#rise of phoenixes series gifs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deakyjoe · 1 month

Text

Pattern Breaker

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love

Summary: A love confession turns to more once Bob knows you’re interested.

Warnings: 18+, smut (!!), protected p in v sex, f receiving oral (pussy eating king), vaginal fingering, grinding/dry humping, handjob, kissing, groping, scratching/marking, Bob fucks, love confessions, fluff, talks of bad dates, reader described as having hair and being shorter than Bob (but nothing else), swearing/cursing - let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 7.1k (it kinda ran away from me)

A/N: My humble contribution to the Bob Fucks Agenda 🫡

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Bob Floyd was head over heels in love with you.

Yet he had no idea what series of mistakes had landed him here. In the Hard Deck. With you. Sat next to him. In a tight booth. Your thigh pressed up against his. Tracing patterns with the tip of your finger on the back of his hand. Many would argue that this didn't seem like a bad thing. Why would something so intimate with someone he was in love with be a mistake? Well, the issue was that you were doing it in a totally platonic way.

You were doing it mindlessly too, as you engaged in idle conversation with Phoenix opposite you, which almost made it worse. Bob Floyd's brain was whirring at a million miles per second over something you were doing without even thinking about it. It took every ounce of self restraint to stop himself from moving. Closer to you or further away, he didn't know. But he tried to stay still. So very still. Just so you'd keep doing it.

He was also desperately trying to pay attention to the story you were telling Phoenix, about the latest bad first date you'd been on. It appeared to be a regular thing with you. A string of first dates where you knew before you'd even ordered the entrées that they wouldn't be the right guy for you. And you always had valid reasons, at least in Bob's opinion.

"He told me he doesn't like sunsets." You groaned. "Like, who doesn't like sunsets?"

Bob personally loved sunsets.

Phoenix frowned at you. "Did he give a reason why?"

Bob imagined that Phoenix was feeling a little guilty about the whole thing. After all, she was the one who'd set you up with this guy. But he was thankful for it. He didn't know what he'd do with himself when you finally managed to find the right guy and it wasn't him.

"Something about the day ending and having a mindset about being on the grind I think, I don't know." You sighed, pausing your finger's movement against the back of Bob's hand for a moment before carrying on. He almost had a heart attack when you pressed your cheek into his shoulder and started leaning against him as well.

"Sorry it didn't work out. I can find you another guy maybe, umm..." Phoenix trailed off with a thoughtful hum.

But you waved her off. "No, it's okay. I think I'm done with blind dates for now."

Bob's head snapped towards you. Oh?

"If you're sure." Phoenix started to rise from the table, pressing her hands into the wooded surface. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. See you two tomorrow."

"Goodnight, see you tomorrow." You smiled at her, nudging Bob with your elbow when he stayed silent.

He flinched away from you. "Ow! What? Oh. Yeah, goodnight."

Phoenix's eyes flicked between the two of you, an amused huff leaving her mouth before she gave you both a mock salute and left the bar.

There was a silence between the two of you for a moment as you relaxed against Bob's shoulder a little more.

"What about you? Ready to call it a night?" You asked, turning to rest your chin on his bicep so you could look up at his face.

He glanced at you briefly, turning away again when he realised how close your faces were in that position and cleared his throat. "No, I'm good here for a little longer. If you are?"

You nodded and sat up, extracting yourself from his touch completely. Bob almost sobbed at the loss of contact.

"Yeah, I'm good." You paused to take him in, how he wasn't looking directly at you. He did that sometimes. You always figured he was just a little awkward about eye contact. Which was a shame considering his eyes were your favourite shade of blue.

Bob did flicker his eyes towards you then, wondering why you were staring at him silently. "Are you okay?"

You shrugged. "I kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" He turned to face you properly, knees angled towards you to show that you had his full attention. "What about?"

You looked at him for a few seconds too long, enough to make him anxious and you think that maybe you'd given something away with your eyes. "You know how when we met we just clicked?"

Bob was surprised at that question. But he knew exactly what you meant. So he nodded. "Yeah."

You scrunched your nose and looked away from him for a second. "Well, I'm not clicking with any of these guys I'm going on blind dates with."

He knew that, you’d said as much. So he really didn't know where you were going with this. "Okay...”

"I just wish it was as easy as it was with you. Like we just work together so perfectly, I don't even feel like I'm trying with you."

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking sideways at you. "Uh-"

Your eyes widened and you were quick to clarify, hands held up in apology. "And not like I don't put any effort into it with you but just like I don't feel as if I'm constantly trying to make it work, y'know?"

He nodded again. "Sure."

You sighed frustratedly. "Do you get what I'm trying to say here, Bob?"

"Not really." He shook his head and gave a weak, apologetic smile.

You chuckled. "I'm trying to say that I've never clicked with a guy like I have with you."

"Right." He straightened up.

"But we're just friends." You said slowly.

He hesitated. "Mhm."

You squinted at him. "To cut it short I'm trying to say that I think I'm in love with you."

Bob could have fallen out of his seat.

"Oh!"

Now, that caught him really off guard.

"Well, I'm trying to figure out my feelings for you. Because they're certainly more than friendly!" You laughed quietly. "Which isn't really fair. To me or to you. But it's gotta be done because I'm sick of not clicking with men and being on dates where I'm just constantly thinking of how much easier it would be if I were sat across from you instead."

Bob ignored most of your rambling, fixating on one little statement. "Why's it not fair?"

Your face crumpled momentarily. "It's going to make it awkward for you if I am in fact in love with you. And it's unfair for me because I might be in love with a guy who only views me platonically."

Bob looked at you for a moment, eyes wide and almost pleading, and uttered your name softly.

You frowned. "What?"

He gave you a meaningful look.

"You do view me platonically, right?" You leant backwards. "Right?"

He glanced away from you before looking back, giving a short and sharp shake of his head. No.

The world shook around you.

"But- but you never made a move. I thought that you..." You trailed off into distressed thought.

"Oh, I made moves. Just not very obvious ones apparently." He cleared his throat with a quick cough, scrunching his face momentarily in embarrassment.

"Why did you never just say?"

"I guessed that you weren't interested since you never seemed to reciprocate my- my moves." He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed at the thought of his moves.

"But I'm all over you!" You exclaimed. "I'm so touchy!"

He froze and turned to you stiffly. "I thought you were just like that. With everyone!"

"Have you ever seen me touch another human being half as much as I touch you?" You said monotonously.

"Well..." He thought about it. He hadn't. You gave hugs, sure. But you certainly didn't stand with your head resting on anyone's shoulder, arms wrapped around their bicep like you did with him. You didn't sit next to anyone, legs resting over their thighs, like you did with him. You definitely didn't trace patterns on the back of anyone's hand like you had been with him earlier.

You let him think about it for a few moments before interrupting his thoughts. "You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you just say?"

Bob looked deep into your eyes, recognising the look of regret he could feel within himself. "By the time I had the courage to... the friendship was already solidified. And I thought it would ruin it."

"Oh, Bob." You smiled widely at him. "You should've said something. I had a huge crush on you when we first met."

Have a huge crush. Have.

He perked up slightly. "You did?"

No. Do.

"Yeah! I buried it after a while because I figured you weren't interested. And now I'm realising that I'm probably in love with you anyway." You found it almost funny how the two of you seemed to be in the exact same situation and yet had no idea how the other was feeling.

He decided to be honest. "It would certainly brighten my day if you were."

You had a thought suddenly. "Walk me home?"

Bob felt a sense of whiplash from the rapid change in topic. But didn't question it. "O-okay."

You grinned at him and motioned for him to get up, following him out of the booth and grabbing his hand once you were stood next to him. Not having to worry about closing out a tab with Penny since you'd been paying for drinks each time you ordered, you didn't hesitate in dragging him behind you out the back door of the Hard Deck and onto the beach.

You took a glimpse at Bob next to you, finding him already watching you. "Figured we could do the moonlit beach walk on the way back to my place."

He just nodded, not missing the way you were still grasping onto his hand as the two of you started walking in the direction of your home. The moonlight beach walk wasn't an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. You'd done it countless times before, in fact. It was just a nice thing to do that happened to involve some nice views that you both enjoyed. It just felt different this time, Bob thought to himself.

He had to ask. "Your last blind date, did he really not like sunsets?"

You looked at him, delighted by the seemingly random question. "Yeah. How off-putting is that?!"

"Very." Bob mumbled. "Y'know... I really like sunsets."

Ah, you saw what he was getting at.

"I know." You chirped. "I'll never forget the sunset on the day we met when you explained that the reason they're so colourful is because of the way the light scatters through the atmosphere. It was very purple that night."

His eyebrows shot up. He'd forgotten he'd told you that. But you were right. It had been very purple. He'd watched you take about thirty photographs of the sky. And knew then that he was in trouble.

The rest of the walk back to your place was quiet, a few passing comments made between the two of you as you pointed out a cute dog and Bob showed you where new flowers were beginning to blossom on a tree you regularly saw. Your hands stayed intertwined the whole time, swinging gently between your bodies.

It was easy. Just how it should be.

Silence shrouded the two of you as you approached your front door, wondering what was supposed to come next. Bob was still hung up on your sudden abandonment of your conversation back at the Hard Deck as you stopped at your door. Why had you dropped it?

The question escaped him as you suddenly tugged him a lot closer, so your chests almost touched, and lowered your voice.

"Come inside."

It wasn't proposed as a question, or even a request, but as more of a statement. Like you were telling him that he should follow you into your home to find out what happens next. Because of this, Bob could only reply with one thing.

"Okay."

There was no turning back now.

You beamed at him and rushed to unlock your door, flicking on a light switch once it was open and ushering him in behind you. Bob had been to your place countless times before, even crashed on your couch once or twice after nights there had run a little too long, but this time felt different. Just like the walk on the beach had.

He supposed it was because of what the two of you confessed earlier that night. But he still couldn't shake the thoughts about the fact that the conversation hadn't carried on to a point where he knew what was going to happen next between the two of you. Bob wanted answers. And he guessed that they were hidden in the depths of your home.

You guided him to your kitchen, offered him a drink which he politely declined, and stopped suddenly in the middle of the room to turn on your heel and look at him.

"Do you know why I asked you back here?"

He stilled a few paces in front of you. "Honestly? No."

You smiled at that. "Because I decided that I am."

Bob was even more confused. "Am what?"

You barked out a laugh like you suddenly realised you'd left out half of your sentence and that what you'd said had made no coherent sense. "In love with you. Absolutely head over heels. One hundred per cent.”

He said nothing in reply, sensing that you had more you wanted to say. He was right.

"And I wanted to be able to explore that possibility for us without prying eyes. In the privacy of my home." You huffed, slightly frustrated. Bob took a single step towards you. "I don't- I don't know how to say this."

He closed the gap, hands resting on your arms to reassure you. You'd never struggled to tell him anything and he certainly didn't want that to start now. "It's me. You can say anything to me. You know that. It's okay."

When you met his gaze again, your eyes were slightly glassy with tears. But you blinked them away. They were angry tears at yourself for taking this long to get to this point with him. It should've happened so much sooner.

Your eyes flickered to his lips. Bob knew what that meant, he was feeling it himself, but wanted you to say it.

Letting out a slightly shaky laugh, you composed yourself. "You might need to let me spiral and talk for a minute."

He smiled softly, surprised he wasn't doing his own spiralling and talking in this situation. "That's okay."

You nodded and sighed. "Okay, so. I don't want things to change between us. Well, I do. But, like, not everything. I still want us to be us. I still want to be able to tell you everything and have easy conversations and just go for walks on the beach and talk about meaningless things and have you explain stuff to me that you think I'll find interesting and sit close to each other just because we can not because we have to."

You stopped for breath and Bob felt like he was having to restrain his heart from bursting out of his chest.

"We'll still just be me and you and things will be easy between us. Like they always have been. But now... instead of sleeping on my couch after late nights, you'll- you'll sleep in my bed. And we'll kiss and, god, have a lot of sex I hope."

Bob chuckled at that and you joined him, happy to see that he wasn't freaking out at everything you were saying.

"We'll still be me and you but just... evolved. Right?"

Bob had started the evening knowing he was head over heels in love with you. He couldn't believe the night was ending with that love somehow growing even more, combining with yours to create some force that defied the laws of nature. The room was practically swimming in it, he could feel it prickling at the surface of his skin and taste it on the top of his tongue.

He nodded firmly at you. "Me and you but evolved."

You visibly relaxed under his hands and smiled giddily up at him. "Great, can you kiss me now?"

You didn't have to ask Bob twice.

The kiss started off sweet, almost innocent. A few, slightly open mouthed, pecks as the two of you giggled against each other. It was something new for the two of you. So even thought it felt right, it was still new territory to explore. But it didn't take long for it to take a turn. As soon as you opened your mouth fully to lick gently against Bob's lips, it was like something in him snapped.

An arm snaked around your waist and tugged you flush against him, chest to chest, and his other hand tangled in the back of your hair. His nose crammed into your cheek, his glasses falling slightly askew, as he licked into your mouth hotly with his head angled down to meet you halfway.

Your head whirled with the thought that he was good at this. Bob Floyd was an extraordinarily good kisser. Why hadn't you done this sooner?

You let out soft moans to encourage him despite him not even seeming shy about the idea anymore. In fact, Bob had no sense of restraint left in him. He'd waited so long for this, for you. And now he was lost in the feeling of your skin against his and the sounds you were making in reply to what he was doing. Which is why he let his hands drift across you more, not anchoring his touch to any specific place.

You felt like you were on fire, no time to breathe as breaks for oxygen were mere fractions of a second long. You'd never imagined him being capable of making you feel like this so quickly. Your lower abdomen burning with desire and your panties already practically soaked through. And he hadn't even touched you intimately yet. You could only hope that you were having half the same effect on him.

Bob's hands lowered themselves slowly, tracing along your ribcage, circling your waist, gripping at your hips, before he tentatively let them rest on your ass. You hummed in motivating appreciation and pushed yourself up even more to kiss him impossibly harder. He took that as a good sign, fingers digging into the flesh beneath them and rocking your pelvis towards his. Where you found that he was hard.

A noise rumbled in your chest, leaking out as a high pitched whine directly into his mouth.

Bob pulled away with a slight look of concern in his eyes which now held almost no trace of the blue shade you'd come to adore, pupils blown wide enough to engulf his irises. "Is this too much? We can slow down."

You shook your head, slowing down being the last thing you wanted. "No, I'm just surprised that you're so... handsy. I always thought you were a gentleman."

"Oh." He blushed a deep red, the colour reaching the tips of his ears. "I'm just eager, I guess. We can wait. I mean, I can wait. If it's too much."

You leaned back in closer to him, lips brushing across his. "Don't you think we've waited long enough?"

He did.

Somehow the second round of kissing was even more searing, almost consuming, than the first. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand gripping tightly onto his hair and tugging occasionally. Bob didn't let up squeezing at your ass after he'd realised that the sound you'd made previously was one of pleasure and not pain, rocking your hips into his a couple times more for good measure.

When his lips moved to trail a line of kisses down your jawline and onto your neck, your eyes practically rolled back into your head. This was too good to be true. You were stood in your kitchen, at almost midnight, and Bob was sucking a hickey into your neck. How was this even real?

You realised that if you didn't move soon then the two of you were going to end up fucking on the kitchen floor. And whilst you weren't totally against the idea, you figured you should at least offer him the comfort of a bed for your first time together.

"Bedroom, Floyd. Now." You gasped, grasping his hair to pull him away from your neck. But when you got a good look at him, you almost abandoned the idea completely. His hair was ruffled from where you'd been pulling at it, his glasses sat crookedly on his nose, his face was flushed a rosy pink, his lips were swollen and kiss bitten, and his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them. He was a sight to behold.

You snapped back to reality, fixed his glasses so they sat correctly on his face, clenched your legs together, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt to tug him behind you towards your bedroom. Bob, of course, had no complaints about this and followed you very happily. After watching you kick off your shoes as the both of you scurried down your hallway, he did the same. Not many thoughts were occurring in his brain at that moment, not any clean ones anyway, but one thing was certain as he looked at you: he'd never wanted someone more.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind him and before he had the chance to take in any of his surroundings he was pressed up against it and your lips were on his again, your hands desperately clutching at the bottom of his shirt to untuck it from his pants.

"Why- do- you- always- wear- your- uniform?" The question was asked between fiery kisses. Not that you were complaining. You loved to see him in his uniform. But he always looked so formal.

Bob waited until you were too distracted trying to unbuckle his belt to kiss him so he could get his answer out fully. "You once told me I look handsome in it."

You paused and tilted your head up to look at him. Taking in his open expression, you could tell that he was being honest. "God, I fucking love that you listen to me."

He laughed momentarily before his jaw snapped shut and he swallowed thickly as you began fumbling with his belt buckle again. "Your hands are shaking."

The observation was simple but had you freezing anyway. "Care to help a girl out then?"

Bob could tell that you were getting anxious, nerves suddenly overruling the initial excitement and lust. He could understand. He was currently running on the high of you dragging him to your bedroom. Maybe you also needed something like that to keep you going.

He glanced over your shoulder towards your bed and nodded towards it. "Lie down."

Bob watched as the fire quickly re-ignited in your eyes and you did as you were told, bouncing on the mattress as you sprawled yourself across it. Undoing his belt completely, he took a few steps towards you until he stood between your open legs.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to watch him eagerly. The mattress dipped as he knelt on it and crawled across it until he was hovering over you.

You hummed quietly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. "Hmm, I like this position."

He leaned in close, as if going to kiss you. "I thought you might."

His voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest. It was a tone you'd only had the privilege of hearing a few times before. During late nights when he was tired and could barely keep his eyes open as you continued to talk his ears off with meaningless nonsense but did so anyway just so he could listen to you talk. When he'd held you close to him during crowded nights at the Hard Deck and spoken directly into your ear so you could hear him over the sounds flooding the place. Moments that were intimate between you both but you'd been too oblivious to see as more than platonic.

It was the voice that Bob Floyd used to flirt with you.

You pulled back, wide eyed, to get a good look at him. "Oh, my god. You have made moves."

His brows scrunch for a moment, a confused laugh bubbling out of him. "Yeah, I said so earlier."

"I know but that voice." You poked his chest accusingly. "It's your flirty, sultry, bedroom voice! You've used it on me before!"

"It's not my-" He paused, thinking about it for a second, and then shrugged. "Oh, yeah. Maybe you're right."

"I like it, it's hot. Do it again." You giggled when he rolled his eyes, reaching your hands up to start unfastening the buttons on his shirt.

"And what would you like me to say?" His voice dipped back down to the low tone and you had to suppress a shiver.

"Anything. I just like hearing you talk." You reached the last button and helped him slide the shirt from his shoulders, revealing a white undershirt that you knew always resided underneath. The brown uniform shirt was discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor.

"How about how I think it's time for you to start removing some clothes? Since my shirt's off and my belt is unbuckled." His raised a finger to trace along the neckline of your t-shirt.

You whined. "Not fair. You're not even showing any skin yet. If I take my shirt off then all I've got is a bra on underneath."

Bob chuckled, low voice lost for a moment. "Is my white t-shirt not the equivalent of your bra?"

You pondered it for a moment. Maybe he was right. "Depends if you like the way my tits look in this bra as much as I like the way your biceps look in that white shirt."

He took a quick glance at his arms which were caging you into the bed, hand planted on either side of your head. "My biceps, huh?"

"A weakness of mine, I admit." You shrugged and sat up, pushing at his chest to give you some room. "Have to stop myself from biting them when I rest my head on your shoulder."

"For the record, I'd totally let you."

With a laugh you took Bob's hands in yours and guided them to the hem of your shirt, giving him a nod of confirmation. "You would now but let's be honest, it would've been a little unusual of me to just suddenly bite you before."

He tried desperately to keep eye contact with you as he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. "Maybe, but I wouldn't have said a word of complaint."

"I'll remember that for the future." You paused and noticed his frozen stare. "You're allowed to look, y'know?"

He knew but he was holding himself back with the knowledge that he'd probably go feral once he saw you without a shirt on. Just below his eye line he could tell that the bra you were wearing was lacy and pretty much see-through. He took a deep breath before looking properly and let out a very low groan when he saw that your nipples were hard and very visible through the fabric.

Bob's dick twitched in his pants at the sight. He feared he wouldn't last very long once the two of you actually got going.

You leant back on your hands and watched him look over you. It was kind of entertaining and certainly a confidence booster for you. "Like what you see?"

His eyes met yours again. "Shut up. You know I fucking do."

That sent a ripple of heat through you. Despite knowing him for so long, you'd never heard Bob curse. He'd let out the occasional damn at big inconveniences but never anything more than that. You figured it was part of him being such a gentleman and the fact that he loved to point out that his mother raised him right.

"Careful, Floyd. That dirty mouth will get you in trouble." You flattened your back onto the bed again, pulling him down on top of you by a handful of his shirt.

"If by trouble you mean with you underneath me then I'm willing to take that risk." His voice somehow got lower, a raspy edge being added to it. It's like he knew exactly how to break you.

You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him down to kiss you again, you'd gone too long without feeling his mouth on yours, and you revelled in the grunt he let out against your lips.

This was a whole new side to Bob that you were seeing. And you were loving it. Somehow it was still so easy, the two of you continuing to just bounce off of each other and the sexual chemistry was luckily just naturally there as well. You thought it may have been slightly awkward between you but you'd never felt so confident about sleeping with someone in your life.

Bob realised he should probably check something before the two of you got any further so pulled away momentarily. "Do you have a condom?"

"Oh, yeah! Wait, hang on-" You slid away from him, hanging over the edge of the bed to rifle through a drawer in your nightstand. Producing a small box, you waved it triumphantly at him.

"Hoping those blind dates were going to be successful, huh?" He teased, reaching out to grab your waist to drag you back underneath him. He was relieved you had the box but if you didn't then he knew it wouldn't have stopped him from doing other things to you until you were able to buy some condoms.

Your jaw dropped. "No! Just never underprepared."

"I applaud your readiness. I'm sure if the apocalypse hits then we'll be thankful for your supply of condoms."

"If the apocalypse hits then we'll be tasked with repopulating the Earth and have to have lots of unprotected sex to do so." You bit back playfully, glad to see when his eyes fluttered shut momentarily at the mention of doing it raw. "Oh, you like that thought, huh?"

"You caught me. Guilty." He raised a hand in surrender before gesturing at you. "Now let's get naked so we can have lots of protected sex."

You had to fight back a surge of laughter but let a few giggles escape when you found Bob looking at you with an amused look of his own. You were glad that the two of you were still able to joke and be you even in an intimate moment like this, relieved that it didn't suddenly become serious.

Clothes were discarded and quick kisses were exchanged as the two of you inched closer and closer to where you both really wanted to be. After your bra had been unclasped and thrown into the void with every other item of clothing, and Bob had thoroughly explored your chest with both his hands and mouth, you fell back onto the bed with him on top of you for another round of kissing. It's like the two of you couldn't keep your lips separated for longer than necessary.

His bare chest pressed into yours, a sheen of sweat gliding between you, as he rocked his hips against you, grinding his hard length into your clothed pussy.

If you'd told Bob at the beginning of the evening that this was how his night would end then he would've laughed and told you he didn't believe you. But now that he was here, he couldn't have imagined it any other way. That's what made him realise that enough was enough.

He suddenly broke the kiss and sat up again, kneeling in between your legs. Hooking two fingers into the waistband of your panties, he made eye contact with you. "May I?"

You nodded vigorously.

Bob shook his head. "Words."

You could've orgasmed right there and then. "Yes, you can."

He took that answer and started to slide your panties down your legs slowly, helping you to lift your hips to get them off easier. Once they reached your ankles he plucked them off and cast them aside, planting a quick kiss on your calf before lowering your legs either side of him again.

You reached for the condoms to pass them to him, aware that you were only the one step of removing his underwear away before he'd finally be inside you.

But he pushed your hand aside, choosing instead to slide his palms down your thighs. "In a minute."

"We haven't got forever, y'know. Get on it." You laughed, curious as to what he was doing.

"Gotta get you ready first." He mumbled, pushing your legs apart so he could see better.

Oh? "I can assure you that I'm plenty ready and wet and would like your dick inside me now please."

"So polite." He hummed with a smile on his face. "And I can see how wet you are. Just gotta make sure that you're relaxed enough to take me."

"Somebody's confident about their size, huh?"

He laughed as he shook his head. "Would you rather me not go down on you?"

As much as you were teasing him not to, you very much wanted him to. "Fine, if you insist." You replied with a sigh and an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

Bob almost chuckled, but when he looked up into your eyes again he was met with an angelic vision. You were stretched out on the bed, naked, for him. All for him. He reminded himself to thank the universe at some point. But, before that, he needed to thank you by making you come.

He shuffled back on the bed, moving your legs over his shoulders as he did so, and laid flat on his stomach before you. And got to work.

Bob practically devoured you.

You writhed underneath his grasp, one of his arms thrown across your stomach to keep you in place, as he licked and sucked at you. Your clit throbbed against his tongue as he flicked it from side to side over the sensitive spot. One of your hands flew to tangle in his hair as your legs trembled on either side of his head.

"Oh- oh, my god." You panted, chest heaving with laboured breaths. You looked down at him to see that his glasses had fogged up. You let out a slightly strangled laugh at him as he decided to slide a finger into you at that moment.

"Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasped and collapsed back onto the pillows.

Bob moaned into you and you let out a cry at the feeling of the vibrations running through you. His finger pumped in and out of you. Slowly at first before he increased the pace and then, once you were somehow even wetter, introduced a second finger.

And with two of his fingers inside of you, bending slightly to hit that sweet spot inside of you, along with his tongue making tight little circles on your clit, it didn't take long for the pressure to build in your lower abdomen and then suddenly explode through you. Your body shook with pleasure, a tidal wave of profanity and primal noises escaping your mouth.

Bob gave you no time to rest though, surging up your body and kissing you again, giving you a taste of yourself which had you moaning into his mouth. When he pulled back again, you smiled. His glasses were still foggy.

"Can you even see through these?" You asked, reaching up to take them off of him. Wiping gently at the lenses with your bedsheets, you awaited an answer.

"Not really. I usually take them off for this kind of thing. But I forgot. In the excitement." He looked away from you, embarrassed. Funny how he could still be shy despite having just eaten you out like no one else had before.

You hummed quietly, taking his face in your hands to direct him to kiss you again after you'd placed his glasses down on your nightstand as you wrapped your legs around the backs of his and bucked your hips up towards him. "Are we going to do something about you now? Because I know you've been hard since we first kissed."

"I was hoping you hadn't noticed how quickly that happened." The low, raspy voice was back and you felt yourself melting a little on the inside.

"Difficult not to when we were practically dry humping in the middle of the kitchen." You trailed a finger down his torso over his, extremely sculpted, abs and stopped at the waistband of his boxers, hooking the tip of your finger inside.

He watched what you were doing. "I did get a little carried away there, granted."

You paused, asking him the silent question of approval to carry on, before slipping your hand into his underwear and grabbing him. His skin was soft and velvety under your palm and, before you even had the chance to start stroking him, his dick twitched in your hand. "Mmm... so sensitive, Bobby."

He whimpered quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.

You reached for the box of condoms again, realising this probably wouldn't last very long if you did much else with your hand, and pulled one foil wrapper out. Quietly uttering his name to get him to open his eyes again, you pushed the condom against Bob's chest. "Put it on."

He didn't reply, didn't need to reply, just followed your instructions and did as he was told. Straightening up again into a kneeling position, he flailed around a little in an attempt to kick his underwear off. You tried not to laugh. When he succeeded, he ripped the packaging open with his teeth and rolled the condom onto himself in one smooth motion. And then he positioned himself over you, notching the tip of his length at your entrance.

He looked down at you for confirmation to go ahead.

You had one last teasing comment. "Your confidence in your size was warranted."

He huffed out a laugh. "I'd be insulted in your lack of confidence if I didn't love you so much."

Warmth bloomed through your chest. It had been implied several times throughout the night but hearing the words come out of his mouth meant so much more. He loved you.

You beamed up at him. "Glad to know that your love for me overrides any possible offence. I'll be using that to my advantage in future. Now please fuck me, I'm going crazy here."

Bob adored the way you were able to flip a conversation so easily. But he was glad you'd said it as he was beginning to experience his own temporary insanity being on the brink of having sex with you but not quite being there just yet.

He pushed into you slowly at first and then all at once, not being able to hold himself back. Once he'd bottomed out he paused for a moment, a choked groan leaving his throat. You whined at the stretch, glad for the previous orgasm prepping you for this.

"Just- just give me a second." Bob warned you, hanging his head as he took deep breaths.

Patiently, you waited.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for him to get a grip of himself as he eased out of you before slamming back in again. You gasped at the sensation. He set a pace, a steady yet almost brutal one. The loud sounds of sex filled the room and you hoped your neighbours were long asleep.

Bob buried his face in your neck, using his elbows to keep himself from smothering you. The noises he let out into your skin were heavenly and you were thankful that they weren't too muffled. You clawed as his back, making scratches that you'd have to apologise profusely for the next day.

"Fuck, harder please. Please harder." You didn't think it was possible for him to go any harder, the way he pounded into you already making the headboard shake, but you begged him to anyway. And somehow he found a way.

Your skin prickled with a burn where he slapped against you, one of his large hands sliding down to grip harshly at the flesh of your ass in order to pull you impossibly closer to him. He continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you, your eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling. The pressure was steadily building in your stomach, getting tighter and tighter with every thrust of Bob’s hips.

You clung onto his shoulders tightly as you plummeted off the edge, your thighs locking in on either side of him to lock him in place. Bob paused his movements for a second, feeling you clench around him as your throat formed a silent scream that came out as a gasp, and only started up again when you relaxed beneath him.

He pulled away from your neck to look down at you, finding a giddy smile on your face. He kissed you, all teeth and tongues, as he pumped into you a few more times before spilling into the condom. And then he collapsed on top of you.

The two of you stayed there for a couple of minutes, both catching your breath.

“I’m glad you had so many failed dates.” Bob whispered into the glistening skin of your chest.

You laughed quietly. “Me too.”

He eased himself up slowly, pulling out of you with a hiss, to dispose of the condom. “Do you think Phoenix purposely set you up on bad dates so you’d admit your feelings for me?”

You thought about it for a second. “Probably. She knows I’ve had a crush on you for forever. And I can’t think of any other good reason that she’d set me up with a sunset hater.”

Bob pulled back the covers on the bed and gestured for you to get in, crawling in beside you. “Can’t believe that guy.”

“I know!” You laughed and turned on your side to look at him. “Wished she’d done it sooner then we could’ve been doing this for a lot longer.”

He joined in on your laughter. “Trust me, we’ll have plenty of time now to be doing this a lot more.”

You smiled. “I’m glad.”

He smiled back. “Me too.”

You scooted closer to each other, limbs tangling together into one big mess, softs words of love exchanged between you as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep in each other’s arms.

A/N: this is the longest thing I think I’ve ever posted as a single thing… hope you enjoyed!

333 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 1 year

Text

Rising Phoenix

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to sexual acts, some heavy petting, flirty banter up the wazoo, minor injury treatment, hand kink, hand worship, plot? Plot. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Is this an excuse for me to put all of my favorite things about Mando into one story? Yes, yes it is. Including making fun of that tin can man's ridiculous fashion choices.

Takes place after If the Moon Walks Out.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

Mando is hiding something from you.

If anyone on the outside was looking in, they’d think the opposite. They might even say he’s being more open than in months. After the bite and subsequent breakdown (which you’re still a little embarrassed about), Mando started showing you how he runs the Crest. Walking you through a takeoff sequence, demonstrating what the other buttons along the cargo hold walls do.

(you didn’t know there was a button to close Mando’s cramped cubby)

(might come in handy when you want a little privacy)

You were appreciative at first, until Mando started disappearing in the evenings with no warning or explanation. One minute he’d be feeding the child, the warm thrum of your cavewoman brain revving up -

(he wiped the child’s mouth with the edge of his cape and you had to go take a breather in the kitchenette)

- the next moment he was gone, up in the cockpit or down in the hold, wherever you’re not. A whiff of solder sometimes wafted by, or the clunk of metal on metal reached your ears. You’re curious, endlessly so, but if there’s one thing you would not betray, it’s the trust Mando has finally given you.

(he’ll come to you when he’s ready)

Instead you prepare food and tidy the hold and read on your holopad until he returns, either to bid you goodnight with the child tucked into his arm, or to put him down before sneaking back to you, large hands on your hips a precursor to his hushed question:

“Can I have you tonight, Mesh’la?”

(more often than not your nights end with him inside you)

But as the days continue, another bounty on the horizon, your treacherous mind begins toying with your insecurities. The next planet wasn’t far but Mando’s taking his time, making short hops instead of fast travel. When you questioned it, the threat of Imps and blaster residue in your nostrils, he said it was to show you how to hop in and out of hyperspace.

(the holopad full of calculations makes your head spin)

(you hold it like a lifeline)

“Mando, I appreciate you taking my feelings to heart, but moving this slow…aren’t we tempting our luck?” you finally asked, legs crossed in the jump seat when Mando pulled out of hyperspace yet again.

“I’m willing to press it,” he replied, “but not much longer. Tomorrow we land.”

“Could have landed three days ago,” you said, goading Mando to turn to you. He cocked the helmet, which still managed to thrill you, and leaned back.

“I thought you enjoyed my company,” he said, the tease making you smile. “You certainly did last night.” Your face turned molten as you played up a salacious gasp.

“That was a low blow, Mandalorian, you won’t get many more nights like that if you use them against me,” you scolded, biting back a bigger smile when Mando stood up to tower over you, cocking his hip.

(what you wouldn’t give to leave a mark on the flesh there)

(make him wear it under the armor)

(your own symbol of devotion)

“That’s an empty threat,” he said coolly, making you roll your eyes before he tucked his knuckle under your chin, swiping his thumb over your lower lip.

(a Keldabe kiss is one thing)

(this kiss is only for you)

“Only a little longer, Mesh’la. I promise it’s worth it.” he said, quieter, and you nodded, wrapping your hand around his wrist. One squeeze before he moved to the cargo hold.

“I was going to show you how to dump the waste reserves today,” he called up the ladder as he descended.

“Oh thank the Maker, the suspense was killing me!”

You chased his huffed laugh.

An arid planet comes into focus, the child perched in your lap as Mando begins descending into the atmosphere.

“We’re a day early, bounty’s not expected to be on world until tomorrow,” Mando says as the Crest leans into entry, hull shaking against the heat as it skims over the bubble-like surface of the atmosphere.

“What should we do until then?” you ask, lifting the child a little higher so he can watch the descent. “Looks like a dry planet, Bean, no frogs for you.” His trill of disappointment makes you wonder, yet again, if he understands you more than the energies you assume he’s reading. The thought is dashed from your mind as you focus on Mando’s technique, riding the curve of the planet until gravity begins to tug you down in your seat. The Crest dives like a much more graceful bird than her silhouette, weaving through clouds and pockets of rougher air as a stretch of open land surges up to meet you. With a gentle lurch (good job landing Mando), you’re back on solid ground and the child is chirping at his father.

“Yeah kid, we can go outside. We’re far out, should be safe,” Mando says, directing the last part of the sentence to you. As you make your way to the ramp Mando calls down.

“Wear something warm.”

Your head cocks at the request.

“It’s a desert, I’ll cook alive.”

“Trust me.”

You exchange a look with the child, who lifts and drops his ears in as close of an approximation to, “Beats me.” You shrug on a long-sleeve shirt (one of Mando’s old ones, you still covet a few) and comfortable boots. Giving the button a slap, you wait for Mando by the cargo ramp as hot air blows into the hold.

“I don’t agree with your opinion on the climate,” you call back, turning when his footsteps near. “I think the armor’s skewed your perception of heat.”

“You’ll need it for this.”

In Mando’s hands is a harness, leather straps reinforced with thick thread along the seams. A hefty buckle centers in the loops, which attach to the baffling item in question.

(a jetpack?)

Mando has his on too, clasped into the backplate of his armor. This secondary one is more beat-up, yellow and green paint flaking off in places. It hangs heavy, the straps gathered in one hand as he lifts it to you.

“It’s old, but it works fine. Used to belong to Cobb Vanth,” Mando says, shifting a little as you watch him with parted lips. Your eyebrows raise briefly at the name of the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian you ventured to meet when (your) Mando was still among the stars. The jetpack, however, and all its potential holds your attention.

When you don’t say anything, Mando continues. “The Rising Phoenix is calibrated to my vambrace, but this one could be programmed to a…” He trails off as you step closer, shifting the child in your arms to reach out and finger the leather strapping. “Is this okay?” he finally asks, low and quiet as you feel the T-visor burn along your cheeks.

“You made this?” you finally say, barely registering Mando taking the child from you so you can inspect the rig. “This is why we were taking so long?” you breathe out, realization warming you.The stitching is tight and neat, the soldering clean. It even looks like he tried to remove some of the flaking paint but gave up. He shrugs briefly.

“Makes sense for you to use it. It’s likely to draw attention. But if there’s trouble, it’s fast,” Mando says, his body language cautious right now. He must have been nervous at the proposition, anticipating your apprehension, but you feel anything but. This hunk of junk repurposed to protect you is a greater gift than he understands. It makes you break out into a dazzling smile.

“This is karking amazing!” you shout, the child joining in as you turn over the rig and inspect it from all angles. Mando’s chuckle sends tingles down your spine, and when you meet the visor again you can imagine a bashful smile gracing his face.

(a face you’ll never see, but dream of all the same)

“How do you…” you start, holding the jetpack to your chest like a child on Life Day.

“A desert planet with nothing to do seemed like a good place to teach you,” Mando says, sauntering down the ramp, the child’s ears bouncing. Your heart hammers into high speed while sweat beads along your hairline.

(you’re going to fly today)

Mando takes an especially long time to walk you through the components of the jetpack, how it works and what each part does. You’re barely containing your excitement, hovering over his quick-moving hands and nodding endlessly.

“What’s this for?” you ask, pointing at a cylinder in the center that looks empty. Mando shakes his head.

“That’s for another day, Mesh’la, today we’re flying,” he deflects, and you don’t push. The possibility of being weightless, suspended in air the way you’d only experienced in dreams, was a much greater distraction.

“Do you have the controller?” Mando asks. You flash the metal gauntlet on your wrist. It’s just as cleanly built, a small series of buttons that do the basics. You’ve ridden speeders with more complicated controls. Though speeders barely leave the ground.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the straps open for you to slip into. You flash him a bright smile before turning around, shouldering the bulky machinery like a school bag. It settles on the center of your back, Mando fussing with the chest clip and adjusting the tension of the straps.

“This needs a real harness, but for now it’ll work.” Mando slides his fingers under the restraints to test their tautness. “It won’t distribute your weight, so no long trips. You’ll bruise up.”

“I can handle a few bruises,” you challenge, a coy smile melting onto your face as Mando slows his pacing. He tips the helmet in, tugging on the central buckle once more.

“Cheeky,” he purrs before stepping away, typing something into his vambrace. You twist and test the harness. It’s a comforting level of snug, the kind that makes you feel made of durasteel. The child, left to his devices during the suit up, pats at your calf.

“Am I looking cool, Bean?” you ask, doing a quick spin for giggles. “I need a cape like your dad to go…with…” You trail off, a wicked little smile replacing your coy one. “Hey Mando,” you call out innocently, drawing his gaze. “Did you always have the Rising Phoenix?”

He tilts his head with some hesitancy.

“No.”

“So when we first met, you didn’t have it.”

“No.”

“And I remember you having quite the impressive cape back then.”

“I’ve always had…”

“And now it’s a little, you know. Worn. A little tattered. Maybe a little…burned.”

Mando stares you down and it takes all of your effort not to lose it.

“Do you…wear the cape when you’re flying, Mando?”

He shifts from one foot to the other.

“It takes a lot of work…”

“Oh my Stars, you do!”

Mando shifts into what you’ve come to call the Exasperated Stance, hands on his hips, shoulders squared, helmet tipped back.

“It’s easier to…”

“Mando, you are going to set yourself on fire, you kriffing idiot. I can see the scorch marks!”

Mando advances on you, and you skip backwards. Your hands fly to the controller on your wrist. It’s easy to psych yourself out thinking about flying, but with Mando stalking your way, your pounding heart could be attributed to that.

“Mesh’la…” he growls, but with little fire behind it.

(unlike the amount of fire he’s definitely set to that useless piece of fabric)

“Mando…” you mimic, hand dancing over the gauntlet like a gunslinger about to draw his weapon.

“Stop it.”

(perfect)

“Catch me and make me,” you taunt, taking off into a real run. Mando’s footsteps falter, then pick up speed behind you.

(now or never)

You press the short series of buttons to ignite the jetpack, your speed masking the initial jolt of thrust when it catches.

“Wait!” Mando shouts behind you. For a moment you do feel bad for the plaintive plea threading his shout, but adrenaline kicks in and if you do this right, you’ll be flying.

(if you do it wrong, well, you’ll just have a bruised ego…along with a few other places)

Three more long strides and the thrust lifts you off the ground, a disbelieving laugh following. Your feet dangle uselessly as you lift off, the wind in your ears drowning out further shouts. Faintly you hear another roar of ignition, Mando likely to yank you back out of the sky, but euphoria is all you can absorb. The drop in your stomach evens out as you slow your climb, easing the throttle until you’re hovering about fifty feet off the ground. You kick your legs, heat kissing the back of your thighs reminding you to be careful. Below, the sable sand and rock stretches like a rolling canvas, the undulations of hills and sharp creases of mountains in the distance shifting perspective as you absorb beauty at a height you’ve never known.

“Are you crazy?” Mando shouts, zipping into view right in front of you, broad beskar body blocking out the horizon you were just admiring. The startle makes your finger slip, and you drop ten feet fast, Mando’s hands chasing you. Regaining control, you zip away from him.

“I’m getting the hang of it!” you laugh back. His posture is rigid as he flies close behind, more disciplined with technique. You’re just happy that you haven’t crashed face-first into the hard packed dirt yet. Below the child watches you weave around, little hands raised when you zoom overhead. Narrowly avoiding Mando when he reaches out, no doubt to slow you down or scold you further, you speed up with the barest recognition that this is probably a bad idea.

“Look at this Bean!” you shout down, wobbling your shoulders back and forth until you discover how much sway banks you left or right. It doesn’t feel real, like you’re flying in a dream, even though the wind whips past your face and the straps pull painfully against your ribs.

(it feels like freedom)

A flash of silver glints in the corner of your eye and Mando is pulling up beside you, one hand clamping down on your bicep.

“Enough. Land,” he shouts, but for the first time in ages you feel light, like every care on your shoulders was left in the dirt. You don’t want to touch down and let it crawl back up yet.

Plus, it’s been too long since you sparred with Mando.

The controls are surprisingly intuitive, though considering he made them for you might that speaks to his intelligence. Or insight. But now he must be cursing his thoughtfulness because you speed up and up, the weight of his armor lagging him behind. His grip loosens and you spin away again, testing how quickly you can change direction. The dance continues, Mando’s hands coming close, his voice lost to the roar of the packs and the wind whipping against your cheeks. You push him back, kicking him in the chest once and feeling a little bad about it.

He finally yanks you down by your ankle, flipping you so the propulsion shoots you towards the ground. Righting yourself more nimbly than expected, he barrels into you and digs his fingers into your waistband.

“Stop. Teasing.” The growl is heavy, but even he can’t hide the winded excitement of the chase under the vocoder. You’re sure if you palmed him now he’d be hard.

(jetpack sex)

(no way, that’s how idiots go about dying)

“Make. Me. Mando,” you pant, hitting a random button on his vambrace. Thankfully it just stutters his jetpack, grip slipping enough for you to wriggle out. You want to see if you can do a loop, entertain the child below, fly along the horizon the way you’d always dreamed of when two desert suns set on your planet.

The jetpack lurches hard against you. The ever-present heat skirting down your thighs lessens. Something smells like chemicals and smoke.

(out of fuel)

(DANK FARRIK)

All the elation building in your chest freezes to terror when gravity pulls you, but before you can shout Mando’s hands jam under the harness, wrenching you to his chest as all your gravity-defying stunts fizzle out. You thud your forehead against his paudron as he lowers you back to solid earth, talking yourself down from the brief heart attack. Once your feet touch down you back away, Mando’s grip easing as you sweep sweat and dust from your forehead.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment before you turn your attention to the little green child hurrying his way over. “How’d you like the show Bean?” Kneeling down, he practically tumbles into your open arms, clawing his way up to your face to pat at your cheeks. “I’m okay buddy, had the time of my life up there thanks to…” Looking over at Mando you can almost see the frustration wafting off him in waves.

(kriff, you really pissed him off this time)

“Okay, how about we pop you in here and send you back to the Crest while I get a lecture,” you murmur as you tuck the child into the silver pram and send it scooting. The child looks back once, concerned ears perking, but turns back around when you wave him off. Mando’s footsteps approach heavily, scuffing in the dirt. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, ready for the harsh reprimand you’re sure is coming.

(how can you explain the wonderful gift he just gave to you?)

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he says, dangerously low. His shoulders are tight, forehead almost pressed to yours. You can see how intimidating being on the Mandalorian’s bad side could be.

“I was…” you try to say, the emotionless visor following your gaze. The horizon, sparkling with midday sun, is where your gaze finally lands. “I’ve always dreamed of flying. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick by as you wait for a scold, but it doesn’t come. Instead Mando sighs, and two heavy hands drop on your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I caught you,” he murmurs, squeezing briefly. You bring your eyes back to the smoky T-visor and quirk a wan smile.

“Seems like I’m always falling for you.”

(would that be such a bad thing?)

Mando stills, then cradles your cheek in his hand. The cool kiss of beskar on your forehead raises goosebumps despite the desert heat.

“Mesh’la,” he groans, “don’t tease.”

“Not teasing now, Mando.”

A rumble in his chest burns straight to your sex.

“Yeah? You’ll be good for me?”

(oh kark)

Mando twists you in his arms, back to front. The jetpack puts too much bulk between you, making you have to bend at the waist, but it’s immediately evident this is exactly what Mando wants. He palms your hips, dragging his hand up to stroke your stomach before sliding down to cup you over your pants.

“You want this?” he asks, but he’s already kneading at your mound, the heavy swipe of his fingers through your clothes sparking heat in your cunt.

“Mando…” you choke out, hands coming back to grab at his narrow hips. You’re unbalanced and clumsy against his unyielding stance. “The child.” His little silver pod is ascending the ramp into the Crest. Mando chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

Your cunt clenches, ripples of pleasure as you scratch your nails into the rough weave of his pants. The jetpack tugs against your chest and you realize he’s using it as leverage to pull you back into him.

(jetpack sex jetpack sex jetpack sex)

“Feel what you do to me, Mesh’la. All the kriffing time.”

Your hands scrabble behind you, fumbling between your bodies.

(give it to me)

(all of it)

(all of you)

Mando shifts, jostling your body a fraction to the side. There’s a sudden white hotness against your arm and you cry out, jerking against his hold.

(the exhaust pipe)

The jetpack is still cooling down, hot rings of metal that just touched you at the worst possible time. Mando’s grip disappears immediately, the press of his body against you suddenly gone.

“What happened?” he says, and the vocoder can’t hide his concern. You twist your arms back up by your face, straightening back to standing. There’s a small welt, hot to the touch. You’ve barely inspected it yourself when Mando’s familiar orange-tipped gloves take your hand into his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, careful not to touch the mark but still holding your arm so gently.

(oh Mando)

(never)

“Just touched the exhaust, nothing a little bacta can’t fix,” you say breezily, but you know the moment’s passed. Mando’s already leading you back to the Crest, and you follow begrudgingly.

(trust you to ruin some of the hottest foreplay with an injury)

The child burbles at your entrance, hovering the pram over to where you sit at the table, injury outstretched on the durasteel. You turn your arm to touch the burn against it, offering a tiny sliver of relief from the dull throb. Mando bustles into a cargo cubby, pulling out the medkit you’d put to good use barely a week before. A packet of bacta gel, and the Mandalorian, settle across from you.

“I promise, I’m okay,” you say with a lopsided smile, reaching for the bacta. He snags it up first, motioning for you to reveal the burn. It’s halfway up your forearm, the flesh rising.

“I know,” Mando says before tugging at the tips of his gloves.

(Maker)

The last time you got to watch this ritual closely (not clouded by lust or in a frantic scramble) was when he stood at the foot of the bed in Joeken’s inn. You’d admired his wide palms, his thick fingers, how capable they looked. There’s much there you remember, but age and circumstance changes all. There are more scars along his knuckles, callused and rough. He almost glows in the artificial lighting, a deep golden tone forever under his skin. Being able to savor it screams of transgression.

“Let me,” he says, breaking you from your reverie. You extend your arm into his reach, the scratch of his well-worked fingertips tracing the injury. He squeezes a small amount of bacta onto the burn and works it in with two fingers, the touch featherlight and gliding. Mesmerized by the methodical strokes, your other hand drifts to the back of his hand, your fingertips sliding over the smoother skin. His fingers falter as you both watch the slow advance of skin on skin.

“Mesh’la,” Mando breathes. You start to retract, afraid of an overstep. “No, it’s…” he stutters out, “It’s okay. Just not…used to it.”

(touch him until he forgets what it was like to go without)

Bacta application forgotten (or completed), Mando cups your injured hand, tracing the lines in your palm that supposedly speak of your future. You let your own wandering touch linger along the mountains of his knuckles, slip along the veins and raised injuries, before resting on his wrist. His chest hitches like he’s in pain, or something much sweeter.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, now holding your hand between both of his.

“No, much better,” you answer, leaning when a flash of black catches your eye. Your mouth and one eyebrow quirks up. “Who gave you that?”

Mando turns his wrist, a black tattoo - two rings around a dot - appearing on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

(target)

“Paz. A brother in arms.”

You stroke over it, no discernible texture.

“Did he give you more?” you ask cheekily. The child hovers closer to inspect his guardian’s ink, tilting his head and softly cooing.

“You’ll have to find those yourself,” he says, the edge of sass in his voice making you giggle. You move to pull away but his hands wrap around yours, warm and gentle for implements of such bloodshed.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, much quieter. The vocoder almost loses his consonants. “If I ever do…”

“Hush,” you scold, leaning over the table to meet the visor. “It was an accident. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of them.” The stillness in his posture twists your stomach.

(he’d be devastated if he harmed you)

“You could never hurt me,” you say. Mando tilts his head, the sentiment too simplistic. But all of its meanings fill the silence.

(you would never do it purposefully)

(I’ll always forgive you)

(I would rather be hurt than without you)

With molten slowness Mando leans over your arm, raising it between you. You think it’s to inspect the burn, see that the bacta is working, but he just stares at it for a long moment. His hand drifts to the edge of his helmet, aimless and lost. When you touch him again he snaps back, standing up quickly.

“I have to make some preparations for tomorrow,” he squeezes out, taking a half step back. His movements are sluggish, quickening only when he strides away.

“Thank you, Mando,” you call as he mounts the ladder. He gives a nod, tugging his gloves on before climbing the ladder into the cockpit. The child hovers by your side, looking up at his retreating father figure before reaching up to you.

“Been a bit of a day, hasn’t it Bean?” you say, lifting the child out of the pram. The warmth of his touch lingers, the images of his hands holding yours only a blink away.

The baby yawn is all the answer you need.

In the cockpit, Din leans down and braces his hands on the console, trying to slow his pounding heart. He’s been inside you, why was letting you touch his bare hands more intimate? He’d had to cover them up to stop reliving every caress, the way your eyes roamed along the only bit of skin he’d allowed you to observe. His face burns with self-consciousness but also the thrill of your exploration.

But as much as that all excited him, it was that final moment that drove his heart into his throat and made him feel lightheaded. Because he held your hand and looked at the burn - an injury he caused, however inadvertently - and let a fleeting thought grow wild in his mind.

Kiss it better.

Something his mother would do with a scraped knee or a bruised finger.

Kiss it better.

Those three words grew from a whisper to an ocean roar as he considered how your skin would feel under his lips. If he could lift the helmet just enough to touch but not for you to see.

That wouldn’t risk his Creed.

Yes it would.

He crushed the desire down, left you behind a little more confused than before, but safe and cared for in his ship. Safe with the child and with him.

You could never hurt me.

You’re right. Din would never, could never bring harm to you. But some days, like today, he can see how much harm you could do to him. With your bright smile and open heart and patience, you could destroy the Mandalorian.

But from those ashes, Din Djarin could grow.

A flashing light grounds him as he flips on a holo-message. A halo of messy curls and a sassy expression glows to life, the dull scrapes and whines of a working hanger in the background. Din cocks his head as the message plays.

“Mando! Long time no see! Not that I miss that hunk of junk ship of yours. Well, I do miss the credits it brings in. Anyway, I’ve got a lead for you. You wanted those, right? About the Mandalorians? Got a client who may know where some are. The info’s not for free, I’ll fill you in when you get here. Bit of a time crunch, though, so you better shift that rust bucket into hyperspeed. You’re her last hope.”

Peli Motto’s image fizzles into static, and a blanket of duty settles back on Mando’s shoulders. A mission long paused. An outcome he comes to dread more with each passing day. A galaxy that spun on without the three of you for a long while.

But there is much work still to be done.

END

Episode 11 of the I Think of You Series

#mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x fem!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x f!reader #prolix fics #i think of you series

474 notes · View notes

imthebadguyyy · 4 hours

Text

guilty as sin?

pairing : bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader

fandom : top gun

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

warnings : smut

a/n : on a major rooster kick right now so all his fics are coming out first!! happy reading! plus this is my FAVOURITE song on the album.

my boredom's bone deep...

The familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the Hard Deck as you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink. Your squadron mates were engaged in a spirited game of pool, their laughter and banter echoing through the room. Despite the lively atmosphere, you found yourself detached, your mind wandering to more tantalizing thoughts.

Your gaze drifted to Bradley, who was standing across the room, effortlessly charismatic as always. His aviator sunglasses perched on his nose even indoors, a casual grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He was engrossed in a conversation with Phoenix, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

You imagined running your hands through his tousled hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. The way his muscles would flex under your touch, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. Your breath hitched at the thought, a flush rising to your cheeks.

Bradley's eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could read your mind. He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in your drink, but the image of him lingered in your mind.

The thought of his hands roaming your body sent a shiver down your spine. You imagined the roughness of his calloused palms against your skin, the heat of his breath on your neck. Your heart raced as you pictured the two of you in a secluded corner of the bar, his lips trailing a line of fire down your throat, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

You could almost hear his low, husky voice whispering in your ear, saying things that made your knees weak. The thought of him murmuring your name in that deep, commanding tone sent a thrill through you, making your pulse quicken.

"Hey, you okay?" Phoenix's voice snapped you back to reality. You turned to see her looking at you with a curious expression.

"Yeah, just... lost in thought," you replied, forcing a smile.

Before she could probe further, Bradley approached, his presence commanding your attention. "Need another drink?" he asked, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You nodded, handing him your empty glass. As he took it from you, his fingers brushed yours, a simple touch that felt electric. "Thanks," you managed to say, your voice sounding a little breathless even to your own ears.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Anytime," he said, his voice low and smooth. He turned to head back to the bar, and you watched him go, unable to stop the explicit thoughts that continued to dance in your mind.

As the night wore on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bradley, each look intensifying your desire. You wondered if he could feel the same pull, if he was just as affected by the charged atmosphere between you. The thought that he might be daydreaming about you in the same way sent a rush of heat through your body.

The Hard Deck was buzzing with energy, but all you could think about was Bradley and the way he made you feel. You knew that tonight, your dreams would be filled with him, and you couldn't wait for the day those fantasies might become reality.

what if he's written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?

The hum of the aircraft engines had long since faded, replaced by the soft rustling of sheets and the gentle sound of your breathing. You lay in your bunk, exhausted from a day of flying, quickly slipping into a deep sleep.

The world around you was soft and warm, the room dimly lit by the golden glow of a bedside lamp. You found yourself in a spacious bed, surrounded by soft, crisp sheets that smelled faintly of Bradley's cologne. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your quiet laughter and the low, melodious chuckles coming from Bradley beside you.

He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, gazing at you with those mesmerizing eyes. His hair was tousled, his face relaxed, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, a thrill of anticipation as he leaned in closer.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and warm, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You giggled against his mouth, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more intense, until you were both breathless and laughing.

Bradley's hand trailed down your side, his touch gentle and teasing. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and possessive, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt his fingers on your skin, tracing delicate patterns on your upper thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he spelled out the word "mine" with his fingertip, the sensation making your skin tingle and your breath hitch. Each letter was a promise, a declaration that made your heart swell with desire and longing.

You laughed softly, the sound filled with happiness and contentment. Bradley's eyes sparkled with amusement and something deeper, something that made you feel cherished and adored. He leaned in again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a kiss that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

His hands slowly moved lower, spreading your thighs apart, lips slowly trailing down your body in a heated trail, kissing your chest, your tummy, your belly button, one hand wrapping softly around your throat, all the way to your hips...

Just as the he was reaching the juncture between your thighs, you jolted awake. The abruptness of reality hit you like a cold splash of water. Your heart was pounding, your skin flushed and warm. The darkness of your bunk contrasted sharply with the golden glow of the dream, the laughter and intimacy replaced by the quiet hum of the sleeping quarters.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, that you could almost still feel Bradley's touch on your thigh, his lips on yours. The memory of his whispered words echoed in your mind, making your skin tingle with the aftershocks of the dream.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying every moment of the dream. The feelings it had stirred within you were undeniable, and you knew that the next time you saw Bradley, it would be impossible to look at him without remembering the way his touch had made you feel.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, hoping that sleep would take you back to that dream, back to Bradley's arms, back to the warmth and laughter that had felt so right.

messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts...

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach as you and the rest of the squad gathered for a spirited game of volleyball. The laughter and competitive banter filled the air, mingling with the sound of crashing waves and the calls of seagulls. Maverick was in top form, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the game, while everyone else was enjoying the carefree atmosphere.

Bradley stood out among the group, his shirt discarded, revealing a toned, sun-kissed torso that glistened with sweat. He moved with a grace and power that drew your eyes to him, unable to look away. His aviator sunglasses reflected the bright sunlight, giving him an air of effortless coolness.

As the game progressed, you found it harder and harder to focus on the ball. You had opted to just lay on the same after playing for a while, settling on the blue blanket phoenix had got for you, sipping on a glass of fresh watermelon juice, lounging with Omaha on the beach. Instead, your eyes followed Bradley, admiring the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the way he ran across the sand with such confidence and ease. Every time he jumped to spike the ball, you felt a flutter in your chest, your breath catching in your throat.

His abs glistened with sweat as he chest bumped Payback, muscles rippling in his back like waves, denim shorts slung low on his hips, so tight fitting they looked like they were painted onto his legs.

At one point, Bradley looked your way and flashed you a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Your jaw dropped slightly, mesmerized by the sight. His tanned skin, the way the sun highlighted every defined line of his body, left you feeling flustered and warm.

Bob sidled up to you, noticing your slack-jawed stare. "Cherry, stop drooling over him. You'll catch flies in your mouth," he teased, a playful smirk on his face.

You snapped your mouth shut, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I wasn't—" you started to protest, but Bob's knowing look silenced you. He chuckled and jogged back to his position, leaving you to your thoughts.

Your mind wandered, slipping into a daydream where the volleyball game faded away, and it was just you and Bradley on the beach. The sound of the waves became a soothing backdrop as he walked toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

He reached out, his hand warm as it cupped your cheek. "I've been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. You felt a shiver of anticipation run through you as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

It was a messy top lip kiss, the kind that left you breathless and craving more. His lips were soft and demanding, moving against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak. You felt his hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were lost in the sensation of him.

The kiss led to more, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you. You imagined the two of you tangled in each other's arms, exploring and discovering every inch of skin. His fingers tracing patterns along your spine, his lips traveling from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses.

It left you flushed and yearning, the volleyball game and your surroundings forgotten. All you could think about was Bradley, and the way he made you feel with just a look, a touch, a kiss.

A sudden cheer from your teammates brought you back to reality, and you realized you had missed the last few plays of the game. Bradley was laughing with Maverick, his eyes bright with triumph. He glanced your way again, catching your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like he could see the daydreams playing out in your mind.

He licked his pink lips, thumb running over his moustache. You clenched your thighs, instantly thinking about how good it would feel, his face nestled between your legs, lips trailing kisses all over your throbbing core...

You quickly looked away, hoping your flushed cheeks didn't give you away. But even as the game continued, your thoughts kept drifting back to those imagined moments with Bradley, the feel of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the undeniable connection that left you longing for more.

these fatal fantasies, giving way to laboured breath..

All you could think about was his warm wet tongue sliding up your folds and then his long fingers curling inside you. You imagined his lips on your clit, sucking so harshly it made filthy noises. Your heart was racing as your slid your finger up your folds and began rubbing your clit as your other hand and cupped your breasts, and then pinching and twisting your hard nipples.

Quickly, you slide your finger into your dripping hole and then adding in another one to feel full. You pictured Bradley's cock ramming in and out of you so rough and so fast. You imagined his warm cum filling up your walls.

Your fingers sped up against your clit, moaning as the image of Bradley licking your pussy flooded your vision. "Fuck! Rooster!" You groaned, hips rising and falling as you chased your high.

"Oh fuck! Shit!" You moaned, hips arching high as you rubbed the sensitive nub faster, head slamming back against your pillow, hips stuttering as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

Your chest heaved, thighs glistening and breath coming laboured as you panted, eyes shut as you inhaled deep breaths of air.

"Fuck me..." You muttered as you slowly sat up. Looking at the time, you cursed when you realised you had to meet the other at the hard deck in half an hour.

someone told me, theres no such thing as bad thoughts ..

How could you face Bradley now, knowing the explicit fantasies that had consumed your mind? Shaking off the feeling, you decided to head to the Hard Deck, hoping the lively atmosphere would distract you and help you regain your composure.

The bar was already bustling with your squadron mates when you arrived. Maverick, Phoenix, Bob, and Bradley were gathered around, engaged in animated conversations and laughter. You could see Hangman, Coyote, Payback and Fanboy playing a game of cards again. You approached the group, trying to appear casual, but you felt as guilty as sin, unable to meet Bradley's eyes.

You slid onto a stool at the bar, your gaze fixed on your drink. Phoenix noticed your uncharacteristic quietness and sidled up to you, concern etched on her face. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, just tired."

Phoenix studied you for a moment before a knowing look crossed her face. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's perfectly fine to have feelings, you know. There's no such thing as bad thoughts"

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, embarrassed at how transparent you seemed. Phoenix gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Seriously, just talk to him."

You glanced up, following Phoenix's gaze to where Bradley stood, laughing with Maverick. He looked over, his eyes locking onto yours, a hint of concern in his expression. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, the intensity of your earlier fantasies making it hard to think straight.

"Go on," Phoenix encouraged softly. "He cares about you. Just talk to him."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. You knew she was right. Avoiding Bradley wouldn't solve anything, and the guilt and embarrassment would only fester if you didn't confront your feelings.

Mustering your courage, you stood up and made your way over to Bradley. He turned to you, his smile softening as you approached. "Hey," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

"Hey," you replied, trying to steady your racing heart. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Bradley's expression grew serious, and he nodded, leading you to a quieter corner of the bar. "What's on your mind?" he asked, his concern evident.

You hesitated, the words tangled in your throat. But the supportive look in his eyes gave you the strength to continue. "I... I've been thinking a lot about you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And it's been driving me a little crazy."

Bradley's eyebrows raised in surprise, but a slow smile spread across his face. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I've been thinking about you, too."

The weight of your earlier guilt began to lift, replaced by a sense of relief and excitement. "Really?" you asked, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice.

"Really," he confirmed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "How about we get out of here and talk somewhere quieter?"

You nodded, your heart soaring as you followed him out of the bar. As you walked side by side, the tension and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the thrill of new possibilities and the promise of something real and meaningful.

my bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name...

"rooster!fuck!” You screamed out, your toes curling beneath you as bradley continued to flick his tongue over your folds at a ridiculously fast pace.

The room was hot, both your bodies sweating in a tangled mess. Bradley pressed your body firmly down, whilst he kept your legs around his head - trapping him to the spot he desired so much. He kept your hips pressed down with one arm and the other was being used to pump his fingers, unforgivingly, into you. You weren’t able to focus on anything apart from the endless, relentless pleasure he was giving you.

Your fingers tugged against the soft waves of his hair, which made him moan and send vibrations all over your pussy and through your heat. The sounds that filled the room were unholy and wet and downright filthy.

His tongue persistently lapped at your folds, using his fingers to reach the spots inside of you that had you seeing heaven on earth. His tongue felt so good and his fingers even better.

But goddamn that moustache.

All you could feel was the tickle of prickly hair rubbing against your oh so sensitive clit, stroking it as he moved his face. His movements were so wild and quick that each time he moved let you feel his moustache. Each time he moved a different direction your pussy caught against the hairs and dragged against your skin, causing you to moan out in pleasure. Bradley knew exactly what he was doing. He was filthy and you absolutely loved it.

His fingers pumped harder, curling to reach your favourite and most sensitive spots and his tongue moved faster as you began to reach your high. It didn’t take much for him, with the moustache, to bring you to your release and rooster definitely got off on that. He loved when his moustache got coated in your juices and he could taste it hours later, where he hadn’t quite cleaned himself properly. It was tormenting in a way though, because one taste of you had him on his knees begging for more - he wouldn’t even care if you were beyond spent.

He pulled away to look up at you with endless adoration, and you felt his hot breath fan against your even hotter pussy. . He looked so lustful, eyes blown wide and dark. He was a different man right now - one on a mission to make you scream his name.

He kept straight eye contact with you as his moustache glistened with a coating of your juices, his eyes remained locked to yours as he ran his tongue over his lips and upper moustache hairs, tasting you without being face deep in you. You groaned at the sight, before deciding you wanted in on the action too.

Leaning up and forwards you smashed your lips on to his, moaning as you tasted yourself on his lips. It was divine. His bristly hairs tickled your upper lips and you hummed at the sensual sensation. He pulled away when he realised you were enjoying this too much, not wanting to distract himself, or you, from giving you the release you so deserved.

"You can kiss me senseless after i’ve devoured you, baby.” He kissed your lips once more and then pushed you back down and reattached himself to your soaking pussy. You cried out at the contact, not believing you ever thought you’d be able to go without the feeling. Nothing would ever compare to this. To him.

“Roo!" You moaned his name in pleasure and returned your hands to his hair, pushing him further into you.

His tongue moved inside of your folds in angles you never knew existed, making your toes curl and your tummy flutter with excitement. You felt your release so close. His fingers entered - one, two, three - and found the right pace to have you completely defenceless below him. You were his to toy and play with, that much Bradley knew. Like this, you were a bowl of jello in his arms, allowing him to tease and pleasure you how he’d like to - with the trust that you’d stop him if he went too far.

“You gonna come for me baby angel?” He rhetorically asked, knowing you were only a few more pumps away from your release.

“Yes, yes just for you.” You gasped as he quickened the pace of his fingers and designated his attention to your pulsing clit.

“Come on then. I won’t tell you twice.” The way the hairs of his moustache moved from his words against yourclit sent you over the edge.

The fucking moustache.

You arched your back and screamed out as he kept pumping his fingers through your release. You grasped onto your breast, needing something to release your frustration into. God you felt unholy and dirty. You felt fucking amazing. Your breathing was laboured and Bradley spent the rest of your high lapping your folds and around your cunt, drinking up every last drop of your release. He couldn’t get enough of you. He would never.

“Can you kiss me now?” You quietly asked and you felt his presence suddenly hover above you, his moustache absolutely covered with your juices. He wore them with pride. He raised his eyebrows at you, hovering just above your lips. “Please?” You stressed and who was he to deny that pouting face of yours. Who was he to deny you his moustache?

I choose you and me, religiously...

The restaurant was bathed in soft, ambient light, creating an atmosphere of elegance and romance. The clink of fine china and the murmur of quiet conversation provided a soothing backdrop as you sat across from Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw at a candlelit table. The upscale, intimate setting was perfect, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement and anticipation.

You were wearing a silky satin red dress that clung to your curves and shimmered in the candlelight. Bradley looked dashing in his tailored suit, his eyes never leaving you as he smiled warmly across the table. The evening had been a whirlwind of the finest food and wine, each course more exquisite than the last.

As the waiter poured another glass of rich, velvety wine, Bradley reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, sending a thrill through you.

"You look stunning tonight," he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. "I can't take my eyes off you."

You blushed, the heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled at him. "Thank you. You look pretty amazing yourself."

The dinner continued with laughter and light conversation, but you could sense that Bradley had something on his mind. As the dessert was served—an indulgent chocolate fondant that melted in your mouth—he took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "About how much you've come to mean to me."

Your heart raced, and you held your breath, waiting for him to continue.

"I never expected to fall this hard, this fast," he admitted, his voice filled with raw emotion. "But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you listened, your heart swelling with happiness.

"I choose you and me religiously," he said, his voice unwavering. "Every day, in every way, I choose us. Because with you, I've found something real, something worth holding on to."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Bradley reached out, gently wiping it away with his thumb. His eyes were filled with love and sincerity, and you knew that this moment, this man, was everything you had ever dreamed of.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much."

Bradley stood up, moving around the table to kneel beside you. He took both your hands in his, looking up at you with a smile that made your heart melt. "Then let's make a promise," he said, his voice steady and sure. "To always choose each other, no matter what."

You nodded, unable to find the words as your emotions overwhelmed you. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and a future filled with love.

As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same love and commitment reflected back at you. "I promise," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction.

Bradley smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. "Then let's toast to us," he said, raising his glass. "To love, to promises, and to choosing each other, always."

You clinked your glass against his, the sound a beautiful reminder of the bond you shared. As you sipped your wine, you felt a sense of peace and contentment settle over you. With Bradley by your side, you knew that you had found your perfect match, and you were ready to face whatever the future held, together.

what if i roll the stone away?

The squad had gathered at the hangar for a relaxed evening, the familiar scent of jet fuel and the hum of aircraft providing a comforting backdrop. Hangman, Bob, Coyote, Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy were all there, sharing stories and laughter after a long day of training. You and Bradley were part of the group, but your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the secret you were carrying.

You and Bradley had been secretly dating for a while now. The relationship was a source of joy and excitement, but the thought of revealing it to the squad filled you with nervous anticipation. You worried about how it might change the dynamics within your tight-knit group. Yet, tonight felt different. A sense of determination had been building within you, and you knew it was time to share your happiness with your friends.

As the evening progressed, you laughed and chatted with the others, but your mind kept drifting to Bradley. He caught your eye several times, his reassuring smile giving you the strength you needed. You knew he was ready to support you, no matter what.

Finally, you decided it was time. You excused yourself, mentioning you needed to check something by your jet. The squad continued their conversation, but Bradley's eyes followed you, filled with a mix of curiosity and encouragement.

You walked towards the edge of the hangar, the cool night air calming your nerves. Before you disappeared, you turned back to face the group. Bradley stood up, sensing that something significant was about to happen.

With your heart pounding, you walked back to him, your determination solidifying with each step. The squad’s chatter quieted as they noticed your serious expression. You stopped in front of Bradley, taking a deep breath. Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him, a tender yet passionate kiss that conveyed all the love and connection you felt.

When you pulled back, you were met with a chorus of surprised exclamations.

"Whaaas?" Hangman exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.

"No way!" Fanboy said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, I'll be damned," Coyote muttered, shaking his head with a smile.

Phoenix looked at you, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly turning into a warm, approving smile. Bob's mouth hung open, but he quickly composed himself, giving you a thumbs-up.

Payback just laughed, slapping Bradley on the back. "About time!"

Feeling a rush of relief and exhilaration, you looked around at your friends, their reactions a mixture of shock, amusement, and support. Bradley wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his smile beaming with pride.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," he said, his voice filled with affection.

Phoenix stepped forward, giving you a hug. "I’m happy for you guys. Seriously, it’s about time you both found some happiness."

Hangman chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this explains a lot. Congrats, you two."

As the initial surprise faded, the group quickly accepted the new dynamic. The conversation shifted to teasing and light-hearted jokes, but there was an undercurrent of genuine happiness and support for you and Bradley.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety of keeping your relationship a secret melting away. With Bradley by your side and the unwavering support of your friends, you knew that everything would be okay.

Later, as you headed to check on your jet one last time, you glanced back at Bradley, who was watching you with a proud, loving expression. You blew him a kiss, feeling lighter and happier than you had in a long time.

a/n : i adored writing this!! i hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!! as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

the tortured poets department: @ateezseonghwanot @khaylin27 @imgondeletedis @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @stylestastic

general : @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird-blog

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM SPECIFYING WHICH FANDOM 🤍

26 notes · View notes

makethatelevenrings · 1 year

Text

Angel by the Wing - TWENTY TWO

Chapter Warnings: discussion of child abuse and domestic violence, discussion of the possibility of miscarriage, allusions to homophobia

A/N: I’m nearing graduation so I’m in the final rush to get work done so updates will be going sloooooow for a bit. sowwy. love u.

Series Masterlist OR Mobile Masterlist

There is a reason why Jacob “Hangman” Seresin is such a dick.

He was seven years old the first time he saw his mom cover a black eye with concealer and a smile. Ten when he pushed himself in between Jennifer and Daniel Seresin and took a well-aimed smack to the face. Thirteen when Daniel stopped making his wife his main punching bag and started turning on Jake.

He was fifteen when he realized that he wanted to kiss Tony Garcia as much as he wanted to kiss Lisa Kelley. The words of his father haunted him at night. Things like how he didn’t raise no fucking fairy. How Jake was too much of a fucking sissy. How he needed to man up and take each hit like a champ.

Jennifer knew something was different about her son. She saw the way he gazed at the front cover of Tiger Beat magazine no matter who was on it. Daniel would beat her black and blue if he saw her giving his son that “sissy shit” but she would pay in cash and slip it under Jake’s pillow to find when he came home from football and baseball practice.

Jake grew thick skin in that house. He had to in order to survive. He loved his mom dearly and he wanted to keep her and his little sister as safe as they could. He was sixteen when he threw a punch back at Daniel and knocked him out cold. Jake was six feet tall and pure muscle thanks to being a double sport athlete. Daniel was on the fast track to alcohol induced cirrhosis.

He knocked his father out and then told his sister and mother to pack their bags. They would get out that night.

That same rough attitude got him through the last few years of high school. He had to protect his sister at her new school, his mom from the specter of his father, and himself from the world. By the time he entered the Naval Academy, DADT was well in effect. Being bisexual meant he could still flirt with women and kiss a few of his other female classmates, but there was still this gut-punch feeling he had every time he felt a flush rise to his cheeks when he saw some guy throwing a frisbee out on the quad.

And then he graduated and entered flight school and met Bradley Bradshaw and for fucks sake, they shared a bunkroom. What was he supposed to do? Bradley was charming and funny and his patience drove Jake insane. He thought that there were moments Bradley saw past that veneer of arrogance he held in front of him as a shield.

Jake always had to be the best. If he was the best athlete on the field, then his dad would be proud. If he was the smartest kid in class, his mom would be proud. He had to be the best in order to get the attention of Naval football recruiters. Five years of service in return for free tuition, a load off of his mom’s shoulders. He had to be the best to be a fighter pilot, a job that would take him away from his mom and sister, but wouldn’t put him in a submarine with no way to contact him for a year.

Letting people in was a risk, he learned, and one he tried to avoid at all cost. Letting people in gave them a chance to see the ugly, jagged, imperfect parts of him that he was terrified to let people see. So he pushed people away with his cocky attitude and jabbed words.

Bradley Bradshaw didn’t care because Jake wasn’t speaking when they were making out in their empty bunkroom.

But then the Navy split them up to deployments across the world. They attended Top Gun at various times, occasionally seeing the other at a base for a few days before they were sent off again, but Bradley had grown more serious and less impressed with Jake’s attitude. He knew it was inevitable. He pushed people away so he really couldn’t act surprised when they left.

He was stationed at Lemoore with Phoenix and then down to Miramar to help train some new pilots when the news of the special detachment came. By then, he was quickly sinking into the bright smile of the bartender of the Hard Deck.

And here he was sitting on his couch with Bradley Bradshaw’s head resting in his lap. His fingers ran through the brunet’s curls and he scratched his nails over Bradley’s scalp a few times, eliciting a satisfied hum from the man who was drifting between the veil between sleep and awake. How the fuck had he ended up here?

“Hey,” you said as you emerged from the bedroom. You were tucking one of your black Hard Deck t-shirts into a pair of jean shorts when you looked up and saw Bradley half-asleep on Jake’s lap.

“Oh sorry.” You lowered your voice and winced but Bradley waved you off.

“I wasn’t sleepin’,” he grumbled.

“Okay, that’s a bold faced lie but whatever you say, bear.” You came around the side of the couch and leaned down to run your hand over Bradley’s hair before straightening up and laying a kiss on Jake's cheek.

“I have to leave to help get the bar ready before we open. Penny took Amelia out on a boating trip to north Cali so I’m opening and closing tonight. I figured you two will want to get shitfaced tonight so I can drive you home and we’ll go get your cars tomorrow morning. Sounds good?”

The two men sent you a thumbs up and you grinned. “Okay, perfect. Item two on my list…”

Bradley sat up with a groan, his ribs protesting the move, and Jake slid his hand down to support his back until they were both sitting up and staring at you.

“There’s a chance.” You worried at your bottom lip and sighed. “There’s a chance I could miscarry. The risk dramatically drops after eight weeks and is extremely rare after twelve weeks, but there’s always a possibility.”

Your hands dropped to your stomach where that near invisible bump rested. “Would you be alright if we waited before telling people? I already told Penny, but that’s because I was freaking out and needed someone to screw my head on straight.”

“I told Mav too,” Bradley added. “But I’m okay with not telling anyone else until you think it’s good.”

Jake cleared his throat. “I’d like to tell my mom. I was hoping to have her and Liz come down to visit soon, maybe this month. Would that be okay?”

A smile grew on your face and you reached out to cup his face. “Of course. It would be really nice to meet your mom. I’m sure she’s got a bunch of embarrassing baby photos of you.”

He rolled his eyes but settled a kiss against your wrist as your grin brightened. You leaned down to drop a kiss to each man’s head and then hurried over to the front door to put on your shoes and grab your purse.

“Okay, I’ll see you both tonight. Be good while I’m gone. Jake…” Your gaze flickered between the two men. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I think you should tell him about your dad.”

His heart sank into his stomach at the confused glance on Bradley’s face, but he knew she was right. If they wanted this to work, Jake would have to be honest about the fact that he didn’t know how to be a good father thanks to Daniel Seresin being a raging piece of shit.

As soon as the door shut behind you and the sound of your car drove off, Jake leaned back against the couch and sighed. Bradley kept those warm brown eyes fixed firmly on him and then Rooster surprised him by reaching out and carding his fingers through the soft strands at the base of his neck.

Jake let out a shaky breath and began to tell him.

A few hours later, Jake joined the rest of the Daggers at the Hard Deck. He sat across from Bradley, their feet hooked together and their heads occasionally turning in the direction of the bar where you were focused on making drinks. The team were all intent on getting sloppy, piss-faced, “holy shit we lived” drunk tonight. Warmth suffused his veins, both from the bourbon and from the laughter of the team as they all swapped stories from their earlier days in the Navy.

“What’s everyone doing for their leave?” Halo asked once the conversation started to die down.

Varying responses came, mostly people saying they were going home to see family. Others were staying in California, like Phoenix who would be going back to Lemoore with Sofia, and Bob, who had been practically adopted by the two women and would be joining them for the first half of leave before he went to see his family.

“I’m going to be here for a bit,” Bradley answered. “Enjoy the sun. Weather’s nicer here than in Virginia.”

The others were too drunk already to recognize the heavy gaze Bradley laid upon the man seated before him. Jake grinned into his beer just as you appeared at their table with a tray of shots.

“On the house,” you announced as you laid it down in front of the aviators. “You better have a designated driver planned out or I will be sticking your ass into an Uber and praying you get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bob replied meekly. You grinned to show him you weren’t all that serious and nudged your knee against the interlocked ankles under the table.

Jacob “Hangman” Seresin never expected that he would have the chance to feel like this. He was thirty-three when he let two people into his life and found that flying wasn’t the only adrenaline rush.

Tag list: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @phoenixssugarbaby @atarmychick007 @mak-32 @itsmytimetoodream @krismdavis @emma8895eb @startrekfangirl @hangmandruigandmav @lunamoonbby @startrekfangirl2233

#hangman x reader #hangman x reader x rooster #hangster x reader #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin #bradley bradshaw imagine #jake seresin imagine #abtw

168 notes · View notes

toshidou · 1 year

Text

Chapter One // Mouth Wide, Fangs Revealed

Series Masterlist

Pairing // Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Word Count // 7.9k

Tags // angst, descriptions of injury and violence, swearing, ghost is a little bit of a bitch but we still love him, angst, the enemies to lovers is enemies to lovering

Summary // two weeks out from an injury that left you shaken with repressed memories, it becomes apparent that soon you'll be face to face with the man who haunts your nightmares, and fuels the spite in your veins. the question is, will being confronted with him leave you broken once again, or will you rise from the ashes?

AN // honestly this is the longest thing i've ever written, and it's only chapter one. guys i'm scared. anyway this is just near 8k of build up to the girl's fighting <33 love that for them

Prologue

The deafening sound of whirring helicopter blades leaves your ears ringing, not in the slightest aiding the dull throb that builds behind your closed eyes, weary fingers reaching up to massage slow circles into either side of your temple.

“You good, Viper?”

You muster a snort, peeling open one eye to cast a glance towards the brunette man opposite you.

“Just peachy, Phoenix.” Macintosh merely grins in response, pushing himself from the thin steel bench, reaching for the handle next to your head as he yanks the sliding door open, a low whistle pushing past pursed lips as he takes in the base, bathed in darkness save for blinding flood lights that illuminate the airstrip.

“Another late one, eh?”

A new wave of pain blossoms as the chopper makes contact with the landing strip, metal foot pedals meeting rough tarmac, the action causing your aching body to jolt forward, hissing when your finger slips and digs into the scabbed cut on your forehead.

It’s been roughly two weeks since you were flung like a ragdoll by C4. Two weeks since your body was left wrought with wounds, both new and old. Much to your chagrin, your Captain had given you strict orders of bed rest, the remainder of your time in Al Mazrah had been spent tossing and turning in an uncomfortable cot, being fussed over by medics as they cleaned and stitched your wounds, badgering you at least three times a day with inane questions like, “can you tell me your name?”, and “do you know where you are?”, you had come close to tearing your own fucking hair out. But as much as you hate to admit it, even those two weeks glued to a bed weren’t enough to fully heal your body, still afflicted with lingering aches and pains that leave you wincing at every bump in the road, or supposedly ‘encouraging’ slap to your back, courtesy of one Brodie Macintosh.

“C’mon, Boss sounded pretty serious about us being on time for this meetin’, y’know what that means.” Doe huffs, shoving her hand into her trouser pocket, fingers emerging with a pack of painkillers pinched between gloved digits, thrusting them in your direction without sparing you a glance.

“Means I’ll probably get to have at least one hot shower before we’re jettin’ off to another crisis, think we’ll ever get more than one night off at a time?” You just barely make out Macintosh’s words over the thunderous roar of blades above you, not at all aided by his thick Geordie accent that blurs every syllable. You take the drugs, popping them from their casings and swallowing them dry, cringing lightly as they slowly work their way down your throat.

“Probably not Nix, turns out people are dead set on starting world war three.” With more effort than you care to admit, you heave yourself off your seat, and climb down onto the tarmac, ducking your head as you run under still whirring chopper blades. Without turning back, you begin the walk from the landing pad to your Captain’s office.

“Which means we have to deal with your ghastly stench for another fortnight.” You can practically hear the grin that stretches at Jane’s lips, don’t have to turn to know that Macintosh most definitely stuck his tongue out at her in response.

“Yeah, real mature, dickhead.”

You sigh, dropping your head to hide the laugh that threatens to spill past cracked lips.

“Shut ya gob, Bambi.”

Their banter helps lighten the anxious mood you feel clinging to your bruised form, an unease that’s been ever present since the accident. You’ve gone so many years successfully keeping him out of your thoughts, never letting an ounce of his presence creep into your memories, or haunt your dreams. For a fleeting moment, you finally felt free from the grip he’d always maintained upon you. But then Al Mazrah happened, a stone cold reminder that he will always plague your mind, hiding in the shadows, waiting to render you a puppet to his power once more.

Your squad knows your injuries surpassed the superficial, that whatever you experienced changed you somehow, made your muscles taut, your gaze sharper, like you were constantly on the defensive.

Footsteps echo through empty halls, dimly lit by cheap bulbs that cast an ugly yellow glow against the plain cream paint of the barrack halls. The silence is broken not by you, or your two companions, but from low voices that leak under the crack of your Captain’s door, the words indistinguishable, but the deep grunt that curls around intelligible syllables has the hairs on the back of your neck rising. Jane raps her knuckles against wood thrice, leaning against the door frame as she waits for permission to enter, given mere seconds later by the booming voice of the one and only Ryan Samuels.

You fight past a sudden feeling of nausea as you step past the boundary of the office door, eyes locking with the unmistakable figure that is Captain John Price, leader of Task Force 141. He’s not joined by his infamous squad, praise the Lord, but his stance carries the staunch confidence of a man who knows how much power he alone wields, hands gripping onto the leather straps of his harness where it meets at his collarbones, azure eyes narrowed as they lock onto you. He sniffs, head jolting to the side as he motions for Macintosh to close the door behind him. Only once the click of the lock sounds does he speak, turning back to your Captain, who sits at his desk, his broad back ramrod straight against the spine of the imposing black leather chair.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Gruff words accompanied by the slam of documents as they’re tossed onto the mahogany desk below, each stamped with a bold red “CLASSIFIED”. You try with every ounce of residual energy you can muster to pay attention, to follow along with the rough drawl of the man before you, but it’s near impossible to hear him over the hammering of your heart against your fractured rib cage at the sheer thought of who exactly it is that works under his command. Though you knew this day was coming, the inevitability of bumping into him grew nearer with each day you became stronger, knowing that climbing the ranks in this institution could only ever end with one outcome: working with the Ghost.

It’s something every other soldier in these barracks waited for with baited breath, grown adults huddled in groups and whispering to each other as soon as a mere rumour of Ghost’s presence at camp began circulating, all counting down to the day that they could brag about having worked with one of the most revered, and feared soldiers known to the SAS, if not the world.

But you? You turn your nose at the notion of enduring his company, professionally or otherwise. You’ve never shared the reason, never trusting anyone enough to tear out your own threadbare sutures and show them the ugly truth that hides behind military garb, not even your squad. It feels wrong, revealing that you not only knew Ghost, but had once known him intimately. Romantically. It’s always been unbearably uncomfortable to hear strangers hypothesise about his past, crafting theories on why he wears the mask, but especially when they gossip about his possible romantic or sexual endeavours; revealing in hushed whispers about an encounter they witnessed where he leaned a little too close to a nurse in the medic’s bay, or when they swore they saw him take a lady home from the bar in the rec centre.

It leaves you shaking every time, fists clenched so tightly part of you fears the bones may shatter under the pressure. And it’s pathetic really, that you let clearly erroneous rumours get the better of your carefully crafted composure, but if you’re being honest with yourself, he has always been an outlier. Different from the rest in a way that drove you insane, that still gets under your skin half a decade after you last saw his face. He knew you like no one else ever bothered to, peeled back the layers of your brain until he was left with the core of who you were; he could predict your every movement, holding out a tissue before you even knew you were going to sneeze. It ended up being both the biggest blessing, and most detrimental of curses.

You zone back into the conversation just as Price has finished his spiel, hands coming down to collect the files spread sporadically across Samuels’ desk. One look at both Doe and Phoenix confirms the dread in your stomach is not misplaced, twin pairs of eyes gleaming in the twilight, giddy hands wrung behind their backs as if that hides obvious excitement, like children on Christmas morning.

But the final nail in the coffin comes from your superior, the man who took the broken remnants of your psyche and crafted a monster, forged a weapon from bitter resentment and all-consuming spite, now unwittingly handing you the ultimate challenge to your hardy resolve.

“Looking forward to working with you, Captain.”

— — — —

Just one mission. A collaboration between the SAS’s most successful counterterrorism task forces, a decision that apparently “felt natural”, two groups fighting a common enemy are best working together, Macintosh accentuates an exaggerated rough timbre as he quotes Price’s earlier speech. If this were any other circumstance, you wouldn’t hesitate to poke fun at his clear idolisation of the 141’s Captain, instead, you’re left to amble two paces behind, feet dragging against dirt laden tiles, like a woman walking to her own execution.

You have 12 hours to prepare yourself, to concoct your own mask, moulded from false confidence and an exaggerated bravado, rather than reinforced plastic in the shape of a skull.

A mere 12 hours until you see him for the first time in 5 years, in full military attire, large, imposing, and hauntingly familiar. The idea of the Ghost doesn’t intimidate you the way it does everyone else. No, what terrifies you most is looking at him and knowing that just under his left eye, concealed by hard white plastic, is a small mole. That his nose and cheeks are dusted with light freckles, barely visible until your forehead brushes his. You're scared shitless of looking at the monster and seeing the man behind it, the man you once forced to dance around the kitchen, strong arms nestling you safely to his chest, white flour smeared across cheeks, his lips stretched wide with an adoring smile saved only for you.

The same man who turned on his heel and so casually removed himself from your life. No, the only Ghost you’ve ever feared was the one he left behind, haunting the corner of every room in the house you once owned, turning precious memories into taunting nightmares. He never came back to collect his belongings, cruelty to the nth degree; you spent too many nights huddled on his side of the bed, nose pushed into a sweatshirt that no longer bore his scent and wondering if he longed for you too.

Joining the SAS had given you the opportunity to move on, to push those things behind you, to sell the house and everything in it, leaving the new owners to throw out the things you could never bring yourself to. But despite longing for nothing more than a new beginning, you only felt like you had finally been gifted the chance for a new life when you met Captain Ryan “Tiny” Samuels. An ironic name for such a mountain of a man.

It still seems so fresh in your mind, the memory of you meeting your current Captain. It had been during sparring practice, Lieutenant Phillips giving half-assed commands with a nonchalant wave of his hand, too busy nursing a thermos flask full of God knows what to even spare a glance at the makeshift fighting ring comprised of a patchwork of padded mats. Sweat had dripped down your forehead in a near constant stream, but despite your bone-deep exhaustion, you never once relented. It was a classic game of King of the Castle, one person stays on the mat until they’re pinned, or yield, replaced by the victor. You had been undefeated for a period of 45 minutes, and all because one corporal had been stupid enough to call you out first, mistaking you for an easy target. It had taken roughly 10 seconds before he was face down into the mat, slapping his free hand against the PVC as you held him in an arm bar. You hadn’t left the mat since.

Little did you know that lurking in the dim corner of the gym, watching every soldier fall to your unshakable resolve and instinctual ability to fight, was the man you would soon call your superior. You had finally fallen 20 minutes later, a swift kick to the gut that sent you spluttering to the floor, chest heaving with built up fatigue. The winner extended their hand out, aided you to your unsteady feet with a supportive clap on the back, your lungs still burning with the lingering embers of enervation. You hadn’t even made it to the changing rooms before he emerged from the shadows, hardened hazel eyes locked to yours as he told you, with no room for possible argument, that you would be transferred to his troop.

You’ve been firmly under his wing ever since, transformed from a Corporal fighting just to feel something, to a Sergeant, a weapon within your own right. The soldier no one sees coming, a viper. He taught you how to hone your rage, your sadness, your guilt, and reshape it into clean strikes and a sharp mind.

The door to your quarters shuts with a definitive bang, the click of the lock automatically sliding into place has you blinking the sheen from your eyes, mind reeling as you rouse from your daydreams. The low echoes of voices from Macintosh and Davies slowly drift until you’re met with silence, a silence that should feel like an old friend, yet feels just as oppressive as the office you’ve just come from. There are so many reasons that you hate him, but it’s your relationship with the quiet that he so efficiently destroyed that you despise him for the most. You used to bask in quietude, used it to recalibrate your mind, let the silence soothe your anxiety-addled thoughts. But you can’t fucking stand it now, whispers of the past reverberate through your skull in neverending droves, memories you wish were long forgotten playing on loop, inescapable, and downright harrowing.

You only feel the tension seep from your rigid muscles when the sound of the radio fills the bare four walls you’ve learned to call home. It’s like a cold compress to a pounding head, the way it has your shoulders melting down from where they were hunched at your ears, finally alone in a way you can tolerate, mind vacant of its usual intrusive thoughts. The bed creaks as you perch on the edge, fingers gripping the thin mattress either side of your thighs. Blinking red lights illuminating your room with a taunting flash of the time, 1:58 AM.

10 hours.

Fuck.

— — — —

Somehow, you must have fallen asleep, joints creaking as you shift and peel open your eyes; squinting as the dawn leaks through open curtains, dousing your room in rich tones of burnt orange and deep amber.

‘Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ Even the sun is supplying you with its judgement upon the day ahead, and its forecast is foreboding at best.

Crackled voices continue to emanate from the radio that remains perched on your dresser, a reliable and constant source of companionship, as pathetic as that may seem. You allow yourself a few minutes of slumber, never sinking into the deep of restful sleep, instead you simply lay there and listen to radio hosts chatter about blissful nothingness. But seared behind your eyelids is the clock.

6:13 AM.

You meet with Price and his squad at 12, a quick ‘hello’ on the tarmac before being shoved into a helo and sent back off into the fray. Fighting side by side with the once love of your life, turned bitter, repressed memory. You can’t hold back the snort of disbelief, unable to comprehend the car crash that is your life. With a crack of your neck, you set about your usual morning routine with little enthusiasm, blank eyes darkened around the sockets meet yours in the mirror.

You should be a little more concerned about the stranger you see in the reflection, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If you’re unknown to even yourself, what chance does he have of recognising you? In a fucked up way, it’s that thought that has your chin lifting, your shoulders squared, watching as you sharpen from the weary Sergeant to the snake. You’re not the same person who he left to shrivel up and die all those years ago, your wounds long since patched up. Sure, he left you without a heart to pound beneath scarred skin, but you never needed one of those in your line of work anyway; he’ll find out soon enough just what kind of monstrosity he helped create.

You spend the next few hours gathering your belongings together, a small duffle bag filled with a couple of spare uniforms, some loose tops and shorts for the restless sleep you’re sure to be suffering through for the next few weeks. The biggest bag is still empty, sunken where it slumps next to the door, ready to be filled to the brim with an array of weapons. You haul the duffle over your shoulder, sneaking one final glance at your reflection in the full length mirror.

A black halter vest tucked into military cargo trousers, sunglasses perched on the end of your nose, steely irises just visible over the top of solid black frames. You clench your jaw, and feel the last section of your mask slide into place, crushing any remaining trepidation you let linger at the back of your mind. Nothing will get in the way of you maintaining the reputation you’ve earned, especially not him. Never him.

Your steel capped boots pound against the vinyl flooring, each stride bringing you ever closer to the armoury, your hastened pace faltering when you hear a low whistle from your right.

“Now there’s the Viper I remember.”

“Don’t be weird, Brodie, you saw me yesterday.” Despite your faux irate tone, you can’t help the smug grin that tugs at the edges of your lips.

“Ouch, bringin’ out the first name, you wound me, noodle.”

Fucking noodle. He’s been calling you that ever since you were given the alias ‘Viper’, you can still see the playful glint in his eye when he pulled up the google search ‘danger noodle’ on his phone, pointing to the first image and just barely dodging the slap to his arm as he told everyone, ‘Look, identical right?’.

“Not my fault your ego is so easily damaged,” your neck twists towards him, your spare hand coming up to gesture to the open door of the armoury, “Ladies first.” He sweeps by you with an exaggerated coquettish smile, fluttering his eyelashes so fast you’re scared he might be having a seizure.

“Such a gentleman.”

You tip your head down in response, letting yourself enjoy the banter that always flows so easily between the two of you. You still can’t quite pinpoint when Macintosh had gone from your over-eager colleague to a firm and loyal friend, a brother in arms. But truth be told, you’re not sure if you’d have made it to the position you’re in today without him and his unwavering support and steadfast humour, never dwindling no matter how dire the situation.

You send a nod to the soldier at the front desk, enduring minimal pleasantries as he quickly locates both yours and Phoenix’s keys to your weapon lockers, tossing them over the desk into eagerly awaiting hands. All it takes is a swift glance to your side to notice the way Macintosh is practically vibrating out of his own skin. It’s unsurprising, really, you’ve spent many a long night listening to the stories he’d heard about the 141, the bitter reminder of him numbed by the glint in your friend’s eyes, a look you recognised immediately as immense admiration. He’s wanted to work alongside them for as long as you’ve known him, and you let that desire to see his dreams fulfilled settle alongside the volatile thrum of pent up apprehension, if only to pacify the feeling for a moment long enough that you can truly be happy that Price showed up in your Captain’s office.

You set the empty bag at the foot of a red steel locker, your name clearly labelled across the front in bold black letters, and twist the key where it resides in the lock, sighing happily when you’re met with the sight of your beloved gear. You waste no time unhooking the brown leather harness and fixing it in place across your torso, loading each holster with your pistol, and an assortment of knives. With a firm tug, you tighten the straps until they’re secured against your chest, the familiar feeling of leather digging into your shoulders shouldn’t make you as happy as it does; maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re fully suited up, any crack in the armour is patched up with the weighted security of weaponry within immediate reach.

It’s only once you’ve zipped up your rifles that Jane finally saunters into view, sending both you and Brodie a two fingered salute before wordlessly packing up her own gear. A large sniper rifle, an SP-X 80, her angel of death, as she so morbidly refers to it. You shrug in response to Macintosh’s bemused nudge at your shoulder, leaning down to secure your fingers around the straps of your weapon bag, the cutting sting of nylon webbing eased by the black fingerless gloves you adorn.

“C’mon, shitbags, let’s get movin’, can’t keep Cap waitin’.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” You hum, barely audible over Macintosh’s booming voice as you both easily fall in step with your superior, you at her left, Phoenix at her right, a natural formation for your little trio.

Rays of light stream through scattered clouds above, casting what seems like a spotlight on the airstrip before you, the stage set for what is sure to be an explosive show to say the very least. It all seems too perfect, poetic, like this exact scenario has been written by the forces above, and they expect it to be carried out with nothing less than spectacular grandeur. Except you don’t want drama, tension, or an eager audience to make light entertainment out of your torment, you want nothing more than to put your head down, and get your hands dirty.

As much as you promised yourself to not let him cross your mind, not even your steadfast determination can stop the morbidly curious thought that surfaces once the helo appears on the near horizon.

‘How the fuck is he going to react to this?’

As far as you’re aware, your presence is unknown to him. In the many years you’ve been with the SAS, you have effectively managed to evade every room he’s bothered to grace with an ease that would rival his infamous ability to blend into the shadows. Your name is unknown to most, those outside of your squad only knowing you as the Viper, a choice you made to delay the inevitable for as long as you were physically able. So it’s you who has the element of the surprise. For once, it’s you who holds the power in your gloved grasp.

What has loose tendrils of doubt unfurling from the box you enclosed every ounce of anxiety in, however, is the complete inability to predict what exactly is going to happen the second recognition flashes behind cold chestnut eyes. All you know is that you’ve had five years to prepare yourself for this moment, and as much as you wish you could say the thought has never graced your mind, long nights spent running through this exact scenario say very much otherwise.

You’re ready.

Until blurred figures sharpen.

Until their softened edges become defined.

Until your eyes lock on harsh black, and stark white.

Until you see the spectre that’s bedevilled your existence for entirely too fucking long.

Until he provides the spark that ignites the anxiety in your stomach, blue flames scorching the blood that thrums though pulsing veins, leaving nothing but fury and ash in its wake.

Your wrath has a hunger equal to that of a forest fire, greedy and vicious, never satiated, never full. But it’s controlled within the confines of your skin, locked behind the bars of well taught self-restraint, a lesson you have Samuels to thank for as you focus your attention on said Captain, his eyes meeting yours with a barely there smile lifting at the edges of usually stoic lips.

“Here they are, fashionably late, as always.” Your Captain hums, a gleam to his eyes you’ve come to recognise as him toying with his squad. You expect Doe to pipe up, jokingly back talking to her boss that only she could ever get away with. You even suspect that Macintosh may jump in, knowing that his excitable nerves will have his lips looser than ever. What you never could have predicted, however, is Gaz.

“Viper? Damn, long time no see, eh?” It’s almost comical, how quickly your head snaps in his direction, an easy smile gracing your no doubt tense features at the sight of an old friend.

“Some might say not long enough, Garrick.” You quip, internally reminding yourself to thank whatever God has taken pity on your long-standing plight and blessed you with the distraction that is Kyle.

“Why, still need time to practise your aim?”

Ah. You’d first met Gaz on your first assignment under Captain Samuels, a god awful mission in Greenland, chasing some bastards who thought hiding their base in the middle of a snow riddled wasteland was a wise idea. In theory, of course, it had initially worked quite well, until a snowstorm had penned them into the very base they thought would protect them. Getting them to surrender had been a walk in the park. What had not been so easy, however, was leaving.

Just as they were trapped, you and your team were too. So of course as everyone waited for the storm to pass, and for the evac team to eventually clear you a route out, it had been a rough 29 hours spent huddled together for a glimpse of heat. But the boredom was as deadly as the frigid chill, until Garrick set up some targets in the form of flimsy cups from a water dispenser, and handed you the unloaded rounds from his gun. You both spent the remainder of your time throwing bullets at styrofoam, with you losing by a mere point after he jabbed your side milliseconds before the projectile left your fingertips, sending it spiralling way off your initial target.

“I hope in your old age you haven’t forgotten that you cheated to get that cheap victory, Sergeant,” You tilt your chin up, gazing at him through the darkened lens of your sunglasses, “I’d be happy to honour a rematch though, I’m nice like that.” He rewards you with a grin, any words of retaliation dying on his tongue as Price clears his throat, narrowed cobalt eyes glancing between you and Garrick with barely concealed interest.

“That’s enough chit chat,” A light chill trickling down your spine where the gruff of his voice curls around words like smoke, “Let’s get to work. Ghost, make sure we’re prepped for takeoff.”

It’s only then that the blissful banter and light mood dissipates, the moment shattered as the reminder of who else shares your presence hits you with a force akin to a freight train. It’s sheer instinct that has your gaze settling on the man in question, and it takes every fibre of self-control in your body to keep your face neutral, and your muscles relaxed.

Because there, stood but a few feet from you, wide eyes burning holes into the side of your face, is Simon motherfucking Riley.

The silence is near unbearable, although in reality it can’t have lasted any more than mere seconds, it’s more than enough to let you know your sudden appearance has truly thrown him, a feat you didn’t know were possible until this very moment. Whilst never letting his gaze leave yours, he slowly begins to stalk backwards towards the helo door.

“Affirmative.”

Rough. Rumbling. Sonorous. His truly unforgettable cadence rattles through your bones, shakes you to your core. It’s like suddenly you’re transported back to five years prior, like no time has passed at all and you’re still the lovesick fool who so desperately wanted his approval, craved his unwavering support that you’d grown wholly too reliant on. But somehow, despite the flood of once buried feelings, you maintain eye contact, refusing to back down from whatever this moment between the two of you is.

“Well, that was weird.” A new voice chimes in, steeped in a Scottish timbre, one you connect with the infamous ‘Soap’.

“Tell me about it.” When you turn to face Macintosh at his abrupt inclusion, you’re met with a rare stern expression, one that contorts his eyebrows until they’re nearly pinched at the top of his nose. A face that promises to ask you plenty of questions regarding the tense moment that transpired between you, and a man that you should have no connection to.

A short shake of your head conveys your message to him well enough, a sharp ‘I’ll tell you later’, it’ll be enough to get him off your back for now. Though you know that no amount of time will ever be enough to figure out how exactly you explain your relationship with the man he knows as Ghost. Samuels saves you the trouble for now, however, his baritone inflection cutting through your racing thoughts.

“By now, you should all know the mission brief, infiltrate AQ’s base in north Adal, retrieve stolen intel, and get the fuck out of there. If we do it right, they won’t have realised the intel is missing until we’re halfway across the ocean. The two task forces will be split into three teams,” Samuels crooks a finger at Davies, “Lieutenant Doe and Captain Price will be providing sniper support from the surrounding hills. Soap, Viper, you’ll be on the ground clearing the way and ensuring there’s a safe path in and out of the encampment for Ghost to safely retrieve the stolen data, and return it back to us. Gaz, Phoenix, and I will be creating a diversion outside the perimeter, should keep them busy enough that the ground team shouldn’t incur too many issues. Understood?”

A cacophony of ‘Affirmatives’ ring across the airstrip, all except yours, an exasperated huff falling from your lips in disbelief, because of course you’ve been put in a team with Simon.

“Got an issue, Sergeant?” All eyes turn to you. With a low grunt, you hike your duffle bags higher up your shoulder and begin walking onto the awaiting transport helicopter, the blades slowly beginning to turn as the engine roars to life, with one last glance, your eyes lock with Samuels’, and you send him a forced grin.

“Never, Captain.”

— — — —

The ride, to be put simply, is 6 and a half hours of torturous awkwardness, the air surrounding its inhabitants remaining stilted and uncomfortable for the entire duration. You attempted to pass the time by cleaning your weapons, despite the fact that each one is already spotless, not a fleck of dust, dirt, or blood to be found on any of them. But the repetitive motion of wiping a cloth across sharpened metal, or the meticulous deconstruction of your pistol in order to reach every nook and crevice helps occupy your mind.

It doesn’t stop you from feeling every minute of the journey though, seconds dragging endlessly until eventually the chopper meets tarmac. Unsurprisingly, you’re the first one to exit, desperately needing to suck in a lungful of air that hasn’t been tainted by him. The heat of Adal is just as suffocating, however, the air dense, and claggy, each breath feels as though it sticks to your lungs. Thankfully, the three awaiting cars are parked firmly in the shade, providing momentary relief from the blistering sun in the form of air conditioning. The reprieve doesn’t last for long though, seconds after you collapse onto the seat, haphazardly throwing your bags of clothes and equipment into the boot, the light flooding in through the open door blacks out, shadowed by the eclipse that is Ghost.

The cooled car no longer feels as refreshing, your chest constricting as he takes the seat next to you, leaving Soap to awkwardly climb onto the bench opposite, sapphire eyes darting between the unlikely duo as though you're wild animals.

You’ve never minded small spaces, in some cases, they’ve almost been comforting; now, however, you’ve never felt so claustrophobic, the right side of your torso pushed as far against the opposite end of the car as your body, and unrelenting metal will allow. In your momentary panic, you almost miss the large hand that appears in your peripheral, muscles going stiff as soon as you realise that his fingers are extending towards you.

“Comms, take it.”

Harsh. He’s pissed. Or upset. In the time you’ve spent apart, it’s disconcerting how much, and yet how little has changed.

You snatch the ear piece from his grasp, not risking more contact with him than strictly necessary, and slide it into place around your left ear, threading the wire through your clothes and linking it to the device attached to the strap on your harness. It only takes a push of a button for the transmitter to spark to life, unfamiliar voices of surrounding soldiers flooding your ear, quickly amending it to receive the assigned channel for your team to avoid any risk of an ill-timed headache.

“Testing, Ground Team, do you copy?” Doe’s voice crackles, a much needed comfort when you realise this is the first mission you’ll be heading into for a long time without your team right by your side, instead having to entrust your safety into the hands of a complete stranger, and a man you’re nearly 100% sure despises you.

“We copy, just arrived at the dropoff.”

“Understood, we’re a minute off being in position. Captain, we’ll wait on your signal.”

The only response is rough static, faint voices heard just under the white noise that threatens to deafen your left eardrum. You see Soap’s lips open, mouth ready to form words, when he’s abruptly interrupted by an explosion, smoke pluming so quickly towards the sky it begins to black out the sun.

“That’s our signal.” Ghost grunts, large hands ripping open the side door and wasting not a single second to turn back to either you or Soap before he disappears.

Two can play at that game.

In your haste, the bag of rifles and shotguns you packed is left stranded in the boot, but you’ve gone into missions with much less than a handful of knives and a pistol and made it out with only a scratch to show for it.

“Soap, that’s our building there,” you hum, dragging his head to your eye level, steady arms pointing out the large blue building that sits directly in the middle of AQ’s makeshift camp, “If we make our way across the rooftops, we’ll drastically reduce the chances of bumping into any sorry fuckers who might get in our way.”

You unclasp your pistol from its holster and flick off the safety, feeling that oh-so-familiar surge of adrenaline at the echo of shouts and gunfire emanating from the front gate.

“Let’s do some parkour then, aye?” Soap straightens up, retrieving his own weapon and sending you a wink, lips curled up in a light smirk before you both set off, running towards the nearest building, guns raised as you approach an open door, just barely hung on by loose hinges. You can’t help but grin, watching as Soap tentatively pushes the door further ajar with his foot, gun raised and at the ready. Meanwhile, you’ve already calculated your way in.

Without so much as a word, you run at the decrepit AC just to the left of the door Soap is guarding, jumping on top of the dented metal and propelling yourself up until your fingers curl around the splintering wood of a window pane, any glass blocking your path in long since shattered. It takes little effort to pull yourself up, and jump into the second story room, just barely catching the ‘Steamin’ Jesus’ from Soap where he still stands downstairs.

Within seconds you clear the building for any possible intruders, calling out to Soap that he’s free to enter as you begin bounding up crumbling steps two at a time. You’ve already plotted out an easy path to take across the rooftops by the time Soap joins you, shallow huffs of breath pulled past cracked lips as he sidles up next to you.

“Y’know, when I said ‘let’s do some parkour’, I meant when we got to the rooftops.”

In response, you slot your gun into its holster, and stretch out your calves, your head just tilting in his direction as you slowly back up from the building’s ledge.

“Try to keep up, yeah?” This time it’s you who sends him the wink, taking great satisfaction in his surprised expression before you take off, the short run up giving you enough momentum to leap from the rooftop Soap still occupies to the next. You don’t once look back to see if he’s following, trusting the 141 are competent enough to keep up with a small amount of aerobics.

It’s moments like these when you fall in love with your job the most, rough wind driving small grains of sand against your exposed skin, fingers scraped red from gripping onto ledges and scrambling against harsh rock, knees lined with small cuts and blossoming bruises, because you’ve never felt more alive.

It’s the screaming from below that keeps you tethered to your work though, a gritty reminder that your team is down there, risking their lives to give you cover, to get the mission done.

There’s only one more building that separates you from the peeling blue paint of your target, you hardly hesitate on taking the leap onto the rooftop below, body automatically rolling to alleviate the impact. It’s only when you’ve come to a stop do you realise you’re not alone, a man with a sniper rifle lays prone against the concrete, the red of his laser focused upon the chaos below. You fingers have just wrapped around the hilt of a knife before your transmitter hisses to life.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered spidermonkey.” The impact of the bullet driving through his skull should send you to the floor, heaving whatever’s left of your breakfast onto the scorching stone. But you’ve been in this game long enough, and all you feel is relief at the sound of Doe’s jovial tone, a solid reminder that your Lieutenant is always looking out for you. You send a loose salute in what you assume is her direction just as Soap lands next to you, sparing you a withering glance before you’re both making your way to the last jump, muscles showing the first sign of exertion as you pull yourself into the vacant windowpane.

“This is Viper,” You murmur, fingers wrapped around your transmitter, “Ground Team have made it to the target building, route has been cleared for extract.”

“About time you caught up.” You hate the fact you jump, hands automatically drawing a knife until it resonates that the voice is one you’re far too familiar with, exhaling a shaky sigh as you right yourself and jam the knife back into its rightful place.

“You need to be more careful about who you sneak up on, might end up with a blade through the eye.” You can’t stop the words that spit out of you, not sure if you even tried to hold them back, eyes just barely casting over to his figure, half hidden by the shadows.

“And you need to be more careful when you’re addressing your superiors, Sergeant, might end up without a job.”

Rage flows anew within you, rabid fire rattling against the bars of its cage from where it once lay dormant under your skin, its teeth bared, saliva dripping from exposed gums peeled back in a show of nothing less than unadulterated aggression. But under your skin, it remains. Instead of throwing fists, you hurl him an unimpressed glare, only just managing to retain your composure when he tilts his head at you in response, harsh, cold eyes fixed to yours. Without so much as a sound, he pushes himself off the wall he leant on, large strides covering the distance between you both in a scarily short amount of time, your breath catching in your throat as you belatedly wonder if this is where he chooses to confront you.

Yet he breezes past you, the side of his bicep just barely grazing the skin of your shoulder as he disappears from your vision.

“Room’s this way, get a fuckin’ move on.”

And you’re left with little other option than to turn on your heel and follow him, trying to bury the hint of a reminder of how his skin felt when it used to brush yours, to take those bittersweet memories and feed them to the flames.

For the rest of the mission, you daren’t open your mouth. Not because you’re scared of Ghost, but for fear that once you let your lips part, the torrent you’ve so diligently held within you will rip itself from your grasp. Because despite any intense personal feelings, your desire to do your job, and do it fucking well, will always be your number one priority. You utter not a single word. Not when the intel is successfully obtained. Not when you make your way back back to your exfil in the searing heat. Not when the car door slams shut behind you, tires spinning against loose asphalt as the car speeds away from the scene behind you, only just able to make out dark clouds of smoke in the rearview mirror. The car is deathly silent, save for the occasional transmission between the other two teams, all members having successfully made it to safety, and are on route to the safe house, provided by a friend of Captain Price’s.

But it doesn’t matter how silent you are. You can feel the way tension builds, sporadic sparks that threaten to ignite the air that sits heavy in your lungs, so thick it risks choking you. You know that this can only end one way, that the hostility can only be stretched so far until it gives in to the force and snaps. You just weren’t expecting it to happen the moment you got out of the car.

Your eyes have only just found Macintosh’s before a hand clamps down on your shoulder, your muscles coiling in retaliation as you attempt to throw his weight off you.

“What the fuck are you doing here.”

When you turn to face him, it’s like staring into a mirror. A reflection of every ounce of rage burns within his blackened eyes, staring down at you as though he hated having to even acknowledge your existence.

“Last time I checked, I was doing my job, Lieutenant.” Try as you might to keep your voice level, you can’t help but grit out his rank, lips hissing around the syllables like it pained you to utter them.

“You know damn fuckin’ well what I meant by that.”

You leave him with a scoff, shaking his hand from your skin and storming off in the direction of the safe house, a last ditch attempt to hold off a confrontation you’ve dreaded for at least another day. You’ve almost made it to the door when you hear your name snarled into the desert, echoing between the walls of abandoned houses, blown apart by war, old blood seared into crumbling brick. It looks like the remnants of your relationship, fragile and too far gone to be repaired. Maybe this is what Simon saw before he turned his back on you, just someone who wasn't worth the effort it would take to rebuild.

It’s that lone thought that breaks you, that has the weathered bars of the cage within you finally giving in to molten heat, your skin aflame as you whirl back around on him.

“Do I though, Simon?” You stalk two steps closer, eyes narrowed to slits as your words snap through bared lips, “We both know you’re fucking awful at communicating, might have got the wrong end of the stick somewhere between your indecipherable grunts and shitty attitude.”

If you weren’t so consumed by your own anger, you may have withered under the sneer he hands you in response, almost able to see the way his face twists with rage from under unyielding white plastic.

“If you did all this just out of spite,” his finger points to your team behind you, circling back to him, “Joining the fucking military, risking your life, just to get back at me, you’re a whole lot stupider than I ever took you for.”

“Oh, because you signed up with purely heroic intent, didn’t you?” The change in his stance should give you enough warning, but he’s fanned the flames within you too much for you to back down now, the fire only rising to his straightened posture, “You weren’t using deployment as an escape at all, were you Simon?”

“Enough,” Growled words gritted out from behind clenched teeth don’t deter you in the slightest, if anything they only bolster the adrenaline that burns through shaking limbs.

“Did you ever stop and think that this is what I wanted all along? That you were only even holding me back from doing the one thing I’m fucking good at? Or do you only ever think about yourself, huh? I signed up to the SAS not because I wanted to get some petty revenge on a man who walked out on me, not because I was running away from a shitty childhood, but because I fucking wanted to! Got it?” You end your speech roaring, the words screaming from your lungs and burning past your throat, each ragged breath you take grates against raw flesh.

The flames begin to dwindle just enough for you to grab your bags from where Soap had placed them in the sand, right your posture, and turn. You can’t bring yourself to spare a glance at any of the others, where they no doubt stand dumbfounded outside the safehouse. You only grace them with sparse, stilted words, hoping to God they don’t see the red leaking through your shirt, a sign that the sutures you tried to hide for so long were finally ripped out, leaving nothing but the gnarly truth in their place.

“I’ll take first watch.”

Tag list // @shuttlelauncher81 , @txmbstone , @xentari94 , @hypernovaxx

#The Viper Series #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon riley x y/n #simon riley mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #simon riley fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price

282 notes · View notes

alrightsnaps · 2 years

Text

Jily Fanfiction Recommendations

So, I’ve received more than one ask about giving some Jily fic recommendations... but tumblr is determined to drive me mad and if it didn’t crush after I’d spent hours compiling a list, making me lose everything, it refused to process my post as an answer to an inbox message *sigh*. But I’ve been meaning to make a list of my recommendations for a while so I’m posting it separately here!

Buckle up cause this is going to be a LONG post.

The first half consists of sort of canonverse stories (in that they take place in the magical world of the hp books) but not necessarily canon compliant. The second half consists of varying non magical AUs.

There are some stories that I’ve revisited time and time again over the years as well as others that I haven’t read since I was a teenager but remember liking at the time.

At the end of the post I’ve also included some fics and new authors that are on my TBR- I’ve hit a big slump over the pandemic, but I’m still keeping an eye out and there are some new jily writers that have began writing over the past 2-3 years whose work looks amazing and I can’t wait to check out!

Enjoy!

HP UNIVERSE (CANON-COMPLIANT AND AU)

LONG MULTICHAPTERS (90,000+ words)

The Life and Times by Jewels5

She was dramatic. He was dynamic. She was precise. He was impulsive. He was James, and she was Lily, and one day they shared a kiss, but before that they shared many arguments, for he was cocky, and she was sweet, and matters of the heart require time.

Words: 613,762 Status: Abandoned

Pretty much my holy book. Anything I say about TLAT will not be enough to describe this masterpiece that has owned a piece of my soul for years, more so than the hp series itself. The perfect Marauders era story to read even for those who don't ship or particularly care for James and Lily. No other fanfic has managed to make me feel attached to its ensemble the way Jules' story did. While it's abandoned, the way the last two chapters are structured could serve as a nice conclusion of sorts- in any case do NOT let its abandoned status put you off!!

An Unexpected Attraction by thegingerhairedlass

A telling of the Marauders Era and the romance that shaped it all. Lots of teenage angst & romance spanning from the Marauders' seventh year until the end of the First Wizarding War.

Words: 648,698 Status: Complete

My second favourite Marauders era canon compliant long fic and by absolute favourite portrayal of Marlene McKinnon (Jules' Marlene doesn't count, she's a Price and I view her as a whole different character, okay? 😝)

All Right, Evans? by CokeBottleK

Part I of in-progress trilogy [6th year]: The thing about being Lily Evans and James Potter was that you couldn't do anything without everybody else saying something about it.

Followed by Dangerous Crowds by CokeBottleK

Part II [7th year]: "As in all wars, life goes on."

Words: 106,188 Status: Abandoned

The Rise and Fall of the Stag and the Doe by SiriusUntiltheVeryEnd

Moments. They make or break relationships. Lily didn't just happen to fall in love with James. It wasn't an accident, but a long drawn out process that grew out of the relationships of the people around them. And when it came down to it, even Lily and James couldn't fight fate.

Words: 379,212 Status: Complete

Turning Tables by scared of clouds

Lily Evans' and James Potter's relationship has always been a complicated story; it's just about to get a lot more complicated. And so is everything else. They might not know each other well, but they're about to know each other a lot better. Cover art by anxiouspineapples.

Words: 205,589 Status: Complete

Followed by My Kind Of Love by scared of clouds

James and Lily are out of Hogwarts and engaged; add in the Order of the Phoenix, complicated friendships and deranged Death Eaters, and things can only get more difficult from here.

Castle on the Hill by ac0llecti0n0fn0nsense

After graduating Hogwarts, Lily finds herself quietly fighting the First Wizarding War from an Order of the Phoenix safe house in Scotland as a potions mistress. As the war escalates, Lily and James learn about love, fear, and what it means to grow up.

Words: 200,042 Status: In Progress

Sunshine in My Eyes by monroeslittle

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live. Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

Words: 93,410 Status: Complete

Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Breanie

The story of how James convinced Lily that he wasn't actually the arrogant bullying toe-rag she claimed with help from her new best friend, Sirius Black, who is working to help Lily through difficult times. Can be a standalone, but also works as a prequel to my Beginning Series.

Words: 234,367 Status: Complete

First James/Lily fanfic I ever read back when I first discovered fanfiction is a thing. Aw nostalgia.

Sparks by BirthOfAPhoenix

Lily was certain her final year at Hogwarts would be the best yet. She had amazing friends, top marks, and was a shoo-in for Head Girl. Everything was as it should be. But with a war brewing on the outside and a new relationship heating up on the inside, she could no longer pretend it was business as usual when, all around her, there were sparks.

Words: 154,134 Status: In Progress/Abandoned

Every Other Midnight by Kathryn's NomDePlume

Professor Potter and Head Girl Lily Evans... The Dark Decline

Words: 997,210 Status: In Progress

What About Now? by SiriusUntiltheVeryEnd

She noticed him, of course she noticed him but Lily didn't let her gaze linger. She had always thought James was fit, but she didn't particularly want to. James Potter was trouble and she had enough problems.

MULTICHAPTERS AND ONESHOTS (10,000-70,000 words)

Kiss and Tell by SunshineDaisiesWindmills

The rules were simple. Provoke each other. Scream at each other. Snog each other. Do this as frequently as possible, but don't ever, ever kiss and tell.

Words: 47,861 Status: Complete

Talk Me Down by gxldentrio

James is determined to stay away from short, freckled redheads. Lily, having had enough drama for a lifetime, is equally resolved to avoid dark-haired troublemakers. But he rarely does what he ought, and she is too stubborn for her own good. It should be an interesting year.

Words: 54,647 Status: Complete

October Thirty-First by jamespotterthefirst

Even before they were a couple, they always seemed to spend Halloween together. Series of oneshots.

Words: 17,557 Status: Complete

In Fields of Poppies by SunshineDaisiesWindmills

Her father's war and her grandfather's war were fought with metal and manpower. Hers was done with magic.

Words: 41,527 Status: In Progress/Abandoned

Playing the Hero by MeganRachel09

James Potter never thought he would be found guilty of a prank he didn't actually commit. When he realizes that Lily Evans may secretly be Hogwarts' greatest prankster, however, he finds he doesn't mind taking the fall for her, especially when she turns out to be unexpectedly enthusiastic in her gratitude. His only hope is that it all ends up being worth the punishment.

Words: 46,343 Status: Complete

Sober by LovelyFlowerAK

The first time James and Lily get drunk are very interesting stories. As are the last. And, really, everything in between.

Words: 49,097 Status: Complete

Let's do something you're not supposed to by Oynnej

Lily isn't happy. Although she should be with a seemingly perfect life and perfect boyfriend to boot. But then James Potter comes along and shows her you're not always supposed to do...what you're supposed to do.

Words: 15,628 Status: Complete

Crossing Paths by twilightstargazer

She knew him in Hogwarts; wildly popular, overly confident and a massive flirt. Honestly, she'd never expect to see him again when he left school but now he's back and, oh goodness... he's going to be working side by side with her now, isn't he?

Words: 37,508 Status: Complete

Just Stay Here Tonight by monroeslittle

AU. Lily Evans isn't a witch.

Words: 38,077 Status: Complete

And the Wolves All Cry by monroeslittle

AU. if a certain person doesn't hear a prophecy, does it still come true?

Words: 31,769 Status: Complete

Time Lapse by Apalapucian

three years ago, lily discovered that she could fly. two years ago, james stopped flying.

the first time they meet, he's twenty four, and she literally falls from the sky.

he thinks it's love at first sight. it's not—it rarely ever is—but close.

Words: 32,136 Status: In Progress

Eight Days by B.C Daily

During a week-long exhibition, professional Quidditch player James Potter encounters Lily Evans, Junior Quidditch Correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

Words: 40,697 Status: In Progress

Firelight Waltz by cgner

"I'd like to assign the two of you a special, undercover mission," Dumbledore says, his wrinkled fingers steepling on his desk. "I require two Order members to pose as a newlywed couple."

Words: 11,411 Status: Complete

Just Keep Your Eyes On Me by crossingwinter *AU- No Voldemort*

You’re not allowed to date your roommate. There’s practically a law against it.

So James moves out.

Words: 50,070 Status: Complete

The Twelve Days of Christmas by pratty-prongs-princesse

With Alice and Frank's impending nuptials on Christmas Day, Lily Evans is back home for the holidays. As maid of honour, she's unexpectedly thrown together with the best man, James Potter, who has seemingly changed since their graduation. This is a Christmas love story about how the two school rivals went from hate to lust to love while planning a wedding.

Words: 68,812 Status: Complete

The Art of Self-Defense by cgner *GILMORE GIRLS AU*

Lily got pregnant at sixteen and left Hogwarts to work at an inn. After seventeen years of single parenting, she now has to manage a persistent James, nosy villagers, and a son who's all too interested in joining the Order.

Words: 22,047 Status: Complete

MULTICHAPTERS AND ONESHOTS (less than 10,000 words)

Snaps by Jewels5

James comes up with a nickname.

Words: 1,680 Status: Complete

Guess where my handle comes from....

The Incident in the Library by greenconverses

Lily Evans has been distracted lately…and it’s all because of James Potter and his stupid, unbuttoned shirt. Hardly any fluff, but plenty of shirtless James for everybody. Seventh year fic.

Words: 3,780 Status: Complete

A Wizard Walks Into A Bar by GhostOfBambi

Contrary to popular belief, it's not always the man who does all the chasing.

Words: 5,558 Status: Complete

Fundamental Laws of Magic by lizardcookie

There are certain rules of magic that Lily Evans would very much have liked not to confront in one day. What began in Defense Against the Dark Arts between two people avoiding the obvious ends in the dungeons, the same two people not the same as they were before.

Words: 4,669 Status: Complete

Yeah, Okay by CokeBottleK

A series of instances in which Lily Evans said yes to James Potter.

Words: 8,214 Status: Complete

Questions and Answers by lizardcookie

The simple question of whether or not they're dating doesn't exactly have a simple answer. Seventh Year Jily.

Words: 5,629 Status: Complete

History of a Friendship by lizardcookie

Seven years of friendship between Severus Snape and Lily Evans.

Words: 4,473 Status: Complete

Just Belong With Me by scared of clouds

Sometimes it's the smallest moments that can cause the biggest changes. Five small moments are all it takes to make the biggest change of all. One shot, seventh year Lily and James. Cover art by anxiouspineapples.

Words: 7,517 Status: Complete

The One With The Forgotten Two of Diamonds by Apalapucian

James and Lily brew Amortentia together—and nothing happens. Lily thinks she's officially gone forever numb, James thinks the dungeons smell like a swamp, and everyone concludes they're both idiots. Everybody's daft in love.

Words: 8,048 Status: Complete

Lovers and Voyeurs by MeganRachel09

Towards the end of their Seventh Year, Snape wants to make amends with Lily, but ends up witnessing a private moment between her and James Potter instead.

Words: 5,604 Status: Complete

To Live Nobly by cgner

It doesn’t feel like he’s living. In a world ruled by the Dark Lord, he’s miserable, but not because of the government. A chance meeting wakes him up, but there’s something familiar about her that he can’t quite put his finger on…

Words: 5,741 Status: Complete

For the Price of a Cup of Coffee by cgner

Something is wrong with Lily's brain. She's not sure what, but nothing good comes out of waking up in a hospital bed with no memory of how you got there. To make matters worse, the messy-haired Healer who shows up doesn't seem to know anything about Healing - he's pretty attractive, though, so that's something.

Words: 5,172 Status: Complete

Good Enough by lizardcookie

They were standing chest to chest, lungs working in tandem and minds blazing. Her wand was still pushed against his heart and he could see gold in her green gaze, but maybe that was his own eyes shining back at him. One move forward and their feet touched now.

"Duel. You and me."

Words: 4,167 Status: Complete

Couples Therapy by GhostOfBambi

Transfiguration Professor. Head of Gryffindor House. Deputy Headmistress. Love Guru. Minerva McGonagall is a woman of many talents.

Words: 4,334 Status: Complete

Two Sides of the Same Coin by GhostOfBambi

There are those who claim that Lily Evans couldn't possibly love James Potter as much as he loves her - including, on occasion, James Potter himself - but they couldn't be more wrong if they claimed that the moon was made of cheese.

Words: 8,126 Status: Complete

i (am in) love (with) you by welcometonerdworld

Five times Lily says she loves James, and one time James says it back. Cover art by viria.

Words: 2,835 Status: Complete

Keep It Sweet, Keep It Slow by Apalapucian

She needs him, needs a lot of things; needs to inspect his head for herself and make sure he didn't crack it open, because he's an idiot. She needs to apologize and berate, needs to trace his jaw with her fingertips, unearth the seasons in his eyes, taste his Quidditch-sky-laden lips.

Words: 3,870 Status: Complete

Fireside by Acacia Carter (xaandria)

Trying to reassure Lily Evans that the world isn't going to fall apart on his watch, James ends up revealing far more than he'd intended - and the emotions that have been bottled up for years are finally realised.

Words: 5,330 Status: Complete

fallen leaves by Apalapucian

they don't tell you about the quiet days.

Words: 1,017 Status: Complete

Easy, Bloody Easy by GhostofBambi

Answer to the prompt: Head Boy James is trying to keep his cool because some Slytherins are causing trouble and he doesn't want to hex them but Lily sails in to the rescue.

Words: 2,546 Status: Complete

Marlene by elanev91

Lily finds out that her best friend was killed in the war. This is the aftermath.

Words: 4,306 Status: Complete

The Early Morning Toast Brigade by GhostOfBambi

In which Lily Evans makes the best of insomnia, with the help of her womanly wiles.

Words: 2,397 Status: Complete

Stay The Night by scared of clouds

The events of a single night can have very unexpected consequences. Two shot, Jily AU. Cover art by Viria.

Words: 6,888 Status: Complete

Eleventh and a Half by Apalapucian

He has never seen her this drunk before, and he's not sure if he's more amused or worried about it.

Words: 1,092 Status: Complete

Of Crossing Lines and Changing Minds by honeylake

In which James asks Lily out... only once.

Words: 6,940 Status: Complete

Perfect Match by Franklet

“Are you coming?” James demanded. Lily raked her eyes over him with marked disinterest and rolled her eyes. “No.”' 7 years at Hogwarts, 7 years of Quidditch, 7 questions asked and only 6 refusals?

Words: 7,342 Status: Complete

The Way I Loved You by Apalapucian

"His name was Terrence Hunter, muggle-born and all kinds of perfect, but Lily couldn't help but note the lack of callouses on his fingers, the way his brown curls crowned his kind face a little too immaculately, the way his eyes were of the wrong hue…how there wasn't a pair of spectacles for her to remove before he leaned in to kiss her."

Words: 9,068 Status: Complete

That Scent by erinsailorditz

Spicy. Warm. All him. That man's cologne was haunting her, though Lily's one night with him was long over. Sweet. Floral. All her. Was that her perfume James just smelt drifting by?

Words: 2,355 Status: Complete

The Potions Missile Crisis by GhostOfBambi

As if Slughorn wasn't bad enough already, now you'll never be able to see him again without spontaneously combusting from shame.

Words: 6,425 Status: Complete

Alarming and Beautiful by stolen-whispers

What she didn’t realize until after she agreed to go out with him was that these things were piling on his shoulders until he was hunched under the weight of the world and it was all he could do not to throw it off and watch it shatter.

Words: 4,831 Status: Complete

Subtle Perspectives by amethysth

Though they've "known" each other for years, it takes Lily Evans and James Potter several moments to truly connect.

Words: 5,166 Status: Complete

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE (NO MAGIC)

LONG MULTICHAPTERS (90,000+ words)

Bloody Shangri-La by firbolging

"The way she babbled on about the place made it seem like some sort of promise land, but James knew full well that is was nothing of the sort. Sowsworth was a wasteland that comprised of seven shops, a pub, and the incredibly bored shadows of lonely people. It was not bloody Shangri-la."

Words: 128,218 Status: Complete

Covet Thy Neighbour by BeeDaily and GhostofBambi

There are lots of ways to introduce oneself to a new neighbour, but breaking into their flat, perhaps, is a road less travelled.

Words: 125,706 Status: In Progress

The Underground by elanev91

James and Lily are doing the fluffy things. Muggle AU, Mass Transit AU (lol not a thing?), Coffee Shop AU.

Words: 91,923 Status: Complete

Fighting Fate by scared of clouds *PIRATE AU*

It may have taken him a while to get to this point, but James Potter is happy with his life; as the captain of the pirate ship Fawkes, no-one tells him what to do or where to go. But when he agrees to carry a passenger - for a fee, of course - his life takes a rather interesting and wholly unexpected turn, and the past may be about to catch up with him. Jily AU, cover art by Viria

Words: 128,296 Status: Complete

MULTICHAPTERS AND ONESHOTS (10,000- 70,000 words)

A Game of Thrones by ritaskeetered *MODERN ROYALTY AU*

Lily Evans had never imagined she would meet Prince James, but when she does at St Andrews' annual Christmas Pub Crawl, her whole world is turned upside down. For who thought that a girl like her - with a sister that reads "Hello" magazine like it's the Bible - would end up with a prince like him?

Shelf Awareness by GhostofBambi *BOOKSHOP/COFFEE SHOP AU*

It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there.

Words: 28,416 Status: Complete

Elevator Love Song by BeeDaily

James unexpectedly finds himself trapped in a dodgy apartment elevator with Lily Evans.

Words: 15,995 Status: Complete

The Fight Before Christmas by GhostofBambi

The heartwarming Christmas tale of Lily Evans and James Potter - two plucky kids who hated one other, until the day they really, really didn't.

Words: 29,201 Status: Complete

Key Limes by cgner *CELEBRITY/MODERN ROYALTY AU*

In which Academy Award winner Lily Evans discovers the periphery of internet fandom and the mysteries of Prince James’s gold star system.

Words: 23,481 Status: Complete

Followed by Ending the Stars by cgner

Five times Prince James proposes to Oscar-winner Lily Evans, and one time he doesn’t. Sequel to Key Limes. Words: 9,014 Status: Complete

Filthy Animals by GhostofBambi *BROOKLYN NINE NINE AU*

James Potter is a talented young detective who's used to doing whatever he wants. When his new boss, DCI McGonagall, tires of his troublemaker ways, she hires her brilliant protégée, Lily Evans, to keep him under control. Now, if only Lily could control herself...

Words: 65,524 Status: In Progress

Wherefore Art Thou, James Potter? By GhostofBambi

For never was a story of more woe than this of James Potter, and his sad, pathetic attempts to win the heart of a girl who thinks he's a prize idiot.

Words: 56,927 Status: In Progress

Salmon Fishing in the Olympics by GhostofBambi *FAKE DATING AU*

Modern Era AU: When Lily Evans seeks assistance from James Potter to avoid the attentions of a suitor who just won't take no for an answer, she accidentally lands them both on the front page of every gossip magazine in Britain. She should have thought about that before pretending to be the girlfriend of a famous athlete.

Words: 12,163 Status: Complete

Question Time by cgner *POLITICS AU*

Newly-elected Prime Minister Potter has his work cut out for him. If only a certain red-headed MP weren’t deliberately making life harder for him.

Words: 11,214 Status: Complete

Careless Texter by GhostofBambi

Answer to the prompt, “I left my phone number on the bathroom stall wall and you text me about your day and your frustrations for a month & it’s really nice and cute but I still don’t know who you are,” with some twists and differences.

Words: 33,121 Status: Complete

Catastrophe by GhostofBambi *UNPLANNED PREGNANCY AU*

With a best-laid plan, a naked rear end, one jalapeño and a pair of light-up antlers, Lily Evans's carefully crafted life is hurtled into chaos.twists and differences.

Words: 36,602 Status: In Progress

Say When by jamespotterthefirst *COLLEGE AU*

A version of how Lily Evans and James Potter would have met if they were only two university students in a world where magic and Hogwarts didn't exist.

Words: 33,646 Status: Abandoned

Dead Men Rise Up Sometimes by cgner *PUSHING DAISIES AU*

Lily Evans leads a simple life of making pies and waking the dead. She doesn't wake them for good, mind – only for a minute, until she and Sirius can find out who killed them. Their latest case: James Potter, moneyed heir, messy haired, and recent murder victim. Keeping him alive is a terrible idea. Too bad Lily's always been a bit reckless.

Words: 38,824 Status: Complete

Seven Things by Apalapucian

"James leans in. Lily hears the script crumple in his hands, but she doesn't look to check. His lips touch the corner of hers, a hand coming up to cup her face. He is moving. So. Maddeningly. Slow... She curses in her head, makes up about a hundred thousand excuses for the next second—and then grabs him down by the back of his neck and kisses him fully, desperately, fervidly."

Words: 19,097 Status: Complete

Sofa-king Fit by elanev91

Two new people move in across the hall and Lily gets locked out.

Based on the "oops we have to share a bed" trope.

Words: 10,277 Status: Complete

Stop Flirting with the Talent by elanev91 *THEATRE AU*

Lily Evans is the hot new performer on the West End, James snags her first interview.

Words: 12,512 Status: Complete

Build-a-Daddy by dancinglily *SINGLE PARENT AU*

The college au where Lily is a single mom struggling with finishing school and raising a child, and James discovers he quite likes babysitting.

Words: 28,540 Status: Complete

Georgia Peach by elanev91 *UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR/AMERICAN AU*

Lily Evans, lifelong New Yorker, is headed to the University of North Carolina for a job interview and she can’t find the right god damn building. Lucky for her, southern belle James Potter is there to save the day.

Words: 15,680 Status: Complete

One Wild Ride by twilightstargazer *SINGER/BAND AU*

Breaking News: Lily Evans and James Potter are not so secretly snogging. The internet is losing its shit.

Words: 14,405 Status: Abandoned/In Progreess

Provisionally Yours by snapslikethis *FORCED MARRIAGE/PRETEND RELATIONSHIP AU*

Lily Evans discovers she's been married off to James Potter without her knowledge. She and the spoiled count (in whom she appears to have finally met her match) have three days, for better or worse, to decide whether to accept the contract. With her sister adamant to make her life miserable, and a husband who seems equally determined to repel her, what else can possibly go wrong?

Words: 43,618 Status: Complete

Straight On Till Morning by ritaskeetered *ANASTASIA AU*

When Lily Evans leaves the orphanage in Cokeworth, there is much she does not understand. With no memory of the first eleven years of her life, she only knows that she should head to Paris if she ever wants to find out where she belongs. Unsure of where to begin, she meets the Marauders and strikes an unlikely alliance. They will take her with them to Paris if she pretends to be the lost Princess Lilibeth Evangeline. Jily/Anastasia AU.

Words: 17,840 Status: In Progress

Darkest Night by whatcuriousthings *COLLEGE AU*

"It’s a tiny place, warm and welcoming with soft light and softer croissants. A place so small that if you happened to, say, run into the bloke you had been hell-bent on avoiding—well, there would be no avoiding about it."

Words: 11,691 Status: Complete

ONESHOTS (less than 10,000 words)

Textbooks, Time Scarves, and Tea by cgner *COFFEE SHOP AU*

Lily visits the coffee shop because Sev works there, even though he's got a completely obnoxious coworker with admittedly fantastic hair.

Words: 7,389 Status: Complete

Lessons in Lesson Planning by cgner *FAKE DATING AU*

Answer to the prompt: “our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore”

Words: 6,585 Status: Complete

Three Swipes, You're Out by twilightstargazer *CELEBRITY AU*

Sports star James Potter tries to pick Lily up on tinder. Lily Evans, a dedicated not sports fan is offended by the idea that someone thinks she wouldn't recognize James Potter's face. She laughs about it with her friends at a bar, until James Potter, who also frequents that bar, comes over to clarify that nope, he's on tinder, and he's definitely hitting on her.

Words: 4,099 Status: Complete

Sing A Reckless Serenade by twilightstargazer *FAKE DATING AU*

After an almost minute of silence, she finally relents, “I need you guys to help me with a work thing.”

A hefty pause. And then-

“What kind of work thing?” James asks, warily.

Lily takes a breath. It seemed like a brilliant idea last night, when she was more than three drinks under, but now in the light of day it just seems… pathetic. Still though, she needs help, and needs it soon, so she finds herself blurting out:

“I need you to fake date me for a week.”

Words: 7,817 Status: Complete

Mother Deer by GhostofBambi *COFFEE SHOP AU*

Euphemia Potter is the unequivocal boss of everyone, including and most especially her son, and if the sweet, bright-eyed redhead who frequents her coffee shop doesn't know that yet, she's about to find out.

Words: 6,712 Status: Complete

Cat in a Fifth Floor Flat by GhostofBambi

Modern Era AU. When Remus Lupin moves out and Lily Evans moves in, James Potter finds himself instantly drawn to his beautiful new neighbour. Little does he know that a mysterious force of nature is secretly pulling the strings.

Words: 5,349 Status: Complete

Supermarket Sweep by GhostofBambi

James Potter can find anything he needs in his local supermarket - bread, milk, the woman of his dreams - they've got it all.

Words: 4,634 Status: Complete

Foam Hearts by Sleepinghookah *COFFEE SHOP AU*

Coffee shop AU. A story in which James and Lily are blind - both in entirely different ways.

Words: 6,655 Status: Complete

Erotic Porridge by elanev91

Euphemia Potter thinks her doctor needs to go on a date with her son. This story is so named because I saw it somewhere, could not stop laughing, and my best friend professor-riddikulus hates it so much that I just had to. This story has nothing, literally nothing, to do with porridge.

Words: 6,351 Status: Complete

The Yeast I Can Do by elanev91

Dr Lily Evans had an absolute shit day at work. Luckily, there's a bakery nearby that offers a course that she hopes will take her mind off of things.

My Spellbound Heart by twilightstargazer

She washes her face and tries to compose herself before heading back out there. Marlene catches her arm and whispers, “You’ve got a soulmate.”

The word sits heavy between them and she says nothing. It’s crazy how in less than ten minutes her life has changed.

Words: 5,265 Status: Complete

Hospital Walls Have Heard More Sincere Prayers than Churches by marauders_groupie

Jily modern AU, based on a prompt - "We broke up but I'm still your emergency contact so when you have a car accident, they call me"

She knew she could never get James back. But she didn't care. All she wanted him to do is to live.

Words: 8,987 Status: Complete

The One That I Want by snapslikethis

She'd come without a date, dressed as Sandra D, and the owner of the bloody house, the host of the party she was attending, perhaps uninvited, the unfairly fit bloke staring down at her, was actually dressed as her fictional boyfriend. Danny bleeding Zuko. He was really, really fit.

Words: 3,688 Status: Complete

Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer by dancinglily

Lily works at a country club over the summer and has to remind herself that she can't fool around with guests, even if said guests are charming, bespectacled, messy-haired boys.

or "AU where person A of your OTP works at a summer resort and person B is vacationing at said resort with their family and they both can't stop checking each other out until they finally make out"

Words: 8,826 Status: Complete

Subtle Arrangements by snapslikethis *FLOWERSHOP AU*

Person A owns a flower shop and Person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says, "How do I passive-aggressively tell someone off in flowers?"

Words: 3,370 Status: Complete

it continues (the beginning doesn't matter) by whitesunlars

She is the last person he expected at his door at that exact moment, despite feeling unsure about the fact that she managed to track down his address, he agrees to go out to coffee with her. A lot could be said about James Potter, but nobody could claim that he had good self-preservation skills.

They meet in a bar. Mistakes happen. They learn to keep going.

Words: 3,200 Status: Complete

Authors I love and recommend if I haven’t made it too obvious already: Jewels5, thegingerhairedlass, BeeDaily, cgner, GhostofBambi, ritaskiteered, jamespotterthefirst, lizardcookie, monroeslittle, CokeBottleK, a_c0llecti0n_0f_n0nsense

Authors whose work I really want to check out but haven't had the chance just yet: clarewithnoi, missgryffin, AlightWithHappiness, thequibblah, theesteemedladydeborough, mppmaraudergirl

STORIES ON THE TOP OF MY TBR LIST

Potter and Evans by AlightWithHappiness

She was dramatic. He was dynamic. She was precise. He was impulsive. He was James, and she was Lily, and it's about time they shared a kiss already.

This is my attempt at TLAT Chapter 37. It's Jules's world, we're all just living in it.

Words: 43,469 Status: In Progress

I've been putting this one off so that I can read it after another devastating TLAT reread but I'm sure I'll be screaming compliments at the author in between sobs when I finally check it out....in any case, bless this person for taking up the challenge!!!

Bond and Free by clarewithnoi

The year is 1977, and a group of Gryffindors are learning that the final two years of Hogwarts are punctuated by battles – big and small, mental and physical, devastating and triumphant.

It is fortunate, then, that they have grown up warriors.

MARAUDERS ERA: 6th/7th year. Canon compliant. Primarily JILY - but other pairings make significant appearances.

Words: 96,978 Status: In Progress

I Want It to Be Us in the End by theesteemedladydebourgh

"You sneak out the window and into my arms

Tell me where we’re going baby" London, 1979 West End actors and former classmates James Potter and Lily Evans enter into a secret love affair.

Words: 22,932 Status: Complete

Love Is Complicated by theesteemedladydebourgh

Three years. Longing. Academic shenanigans in Egypt. Almost-kisses. A snowed-in office on Christmas Eve.

Or, the one time James Potter’s (who is not Indiana Jones, no matter what he thinks) spur of the moment passion quest isn’t for an ancient artifact.

Words: 12,186 Status: Complete

theogony by clarewithnoi

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

-- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that literally no one in the history of the entire world has ever asked for.

Words: 76,269 Status: In Progress

Not Quite According to Plan by BeeDaily

For Fleamont's retirement party, Euphemia hires her favourite event planner, Lily Evans, and wrangles her son, James, into assisting in the planning.

Words: 17,171 Status: In Progress

Last Resort by BeeDaily and GhostofBambi

Dinner with a hostile stranger was not on the holiday itinerary for James or Lily, but it beats getting hit with an ice cube.

Words: 8,085 Status: In Progress

Casablanca by BeeDaily

When James takes over Remus's Uber shift, the last person he expects to take on as a passenger is a familiar redhead who is a trifle inebriated.

Words: 5,532 Status: Complete

Thirty, Flirty, and Aubergines by BeeDaily

Bakery owner Lily is quite good at tempering her consumption of sweets…except when the treat comes in the form of one tall, sumptuous, messy-haired patron.

Words: 4,628 Status: Complete

Everything but the Kitchen Sink by GhostofBambi

Consequences ensue when James Potter drunkenly promises to bring his arch-nemesis to his friend's wedding as his date. Oops?

Words: 32,412 Status: In Progress

The Wedding Ring by mppmaraudergirl

What is undeniably worse than attending your sister's wedding looking as desolate and forgotten as a wilted houseplant?

Drunkenly ringing your ex-boyfriend and asking him to be your date.

Words: 91,655 Status: Complete

Come Together by thequibblah

It’s difficult to say when James and Lily took the first steps to love. Perhaps they had always been walking this road, unaware of the person they were walking towards until the mist cleared. They would fall in love eventually — but we would be remiss in ignoring the hiccups along the way.

Words: 738,179 Status: In Progress

tell me where your secrets lie by thequibblah

She’s Lily Evans. Her best friend is Severus Snape. She's Muggle-born. She's a witch. She's a Slytherin.

You already know how this story goes.

Words: 26,009 Status: Complete

Two's a Crowd by thequibblah

The only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike.

Prompt: "there was only one bed" but make it Regency.

Words: 4,200 Status: Complete

(Didn't I?) (Didn't I?) Didn't I See You Crying? by ritaskeetered

James Potter has fancied Mary Macdonald for as long as he can remember. Everything about her is practically perfect, except for – if he were being honest and he always liked to be – her choice in friends. For Mary’s best friend, Lily Evans, is a right shrew and, much to his dismay, the Head Girl to his Head Boy.

Lily Evans had disliked James Potter with a passion after their first interaction on the Hogwarts Express. A dislike that turned into hate – never mind that she also has an infatuation going, but no one needs to know about that – as soon as he decided to make her life a living hell. Unfortunately for her, he also decided (a few years earlier) that her very best friend in the world was the worthy object of his affections. (Which was fine, really. She wasn't about to cry over it, for Godric's sake. She was a strong and independent young woman, thank you very much. And yes, perhaps she was a little in love, but it was all for nothing, so she had to keep calm and carry on.)

Certainly, their complicated past would result in major disaster if common ground was not soon established. For the love of Merlin, though, why did either of them think it would be a good idea for Lily to help James woo Mary Macdonald?

Words: 55,682 Status: Complete

It Only Takes A Taste (When You Know It's Good) by ritaskeetered

Lily Evans is 28 years old and far too busy saving - according to her friends - the world to enjoy an epic romance. If you were to ask her, she would say that the last thing she needs is a complicating relationship that will distract her from all that she deems important: 1) her organisation for teens and young adults: Exceed Expectations, 2) her friends and family, 3) Mary's Instagram cooking vlog, 4) her favourite novels, 5) her favourite shows and films, 6) actually going to bed before midnight.

Enter Prince James, heir to the British throne and the world's most eligible bachelor. There is no way she will allow him to sweep her off her feet. It's out of the question. It screams trouble. Yet... it only takes a taste, because - as Mary always likes to say - sometimes one bite is more than enough, to know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of...

Words: 62,556 Status: In Progress

(You're So) Golden by ritaskeetered

After the worst possible year and a half, Lily finds herself at her best friend’s wedding, staring at her ex-boyfriend whom she claimed to hate a year earlier but never actually did. A story of grief, heartbreak, regret and finding yourself.

This fic features James as a windsurfer and was originally inspired by the Tokyo Olympics, except for the fact that I managed to turn this into something different altogether.

Words: 20,879 Status: Complete

If We Never Meet Again by thequibblah

"By the time this is all over, you'll have to be a little in love with each other."

Written for Jilytober 2021's Bittersweet challenge: "here, use my sweater to warm up in," sweet to bitter.

Words: 42,623 Status: Complete

Shout Out To My Ex by ritaskeetered

Phoenix Radio is going through a rough period with the arrival of the new and controversial Riddle Radio. Albus Dumbledore, founder of the country’s number one radio station, asks his team to get ready to rebrand. Gone are the days of family friendly radio, a show where two exes talk about where their relationship went wrong and deliver relationship advice live on air, named Shout Out To My Ex, is exactly what Phoenix Radio needs. Who better to co-host this show than Lily Evans and James Potter, two Phoenix Radio employees who absolutely despise each other, or do they?

A Jily Modern AU inspired by Rachel Lynn Solomon’s "The Ex Talk".

Words: 108, 441 Status: Complete

So Just Act Like You Love Me by twilightstargazer

“Petunia knows Sirius, but she doesn’t know you,” she says, and her voice doesn’t wobble even once.

He doesn’t seem to catch it, but Sirius is staring at her with his eyebrows raised, just a little. She ignores it and trudges forward, steeling herself for what's to come.

“Petunia doesn’t know you. She doesn't know that we're just friends or that we argue like nothing else so–”

A flicker of understanding flares to life in his eyes and his jaw almost falls open. “Oh god.”

or, Lily was looking forward to a nice, quiet Christmas by herself. Instead she's heading back home for her sister's engagement party with a fake boyfriend in tow.

Words: 13,160 Status: Complete

The Season by missgryffin *BRIDGERTON AU*

James Potter, Duke of Peverell, has returned to London just in time for the season, where Miss Lily Evans is about to make her debut. Only, he’s not looking for a wife, and she’s not particularly interested in a husband. [Bridgerton AU]

Words: 43,361 Status: Complete

A Jily Bridgerton AU and I haven't read it. I know, I should be ashamed of myself!

foreigner's god by clarewithnoi

answer to a Tumblr prompt: "we were lovers in a past life" but the current incarnations are enemies-to-lovers, and they don't remember anything from their past selves.

Words: 17,577 Status: Complete

#jily #lily evans #james potter #jily fanfiction #marauders era #my recommendations #long post

655 notes · View notes

hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

I've got you under my skin

Summary: You and Rhett make the move to Bozeman and settle into your new lives as you wait for the baby to come.

Pairing: Rhett Abbot x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Pregnancy sex, unprotected PIV, nipple play and dirty talk.

A/N: This is part of my Small Mistakes New Beginnings Series. Thank you @skvatnavle for the title and advice on writing this and @callsign-phoenix and @green-socks for looking this over. Likes are wonderful but reblogs and comments feed the muse.

It’s a little before 11 am when you hear the crunch of gravel in the driveway followed by the slam of a car door. A minute later, the front door opens, and Rhett appears. He slips his hat off, and runs a hand through his hair. When he sees what you’re making for lunch he smiles.

“Another quesadilla?” He asks, amused. “How many have you had today?” There’s no judgment in his voice, only soft affection.

“Three,” you admit, biting into the cheesy meal with a low moan. It’s the only thing you want these days. Everything else seems to upset your stomach. The eggs Rhett made for breakfast last weekend made you queasy, and the steak he brought home from work last night sent you running to the sink to throw up.

“You got an addiction, girl,” he says, pulling you into his arms.

He kisses your forehead. You lay your cheek against his chest, happily munching on your lunch. You love having him close, his familiar smell is enough to make your whole body relax and the baby in your belly kick.

“This is nice,” you hum. “But why aren’t you at work?”

“I missed my girls,” he says, rubbing your back. “And the farrier won’t be done for another two hours so I sent everyone home for a long lunch.”

You wrap an arm around his waist and continue eating, letting him sway you back and forth. It’s been three months since you moved to Bozeman with him and left Wabang behind. You’re both better for it but the difference in Rhett is more noticeable. He’s lighter here, happier without the weight of his family’s expectations.

Things between the two of you have been good too, even with the growing pains that come along with moving in together and starting a relationship. Small squabbles and hurt feelings were quickly resolved, though you know the bigger test will be once the baby arrives. You’re mostly worried about your own emotions and responses – Rhett’s been surprisingly even-keeled even when you were at your worst. It’s just another thing to love about him.

“I thought we could have some lunch together,” Rhett continues, putting his hands on your hips and turning you to face him fully. Your belly pushes up against his stomach when he leans down to kiss you yet he somehow still manages to press tightly against you.

It’s meant to be a quick peck but when your sensitive nipples brush across his chest you moan into his mouth. The sensation goes straight to your core. You rise up on your toes to grasp the back of his neck and rub yourself against him again, slowly turning your upper body back and forth. The friction feels unbelievably good.

Rhett pulls away, grinning at the soft sound of distress you make. The skin around his eyes crinkles. “Or we could do something else to pass the time.”

You’re already nodding your head in agreement when he reaches up and cups your breasts in both hands, running his thumb back and forth over your nipples. You nearly buckle in his arms, feeling a rush of warmth between your thighs.

“You alright, honey?” He asks, continuing his slow assault on your breasts.

From the look on his face, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. You lick your lips and gasp again, clutching his biceps. You feel almost feverish. Pregnancy hormones weren’t exactly new, you were familiar with the ever-shifting emotions. This is something different. You can’t even be embarrassed at your response, you're so needy for him.

“Rhett…” Your voice wavers, faltering over his name. He pulls you to him for a kiss that’s just a touch too rough but your body responds all the same.

“Come on, I got what you need,” he says, walking you back to the small bedroom you share.

He grasps the hem of your dress and pulls it over your head when you reach the edge of the bed. Your bra comes off next and you groan at the sensation of the cool air brushing across your naked breasts. When he gets to your underwear and tugs it down you can see there’s a wet patch there. He brings it to his nose and inhales, blue eyes darkening.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

You do as he says, looking over your shoulder at him while he undresses quickly. He climbs on the bed behind you, running a large, calloused hand up your back to grasp your neck. He nudges your thighs apart and drags his fingers through your slick folds. There’s no resistance when he pumps two digits inside. You arch forward, making a desperate little sound.

“Shhh. It’s alright,” he promises, lining himself up.

He pushes in with a low noise of his own and reaches around to cup one breast in his hand. When he pinches your nipple you clench around him hard, almost wailing. He curses and shifts forward.

“Please,” you beg.

"I know, I know,” he soothes. “I got you.”

You feel mindless when he starts thrusting into you without pause. His chest is pressed tightly to your naked back and his breath puffs against your cheek. One hand grips the headboard for support.

"Rhett," you gasp, head dropping forward as he cradles your belly. He holds you carefully and encourages you to meet each stroke. You moan, desperate for release. To have him come inside you again. "Need it," you whine. "Rhett. God. Yes."

“I hate any moment I'm not inside you,” he pants. “Filling you. Fucking you."

He moves faster. The bed shakes beneath you and he strokes your stomach, fingers dragging down to where he disappears inside you over and over again. It doesn't take much, just the scrape of his nail over your clit for you to come. You shake with overwhelming pleasure and your core squeezes Rhett’s cock, greedy for him.

He comes with a pained grunt, filling you with warmth. You’re both panting and sweaty. You expect him to pull away but after a moment he starts rocking into you slowly, each stroke making you quake. You can feel him leaking out and lean forward on your forearms, cheek pressed against the bed. When he finally withdraws he helps you lay on your side. You’re exhausted and a little cold, welcoming the blanket he pulls over your naked body. The kiss he drops to your brow is light and you doze until he returns to clean you up and offer you some water.

You watch him dress through half-lidded eyes, offering him a sleepy smile.

“I have to go back to the feed yard,” he says with a grin. “But you should take the rest of the afternoon off,” he instructs.

“I should go back,” you yawn, pushing yourself up. Rhett fixes you with a look. “Or maybe I’ll stay in bed,” you amend, sinking back down.

“Good girl,” he praises, smoothing a hand over the crown of your head as he stares down at you. “I’ll pick up something for dinner. I don’t want you to leave this bed until I get home.”

“I can’t stay in bed all day,” you protest.

“Do it for the baby,” Rhett reminds you, trotting out his favorite argument to get you to listen to him. He knows it’s a sure fire way to get you to stop arguing about something. You found it hard to take it easy, anxiety and the need to distract yourself kept you constantly moving.

“That’s unfair.”

“What’s unfair is I gotta go back to work thinking of you naked and full of me,” he returns. “You gonna let me have you again when I get off work?”

Warmth creeps into your cheeks as you nod and another big smile breaks over his face. You press your thighs together in anticipation. Surely you could wait another six hours.

✥

Taglist: @mysticaldonkey @letsfvckingdance @ughdesireable @goobieboobie @maggiescarborough @a-reader-and-a-writer @wildbornsiren @dumb-fawkin-bitch @maria-allegra @stormsouls @the-hottest-lieutenants @sydneyhlove @cool-ultra-nerd @nik2blog @mayhem24-7forever @xofangirlthingsxo @skvatnavle @ladyluckycreator2 @thebestandworstdayofjune @ice-mans-world @Maxi-milf-dot-com @straightforwardly @cowboybarbie @shaded-recs @daughterofthereaper02

536 notes · View notes

avanatural · 2 years

Text

Mind Games

Part 2

Series summary: Set in 1984. It’s that time of the year – the supes are having the time of their lives at the Herogasm festival. Soldier Boy seems to have taken a special interest in Y/N, a fellow superhero.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x female Reader

Category: Angst, smut, 18+

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smoking, mentions of sex, attempted sexual coercion, cursing, violence, Soldier Boy crossing boundaries, dub-con elements

A/N: This story contains sexual content! Do not read if you’re under the age of 18! Part two to celebrate reaching over 800 followers! 💃 You guys are amazing, thank you so much for supporting me! 💖 I hope you enjoy! Wanna be added to my Soldier Boy tag list? Send me an ask!

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Soldier Boy Masterlist | Part 3

Main Masterlist

♩ Solid Gold ♩

“It’s Solid Gold! Starring Marilyn McCoo, Kim Karnes, The Oak Ridge Boys, Waylan Flowers & Madame, the Solid Gold dancers, and very special guest… Soldier Boy!”

I grunted internally, resisting the urge to toss my head back against the worn-out couch. He was everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On posters, in theaters, even on goddamn lunch boxes, and now on Solid Gold, hence, in my tiny fucking living room. On a Saturday night, nonetheless, when all I wanted was to relax and drink my goddamn wine in peace.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my twelve-year-old sister’s eyes light up as Soldier Boy showed up on the tv-screen. He waltzed onto that stage like he owned it, holding a microphone, smiling that stupidly attractive smile. He looked straight into the camera, his eyes framed by a brand-new helmet. My insides started to tingle as I recalled how I had broken his previous helmet at Herogasm.

Soldier Boy’s deep voice echoed through the small living room as he spoke, “Good evening, everyone! I wanna dedicate this performance to a very special someone…”

My eyes wanted to roll to the back of my head. He was surely talking about Crimson Countess again. I knew that at this point, the two of them were only required to keep up their little romance for the public eye. Which, by the way, annoyed the fuck out of her.

Soldier Boy proved me very, very wrong, though. The tingling sensation in my belly intensified a thousandfold as he continued, “She likes to wear leather, and her eyes can light up any room she enters, literally! She’s a force to be reckoned with, let me tell ya. Trouble, this one’s for you!” He winked at the camera as if it was the most natural thing and started to perform “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon.

Meanwhile, my blood felt as though it had turned into thick ice cubes. My eyes went round as I repeated his words in my mind. Trouble was my supe name, my persona, if you will, and Soldier Boy had just mentioned me to the world. Light up any room, my ass. He made me want to light up his fucking mind.

“What- Whoa! Did he just say Trouble?”, Lily, my little sister, inquired, her voice rising like a phoenix from the ashes. She almost jumped up off the couch.

I just observed the screen, watching Soldier Boy sway his hips with a look of pure bewilderment on my face. What the actual fuck?

Lily shook my arm, effectively dragging me out of my trance. “Y/N-“

“No. No, just forget it. He wasn’t talking about me,” I quickly brushed her off and reached for the remote.

In true annoying-little-sister fashion, Lily snatched the remote from my hand, wearing that big puppy-frown on her face. “Y/N! You know Soldier Boy and you didn’t tell me about it?”

Oh, yeah, did I mention my sister was Payback’s number one fan? All her life, she’d dreamed about having superpowers like me and being friends with great heroes like Soldier Boy.

I sighed, pushing some exhausted air from my lungs. “It’s no big deal, okay?”

“No- No big deal? He acknowledged you on tv! How long have you known him? Wait, are you dating or something??”, she rambled, the questions flowing out of her mouth like one single word.

My nose wrinkled. “God, no.” That asshole just played with my feelings at a fucking superhero orgy. “He’s just messing with me.”

“So, you’re friends?”

“No, we’re not.” I sighed again and got up from the couch, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Soldier Boy had addressed me on television. I didn’t know what his intention was, and it was driving me insane. Did he want to put some kind of pressure on me? “I’m gonna make you some dinner, okay?”, I suggested to my sister, needing to distract myself, already heading for the kitchen.

“Is this about the letter you got?”, Lily blurted, sitting up straight on the couch.

I paused, holding my breath for a second, and slowly spun around to face her. “What?”

“The letter,” she repeated and gave me a shrug so innocent that I almost couldn’t be mad at her for knowing my little secret. Almost. “From… From Vought.”

With a creased brow, I took a step closer to her, raising my voice. “You went through my mail?”

“I just…” Lily shrugged again, her face turning apologetic. “I saw the Vought logo on it. I couldn’t help it! You’d already opened it. I only read a few lines, I swear.”

“Lily, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest, thinking about my next move as Soldier Boy danced across my tv screen without a care in the world. God, he was infuriating, putting me from one uncomfortable position into the next.

“But Y/N, they want you to sign a contract!”, Lily exclaimed, her little face lighting up with excitement. Of course, she would think this was all a dream come true.

“They want me to join Payback,” I clarified. My stomach fluttered nervously as I said it out loud for the very first time. For the past two weeks, I had kept the letter to myself, just brooding on my own.

My sister got up from the couch with a little bounce. “You have to do it! Oh my God, that’s so fucking cool!”

“Language.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t join Payback.”

“But… I thought you’d want to work for Vought,” my sister argued. Her eyes were wide with misunderstanding.

I couldn’t blame her for not getting it. But I couldn’t tell her about my encounter with Soldier Boy. I couldn’t tell her that I got a fucked-up vibe from him. And I certainly couldn’t tell her how he’d used my powers against me at Herogasm. She was just a kid. I wanted her to be able to keep enjoying all that supe stuff as long as possible.

With a scowl on my face, I thought back to my last conversation with Payback’s leader. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

A month earlier

“For the record, I see why they fucking call you Trouble,” Soldier Boy stated, his voice deep and gravelly as he pointed his finger at his broken helmet on the floor.

My jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. I could still feel the electricity pumping through my veins. I absolutely hated the effect that this guy had on me. I hated what he brought out in me. I didn’t want to be this impulsive, angry supe anymore. “Are we done here?”, I asked cautiously, my body still tense as a fucking brick, ready to fight.

“Oh, I don’t think we are.” Soldier Boy took a step towards me, his bright green eyes sparkling darkly. He took my chin between his fingers and made me look at him. His spicy scent hit me again, mingling with the smell of the cigars he’d been smoking. “You ever thought about joining my team? Hm?”

I held his gaze, unwilling to miss even the slightest change in his eyes. I knew I was in danger right now. But so was he. “Once or twice.”

His tongue slid along his lips, so slowly that it seemed like he was tasting something he wanted to savor. “What if I told you I knew a way for you to get in?”

I didn’t reply. No, I just eyed him, trying desperately to figure him out. He was riling me up, humoring me, baiting me, all at once.

“What if I told you…,” he continued, his penetrating green stare not wavering in the slightest, “That I could make a personal recommendation for you to join Payback? Swatto’s basically on his way out, anyway. That stupid fucker. They’re all a bunch of pussies, really.”

Joining the most famous, best paid team of superheroes? Any other supe would surely sink their teeth into that offer like a starving hyena. But this kind of thing definitely didn’t just happen to you. No, it took years to achieve a goal like that. It took an amount of effort that I had never been willing to put into anything my entire life. “What’s the catch?”

He scoffed, his gaze dropping to my mouth. His hand wandered, slowly slipping from my chin down to my throat. He didn’t grab it, didn’t squeeze it, no, his hand just laid on my throat, resting there in an alarmingly calm manner. “No fucking catch. Just glory.”

“You would do that for me?”, I asked, my voice laced with distrust, “After what I just did?”

“That little fucking stunt you just pulled… I gotta say you’re… intriguing.” For a brief second, his hand curled around my throat, giving a small squeeze, but then it went back to just resting there. “You could be of service to us. To me.”

I arched my eyebrows as his blunt fingertips left a tingling sensation on my skin. “What are you suggesting?”

“You and I…” He licked his lips again, his fingers sneaking lower to brush the top of my cleavage. “We’re gonna have a fun little chat upstairs. In private.”

I covered his hand with mine and pushed his fingers away from my skin. He’d just taken me right to the edge again. My anger rushed back to the surface, making my blood feel like it was boiling. Who the hell did the think he was? “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Soldier Boy huffed, his broad shoulders twitching with cockiness. “You’re a tough one to crack. But I like a fucking challenge.” His eyebrows and lips curled smugly as he stepped away from me. “I’ll be seein’ you around, Y/N. That’s a fucking promise.”

Present

“Why wouldn’t you wanna work for Vought?”, Lily inquired, her brows twirling with confusion, her long ponytail swaying back and forth as she shook her head, “You’d be famous!”

I inhaled slowly, trying to think of an excuse I could tell my sister. Sure, if I joined Payback, our financial problems would disappear into thin air. I'd be able to offer Lily a stable home. I wouldn’t have to struggle to hold down a job. I wouldn’t need to partake in stupid casting shows in the hopes of getting a spot in a shitty superhero team. Not that I’d ever been welcomed into any superhero team. Rising from literally nothing to Payback? The offer sounded too good to be true. And also shady as hell. I had zero field experience, and now fucking Vought came knocking on my door?

“I don’t wanna be famous.” I shrugged my shoulders, close to being at a loss for words. I didn’t wanna be famous. Did I? It suddenly occurred to me that I had no goddamn clue what I truly wanted. All I knew was that Soldier Boy and Vought’s attention flattered me more than I would have liked to admit.

I was almost grateful when the telephone started to ring, interrupting my train wreck of thoughts. On somewhat wobbly legs, I walked into the hallway, whose walls were painted a horrendous dirty white color. I reached for the telephone, which was placed on an old little side table next to our battered shoe cabinet. “Hello?”

“This is Stanford Edgar,” a male voice echoed through my ear, “I’m an associate with Vought American. I wish to speak to Y/N Y/L/N.”

“You’re talking to her,” I replied, pressing the phone closer to my ear and curling my free hand around the phone cord.

“Miss Y/L/N, it was brought to my attention that you have been contacted by our company.”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and threw a quick glance towards the living room, hoping that my eavesdropper of a sister was keeping herself in check. “I got your letter.”

“I see. I’m really sorry to tell you that the letter you received contained false information.”

What, now? I could feel the line between my eyebrows wrinkle. I could practically hear my mother’s disapproving voice in my head, saying, ‘It makes you look unpleasant, dear.’ I sighed out loud. “Come again?”

“We would like to apologize and rectify our mistake. And we would like to do so by offering you what one could call a… trial run.”

“A trial run?”

“Yes. Vought American would like to welcome you to the movie set of Payback Rising.”

Payback Rising. Another one of those super popular Vought movies that was currently being filmed. I’d seen the announcement in the newspaper.

“You’ll have a small speaking role, meet the team,” Edgar continued, “Meet important associates.”

My fist closed around the phone cord. “I thought I was being invited to join the team, not act in their newest movie. I wanna know what’s going on, Mr. Edgar. Right now.” There was a short sigh on the other end of the line. Surely, I was being an inconvenience to his company. That was fine, though. I’d never been anything other than an inconvenience my entire life.

“That letter…”, he spoke, “It was sent to you before Vought had a chance to authorize it. I would like to personally apologize for the misunderstanding. If it’s any consolation, we do believe that your powers could be an enrichment for Payback. We’d just like to get to know you first. We will not leave you without compensation, of course.”

I arched my eyebrows. And since I couldn’t see Edgar, I arched them at Lily’s newest poster of the TNT Twins that she’d put up the day before. “Compensation?”

“Financial compensation for your troubles.”

“Uhm…” I paused for a second. Even though I had no desire to learn lines and act in a superhero movie, compensation did sound tempting. I needed money to pay the bills. I needed money for my sister. She needed new shoes, new school supplies. It was just me and her. I had already fucked up her life enough with my irresponsibility. “How much money are we talking?”

Two weeks later

I arched my eyebrows as his blunt fingertips left a tingling sensation on my skin. “What are you suggesting?”

“You and I…” He licked his lips again, his fingers wandering lower to brush the top of my cleavage. “We’re gonna have a fun little chat upstairs. In private.”

My hand collided with his cheek in an instant. Soldier Boy’s face turned to the side, the impact powerful enough to make him lose his balance a bit. He was caught off guard, so I took my chance to hit him again, using my fist this time. He groaned in pain as it collided with his cheekbone.

The sound of his pained grunt was music to my fucking ears. And then I just kept punching him, pushing him, kicking him until the blood started to flow.

Again.

And again.

And-

With each harsh thrust of his hips, he went deeper, knocking the air from my lungs, making the wall shake. All I could to was gasp and groan, time and time again.

“Look at me,” he kept repeating, demanding that I try to keep up the eye contact. He was so rough that I expected him to break me. But he didn’t. My wetness took all of him until he was buried so deeply inside of me that-

“Y/N?”

I snapped out of my visions and looked up, disoriented. Then I remembered that I was on the set of Payback Rising, sitting in front of a mirror. The make-up artist, Jeanine, was gazing down at me with a concerned look on her face. My hands were digging into the armrests of my make-up chair.

Had I just envisioned beating the crap out of Soldier Boy? Yes. Had my mind gone an entirely different route by reliving Soldier Boy’s mental images from Herogasm instead? Also, yes.

“I’m good,” I replied, squinting up at Jeanine. I may have been able to enter other people’s minds, but I myself had a very vivid imagination, too. When I got lost in a daydream, it could be hard to get a hold of me and pull me back to reality. As a kid, I’d spent hours just hanging out in my very own comfort fantasies.

“Are you sure?”, she asked.

I brushed her off with a small wave of my hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Before she could ask any more questions, a male voice entered our conversation. “Well, well, well, and what do we have here? Who is this pretty lady?”

I turned around in my chair and saw a tall man who had to be 30-ish trudge towards us. He wore a black suit, a big pair of brown sunglasses, and carried a cigar between his fingers. With a casual gesture of his hand, he signaled for Jeanine to leave. She followed his request immediately, zero hesitation, and walked right off.

“I’m new here,” I replied drily, looking up at the man.

He pointed his finger at me, casually wriggling it from side to side with a smile on his face. “You must be Trouble. I’ve been looking for you fucking everywhere. I’m Vought’s VP of hero management.”

Well, that certainly rang a bell. My eyebrows climbed up my forehead. “You’re The Legend.”

He pulled on his cigar, quickly pushed the smoke back out, and placed his hand over his heart. “That’s exactly who the fuck I am, doll. I’m supposed to apologize for that misunderstanding with your letter. A real fucking shame, if you ask me.”

The way he emphasized the word ‘misunderstanding’ caught my attention. My eyes narrowed at him. “What do you know about that?”

He chuckled and used his cigar to point at my face. “I see you’re a cut to the chase-kinda girl. I get why the fuck chose you.”

“Chose me?”

The Legend shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant fashion. A whole cloud of heavy cigar scent surrounded him. “Yeah. Soldier Boy.”

Hearing his name made me hold my breath for a second. So far, I hadn’t met him on the set. Thank fuck. I looked around to see if anyone could have been listening to us. Lowering my voice, I asked, “So, he really recommended me to Vought?”

The Legend tilted his head at me. “Is that so surprising?”

“It is, actually,” I responded, “Him and I… We kinda started off on the wrong foot. And that’s probably an understatement. Is he out to get me? Is he trying to humiliate me or something?” If I needed to watch out, I wanted to at least be prepared.

The Legend laughed. “Hold your fucking horses, Sweetheart. Soldier Boy likes to play! The harder you are to break, the easier it’ll be for him to keep you in mind. He likes the assertive type. To a certain extent, at least. You’re his new plaything, his most recent obsession. That shit usually doesn’t last too long.”

“So, what am I really doing here?”, I demanded, subtly shaking my head, “This can’t actually be a trial run.”

“Well, Edgar wasn’t too happy that Soldier Boy made an assistant write that fucking letter to you, without Vought’s knowledge. You seem like a smart girl. You can figure it out. What the fuck do you think this is?”

I didn’t need to read his mind to comprehend what he was getting at. Honestly, I’d had a bad feeling ever since I’d arrived on the movie set. No one had really spoken to me, and definitely no Vought associates. Oh, and my role was trash. I was gonna be ‘saved’ by none other than the great Soldier Boy himself. I ran my tongue along my lips and shortly closed my eyes. It was official – I was a fucking dumbass that had been baited with money. “They’re gonna make me ‘damsel in distress number thirteen’ in the movie and throw me out like garbage.” These bastards really thought that by giving me the time of day, they could get rid of me.

He clicked his tongue and pointed his cigar at me. “You’re indeed a smart one, doll. Swatto may be about to lose his fucking job, but Vought’s certainly not looking for a second Mindstorm to replace him. No offense.”

I scoffed, but couldn’t hide away my smile. His straightforwardness was refreshing in this whole goddamn mess.

The Legend smirked back at me. “Let me give you one little piece of advice, okay?” He leaned closer to me. So close that I could see his pale blue eyes underneath his brown sunglasses. “Never take anyone’s shit. Doesn’t matter if it’s Stan fucking Edgar or Soldier Boy or the goddamn Pope, for Christ’s sake. Give ‘em hell. That’s how you make it in this God-forsaken world. You do whatever the fuck you need to do, just don’t ever take anyone’s shit. Keep that in mind. And quote me on that. Fucking inspiring shit.” As he sent a wink in my direction, his mouth closed around the cigar again. He then walked away, looking free as a bird, as if he hadn’t just told me to give the Pope hell.

I looked into the mirror in front of me, barely recognizing myself. Not because I looked different, no, the make-up artist had barely gone to work. No, when I stared back at myself, I couldn’t find my spirit. My defiance. The Legend was right. I was not going to take anyone’s shit on this set. I clenched my jaw and pushed myself up off my chair.

With my hands balled into fists, I walked in between the trailers, trying to find a very specific one.

The movie set was surrounded by nature. Wherever you looked, you were met with green beauty. But I couldn’t see any of that. I just wanted to act on my impulses and get my rage out of my system. Old habits die hard, indeed.

I didn’t need to search for him very hard. In the distance, I was quick to spot his giant frame. My eyes morphed into two angry slits as I hurried towards him, my cautions thrown overboard. For now, at least.

Soldier Boy was standing in front of his trailer, carrying a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. His helmet was off, his long strands of hair a little tousled as he treated himself to a break. A break that I was fully intending to interrupt.

“Hey!”

He looked up as he drew on his cigarette, pulling the smoke into his mouth. A look of recognition passed his face as he released the smoke, creating waves of faint fog around his face. “Y/N!”, he exclaimed, dragging out the sound of my name. One look at my angry face, and he taunted, “Am I in trouble?”, his tongue peeking out between his ample lips.

“What are you doing?” I got straight to the point, knowing that if I hesitated for just a second, the fear would sink in and inhibit my courage.

Soldier Boy stood tall, his back straightened with confidence, as he stalked closer to me on his bowlegs. “What’s it fucking look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to play games with me,” I replied honestly, looking up at him with as much bravery as I could muster. His beard had grown out more since the last time I’d seen him. He looked good. But also tired.

“Games, huh?” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and slowly let his eyes roam the open space surrounding us.

There was no one else there but the two of us. As I took notice of the vulnerable position I’d put myself in, my stomach took a small turn. My shield of courage was slowly being crushed by the weight that was the dark aura surrounding Soldier Boy. But I would have been damned if I’d let it show.

“Last time I checked,” Soldier Boy continued, narrowing both his voice and his emerald eyes at me, “You were the one playing fucking games.”

“Me?” He couldn’t be serious, could he? “You were the one who-“

“You were the one who teased me,” he talked over me. His kept a straight face, but I could see how much he was enjoying this. There was a sparkle in his eyes, and I hated him for it. “With that little fucking dress.” He pointed at my white leather dress. “And that death stare, you were practically begging for me to screw your brains out. And now you’re gonna act fucking coy, huh?”

“Listen,” I said, causing him to raise his eyebrows at me expectantly, “You people can’t make and withdraw offers as you please. I’m a person, not a toy. And I have a kid to look out for.”

Wrinkles of surprise emerged on his forehead. “You’re a mom, huh?” He went from surprised to pleased, his mouth twisting into a slight grin.

“I’m a sister. And Vought is doing nothing but waste my time with this whole ‘You’re special, but oh, wait, we don’t care after all!’-crap.”

Soldier Boy wet his lips and then pursed them. “You know… I just can’t seem to decide,” he stated, his voice having dropped seductively.

“Decide what?”, I demanded.

“If I wanna bend you or break you.”

A hot shiver shot up my spine. Pictures of him taking me against the wall rushed through my mind, like a wound being reopened. Yes, I had recalled his mental images of us many times after Herogasm. He was an ass, but I was attracted to the danger he radiated. I had a stupid weakness for the bad ones.

Soldier Boy took another step closer, making me jump into action and take a step back in response. “I’m outta here,” I stated weakly. I didn’t know if I wanted to hurt or fuck him. But I had gotten what I’d wanted to say off my chest, so I knew it was time to get the hell away before I was going to regret my little rant.

I turned on my white leather boots, but I only got to take one step before Soldier Boy called after me, saying the magic words that could always persuade me.

“Care for a drink?”

Part 3

Tag list: @akshi8278 @leigh70 @mimzy1994 @impalaslytherin @asgardiandeadpoetsociety @panhufflestugf

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #the boys fanfiction #soldier boy

755 notes · View notes

fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Oops Chapter 3: Everything He Never Wanted

Series Masterlist

Pairing: ex!rooster x afab!reader, best friend!jake x afab!reader, platonic!dagger squad x afab!reader

TW:angst, pregnancy, Bradley being a traumatized asshole

Summary: You have your first doctors appointment and Bradley isn't impressed much.

Word Count: 1.4k

You look down at your watch and see it's almost 2 pm. You lock eyes with Jake and subtly nod your head to let him know it's time to leave and he stands up.

Even though you can’t fly, you’re still included in the briefings so that you're in the loop. You have it pre-arranged with Maverick that you need to go to your first doctor's appointment, and he allowed Jake to go with you for support.

You rise up out of your seat and Jake meets you at the door. Phoenix watches the two of you leave and she kicks Bradley under the table when he scoffs. The two of you still haven’t spoken since you told him. Everybody has tried to reason with the man, but he won’t budge.

In fact, he finds it annoying how everyone is always fawning over you and asking about the baby. Phoenix has already bought a few baby things and he thinks it's absolutely ridiculous. You don’t even know how far along you are yet the team is acting like you’re about to pop.

You and Jake make your way out to his truck and he opens the door for you before helping you up into the seat. The drive to the doctor's office is quiet and Jake places his hand on your bouncing knee to try and calm your nerves. You give a grateful smile and he returns the gesture.

“Everything is going to be okay. I’ll be by your side the whole time.” He assures you and you nod your head. You know he’s talking about the appointment, but there’s an underlying sentiment that he’ll be here for everything.

Jake pulls into a parking space and you take a shaky breath before climbing out and starting toward the building. He comes up next to you and grabs your hand with a light squeeze, a silent confirmation that he’s not going anywhere.

You check in at the front desk and sit down to wait next to Jake. You look around and take in the room. There are pamphlets about birth control and pregnancy covering the walls and a slight tinge of bleach and hand sanitizer. It makes your stomach turn.

Your head jerks up when you hear your name and you stand up.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Jake asks and you frantically shake your head no.

“Come with me, please?” You ask and he nods while standing.

“Of course.”

The nurse confirms your information before taking you into a room and telling you the doctor will be in shortly. Jake kisses your temple and takes a seat, patiently waiting with you. The door opens up a few minutes later and a sweet-looking older lady comes into the room.

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr.Wright. You’re here for an ultrasound and check-up, correct?” She asks and you confirm.

“Okay,” she smiles. “I just need to take some vitals and ask some questions and then we can head back to the ultrasound room.”

The next several minutes are filled with questions about your last period, when you think you conceived, family history, and symptoms you’ve been experiencing. Jake keeps his head down trying to make you as comfortable as possible as you answer the invasive questions in front of him.

“Alright, Y/N. That covers it. You and dad can follow me.” She says and your eyes widen.

Jake gives you a look but neither of you corrects her. He may not be the biological father, but the way things are going he’s going to be the closest thing to a dad this baby will have. You stand and follow her into a dim room with a monitor and TV mounted to the wall.

“Okay, lay down and pull your shirt up.” She instructs and you do as she says.

“This is going to be a little cold.” She warns before squeezing some jelly onto your stomach. She flicks on the monitor and grabs a wand, pressing it firmly into your abdomen and moving it around.

It takes a second but your breath hitches when you see a splotch come up on the TV. Your eyes prick with tears and Jake grabs your hand, his own expression similar to yours.

“There’s your baby!” She exclaims while taking measurements. “Everything looks great. You’re measuring at 12 weeks, so you’re entering your second trimester.” She explains and you don’t respond, too enthralled by the little bean bouncing around on the screen.

She flips a switch and you hear a fast thumping fill the room. “That’s their heartbeat. Steady and strong, just how we like it.”

You look over at her and feel a tear fall down your cheek. “It's so fast. Is that normal?” You ask with worry laced in your voice and she nods.

“Perfectly normal. It's 129 BPM, which is right in the range we want it.” She answers and you turn your head back to look again. It looks more like a baby than you were expecting. You can see the head and faint outlines of little arms and legs. It suddenly hits you how real this is.

The doctor finishes up and hands you a few pictures before telling you that you can clean up and check out at the front. You have to make another appointment for a month from now. The receptionist said that your 20-week appointment is when you find out the gender and your heart skips a beat.

Jake takes your hand again as you head back toward the truck and the two of you silently drive to the Hard Deck. The work day is over and Phoenix texted asking if you want to come out. You tuck the sonograms into your back pocket as you climb out of the truck and walk into the bar.

You and Jake quickly spot the group and join them, being met with hugs and bright smiles. “Okay,” Phoenix begins. “How did it go?”

You take a seat and the rest of the group gathers around to listen, aside from Bradley. He can hear you talking, but he doesn’t want to show any interest in the topic.

“It went well.” You tell them. “I’m 12 weeks along and the doctor said everything looks great. Lovebug is the perfect size and their heartbeat was 129. They're the size of a plum.” You beam and Bradley can’t help the twinge in his heart.

“Do you have any pictures?” Bob asks and you reach into your back pocket. You hand them to him and Phoenix squeals when she sees them.

“Oh my god!” She exclaims. “It actually resembles a baby. This just got so much more real. How are you doing?” She asks gently and you shrug.

“Okay I guess. As well as I can be considering the circumstances. My morning sickness has started to fade.” You reply and Bradley's chest squeezes at the pain in your voice.

Part of him is heartbroken that he’s missing this experience with you and his child, but he won’t admit it. The bigger, louder side of him is pissed and wants nothing to do with it. He never wanted this.

Bradley rolls his eyes at Phoenix's excitement, but he stops breathing when he catches a glimpse of the black and white piece of paper. She’s right, it does look like an actual baby. He shakes the thought out of his head and taps his pool cue on the ground.

“Can we get back to our game?” He asks and Jake sends him a death glare.

You swallow thickly and tuck the pictures back into your jeans. “Yeah, sorry. You guys should get back to what you were doing.”

Everybody hesitates before going back to their game of pool, and Jake sits down next to you. “He’s an asshole.” He states plainly and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, he kind of is.”

The rest of the night goes by just like the others. Everybody periodically checks on you and brings you water while Bradley pretends you don’t exist. He’s off his game tonight, he hasn’t sunk a ball the entire time.

He's too lost in his thoughts, wondering what it would be like in another life, if the two of you could be happy and do this together. He ponders if the baby will have your eyes or his, what their hair will look like, and if they’ll be a pilot when they grow up.

He has no right to think any of this and he knows it. It's just not meant to be. He was never meant to have the white picket fence with a dog and kids who come running when he pulls into the drive. Or maybe that’s just what he tells himself so he can sleep at night.

Taglist:

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @chair-things @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @abaker74 @justanothermagicalsara @isakyakiisak @mak-32 @and-claudia @atarmychick007 @calsjack @mattyskies @gspenc @twsssmlmaa

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #Bradley Bradshaw topgun #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster angst #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun angst

284 notes · View notes

cryptidafter · 6 months

Text

天盛长歌 | The Rise of Phoenixes - 1/70

#gifset #the rise of phoenixes #cdramaedit #cdrama #天盛长歌 #big shout out to the group chat for helping me start my gif making adventures!#being overly ambitious about getting through all 70 ep but I love this show and it needs to be done! lol #cryptid’s gifs #rise of phoenixes series gifs

94 notes · View notes

averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

Text

Living Up To The Legacy ✈️ | Top Gun Maverick Series P.4

Contains major spoilers for TGM

Catch up on the series here -> Series Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell (past/eventual romance), Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!OC (platonic), Lt. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin (platonic), Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floy (platonic), Lt. Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace (platonic), pretty much the rest of the characters are platonic.

Content Warnings: Character Death (Iceman), profanity, major angst, anxiety, light fluff | Female OC (she/her) | wc: 10.8k

Premise: Phase two of the high risk mission has the Top Gun candidates pushing themselves to the limit. Literally. For Barbara Mitchell, the heat is rising not just in the pressure to prove herself but also the battle against feelings for her ex-husband, Rooster. And when two accidents occur plus the loss of a beloved family friend resulting in Maverick being grounded, Barbara finds herself in the fight of her life to prove the mission can be done. Even if it means risking everything she’s worked for in her nearly decade of service.

Note: more than 50% done 🥺 this one was fun to write. I was going to add another scene but will save it for the next chapter. Please don’t hate me for the ending, I’ve got stuff planned.

————————————————

“Good morning,” Warlock greeted the pilots as they settled in their seats. After having a fun break the previous day, they were back to business. “The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected. Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in ten days time,” Barbara felt the air catch in her throat at the news. Around her the others tensed as Warlock continued, “As a result, your mission has been moved up one week in order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation.”

“Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low-level course,” Coyote points out the obvious.

“Nevertheless, you’ve been ordered to move on.” Many lean back in their chairs at the sound of that. “Captain.” Switching places with Warlock, Maverick takes to the center.

“We have one week left to focus on phase two. It’s the most difficult stage of the mission. It’s a pop-up strike with a steep dive, requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles,” Maverick lifts to fingers to emphasize, the screen behind him depicting a simulation of a mountain. “Two pairs of F-18s will fly in a welded wing formation. Teamwork. Precise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission’s success and your survival.”

As he breaks down the plan, a blue plane comes into view and follows the white dotted line, “As you know, the plant rests between two mountains. On final approach, you’ll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude and the only possible attack angle. Your target is an impact point less than three meters wide,” Barbara clicks her pen nervously. The sound of that did not look good. “The two-seat aircraft will paint the target with a laser bull’s-eye. The first pair will breach the reactor by dropping a laser-guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch. This will create an opening for the second pair,” Mav raises a single finger, ending with, “That’s miracle number one.”

He then breaks down the second half, “the second team will deliver the kill shot, and destroy the target. That’s miracle number two,” when Mav raises two fingers, Barbara notices Rooster tilt his head so she could see his side profile, like he was trying to look at her. She shakes her head, knowing he’d see the gesture and the pilot sniffs before readjusting his position. “If either team misses the target, the mission is a failure. Egress is a steep high-G climb out to avoid hitting this mountain.”

Hangman cuts in when Maverick pauses, “A steep climb at the speed, you’re pulling at least eight G’s.”

“Nine, minimum,” the Captain corrects to which Rooster comments, “The stress limit of the F-18’s airframe is seven-point-five.”

“That is the accepted limit. To survive this mission, you’ll pull beyond that, even if it means bending your airframe,” at this Cyclone makes a face, not liking what he was hearing. “You’ll be pulling so hard you’ll weigh close to two-thousand pounds, your skull crushing your spine. Your lungs imploding like an elephant’s sitting on your chest, fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out. And this is where you’ll be at your most vulnerable.” Maverick faces the group, “This is Coffin Corner.” What a name to call an impending death on an already Hellstorm of a mission. Barbara put a finger to her lip, shutting her eyes when the planes on the simulator crossed into enemy radar.

“Assuming you avoid crashing into this mountain, you’ll climb straight up into enemy radar while losing all of your airspeed. Within seconds you’ll be fired upon by enemy SAMs. You’ve all faced sustained G’s before, but this—this is gonna take you and your aircraft to the breaking point.”

“Sir,” Phoenix politely gets his attention and asks the million dollar question. “Is this even achievable?” From what the simulator was showing, it was far from it.

Maverick steps to her, arms going behind his back, “The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box.” Soon they are dismissed and Barbara heads to the locker room to get her gear on with Phoenix and Halo.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Halo says when they finish up, clasping her final restraint. The two women murmur in agreement, Barbara putting at least one cigarette behind her left ear and match behind the right before throwing the tin in her locker.

“Shit’s insane.”

“I’ll say,” Phoenix shuts her locker and leans against it. “Who’re you with today, C?” Judging by the look on Barbara’s face, it appeared she was not pleased with the day's test run line up.

“Fanboy, Payback, Harvard, Yale… and Rooster.” Halo whistles and Phoenix clicks her tongue. “Yeah, I know.” They finish up and all head out to their jets for pre-checks. Once complete, they bid Barbara good luck and leave for the lounge while Barb stays on the tarmac. She took a moment to herself, letting her thoughts linger before climbing into her F-18. For the exercise she was to be the team leader.

The nerves got stronger once they were in the air, the pilot having to take a deep breath as they stayed steady 300 feet above the ground. “Talk to me, Harvard. What’s the time?”

“We are on schedule, Legacy. Time to pop up in t minus thirty second.”

“Copy, Fanboy?”

“We are five seconds behind. Rooster, we’re falling back.”

“C’mon, Rooster,” she says, keeping her hand tight on the handle. “Move it or lose it.”

“Copy, increasing speed.”

“Harvard, check that laser for me will you.” He relays back several numbers, indicating the laser was ready to go. Her heart picked up as they approached the pop-up point. “Yale, prepare for pop up in three…two..one, now!” With a grunt she yanks the stick back and soars into the sky. Maneuvering the jet into the inverted dive, Barbara quickly gets upright after falling into the step dive. “Where’s that laser, Harvard.”

“Stand by, Legacy,” he says then seconds later calls out, “got it!” It locked on her screen, but Barbara cursed in her head, feeling that it was going to miss since it took him a bit to capture it. They were too low from what the dropping point should have been.

“Target acquired, bombs away!” She hits the button to release the mock missile and yanks the stick once more. They were now in the high-G steep climb, but level out when Harvard announced they missed the target. “Dammit!” The force of the G-s had Barbara breathing heavily for the few seconds they ascended. They pushed about 5 in that run.

Rooster shouts the same phase moments later when he too misses the target. “Head back to base. We’ll go again after the others.” They all copy and break off with Legacy, Harvard, and Yale going left while Payback, Fanboy, and Rooster go right. Legacy is the first to land, taxi off the airway just in time for Harvard and Yale to arrive.

Exiting the jet, Barbara heads off the tarmac to take her usual smoke break and runs into Halo, Phoenix, and Bob. “How’d it go?” Bob asks when she comes to a stop in front of them. Removing the cigarette and match from her pocket with a shake of the head, “intense. I had to level out before hitting six G’s. Couldn’t take it once Harvard said we missed the target.”

They all grimaced, sending worried looks to each other. Phoenix lets out a sigh, “I hear Mav is probably gonna just break us off into duos tomorrow, and once we master that try the two sets of pairs again.” The news has Barbara making a sound of relief, “Thank God.” Wishing the three good luck, she passes them to leave and takes her break before going to the lounge where she is met with the five men she’d just flown with. “Gentlemen,” she greets, sitting on one of the couches opposite Payback and Rooster.

“Not bad up there, C,” Fanboy compliments her from his spot against the window. She smiles in return, voicing the same to the WSO. They don’t do much to pass the time, however Fanboy and Payback do challenge her to a game of foosball. At times Barbara felt like eyes were on her, and did her best not to react.

She always knew when Rooster’s eyes were on her.

When she caught his gaze he was quick to look away, making a movement to wipe his face as though something was on it. Biting back a smirk, Barbara turns her back to him though could still feel the heat emitting within her. She tried to focus on the communications from the others as they came through the radio, but was having trouble as the same thoughts from the previous night made their way into her mind.

Fuck how was she gonna make it through another week when she was starting to feel like a school girl having a crush for the very first time. It was her ex-husband for God’s sake.

After another run that afternoon, this time with Rooster as team leader and missing the target once more, the pilots were dismissed for the day. Thankfully no one stopped her on her way out. It was becoming a habit each night for someone to catch her whether it be Rooster, her father, Phoenix, or even Hangman. But Jake learned the hard way to not mess with Barbara when she purposely hit the gas on her bike and nearly ran over his foot.

That night in the comfort of her own home, Barbara made a call to the one person she hadn’t spoken two since she got the detachment. Her mother, Charlie.

“Sounds like you have a lot on your plate,” Charlie chuckles, voice echoing from the speaker while Barbara nurses a glass of wine in her kitchen. She was going over the parameters of the mission, committing it to memory while also giving her mother an update on the past several days. “How do you feel overall about the mission, Barb?”

She clicks her fingernails against the glass with a sigh, “I really don’t know, mom. The others and I have talked about it in passing and we all agree it seems impossible. To be honest, the only person who I believe could actually pull it off is Pete.” It was the wholehearted truth. Only her father was capable in her eyes, but this job required a team. And they had a lot of work to do before developing one.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Your father has always lived life on the edge,” Barbara makes a sound of agreement, “speaking of him, how are things? You don’t seem to be so….angry when talking about him.”

Biting her lip, Barbara takes a second to think of a reply. There was still tension between her and Pete, but she wouldn’t deny there had been a lift of resentment. But that could easily slip if he started to treat her differently. Not to mention not picking her for the mission solely because she was his daughter.

“It’s….complicated. All of my anger was on him the past couple years to shift the blame off myself. Every time I thought about him, It would just reignite everything I tried to bury in the past,” she takes a pause, refilling her wine glass. “This past week has had me thinking and letting go of a lot—mostly the stuff when I was kid. But….” The words fall flat, the woman unsure of what to say.

“But?” Charlie asks, causing Barbara to drop her head between her shoulders.

“I don’t think he and I will ever have a normal father-daughter relationship. We’ve tried in the past, it’s never worked. Ever since I was a kid it’s been rocky and when we seem to fix one thing, something happens that screws it up. First my college career, then my military career, and most recently my marriage. And honestly, mom, I can’t bring myself to get my hopes up because there’s a chance he won’t pick me for this mission even if I’m qualified. Do I have a lot to work on? Yes, this detachment is pushing me to the breaking point,” she takes a breath, pausing in her rant before ending with, “He promised he won’t wash me out…but Pete Mitchell is going to do what he wants.”

There’s silence over the phone, the older woman processing her daughter’s words. Barbara takes the moment to rub her hands over her face, “I don’t think I could forgive him if he did, mom.”

“No one is telling you you have to, Barbara,” Charlie says softly. “Your father and I know you are an exceptional pilot—although I do hate that you took on his way of not going by the book,” the comment makes Barbara laugh. “My point is, Pete will choose the candidates he’s fit to take on a mission as big as this. You work hard, you stay in line, and show him you can do it and there’s no doubt he will pick you. But…on another note, you have to understand his point of view, Barbara.”

Immediately Barbara squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what Charlie was on to. She was prepared for this conversation, but it still had her gripping her forearms rightly as they rested on the counter. “He’s a father, you’re his daughter. You may be the best fighter pilot the world has ever seen, but to him you’ll always be his baby girl. I know he had a lot to work on when you were young, but Pete tried his best. It wasn’t always good at times but nonetheless he would always call me just to ask about you. From what you’ve told me about this mission, someone could likely not come home. How do you think it affects him with the only two options ending with him most likely losing you?”

Barbara felt a wave of emotion at the crack in her mom’s voice at the mention of her likely dying. It put into perspective for the thirty-year old that this was not just any job for Maverick. It was personal. These were people's lives at stake. Their families would be the ones to endure the pain and lose if they didn’t make it. And Rooster was in the same category as her because Mav saw him as a son. Everything that could come out as a result of Maverick’s decision would be an end to whatever strain he wanted to erase between him and Rooster.

“I know,” she sighs, silently wishing that things could be different. But unfortunately the universe worked in mysterious ways. “I know. Not an easy choice.”

For the next two days they continued to work on phase two. During this time Barbara came very close to the target, the closest she’s been, working with Phoenix and Bob. It was decided after the first day of phase two training they would split the pairs up before coming back together in full formation. Though Barbara did well with the other foxtrot teams, it still didn’t come close to how natural it felt with Phoenix and Bob watching her back. If she were picked in the end, she hoped they’d be paired together.

It was approaching the end of the day and Barbara was settled in the lounge after running the course with Payback and Fanboy. Halo was flipping through one of the magazines beside her and they made small talk to pass time. Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote were in the air.

“Talk to me, Bob,” her voice comes through the speaker.

“We are twelve seconds late on target. We gotta move! We gotta move!”

“Copy. Try to stay with me,” Coyote replies. Suddenly Bob’s tone becomes confused, “Huh? Wait, who’s that?” The question made Barbara click her tongue. She should’ve known Mav would make it more real by acting as a bandit. “Blue team, you’ve been spotted.”

“Shit, It’s Maverick.”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“I’m a bandit on course to intercept. Blue team, what are you gonna do?” Barbara hadn’t realized she moved from the couch to a chair in front of the radio, bringing an elbow up to rest on the surface.

“He’s twenty miles left. Ten o’clock. 700 knots closure,” Bob relayed, to which Coyote said, “Your call. What do you want to do?”

“Continue,” Phoenix replied, “We’re close. Stay on target.”

“He’s swinging around to the north!”

“Standby for pop-up.”

“Be ready on that laser, Bob.”

“Copy. I’m on it.”

“Blue team, bandit is still closing,” Mav warned.

“Popping now!” Coyote shouts and soon the three aviators are grunting and breathing heavily as they ascend. “Talk to me, Bob. Where’s Maverick?”

“He’s five miles out. He’s coming fast.”

“Target’s in sight.”

“Where’s my laser, Bob?”

“Deadeye! Deadeye! It’s no good,” Bob says with disappointment. “Sorry, I can’t get a lock.”

“We’re out of time, I’m dropping blind.” Seconds later Coyote calls out, “Damn it, missed!” Once again grunts could be heard from the speaker as the pilots began their high-G climb.

“That’s tone,” Maverick suddenly says, indicating he locked on someone. Bob confirms it, “Maverick’s got missile lock on us.”

“Shit! We’re dead,” Phoenix curses.

“Blue team, that’s a fail. Level out, Coyote.” When Coyote doesn’t copy, Barbara feels her stomach drop. “Coyote? Do you copy?….Coyote, come in.” There’s still silence from the pilot, calling the attention of everyone in the room. “Coyote, level wings.”

“Oh no,” Barbara whispers, hand coming to her mouth. Beside her Fanboy and Rooster stiffen, the others exchange looks of worry when Maverick gasps, “Oh, God. He’s in G-LOC.”

“Coyote? Coyote?”

“He’s gonna burn in!” Phoenix shouts and the anxiety rises in the group. Maverick then says, “I’m going after him.” Barbara’s knuckles were practically white from how hard she was gripping her the edge of the counter. “Come on. Give me tone, give me tone, give me tone. Snap out of it, Coyote. Come on! Come on!”

“Oh my God,” Barbara squeezes her eyes shut. Never had she heard her father sound so frightened in his life.

“Come on, Coyote. Come on. Come on!” Her heart picks up, beating like it was about to burst from her chest. “Damn it! Coyote! Coyote! Coyote! COYOTE!” There’s a familiar gasp of air and it goes silent. In sync everyone waits and is met with eminent relief when Maverick goes, “Coyote, you okay? You okay?”

The pilot is breathing heavily into his mask, shaken by the experience, “I’m okay. I’m good.”

“Good. Good,” Mav repeats with relief. “That’s enough for today.” On the other end of the table, Jake pats his hand against the counter, expression unreadable. But Barbara could see the tension behind his eyes. Like everyone else, the Lieutenant was fearful for his friend and thought he was about to witness his death.

“That was close,” Phoenix says what they were all thinking.

Maverick sighs again, “Too close.” What they thought would be the end of the chaos, was only the beginning. Because seconds later Maverick is shouting, “Bird strike! Bird strike!” They were all well aware of how dangerous a bird strike could be. It could cause damage to the plane and take out equipment if they weren’t careful.

And that played out before their ears because after Phoenix calls out the strike, Bob is yelling, “Phoenix, left engine’s on fire!”

“Climbing,” she shouts, and Barbara became almost nauseated by the overwhelming emotion she was feeling. “Throttling back. Shutting off fuel to left engine. Extinguishing fire.”

“Right engine is out!”

“It’s still spinning. Trying to restart it.” Immediately Barbara is out of her chair, causing the pilots around her to flinch at the action. She doesn’t care. The woman is practically yelling at the speaker. “No, no! Don't do that—It’s still on fire!” Maverick must’ve seen it too from his position because he was repeating what Barbara was saying, “Phoenix, it’s on fire. Don’t start—.”

“Throttling up.” The dread swarms Barbara as her friend fails to listen. Part of her couldn’t blame Phoenix. If the roles were reversed, who knows what she would’ve done.

“Oh my God,” Mavericks voice sent chills through her body. Without realizing it, Barbara’s hand reaches back to catch Rooster’s. Both of them squeezing despite the intense heat from the touch.

“We’re on fire! We’re on fire!”

“Damn it! Extinguishing right engine!”

“Phoenix, Bob, punch out, punch out!” Mav yells, and Barbara feels her body start to shake. The anxiety became too much at what she was hearing. It was every pilot's worst nightmare.

“Warning lights everywhere! Hydraulic failure!”

“I can’t control it!” Phoenix screams.

“We’re going down, Phoenix! We’re going in! We’re going in!” Bob's screams have tears prickling in Barbara’s eyes. Though they hadn’t known each other long she had grown to care for him. The fear in his voice was absolutely chilling that it had some of the pilots back away from the speaker. Hangman and Payback had their hands in their hair. Halo had her head down in a silent prayer. Fanboy was gripping the back of the chair Barbara had sat on.

And Barbara? She was squeezing the shit out of Rooster’s head.

“You can’t save it. Eject! Eject!” Maverick orders. Not hesitating Phoenix is repeating the order to Bob, “Eject! Eject! Eject!” Seconds later the radio goes silent, leaving everyone in the room to wonder if they had made it out.

With trembling lips, Barbara slowly lets go of Rooster’s hand—realizing she had grabbed it in the midst of the chaos—and brought it to her chest. Since her back was to him, Barbara missed how he had tried to reach out and grasp it when she pulled away. The pumping of her heart thumped below her palm at an alarming rate, her hand slightly trembling as she tried to catch air.

Unsure of how to react, everyone was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the helicopter taking off from the tarmac—on its way to rescue Phoenix and Bob. The sound snapped Barbara out of her daze, who took a sharp breath before spinning on her heel to exit the lounge. Her head was hurting and she felt nauseated. As she sped down the hallway and threw open the front doors Barbara was met with the warm sun. It did little to help her—in fact it made it worse because next thing she knew she was spilling her guts into a nearby trash can.

Groaning, Barbara prayed none would get in her hair. She was so used to having a bun to keep it out her face that she forgot it was cut short. It fell over her cheeks and brought one hand up to push it away. Footsteps approached behind, and soon her hand was replaced by someone, another hand coming to the same on the other side.

She didn’t have to look to know it was Rooster. His shadow and cologne was enough.

After a few moments to catch her breath and make sure her stomach was empty, Barbara reached into her pocket to pull out a tissue. Stepping back to wipe her mouth she felt Rooster release his hold from her hair. “Thanks.”

He nods to her, stepping back to give her some space. “Not used to you having your hair so short.” The comment makes her chuckle. It was true. Their entire relationship Barbara’s black hair was long and wavy. The amount of hairspray, gel, and pins to keep it neat when in uniform was a bucket load. Once everything happened in 2016, she surprised her friends and herself by chopping it to a bob.

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“Why did you cut it?”

“Wanted a change,” she mutters, briefly glancing at him. “Felt like it was something I needed.” In the peripheral she saw him nod again. Throwing out the napkin, Barbara pulls out a cigarette and plants herself on the top step to set. Lighting the tobacco, Barbara takes a deep inhale with her eyes closed, feeling the nerves slowly start to settle.

“Why do you do that?” The tone in Rooster’s voice has her let out a tired sigh.

“Because it calms me down, Bradley. Okay? And right now I’d rather have the taste of nicotine than vomit in my mouth.” She keeps her eyes closed but feels him move to sit next to her. With this she turns her head away from him, so the smoke isn’t blowing in his face. “Let’s not argue about this. Please.”

“I won’t,” he replies, though there’s a hint of protest in his voice. It wasn’t like he could have her promise him again to quit. She had no reason to listen to him. “Are you okay?” Barbara scoffs lightly which had Bradley quickly say, “Nevermind don’t answer that.”

They sit there for a while. Neither says anything as Barbara finishes her cigarette. Finally she asks the question that had been nagging at her since he arrived, “Why did you follow me out here?”

The pilot shuffles his feet, glancing to where his hands laid in his lap. “Felt like I owed it to you after last week. And you would’ve done the same for me.” Barbara mentally curses, hating the fact he knew her so well. What also didn’t help were the butterflies swarming in her tummy.

Fuck she needed to get it together

She didn’t reply, and Rooster didn’t need her to. He already knew the answer. Thankfully the sight of the helicopter returning caught their attention, and both pilots were met with relief when they saw Phoenix and Bob being hauled off and into an ambulance. “Oh thank God,” Barbara whispered, bringing her hands together in a silent prayer.

Rooster bids a glance to the sky in silent thank you, “I’ll stay and wait for an update. You should go home, get some rest.” She sees him lift something in the corner of her eye and is met with a dum-dum lollipop. The ace she made must’ve been comical because Rooster was biting back a smile.

“Wha—.”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been going to town on them since we started training,” Barbara felt her heart stutter, cheeks going pink. “Thought you could use one.”

“Oh—-uh,” she stuttered, not really knowing how to react. With a small smile, she took the candy, flinching when she felt a shock when their skin touched. “Thank you….that was uh, very kind of you.” ‘God’ she thought to herself. Was that all she could come up with? She was married to the guy once upon a time. It was embarrassing how a little gesture of bringing a lollipop could get her flustered.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, rubbing his hands together and looking away. Whatever he was feeling it was hard to put a name on it. Clearing his throat, Rooster stands and practically blocks the sun from Barbara. “I’ll uh—I’ll leave you be then.” He goes to enter the building, walking slowly as though he expects Barbara to stop him. Which he was silently hoping for despite not understanding why.

Again, denying the feelings he knows is resurfacing.

And deep down Barbara wanted to. As she watched him go there was a tug on her heartstrings. But the woman didn't really know what to say. What could they talk about? Besides the beach day it was the first time they managed to get through a conversation—even if it was short—without arguing. Letting the thoughts go, Barbara sat in silence as she watched him leave before sighing and getting up to wash up.

The shower was a much needed one. There were still emotions running through Barbara, but most had settled once the hot water hit her skin. Halo was just finishing up when she got there, and Barbara relayed that Phoenix and Bob had been sent to the infirmary. “Good. I hope they’re okay,” the older pilot said in relief. They talked for a bit before saying goodbye and leaving Barbara to her shower. She didn’t know how long she’d been in there. It wasn’t until the hot water turned cold that she decided to get out.

Once dressed Barbara collected her belongings and set out for the parking lot. She had just turned the corner, unlocking her phone to see several missed calls from her mom and Sarah when Admiral Bates intercepted her. “Lieutenant Mitchell.” Barbara looked up from her phone, already filled with dread from the amount of calls when she saw the look on his face.

It was one of bad news.

Tears sprung in her eyes, but she fought to keep them at bay, “He’s gone isn’t he?” She didn’t need to hear him say it. After the last visit with Iceman, Barbara felt it was the last she’d see him. Sarah had mentioned it was any day that the inevitable would happen.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Face solemn, Warlock simply replied, “I’m very sorry.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Barbara made a sound like she was holding back a sob. Iceman was like a second father to her. When things got tough and Maverick wasn’t there, Ice stepped in and had her back. He was there at her commission ceremony, when she graduated flight school, he even flew to pin on her ranks when she made Lieutenant. When she got in trouble with pissing off superiors Ice got her out of it much like he did with her father. If it hadn’t been for him, Barbara would’ve been out of the Navy after the stunt she pulled two summers prior. And after she transferred to North Island, Sunday dinners became a habit with the Kazansky family.

They were her family.

“Has my father been notified, sir?” She asked after a moment. Pete was likely still on base and she wondered if they had reached out to him already. Or if she was going to have to be the one to give the awful news.

“I was just on my way to tell him,” Warlock tells her, nodding his head in the direction of the lounge. She assumed that’s where Mav was. “Would you like to join me?”

She really didn’t know if she could handle it. It would break her heart to see the pain on her father’s face knowing his wingman is gone. They’d been best friends for thirty plus years. Sniffing, Barbara wipes a finger under her eye and gives a short nod, “Y-yeah. I think that would be good.”

In silence the pair walk down the darkened hallway. All the while Barbara mentally prepares herself. She doesn’t have time to really have a pep talk because before she knows it Warlock is opening the door of the lounge and to the pilot's surprise she sees Maverick is not alone. Rooster is with him.

Whatever they were talking must’ve not been good because they were chest to chest with one another with Rooster glaring while Mav looked like he had been slapped in the face. The sound of the door combined with Warlock calling out to Maverick catches their attention and Barbara sees the flash of concern on both men when they see her expression. It looked like Rooster was about to move toward her but stopped himself. Instead Maverick is the one approaching the two.

“What is it?” He says to Warlock before turning to Barbara. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words failed to come out. Instead she glances at her feet while Warlock breaks the news.

“We’ve just received word on Admiral Kazansky,” the sharp intake of breath from Mav had Barbara wince. And when the words fell from Warlock’s lips, Barbara couldn’t stop the tears as they fell to the floor. “I regret to inform you, Captain, but the Admiral has died.”

The day of the funeral was a bittersweet endeavor. In her Service Dress Blues, Barbara stood beside her father at the front with the Kazansky family. It was a beautiful service. One she would remember forever. Hundreds of service men and women attended, many of whom worked with Iceman over his 30 plus years of service. The candidates were even in attendance. And every now and then Barbara could feel eyes on her.

No matter how many times she’d heard it over the years, the sound of Taps always brought tears to her eyes. The flag laying over the casket was folded and presented to Sarah by Admiral Simpson as the 21 gun salute was performed in the distance. Barbara kept her eyes forward, but saw Mav turn his head from her peripheral. And when it was time for him to Mav to tack in Ice’s wings, a lone tear trailed down her cheek.

To conclude the service was the fly by which sent chills through Barbara’s body. In the handful of times she unfortunately had to watch friends laid to rest, the feeling always arose. It was a final send off to the fallen. Maverick, with tears in his eyes, stood at the end of the casket saluting until the planes passed. All he could do was stare at the portrait of his wingman.

A rivalry that became a friendship that would last a lifetime.

When everyone dispersed, Barbara was the first to offer her condolences to the family. She’d already been to their house the night Ice passed, convincing Maverick they should go be with them, but nonetheless brought the older woman into a hug.

“I know I already told you this the other day,” she sniffed, “but my mother sends her love and support. She’s sorry she couldn’t be here today but called me this morning to let you know she’s thinking of you and the family.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Sarah replies, wiping her face with a sad smile. “Tell her I thank her for the flowers she sent the next time you talk to her.”

Barbara nods, “Of course.” Maverick had returned at that moment so Barbara stepped away to hug Ice’s children who were like cousins to her. They spoke for a few moments, before Barbara decided to take her leave. As much as she wanted to stay for the reception the pilot was not feeling it. Well aware she was going to have to get her head back into business, Barbara had spent most of the past couple days burying herself in sorrow to the point she was exhausted. Dark circles had formed under eyes that were covered with makeup to hide how tired she was.

“I’m gonna go home,” she said to Maverick, who seemed a little surprised. He wasn’t expecting her to leave so soon. She quickly explained, “I haven’t got much sleep the past couple nights. I know Admiral Simpson expects us to be ready for training on Monday so I’d like to take the next day to recoup.”

“I understand,” he nods, feeling the same way as his daughter. The tone in his voice gave away how drained the Captain was. “Get some rest. I’ll see you Monday.” As they were in uniform and he outranked her, Barbara lifted her hand in a salute, waited for Mav to do the same and did not drop hers until he did. It was odd having to salute him, but Barbara brushed off. Fidgeting on her feet, Barbara made the rash decision to reach up and lay a soft kiss on Maverick’s cheekbone. He froze, not expecting the gesture, but nonetheless it brought a smile to his face. With one last squeeze to his forearm, Barbara took her leave.

Instead of riding her bike, Barbara had driven her 1960 Ford Thunderbird that she often kept in the garage of her home. She only took it out on certain occasions where she wore her Dress Blues or gowns for officers balls. It was a gift to herself when she made Lieutenant after searching high and low for the vehicle. Unlike a lot of newly commissioned officers, Barbara spent most of her paychecks on paying off student loans while saving up for her dream car. It was well worth the wait.

When she got to her car she found Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster huddled by the trunk. The second she made eye contact with Phoenix, the brunette was walking toward her, catching the attention of the others. “Hey,” she greeted, bringing Barbara into a hug. “How are you doing?”

“As best as I can really,” Barbara mumbled, pulling away and giving a light shrug. “I knew it was coming, but of course it doesn't make it any easier.” Nat gives a look of understanding to which Barbara asks, “How are you though? You fucking scared me the other day, Natasha.”

Nat grimaces in response, “well I certainly can say I know what it feels like to see my life flash before my eyes. But other than that I’m good. Bob is too.”

“Good, I’m so happy you two are okay,” Barbara squeezes her forearm. She nods to the guys, “What are y’all about to do?”

“Heading to the Hard Deck. Shoot some darts, play some pool, and drink the day away. None of us knew Admiral Kazansky like you so we felt like it was better than to take up room at the reception.”

“Yeah, I’m not going either.” Phoenix raised her brow in surprise. She would’ve expected Barbara to attend, being she was his Goddaughter. But then again it was up to Barbara to go if she wanted.

“Do you want to come with us?” She nods her head to the guys who were trying to not make it look like they were listening in. Briefly Barbara locks eyes with Rooster, whose face was full of concern for the woman. Once again she felt warmth under his gaze. It was only a matter of time before the feelings became too much. With a shake of the head, Barbara turned back to Phoenix, “Not tonight, Phee. I think I’m just gonna call it an early night.”

“Okay. But call me if you need anything. Alright?”

“Will do,” Barbara taps her shoulder and walks with her to the others. She greets and thanks them for attending the service which has Fanboy and Bob both offer a small hug while Payback pats her back. Meanwhile Rooster stays still with his hands in his pockets, but nods to Barbara when they make eye contact. She returns the gesture, removing her car keys from her pocket to unlock the car.

“This your ride?” Fanboy says with surprise. When they stood by the car after the service it was to admire it. None were aware it belonged to the young Mitchell. They’d only ever seen her ride her Ducati. At her look of pride he whistles out a ‘Damn.’ Bob and Payback are also gawking which makes the woman chuckle. For the next couple minutes Barbara finds herself answering questions about her car. Where she got it, how she got it, and if she would let them take it on a spin one day.

“If you drive like you fly, then Imma pass on that,” Barbara points a finger at Payback, who puts a hand to his chest as though she’s broken his heart.

“Oh come on, C, I am an excellent driver.”

“I’ll see to that.” After a few more words of exchange and side hugs to Bob and Phoenix, the four pilots bid their goodbyes, leaving Rooster to stay behind. It was awkward to say the least. Neither knew what to say. Barbara shuffled on her feet, putting her hands on her pockets. “How are you?”

He lightly scoffed at the fact that was the first thing she asked. “You’re asking me that question, Barbara?” She had to hold back rolling her eyes, but clicked her tongue as she replied, “Ice meant as much to you as he did to me. I know you’re hurting too, Bradley.”

Licking his lips, he leans on the side of the car, “I’m sad—of course I would be. He was there for me and my mom a lot after my dad died. But it’s you I’m more worried about, Barbara. He was your Godfather.”

The familiar emotion of grief filled her chest but she pushed it away. She had cried enough, and right now she did not want to cry in front of Rooster even if he had seen it many times before. He was the only one she would show emotion to when they were together. Even her parents had never seen her cry. “I’m fine—really I am. You don’t have to worry about me, Bradley.”

Rooster just shakes his head, voice going low, “I’m always going to worry about you.” The air catches in her throat. The way he said it was like how one was trying to deny the fact they could no longer refuse the truth any longer. The same way Barbara was fighting her own truth.

Quickly changing the subject because she was dealing with mixed emotions by his confession, Barbara nods her head to where the others were getting in their cars. “You should go. Don’t keep them waiting and beat the evening rush.” The expression he gives her reads, ‘I’d rather stay here with you,’ but nonetheless Bradley sighs and pushes off the car.

He steps back, but before she could react he’s suddenly bending down to her level. Freezing at the contact of his lips meeting her cheek, Barbara can’t contain the blush rising on her cheeks from the fire she was feeling. His lips linger, staying for a few seconds longer than what she would have expected, until he pulls away and turns around before she could say anything.

‘Did that really just happen,’ she thought to herself. It was like she was in a trance. When she finally snapped out of it, Barbara stumbled back and caught her hand on the car door. Bradley had just entered his Bronco, catching Barbara in his rear view mirror which had her quickly open the door and fall into the driver's seat. The entire way home Barbara couldn’t help but let the thought plague her mind:

How was she going to get through this mission and not let her heart get in the way if either she or Rooster get selected?

The next day Barbara slept and exercised her worries away. First she slept in till nearly noon, made a late brunch, and then decided to go to the Fightertown gym. It came in handy when Barbara wanted to use the equipment rather than take a run around her neighborhood. And luckily she didn’t have to pay for a membership. After about three or so hours, drenched with sweat and feeling a weight lift off her shoulders, Barbara decided to call it a day.

As she was passing the air strip on her way out, she caught sight of Maverick’s bike parked in front of the building where the Admiral’s offices were. Confusion filled her. What was he doing there?

Letting her curiosity get the best of her, Barbara pulled up into a space and quietly made her way into the mostly empty building. It was dimly lit in the hallways, which made sense since it was Sunday. Soon voices could be heard in the distance as Barbara approached Admiral Simpson’s office. On her toes, so her footsteps wouldn’t echo, Barbara leaned her back against the wall and leaned close to the door. “Sir?” She stiffened at her father’s voice.

There’s a pause before Cyclone says, “We both know you didn’t want this job, Captain.”

“Sir, they’re not ready.”

“Well, it was your job to get them ready.”

“Sir, they have to believe that this mission can be flown,” Mav pleaded and Barbara felt her heart skip. If she was assuming right, this was Cyclone firing Maverick. With Ice gone there was nothing in the way from the Admiral doing so.

“And all you’ve managed to do is teach them that it can’t.” Barbara felt anger rise. She couldn’t believe Cyclone was pulling her father off—especially with the mission being days away. It was a big mistake.

“Sir—.”

“You’re grounded Captain,” he cut him off. “Permanently.” A hand came up to her mouth, Barbara willing herself to not act irrational and burst in there to curse her superior. ‘Stand your ground, dad. You can’t let him do this. You’re Pete Mitchell for God’s sake.’

“Sir—.”

“That is all.” At the dismal from Cyclone, Barbara mentally cursed and raced back down the hallway before Mav could open the door. She didn’t want to get caught by either man eavesdropping. Hauling ass out the building she threw the doors open, literally jumped on her bike and sped away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She hit the handles in anger. Slowing her speed, cause lord knows she didn’t want to get a ticket on base, Barbara’s mind was racing. What the fuck was Cyclone thinking? They were less than a week away from pulling off the biggest mission of their lives and he was pulling their instructor out at the mose grave time? He was basically giving them a death sentence.

Barbara, though hating how her father was hardly there in her childhood, knew he was the best fighter pilot in the world. With three kills under his belt, the man knew what was needed to hit the target and come home. While the mission parameters looked impossible, it was the only way they would survive with all its obstacles.

There had to be something they could do. Thinking of ways to convince Cyclone to change his mind, Barbara hadn’t even realized she had spent nearly an hour driving around San Diego. The sun slowly started to set and she pulled up to the Hard Deck for a much needed drink. Again, the first thing she saw was Maverick’s bike. The thought of a drink disappeared as the pilot saw footsteps in the sand leading to the back of the building.

Following them, Barbara peered over the corner and found Mav crouching in front of Penny. It was hard to hear their conversation from where she stood, but was able to piece together Penny encouraging the man to find his own way back into the air. It brought a smile to Barbara’s lips. She really liked Penny out of all the girlfriends her father had mentioned over the years. The two, while their relationship had its ups and downs, seemed like a great fit.

When she saw the older woman place a hand to Mav’s cheek and said, “but you’ll find a way,” Barbara decided to make her move. “Captain,” she saw the two jump at the sudden intrusion but relaxed when their eyes fell on her. Putting her hands in her pocket, Barbara nudges her head to the beach with her attention on Maverick. “Mind if I have a word?”

Mav says something to Penny before rising and replies, “of course.” Falling behind him, she bids a small smile to Penny who returns it, and walks with her father to the edge of where the dry sand meets the wet sand. It was cool around them from the ocean breeze. The two silent for a moment to take in the scenery.

“He’s making a mistake,” she finally says, noticing Mav turn his head to her. “Cyclone,” the name has the man tense, realizing Barbara knew what had happened. “I know they say curiosity kills the cat, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw your bike parked in front of his office.”

The confession has Maverick sighing, “You overheard.” There was a mix of disappointment and embarrassment in his tone. It has Barbara frowning, turning to the side so they were facing each other.

“You can’t let him get away with it.”

“Barbara—.”

“He’s making a mistake!” Her voice rises, the anger from earlier returning. “You know he is, Mav, and you’re gonna just let it happen?” When he doesn’t answer she takes a step closer, determination set in her eyes, “You said it yourself, we’re not ready. Cyclone is going to lead us to death if he takes over.”

While Maverick agreed with her, he still didn’t like the way she was talking about the Admiral. Even if it were true. “Barbara, you shouldn’t be saying that about your superiors.”

She makes a face as though to say, ‘try me.’ “I’ve said much worse and I’ve said it to their faces. And no—,” she raises a hand when Mav opens his mouth, “I will not elaborate. That’s a conversation for another day. Bottom line is, you’re Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell for crying out loud. And the Maverick I know doesn't sit back when he knows he could do something.” A pause comes as she finishes her rants, noticing how Mav had a small smile when she said his full name. “So? Any ideas?”

Pete shuffles his feet in the sand, tilting his head with a shrug as he glances to the waters, “I have one that comes to mind.” Barbara nods, liking what she was hearing.

“Okay, so what’s our plan?”

“Our plan?” His head snaps back with bewilderment. Immediately he’s refusing the implication, “No, no, no. There is no ‘our’ plan, Barbara.” His fingers went up in quotations when saying ‘our’.

“Yes there is,” she insists.

“No, there’s not.”

“I’m helping you do whatever it is you’re planning, Pete.”

“Barbara—.”

“Maverick.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“All your ideas are.”

“Which is why you’re not helping!” He shouts with his arms out causing her to fall silent. Softly Maverick takes a hold of Barbara’s shoulders, connecting their eyes so he could get through to her on the matter. “Honey, If you were to help me—because God knows regardless I’m done for even if I do it—you could get court-martialed. Possibly discharged. I can’t let you risk your career for me. Do you understand?” While it prided the Captain his daughter was willing to help him get back in the air, he cared about her more. She was on her way to becoming one of the best pilots the Navy had ever produced. Just like him and his father before him. After years of working so hard there was no way Mav was going to let her throw it away.

When she didn’t say anything at first, Pete thought he had changed her mind. That was the goal. But what stunned the Captain and had him pulling her into a hug, the first one in several years, was when she uttered the words in full determination, “What’s the point in being a legacy, your legacy, if I can’t live up to the name.”

“Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor,” was the first thing the pilots heard from Admiral Simpson the moment they settled in for the day's briefing. Confused looks were shared between Phoenix and Rooster when they realized Barbara hadn’t arrived when they were ordered to sit. “And as of today, there are new mission parameters. The time to target is now four minutes,” the beep from the screen sounds as the -02:30:00 changes. “You’ll be entering the valley at reduced speed. Not to exceed 420 knots.”

In the front row Hangman and Coyote exchange looks, as do Phoenix and Bob, who says, “Sir, won’t we be giving their planes time to intercept?”

“Well, Lieutenant, you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft. What are the odds of surviving a head-on collision with a mountain?” Phoenix adjusts in her seat, not liking what she was hearing. “You’ll be attacking the target from a higher altitude, level with the north wall. Gonna be a little harder to keep your laser on target, but you will avoid the high-G claim out.” In the back, Warlock was having to keep neutral.

“We’ll be sitting ducks for enemy missiles,” Fanboy mutters to Payback under his breath.

“Where is Lieutenant Mitchell?” Cyclone suddenly asks, realizing he did not see the pilot in her usual seat. Those in the front had turned their head while the ones in the back and to the side leaned over. All became confused at the sight of the empty chair. This was unlike Barbara. And with a mission so close it was out of character by a long shot. “Was she running late this morning?” Cyclone asks no one in particular.

Murmurs sound around the room, many shrugging their shoulders. Rooster tightened his jaw, shaking his head when Phoenix gave him a look that read, ‘where the hell is she?”

“Has there been word of Lieutenant Mitchell dropping out?” The Admiral asks Warlock who shrugs and says, “Not as far as I know, Sir.” Suddenly their attention is on the monitor when it starts beeping. From the side, in blue are two plane simulators heading straight for the course. “Who the hell is that?”

Their answer is given in the form of the one and only Pete Maverick Mitchell.

“Maverick and Legacy to Range Control. Entering Point Alpha. Confirm green range.”

“Uh, Maverick, Range Control, uh, green range is confirmed. I don’t see an event scheduled for you two, sir.” Reactions varied from around the room. Most of it was of shock, especially from Phoenix and Rooster, while others like Fanboy and Bob were fidgeting with excitement. Cyclone looked like he was about to shit his pants.

“Well, we’re going anyway,” Barbara said through the coms. It sent a grin to Phoenix, “Nice.”

Up in the air, Barbara was pushing her plane faster than she’s ever before to keep up with Maverick. Nothing besides adrenaline controlled her. The consequences would come after. But for now, she was going to prove to the team that they could get the mission done.

“You can punch out now, Legacy. There’s still time.”

Scoffing at her father, Barbara simply said, “Not a chance, old man. I feel the need for speed.” There was no turning back now. It was go time.

“Setting time to target: two minutes and fifteen seconds,” the number appeared on her screen after the words left Mavericks lips. Feeling her heart pumping, Barbara cracked her neck, pulled down her visor, and said a silent prayer.

“Final attack point. Maverick and Legacy inbound,” he announced and Barbara’s hand went to the lever, ready to follow his move. Inverting, she thrusted the lever and descended down to the entry point of the simulated course. The second she hit it the countdown started, and for everyone in the briefing room watching it happen live, all they could do was hold their breath and wait.

“First turn up ahead, Legacy.”

“Let’s turn and burn,” she exclaimed before a grunt escaped her at the force of the tight turns. They were one minute in with one and half to go as they hit the halfway point of the terrain.

“Talk to me, Legacy.”

“Right behind you, Mav,” she huffs, barely able to catch breath but the adrenaline was distracting her. Time felt slow but really it was going fast because before they knew it they were out of the terrain and approaching the pop up point with 40 seconds to go. Here Barbara was able to really breathe and she took advantage of the moment while mentally preparing for the mountain climb.

The ground was so close she was practically touching it. Maverick was right in front of her, the two maintaining their position with not a lick of Barbara falling behind. In the debriefing room the tension was getting high. Rooster was leaning forward with hands clasped tightly, heart racing as the planes got closer and closer to the simulated mountain.

For Barbara, one hand was on the lever the other on the controller as she waited for Mav’s signal. “Popping in three…two…one.” The plane soared upward and soon they were making the inverted dive. When they swung upright they had to act quick for time was running out. It would be tough to fly and lock the laser on the target, but it had to be done.

Barbara could barely contain the shakes in her finger, but fought against it. She locked on the target at the same moment Mav called out, “Bombs away! Legacy!”

“Locked, bombs away!” Her thumb hit the button, dropping the mock missiles before both hands clutched the stick and shot the plane up. They were less than ten seconds from zero, Barbara feeling the tightness in her chest grow with the force of the Gs pulling against her. She was pulling with everything she had to stay level all while fighting the urge to black out. The darkness formed around her eyes, but Barbara kept her focus on the laser monitor.

And in the debriefing room? Well half of the pilots were out of their seats and if they weren’t they were surely on the edge. The area showing the G force was rising from 8 to 8.5 to 9 and 9.5. Rooster was now gripping the arms of his chair. There was a part of him, while impressed and amazed by his ex-wife for acting unorthodox, worried for her well being. Especially after the close call with Coyote the week before.

And Barbara was fighting that G-Loc so hard. There was sweat blocking her vision, her head was pounding, and it hurt to breathe. But it all was worth it when the countdown stopped at -00:00.16.

It was a bullseye.

From both Mitchells.

“Bulls-eye! Holy shit!” Fanboy exclaimed the second the monitor beeped. Several others cheered, in awe at the sight of the successful run. Even Hangman was impressed, the man muttering a low, “Damn.”

“Yes,” Bob gave a high five to Phoenix who was grinning like a maniac. She couldn’t wait to see Barbara when she landed. Behind her, Rooster was leaning forward, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. But there was no denying he was in absolute amazement. Even with 10.Gs staring back at him.

Barbara and Mav had proved the mission could be done.

Removing her mask, Barbara took a deep inhale, bringing a hand to her forehead to wipe away the moisture. Leveling out beside her dad, Barbara turned her head where she could see his face. Like her, he looked like hell. “You good, old man?”

“Yeah,” he laughed out of breath. “I’m good. Are you?”

“As good as one can be after pulling ten fucking Gs.” He laughed at the rhyme again causing her to grin. They basked in the moment of peace before heading back to the tarmac. Where they would face the consequences for their actions. No matter the outcome, Barbara would accept it. She very well could face the end of her career, but to her it was worth it.

The second they landed, the Mitchells were ordered to Cyclone’s office. Warlock had met them on the edge of the tarmac, remaining professional but Barbara could see he was in fact impressed with the two. Of course he couldn’t say anything, but that was okay.

Standing at attention beside Pete, Barbara kept focus on the blinds in front of her. Cyclone was looking out the window, his back toward them while he grilled into the pilots, “You have put me in a difficult position, Captain. And you, Lieutenant, don’t even get me started. One the one hand, you two have demonstrated that this mission can be flown. Perhaps the only way it can be survived. On the other hand, you did it by stealing multi-million dollar aircraft and flying it in such a manner that it may never be airworthy again.”

‘Oops,’ Barbara thought to herself.

“Iceman is no longer here to protect you,” Barbara tenses at the mention of her Godfather. “I have everything I need to have you court-martialed and dishonorably discharged. So what do I do?” Cyclone asks, but it sounds more like it was a question to himself. This is confirmed when the next statements are, “Risk the lives of my pilots and perhaps the success of this mission. Or…risk my career….by appointing you team leader?”

The best way to describe what Barbara Mitchell felt in that moment would be the equivalent to the Earth stopping. There was a heavy feeling in her chest, and Barbara unconsciously reached out to grab Maverick’s hand. He gripped it back, feeling the slight tremor as his own shock surfaced.

“Sir—.”

“I think the admiral’s asking a rhetorical question, Captain,” Warlock cut him off, causing Pete to halt his movements. Barbara squeezed his hand, fighting back the overwhelming feeling of anxiety in her veins. As she was going through the possible outcomes, her father being named team leader was one of them. It was one she was having trouble with, because it meant she could easily lose him.

And that scared the fearless pilot.

“Lieutenant Mitchell,” Maverick’s hand fell from hers as Barbara snapped to attention. Just by the sound of Cyclone saying her name indicated she was not about to receive good news like her father. “While you had a part in demonstrating the possible success of the mission, the fact still remains. Unlike Captain Mitchell here, you give me no reason to brush this aside and I have to set an example for people who think it’s okay to break the rules,” here it comes, “With that being said, you are no longer a candidate for this mission and are hereby grounded.” The air caught as she took in a sharp breath, Maverick doing the same. “You will be subjected to a court-martial where your fate will be decided by a jury of your peers.”

“Sir—,” Maverick tries to step in, but Barbara doesn’t let him.

“I understand, sir,” she was impressed her voice didn’t break. Maverick went to protest, but with one look from Barbara he stood down. Fighting it would do him no good, especially now with his position.

“For now you’ll continue to act as though you are a candidate seeing as tonight I was planning on Captain Mitchell to choose his team. And in doing so I’m also allowing you to come on the carrier, but you will not play a part in the reserves. See this as me being generous since it’s your father who I’m sending out.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” she replies, still gripping the fact it was Maverick who in the end got to be the team leader. And now he had to choose between Hangman, Coyote, and Rooster for his wingman. Hangman was out of the question, proving he could not work in a team from the beginning. Coyote was good, but the G-Loc had Maverick concerned.

That left Rooster.

“You’re both dismissed. We will be meeting at the hangar in one hour.” Neither Mitchell wasted a second and were out the door, Maverick pulling Barbara into his arms.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, honey,” he said into her hair, gripping like she would slip from his arms. There were tears in his eyes. It pained him that the worst outcome for his daughter happened.

“I-it’s okay,” she stuttered out, pulling away to wipe her face. She wasn’t devastated like she thought she’d be about her career. Her emotion came at the worry of Maverick and possibly Rooster going on the mission. “I expected this to happen. I accepted it last night when I said I would do anything to get you back in the air,” she sniffed, giving her dad a small smile. “It worked though so it was worth it.”

Yeah it worked, but that didn’t mean Pete was heartbroken and upset it cost Barbara everything she loved. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“No,” she said firmly, “We can’t fight it anymore. It was bound to happen eventually and I knew that when I woke up this morning. We can worry about me later, okay? Right now you need to focus on the mission and who you plan to pick. Although I already have a feeling you already know,” her voice goes quiet, Maverick’s expression confirming. Blinking a few times to keep the tears at bay, Barbara nods, telling him it was okay. “He’s ready. You know he is.”

“Barb—.”

“I trust him with my life, dad,” she cuts him off resulting in complete shock from the aviator. That name hadn’t been used since Barbara was fifteen. She could only imagine what he was thinking at that moment.

Pushing the thought aside she lightly squeezed his forearms, “More than anyone else on this planet, I trust him with my life and you can too. While he started slow and had a lot to work on, I know he can pull through.” Licking her lips, Barbara accepts the inevitable, “Rooster won’t let you down.”

………………….

Tag list: @multiple-fandoms-girl, @maverick-wingman, @sgt-huntersupremacy, @the-winter-marvel33, @justanothermagicalsara, @calicokel, @lydia-demarek, @alanadetigy, @shrimping-for-all, @chaoticassidy, @nemtodd-barnes1923

212 notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 2 years

Text

The Night She Stayed

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Author’s Note: Next part in the FWB series!

Part 1 II Part 2 II Part 3 II Part 4

Warnings: Allusions to slight PTSD, nightmares, mild panic attack, angst, casual sex (nothing too explicit, but still better for 18+).

She didn’t mean to fall asleep. Hangman knew that. She never fell asleep because she never stayed the night. Yet there she was, fast asleep in his bed for the very first time.

They’d both been exhausted when they’d arrived at his place after a grueling day of training exercises. Part of him had expected her to beg off from coming over that night. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, but deep down, he’d been pleasantly surprised when she’d nodded in response to the Are you coming over? look he’d shot her on their way off base.

He was just as tired as she was, but he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the way their exhaustion manifested itself in his bed. Their movements, usually so wild and frenzied, were slow and languid, Phoenix’s arms lazily draped around him and her dark eyes hooded as he buried himself inside her. For the first time in the months they’d been sleeping together, he was gentle with her, lightly touching her face as his hips ground against hers. She really was beautiful—when she wasn’t scowling at him, at least.

Phoenix was normally as loud as could be when they were having sex, moaning and giving out orders left and right about exactly what she wanted. But that night, she was more subdued, soft sighs escaping from her mouth every now and then, her warm breath tickling his throat as he moved on top of her. He didn’t know what had possessed him to do it, but he’d kissed her in that moment, his lips just barely brushing hers. It was different from their usual rough kisses, kisses where it seemed like they were each trying to bruise and claim the other’s mouth, and he wasn’t quite sure how she would react. But she must have been even more tired than he realized because she simply slid her hands into his hair and kissed him back.

The startling gentleness of her movements made him feel like he was going to finish earlier than he had expected. Rocking against her a little bit faster, he held her small body close to his. Her dark eyes opened wide to gaze up at him and her breathing became softer and shallower, which is how he knew she was close, too. Her arms tightened around him slightly and her back arched up off the bed as she came with an uncharacteristically quiet sigh of, “Jake.” The sound of his name on her lips sent him over the edge a moment later as he pulled out and finished on her stomach.

He only turned away from her for a few seconds to reach for the packet of wipes he kept in his bedside drawer, but when he turned to face her again, she was fast asleep. Dark hair splayed out across the pillow, chest rising and falling slowly, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more beautiful or more…human. At work, in their day to day lives, Phoenix was always tough and impenetrable, snarky and quick-witted and impossible to keep up with, though he would never admit that out loud. But there, in that moment, she looked delicate and soft and more vulnerable than he ever would have believed possible.

“Phoenix,” he murmured softly, lightly touching her arm. She wouldn’t have fallen asleep if she wasn’t completely exhausted. He knew that. She didn’t want to stay. She never wanted to stay. “Phoenix,” he tried again. Still no response.

He didn’t want her to leave. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted her to leave for months now. He was always trying to convince her to stay, to remind her that she didn’t have to rush off every night just because the sex was done. But every night, without fail, she pulled her clothes on in a rush and was out the door before he could stop her.

She’d probably be mad at him in the morning for not waking her up, but he didn’t care. It was late and she was tired and needed some rest. He gently cleaned her up as best he could without waking her up, then pulled the blanket up around her and shut the lights off.

“Good night, Phoenix,” he murmured into the darkness, lying beside her without touching her.

It was the same nightmare every time. Always the same. She could hear Bob’s voice in her ear, growing frantic as he cried out, “We’re on fire!” She was doing her best to extinguish the engines, but it wasn’t working. Mav was in her ear, telling her to eject. The altitude warning was blaring. Lights and alarms were flashing all around her. Bob was counting on her and she couldn’t let him die.

She needed to eject. She was trying to eject. It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? They were going to burn in. They were going to crash. Bob was going to die and it would be all her fault.

Why wasn’t the eject working? She was trying, but something had her trapped. There was something wrapped tightly around her waist. There was something…

“Bob!” She was screaming now. “Bob!” Why couldn’t she eject? “Bob!” Had her backseater, her partner, her friend, had he ejected? Was he safe?

She thrashed frantically, trying to release herself from whatever it was that had her pinned. As she slowly started to enter a state of consciousness, she became aware of the fact that it was an arm wrapped around her waist. An arm attached to a man. A man who was sitting beside her, shaking her gently.

“Phoenix!” he was calling out.

It wasn’t Bob.

Hangman.

“Phoenix!” he called to her again, an uncharacteristic look of alarm on his face. She could tell from his expression that he must have woken up and seen her thrashing, must have heard her screaming.

“Stop!” she exclaimed suddenly, pushing his arms away from her and running her hands through her hair. “What am I doing here?” she demanded, slightly disoriented and trying to mask her humiliation by resorting to her usual defenses of anger and snark. “Why am I here?” She never stayed the night, and this was why. What had she been thinking?

“You fell asleep,” Hangman replied warily, purposely keeping his hands away from her, but in a place where she could still see them. “You were exhausted. I didn’t see the point in—”

“I have to go,” Phoenix cut him off, throwing the blankets back and immediately moving to climb out of the bed.

“No,” Hangman said firmly, reaching out and holding onto her arm before she could go any further.

“Stop it,” Phoenix snapped, smacking at his hand. She needed to get out of there before she embarrassed herself any further. And in front of him, of all people.

“No, you stop it,” Hangman snapped back, evidently not in a mood to go back and forth with her. “It’s three o’ clock in the morning, Phoenix. I’m not letting you get in an Uber right now.”

“Not letting me? You don’t get to tell me—”

“You’re not in any condition to go home by yourself right now, Phoenix,” he cut her off, holding her in place.

She just stared back at him, biting her tongue in frustration. He was right and she knew it. What’s worse was he knew it, too.

“Take the bed,” he told her suddenly, getting up and slipping his boxers back on. It was only then that she realized she was still totally naked. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said, grabbing one of his T-shirts and handing it to her.

Dumbfounded, she accepted the shirt without a word and slowly slipped it over her head. As he started to move towards the bedroom door, however, she called out to him. “Wait!” She sighed as he turned to look at her. “There’s plenty of room. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, weighing something in his mind, but eventually he walked back over and climbed into bed beside her. They were both quiet for a few minutes, neither of them touching the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asked slowly.

Phoenix sighed, running a rough hand through her hair. “Not really, but what choice do I have at this point?” She wiped a tired hand down her face. “God, you’re the last person I ever would have wanted to see me like this,” she blurted out.

Something that looked akin to pain flashed across his face for a moment. But maybe she was just imagining that. Maybe it was just a trick of the moonlight in the darkness of his bedroom.

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare about…” His sentence trailed off as he looked at her, a hint of that hurt she’d thought she’d seen still etched into his features. “If you have flashbacks to what happened when…I would never judge you for…”

She didn’t think she’d ever seen Hangman at a loss for words before. And suddenly she felt guilty for making him feel like she didn’t want his help, like she didn’t want him to know the secrets she harbored. The truth was, she didn’t want him to think less of her. She didn’t want him to know how rattled she’d been that day during the bird strike. How rattled she still felt sometimes.

Covering his hand suddenly, she let out another heavy sigh. “I have nightmares sometimes,” she confessed slowly, her voice quiet in the stillness of the night. “It’s always the same. It’s always that day when we were training. The bird strike. And Bob is…and I hear Mav’s voice…and I’m trying to fix everything, but it isn’t working. And Bob…”

“I heard you yelling his name,” Hangman said, his voice low as he gazed at her in the darkness.

“His life is my responsibility,” she told him, biting down on her lower lip to hide the emotion that was bubbling up. “I could have gotten him killed that day.”

“It was a bird strike, Phoenix. Even the best pilots in the world can’t control a bird strike. You did everything that you could. Even Mav said it—you couldn’t have saved the jet. You and Bob are both alive because of how you handled yourself out there,” Hangman said firmly, his arm slowly sliding around her shoulders. She tensed momentarily, but didn’t pull away.

“I know. I know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “That’s what’s so annoying about these nightmares. It’s like I just have to keep reliving it over and over again. It was one of the worst days of my career,” she admitted.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” Hangman murmured quietly, squeezing her shoulder gently. “I mean it, Phoenix. You really can.”

She turned and lifted her head to look at him, just staring at him wordlessly. She realized that she had never seen this side of him before, even in all the months they’d been sneaking around together. He’d been so gentle with her tonight, even earlier when they’d been making love.

Making love. Huh. She’d never thought of it that way before. It was always fucking or screwing around in her mind. Never making love. Because they weren’t in love. They weren’t. She reminded herself of that fact, even as she moved closer to him.

“Is that—are the nightmares the reason you never want to stay over?” Hangman suddenly asked, his voice so low that she almost missed the question completely.

She hesitated a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “Part of it.” How could she explain to him that the other part of it was that she had to ensure that there would be no feelings borne between them, no messy attachments that would confuse whatever this arrangement was that they had made?

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up,” Hangman apologized, which nearly bowled her over right then and there. She didn’t think she’d ever heard the words I’m sorry pass Jake Seresin’s lips. “You just seemed so tired and it was late and—”

“It’s okay,” Phoenix said, resting her hand on top of his. “Really.”

They both stared at each other in the ensuing silence, eyes trained on each other even in the darkness.

“We should get some sleep,” Hangman finally said a few minutes later, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” Phoenix nodded in agreement, lowering herself down and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “Good night, Bagman,” she murmured with a small smile.

“Good night, Minx,” Hangman grinned, closing his eyes as he laid on his back, fingers laced together over his stomach.

When Hangman woke up the next morning, he found the space beside him empty and his T-shirt neatly folded on the chair in the corner of the room. He tried to ignore the feeling of his heart sinking, wondering for a moment if he’d imagined the whole conversation with Phoenix last night.

As he climbed out of bed, however, he spotted the Post-it note attached to his bedside table and immediately recognized her strong, clear handwriting.

Thank you.

#hangman x phoenix #hannix #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #hangman seresin #phoenix trace #top gun #top gun: maverick

253 notes · View notes