s almost like you got a call from your writer.”

Mav tried to keep his face neutral, but as always, it was pointless with his gosling.

The kid’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, she did call you, didn’t she?!

Fuck, you still got it, Dad.”

He waved off, “There’s no guarantee she actually is interested in me like that, and she called me because she needs my help.”

“Oh, your help, of course,” Bradley grinned. “Well?

What’s the profile?”

Mav rolled his eyes. “She wrote a dogfight scene she can’t cut, and she wants to make sure the tactics are sound.

So I invited her to the hangar tomorrow so we don’t have to do any emails and stuff.”

The younger man whistled, impressed. “That was smooth as hell, Dad.

You have an idea of when she’s coming over?”

“1530ish.”

Bradley planted his hands on his hips with a sigh. “Well, that’s a good amount of time, but we’ll still have some work to do.”

“Work—what are you planning, Baby Goose?”

“We have to make the hangar a little neater than usual—make you seem like a responsible adult,” his son replied, as if it were the most obvious thing.

Mav burst into laughter while picking up his duffel. “If your father, your uncles, and nearly forty years in the Navy couldn’t do that, what makes you think spiffing up the hangar could?”

“Worth a shot, you never know—she might be fooled,” Bradley muttered, locking Mav’s front door behind them both.

“I heard that!”

When the afternoon set over the hangar the next day, now the neatest it’d been in a long time (admittedly, it wasn’t that bad, Mav just had a particular system, which didn’t much look like one in the first place), Bradley clapped his hands, “Now, I’m going to head into town, Dad.”

“What for?”

“Dad, your writer is coming in about ten minutes, and the last thing you need is me cramping your style, so I’m going to head into town, I’ll be back at around… let’s call it 2345–please don’t be naked when I come back—”

“Bradley!” Mav exclaimed, a little bit scandalized, though they were both hardly virginal.

“—and, and, prior notice of if I shouldn’t come back would be greatly appreciated.”

“Bradley!”

“What?

I’m just covering the bases.”

“There’s no bases to cover here, I’m just going to review her scene,” he replied.

“Annnd?” the younger man deadpanned.

“And then… we’ll see what happens.

But all I know is I’m not about to—whatever you’re thinking is going to happen.” Mav sighed, picking up a screwdriver that had fallen off the maintenance cart next to Bianca, and placed it back in the toolbox. “And I don’t… this probably isn’t going to go anywhere, because—I’m pushing sixty, kiddo, and really… I don’t think I have casual—anything—left in me anymore.”

Bradley slowly nodded, a proud look on his face. “Good for you, Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” he replied, nodding, mustache quirking up. “I’m happy you know what you want.

But you gotta be more optimistic than this, because who knows, this could lead to your more-than casual something.” Bradley slapped him on the arm, “Come on, where’s the ‘I’m going anyway’ Maverick Mitchell who proved he could fly a suicide mission on a crazy profile, with fifteen seconds to spare?”

Mav scoffed self-deprecatingly, “Doing crazy pilot shit; that makes sense to me, Baby Goose, but… relationships—I’ve always FUBAR-ed them.

Oh God, I don’t actually know what I was thinking, giving her my number—this was a mistake,” he muttered, thoughts beginning to spiral as his breathing picked up.

Bradley grabbed both his arms, squeezing them to ground him. “Hey—hey, Dad, look at me—look at me.

Take a breath.

You did not make a mistake, you made a connection with someone, you offered to help them, and she took you up on the offer.

At the least, you help someone in need, and you come out the other side with a friend; if everything goes well, maybe you get more than friendship.

But like you said, you’re just checking the scene she’s having trouble with, like she asked.

Don’t put pressure on yourself—just see what happens.

You got this, Dad.”

“I got this,” Mav murmured, partly confirming his son’s statement, partly reassuring himself, and partly asking if he did, indeed “got” it.

“You got this; come here.” Bradley pulled him into a tight hug, one to which Mav clung, while he got ahold of himself.

When he pulled back from his son’s embrace and repeated “I got this,” a minute or so later, it was still slightly shaky, but held some of the classic Maverick confidence.

“That’s the spirit.” The younger man checked his watch, wincing. “I don’t want to cramp your style, and I’m cutting it close, but I don’t want to leave you if you’re going to spiral again.

You good, Dad?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” Bradley frowned.

“Yeah, I’ll just check on Bianca a little while I’m waiting.”

His son exhaled heavily. “You do that, alright?

Don’t get in your head—don’t think, just do, remember?”

“I remember,” Mav smirked.

“Okay.

I’m gonna go now.” Bradley cautiously backed out of the hangar, as if ready to pull him into another hug if he showed the slightest tell of another mental spiral. “Call me if I shouldn’t come back, and remember, 2345!

Please don’t be naked!!”

“Go!!” Mav chuckled, feeling mostly like himself again, if not slightly nervous.

“Love you!”

“Love you more, kiddo!”

Soon, the sound of the Bronco’s engine rumbled through the dry air before it faded, leaving the air still and silent except for the distant sounds of the Mojave.

Before his and Bradley’s reconciliation, he was used to the stillness and silence, a consequence of choosing to make the hangar his home a few years ago, upon his assignment as a test pilot at NAWS China Lake, despite the long commute; he’d never liked base housing, and avoided it like the plague.

He’d even found the stillness and quiet comforting in a sadistic way, thought it was maybe something he deserved in cynical moments.

But now, the hangar which Hondo had once referred to as his “Fortress of Solitude”, was a place of life, love, and joy, the old silence and stillness now the strange one.

Before he could think too much about his relationship with silence, he went to Bianca and started some busywork with her engine, allowing his mind to get lost—and more importantly, his body to relax—in the process.

He’d gotten so absorbed in his beloved plane’s maintenance that he almost missed the sound of an unfamiliar car pulling up to the hangar.

Immediately, his heart started racing again, but he’d accepted that for better or worse, this whole thing was going to play out as it would; if that involved him fucking something up, he just prayed he could fix it.

Moment of truth; the car door opened.

“Ghostrider, up and ready,” he muttered to himself.

“Hello?” she uncertainly called.

“In here,” he replied.

Mav swallowed thickly upon seeing her; he liked to think he had a decent memory, but his memory did no justice to her.

The desert afternoon light streaming in through the open hangar door haloed her in an otherworldly way, only making her even more beautiful to him, the breeze blowing her hair around and billowing her loose blouse.

His eyes were drawn to the little smile at the corner of her lips, and it was only because he’d been looking there, that he realized she was speaking.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” he brightly said, hoping that that wasn’t too out of left field from what she’d said, because he’d completely missed it.

Her smile widened, “Not going to miss it—for all I know, this is a one time opportunity.”

The replies that immediately came to mind sounded creepy, stupid, or worse, so he settled for, “Who said it was?”

She chuckled, lighting up her already sparkling gaze, biting her lip briefly before looking around the hangar, her eyes soon landing on Bianca. “Great place you’ve got here; must’ve been hard to get, though, with it being Navy land.”

“Not that hard when you’re got friends in high places.” Mav recalled the moment Ice and the Flyboys gave him the title to the hangar for his fortieth birthday, which they were celebrating along with his promotion to Commander.

She tilted her head slightly, and he realized that she probably heard the somber tone in his voice—remembering Ice was still hard, but it was getting better.

“Anyway, uh,” he clapped his hands, pushing forward, “you had a scene that needs checking?”

She blinked as if clearing her head, and raised the leather messenger bag on her shoulder. “I have my laptop right here.”

Mav gestured to his couch, and as they moved towards it, he prayed that he wouldn’t somehow make a fool of himself today.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

Because the P-51 was an Air Force aircraft, her landing gear was not designed for hard, unflared Navy-style landings, which are flown in that manner for carrier operations.

However, even if naval aviators land on a full-length runway, carrier habits die hard, and if you watch planespotting streams, such as my favorite, L.A FLIGHTS, you can make reasonable guesses as to who was former Navy, as the landings will tend have a shallower flare at landing.

Chocks

The Apple Valley Airshow takes place every year in the town of Apple Valley, located in San Bernardino, California.

(I considered setting this story at the annual Miramar Airshow, which takes place at MCAS (formerly NAS) Miramar, but I imagine that Mav would probably want to avoid going to MCAS Miramar for obvious reasons.)

The trailing edge of a wing is its back edge, the edge closer to the tail—its opposite is the leading edge, the edge closer to the nose.

The chair I write as Mav’s favorite chair is the one he sits down in in the opening scene of TG:M.

As Mav is a Maverick in most aspects of his life, I thought it was perfect for Mav to be left-handed—and as Tom himself is left-handed, it couldn’t get more perfect.

The F-14 is notable as being quite large as fighter jets go, and she is practically impossible to miss in the sky, once within visual range; and she is sometimes called the Flying Tennis Court, a nickname she shares with the McDonnell Douglas/Boeing F-15 Eagle.

Bradley and Mav living in what is essentially the same house, having bought a duplex together, is something I can see them doing after they reconcile, because to me, these two are basically orange cats with separation anxiety, and I feel like they would be the epitome of healthy codependency, if that’s possible.

Mav power is a play on words/reference to the engine throttle conditions of fighter jets; Max power is the maximum engine power with afterburner (wet power), and MIL (which stands for Military) power is the maximum engine power without afterburner (dry power)

Do not quote me on this, but as I understand it, in the Navy, you don’t deploy all the time.

There are years you are given a land-based assignment, like Bradley being assigned to TOPGUN, before you are put back on ship deployments for a similar amount of years.

TL;DR: Deployment cycles in the Navy have you rotating between ship-based assignments and land-based assignments every few years.

NAS Sigonella

“Abracadabra” by The Steve Miller Band

I chose this song because of this piece of art by @woodsywarbler, and “Abracadabra” is my favorite song by The Steve Miller Band, despite the really creepy lyrics.

A death spiral is this little bit of crazy pilot shit, as shown in TG:M. (Timestamp 7:34)

Nomex is the flame-resistant material which flight suits are made of, and it’s also what Mav’s green jacket is made of.

Doritos came out in 1964, plenty of time for Bradley, ‘80s baby that he is, to develop a yen for them.

(Flight) Profile: a graphical timeline of the operational characteristics, configurations, and speeds of an aircraft along a flight path in a specific phase of flight or maneuver.

FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition (or Repair, people argue which word the last letter is)

Fortress of Solitude

Ghostrider was Mav and Merlin’s operational callsign during the Layton Mission, and again, do not quote me on this, but you get to keep the operational callsigns you received during notable missions, a detail alluded to in the TG:M screenplay, so Mav uses it here to psych himself up.

Taglist

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@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

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@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick fic #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell x reader #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tom cruise

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