#guess mitchell would know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cooliestghouliest · 5 months

Text

THE MIDDLE BEDROOM

PAIRING: established Billy/Reader relationship, bff!Eddie is a Peeping Tom

TAGS and C/W’s: this is basically just smut (which means 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), pining undertones, oral (f!receiving), Billy's filthy mouth, SPIT, Eddie's a pervert but Billy's kinda setting him up so really Eddie is just advantageous, m!masturbation, unprotected PiV

WORD COUNT: 3.4k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. basically, i’m trying to revamp everything i’ve published in hopes that an inspiration bug crawls deep, deep inside me and just fucking explodes, leaving only creativity and motivation to replace all of my blood and oxygen. it’s almost 2024, who needs to bleed and breathe anyway??? please remember that likes are greatly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are what make the writer’s world go round. :-) <33

—

It happened at Rick Lipton's annual Halloween party. '86, baby.

There were many nameless faces wandering about the bungalow, all in varying states of sobriety. Eddie only recognized a handful of people, one of them being Billy Hargrove... and the other being you, Eddie's best friend, but also Hargrove's drop-dead, knock-the-fuck-out gorgeous girlfriend.

Eddie had overheard someone guess that you were dressed as a witch. Someone else guessed that you were dressed as Stevie Nicks. With a shrug, you'd answered, "Those are the same thing," like it was the most obvious certainty in the entire world.

You were in a sheer black off-the-shoulder maxi dress, the form-fitting fabric tight in all the right places. There was a long, gracious slit down the side that ran from hip to foot. When you moved in a certain way, Eddie could see that you were wearing black suede thigh-high boots, a little kitten heel clicking against the hardwood floors as you walked.

Right up to him.

"Hi, Eddie," you'd greeted with a smile, eyes wide and welcoming. You swirled the train of your dress a bit, swaying along to some Joni Mitchell song playing in the background. "Happy Halloween."

Eddie didn't get the chance to answer, though he was sure he'd have ended up stumbling over his words anyway, because you just looked so pretty tonight. He was only able to return the smile before Billy appeared beside you.

"Hey, man," Hargrove prompted, Eddie watching as the honey blonde rested lucky fingers on the small of your back. The other palm extended to clap Eddie on the shoulder a few times. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, it's just... uh..." Eddie dug his hand around in the front pockets of his jeans, then in the back pockets of his jeans, then eventually found what he was looking for in the pocket of his denim jacket, bypassing a broken button to reach for the little baggie in question.

As he was about to pull it out, Billy’s hand gripped his forearm, halting him. "Not here," Hargrove instructed. He stepped an inch closer to Eddie, voice lowering to just above a whisper. Eddie had to dip his head forward to try and hear the blonde over the music and commotion around them. "Come upstairs. Like fifteen minutes. Middle bedroom." At Eddie's confused expression (they were at a Halloween party thrown by Hawkins' most profitable drug dealer, for fuck's sake -- who the hell would care about a little coke?), Billy fashioned him a grin, stepping back. "Don't need everybody knowing my business and shit, ya know?"

Eddie guessed that was a decent enough explanation, so he shrugged the absurdity off. He'd always thought Billy was a little weird, anyway. And coming from Eddie Munson, the biggest fucking weirdo of all, that characterization spoke volumes.

After that, you and Billy disappeared. Eddie had followed the tail-end of your dress until you were lost in a sea of strangers, then decided to try and push the rest of the weed he had onto other partygoers, wanting to leave tonight with his current debt to Rick paid and his lunch box full of fresh goodies for the new month ahead.

It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Eddie began his ascent of the stairs to Rick's second floor. He weaved in and out of groping couples, stepped over sleeping Lettermen, and gave a tight-lipped smile to a group of girls that stumbled out of the bathroom and slammed right into him. He stepped to the side, giving them the right of way, before crossing the hallway to his destination: the middle bedroom.

The door was shut, so Eddie knocked. Waited a few seconds, then knocked again.

Still with no answer, he took a large step back, surveying the other doors around him to verify he hadn't gotten turned around and was in fact standing in front of the right room, which he was.

Eddie huffed a sigh. He glanced around the hallway again, checking to see if maybe Hargrove was just running late, but there was no blonde mullet in sight.

Figuring Billy must have been inside and was just... busy or something (actively ignoring him? suddenly gone deaf?), Eddie brought his hand to the knob to twist it and enter.

The room was mostly dark. Not exactly pitch black, thanks to a streetlight seen through the big bay window, but still dark enough that Eddie needed to blink rapidly several times to adjust his eyes to the new lighting.

His immediate thought was that Billy must have either forgotten to meet him up here or had ditched the party entirely and left the dealer packing with a now homeless dimebag of blow.

Off to the right, however, was a thick slab of pale-yellow light emanating from a partially closed door. It was the bathroom, which Eddie knew from sleeping in this very bedroom more than a handful of times since first meeting Rick Lipton a few years back.

And that’s when Eddie started to hear it.

Or, as he would soon come to find out, hear you.

He had at first mistaken the quick, soft breaths of air for sounds of pain or distress, which was why he'd begun inching towards the bathroom in the first place.

But now, standing in the shadow of the ajar door, he was able to peek inside. At the sight before him, Eddie felt his eyes widen, and a prickling warmth started to spread throughout his body.

Those were definitely not sounds of pain or distress.

Billy sat kneeled in front of where you were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Your knees were hiked up towards your chest, your dress laying in a heap on the ground, and you were left only in a bright red bra. And those goddamn suede thigh-highs.

He should have walked away right then, he knew that. He was going to, really, but then you arched your back, your head falling lax behind you, and the fucking obscene moan you let out had Eddie biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted blood.

How was he supposed to leave now?

He couldn't help himself.

You were just... you.

Thoughtful, generous, creative. You went out of your way to ensure no one ever felt judged or left out; you were known to drop everything without debate in order to help anyone who really needed it; you let him host Hellfire in your basement when the club needed a new location in a pinch, and even helped him plot twists in his campaigns.

Truly, Eddie had a very hard time seeing what you saw in that prick Billy Hargrove, but that was something to ponder at a later point. Because right now, Eddie was getting to see you in a position he'd only ever dreamed of seeing you in.

When would he ever get this chance again?

Eddie refused to think too deeply into this, deciding to pretend he didn't have a moral compass for a bit. It was probably bad. Likely even made him a pervert, but he'd been called much worse, so he figured he'd just add this one to the list now, too.

He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to face either one of you again, but his feet just weren't working when his brain tried to tell them to move, and now his cock was starting to fill out the confines of his jeans in a way that had him seeking the relief of the doorframe, his hips acting of their own accord, finding a slow, rocking rhythm.

Billy had his palms splayed out on either side of your inner thighs, holding your legs open. Eddie quickly grew irritated that he couldn't see exactly what the blonde's tongue was doing. He thought that if he couldn't be the one with his own face buried against you, he wanted to at least have an unobstructed, close-up view.

He wanted to see Hargrove's lips wet with your slick, wanted to watch them wrap around your aching clit and suck until you tried to push him away. If Eddie could, he'd hold your arms down while Billy devoured you, wanting you to feel so much pleasure it was borderline painful.

He was pulled out of his fantasy by the sound of Billy's voice, raspy and teasing. "Love when you give me this sloppy fucking cunt," he said, the words themselves demeaning but his tone singing nothing but praises. Billy lowered his head back down, giving you a few long, loud licks.

Eddie knew he himself could be theatrical, but Billy Hargrove was dramatic in his own ways, and it did certainly seem like the blonde loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Apparently, eating pussy and its associated noises fell under this umbrella of Hargrove Histrionics.

Billy pulled his head back to spit several times on your well-loved cunt. Eddie didn't dare to blink as the other man brought two fingers to spread your lips and spit again, this time with your hardened nub as target. Both him and Billy watched intently as the saliva dripped slowly down your slit, past your empty hole, and leaked off of you entirely to darken an already present wet spot on Hargrove's blue jeans.

And fuck, you loved it.

With each assault of Billy's spit, you let out faint little gasps (fucking cute, Eddie had thought), body jolting at the contact, your eyes fluttering open and shut as the moisture filled in every curve of your core.

"So fucking messy, aren't you?" Billy taunted, his free hand moving to palm at his clothed length. Eddie was relieved to see Hargrove finally begin to touch himself, honestly impressed at the self-control the blonde had to disregard his pleasure and focus solely on yours. "Makes it feel so good when I finally fuck this thick cock inside you," he continued, unzipping his jeans as he stood. "You think this pussy's ready to soak me?"

Eddie felt like his skin was boiling. He wished he could eliminate some layers. Or all layers, preferably.

You were staring earnestly up at your boyfriend, a desperate pout on your face as you nodded in vigor. "Please, Billy," you begged, and Eddie couldn't take it any longer. He needed to fist his cock raw, having had enough of this grinding against the wall bullshit.

At the same time Billy dropped his jeans, Eddie did the same, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs. He muffled a groan of relief by biting down on the knuckles of his free hand, his other wrapping around the girth of his dick and just squeezing. He didn’t want to give in before Billy had gotten inside you.

The blonde sure was taking his sweet fucking time though, only wetting his length by sliding himself repeatedly between your lips. You were whining, and Eddie could tell you were trying to angle your hips in such a way that it would trip Billy up and he would slip inside. Good girl, get that fucking cock, Eddie thought, impatient and eager to cum, but not wanting to do so without first catching a glimpse at what you looked like stuffed and fucked full.

"Hmm, I dunno," Billy provoked, tapping his cock against your cunt with loud slaps. "Feels really good just like this, baby. Maybe I'll use the outside to fuck myself instead, cum all over this pretty little pussy, make an even bigger mess. You want that?"

You and Eddie both shook your heads at the same time.

You gave a grumble of annoyance (more of like a testy whimper, really) and brought a hand up to slap playfully at Billy's chest. "Fuck me, Billy," you demanded, your voice throaty and yearning. You dropped the hand at his chest to circle his cock, wrapping delicate fingers around his own and helping to stroke. "Need it inside."

"Oh, you need it, greedy girl?" It appeared he was going to listen to you, much to yours and Eddie's respite, because he lined himself up against your hole with one hand, the other moving to wrap around the nape of your neck. "I didn't know that. I gotta give my girl what she needs then. Can't have anyone thinking I don't take care of you."

Finally -- finally -- Eddie watched as Billy took one thrust to bury his cock inside you completely, the blonde releasing a loud, lewd moan. Eddie gave his own throbbing, sweat-slick length the same treatment, fucking into his fist from tip to base until he felt his tightening balls press against his twitching fingers.

You looked better stretched open than Eddie could have ever imagined -- a natural flush glowed on your skin, your bottom lip tugged tight between your upper teeth, your brows furrowed deep.

Your eyes rolled back as Billy began to move, a satisfied moan escaping your lips at the pace he was setting. The sound, contented yet desperate, was music to Eddie's ears. He wanted to record it and hear it on loop -- as a wake-up call, an afternoon pick-me-up, a bedtime lullaby.

Your hands moved to rest on either side of the surface of the sink below you, supporting your weight as Billy rocked into you with long, languid thrusts. Eddie tried to match Hargrove's pace with the stroke of his hand, envisioning it was his own cock giving you exactly what you needed.

You must have felt fucking good to be buried deep inside of, because Billy, always with something to say, was awfully quiet now.

He watched the other man's face through the reflection in the mirror, saw as Billy's baby blues fervently took in the sight underneath him, knowing he himself would be donning the same expression if positions were switched. Eddie knew Hargrove was admiring your perfect tits bouncing with the force of each thrust, knew he was lost in the dissipated doe-eyes that stared back up at him like he hung the fucking moon, when in reality he was just feeding your cunt some very well-deserved cock.

When your mouth dropped open unprompted, your pink tongue sticking out as far as it could go, that was the beginning of the end for Eddie. Both men knew exactly what you were asking for. Hargrove smirked approvingly at the sight before him, and he slowed the speed of his hips for better accuracy. He gathered as much saliva in his mouth as he could before leaning over you, parting his lips and letting gravity do its job.

Once your mouth was filled, Billy brought a hand to your jaw, forcing it shut. "Don't swallow," he instructed, his thrusts no longer slow and unhurried, but now posthaste and unrelenting.

Eddie could feel the familiar tingle in his lower abdomen, alerting him that his release was maybe a minute away. He fleetingly realized that he was going to have to very quickly clean his upcoming mess and get the hell out of the room before he was caught, but his attention was reeled back in when he heard a series of deep, breathless grunts.

"Okay, shit... spit it out now, baby," Billy was muttering, speech rushed, his head dipped to stare unwaveringly at where your bodies connected. "Oh fuck, spit on my fucking cock."

Eddie watched as you leaned yourself forward, angling your head down to release the spit you'd been holding in from your mouth, just adding to the noisy wetness between your legs.

And that did it. The visual — someone as soft and sweet as you doing something so filthy — had Eddie's toes curling in on themselves in his gym shoes, his hand pulsating around his cock to mimic a clenching cunt as he fucked himself into it. His release spilled out over his fist, dampening the ground below him and the bathroom doorframe. He saw stars.

Billy had followed Eddie right off the brink, muttering praises and obscenities interchangeably as you both came down from your highs. "Listen so well, dirty fucking girl. Always make me cum so hard, fuck, this pussy's so fucking full of me right now."

The sound of the quiet giggles urged out of you by Billy's tickling kisses on your neck were what brought Eddie back to the present reality. He wasn't back at home watching the hottest fucking porno he'd ever seen -- no, he was actually standing in a dimly lit bedroom, covered in his own cum, having just spied on his best friend while she got railed by her boyfriend.

Shit.

Eddie's moral compass came back with a vengeance. He cringed as he rubbed his sticky fingers on the inside of his band tee to clean them, not wanting anyone to catch a glimpse of crusty white as he made his getaway. He found a towel in a laundry basket and wiped away any remnants of his release from the wall and floor, then tossed it back into the hamper.

Not even able to glance back into the bathroom, his skin now heated from shame and embarrassment rather than arousal, Eddie buttoned up his jeans and hurried out of the room, ready to try and forget that all of that just happened.

About ten minutes later, he was perched against his van about a block from Rick's, where he'd parked. He was smoking a cigarette, having finally began to cool off and calm down. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could convince himself this was all a really vivid hallucination, and maybe he'd be able to compartmentalize his moment of perversion that way.

He just needed to stay away from the two of you for a little while.

But then, because of course...

"Munson!"

Eddie quietly groaned, taking a deep drag off his cigarette to quell his already rapidly growing nerves from just the sound of the other man's voice alone. He turned to face Billy, plastering what he hoped was an easygoing grin on his face.

"Hey, man," Eddie greeted, his voice surprisingly steady.

Billy held his hands up in a 'What the fuck?' kind of way, brows furrowed. "Thought we had a plan," the blonde replied, stopping just a foot away from the tall metalhead. One side of Hargrove's mouth lifted. He looked predatory. Eddie fought back a hard swallow. "Did you even come upstairs?"

"What..." Eddie's brain went blank at the question. Or was it an accusation? It definitely sounded like one, but Billy didn't seem mad. The blonde was just staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Y'know," Billy continued. "Because I told you to meet me in the middle bedroom? For the coke?" What had started as the slight of a smirk had turned into a full-blown grin on Hargrove's face. "You good, Munson? Lookin' a little spooked.”

To this, Eddie sobered his expression, shaking his head. "No, just like, busy night, that's all," Eddie answered lamely. Maybe Billy really didn't know. Maybe Eddie was just hyper-paranoid about having been caught that he was reading too deeply into this. After all, wouldn't Hargrove have been pissed to find out he'd been spying? Wouldn't he already have Eddie pinned against the van, spewing threats? "Lotsa deals. Kinda forgot about yours, my bad. Here, lemme get it..."

Eddie began digging around in his pockets, having forgotten again where the coke was. He blamed the alarms of anxiety going off in his brain (thoughts like fuck, he probably knows, which means she knows, and now she's gonna fucking hate me plaguing him).

But Billy said, "Don't worry about it, I'm good. Got my energy hit a little bit ago." The blonde then looked like he had remembered something, and began looking in his own pockets, "Shit, actually. Ya know what? I have something for you."

Eddie was sure the look of confusion on his face was readable. This whole night was turning out to be a fucking fever dream. He didn't think anything else could happen to make it any more surreal.

And then Billy was reaching his hand out to give Eddie something, that I-know-something-you-don't smirk present again, and Eddie took it without looking. He just wanted Billy to walk away so he could go crawl into the back of his van and smoke himself stupid to avoid any and all realizations and repercussions.

"See you ‘round," were Billy's parting words and Eddie just nodded dumbly, mute, and watched him go.

Once Hargrove was out of sight, Eddie opened his hand. At first, it just looked like an unassuming wad of fabric, maybe a sock or something, small compared to the size of his palm.

Eddie unraveled it, holding it out in front of him, and then very quickly tossed it inside his open passenger window, eyes darting around to make sure no one had seen what Billy Hargrove had just given him —

The matching pair of panties to your bright red bra.

#billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #mungrove x reader #billy hargrove smut #eddie munson smut

611 notes · View notes

shellshocklove · 1 year

Text

conversation | peter parker

pairing: college!peter parker x college!female!reader

summary: peter parker is in the friendzone. and it sucks. especially when the girl he’s in love with is dating his best friend. smack dab in the middle of a bad situation peter struggles to keep his feelings at bay when the girl of his dreams comes to him for advice about her failing relationship.

warnings: i guess post!nwh, swearing, cheating, peter pining for reader, everyone being a bad guy, smut 18+ (minors dni!!!), unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 4.1k

a/n: um my first peter fic! it’s based on the song conversation by joni mitchell. listen to it, or don’t, i’m not your mother. i said i was going to stop posting writing, but i have “i must create or i’ll go crazy” disease so... (i’m still not a writer)

main masterlist / ao3

She comes to him for conversation, for comfort, for consultation. But Peter wished she came to him for something else.

He remembers the first time he saw you. How he’d thought his heart had stopped for a second, forgetting how to do its most basic function. How could someone look so effortlessly beautiful? How could a voice sound so sweet while asking such a mundane question?

“Is this seat taken?”.

“N-n-no!” he’d manage to stutter out, his cheeks flushed red and completely taken aback by the fact that you were talking to him. You’d given him a playful smile before seating yourself next to him.

Did he believe in love at first sight? Yes, after seeing you for the first time, Peter started to think he did.

Meeting you in a chemistry class, Peter thought, must be the universe’s take on a bad joke, because… you two had chemistry. Everything just felt so easy when he hung out with you. His smile always wide, cheeks hurting. Conversation flowing freely, or engulfed in a silence, that was always comfortable. The only thing though, even though you two had chemistry, you weren’t any good at it. Actually, you were barely passing.

And that’s how your time began. Sharing sodas after class, in a rundown diner, over chemistry homework. You’d seen how Peter had gotten straight A’s on all his tests, and one day you’d carefully asked if he would be so kind as to help you. Those were the actual words you’d used. If Peter would be so kind. As if he wouldn’t have done anything you’d ask without a second thought. Okay, maybe not anything. He doesn’t think he’d murder someone if you asked… or maybe… if you were in danger and it was the only way–

“Peter!” you laughed, waving your hand in front of his face, “Are you even listening to me?”.

“Huh!?” he hummed, a familiar warmth spreading through his cheeks as your laugh rang through his ears.

“You zoned out a little,” you said, scrunching up your nose. Oh god he loved when you did that– you looked so cute.

“Oh! S-sorry” he stuttered out, still embarrassed that you’d caught him daydreaming, “What were you saying?”.

“Ehm… just forget it” you looked away, waving your hand, “It was just something Harry did again”.

His name coming from your mouth felt like a bucket of ice-cold water over Peter’s head. Harry Osborn, your boyfriend, and Peter’s roommate.

As much as Peter loved Harry, he didn’t treat you well. This was usually how your conversations during your study dates would go, once it was clear that after a few hours of studying, you were done with chemistry for the day.

You’d usually bring up small things that Harry had done that hurt you or annoyed you. And Peter would be tasked with giving you advice, or comfort, or consolation. You always apologized after, for bringing Harry up in conversation, but Peter always brushed it off telling you it was fine. But it wasn’t. It always reminded him about his own failures. How if he hadn’t been such a pussy at Betty’s party, all those months ago, and told you how he felt, this wouldn’t just be a study date, but a real date. The problem was just that Harry had beat him to it that night. In Harry’s defense, he didn’t know about Peter’s feelings about you. No one did.

You’d disappeared at some point in the night, and Peter figured you’d gone home. Turns out you did go home, but not to your own apartment, but to Peter’s and Harry’s instead. A fact Peter didn’t know until the morning after when he’d bumped into you in the kitchen, his heart dropping to his stomach at the sight of you in nothing but Harry’s shirt.

Peter’s dreams weren’t completely crushed at that moment. He still harbored hope for you. Harry was quite the whore (Harry’s own words by the way, not Peter’s), and this wasn’t the first time Peter ran into one of his hook-ups in the kitchen after a night out. In Peter’s mind this was only a one-night stand. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Not soon after, you started showing up at the penthouse, not to hang out with Peter, but with Harry instead.

Peter tried his best to not be disappointed when you came over. But the tiny spark of hope he had about one day calling you his, soon fizzled out and died. Every time he saw you and Harry kissing, holding hands; he knew nothing would ever happen between the two of you.

Trying to forget you, he started busying himself with classes and patrol, seeing you less and less. He’d run into you sometimes when you were visiting Harry. Only a short “Hello” leaving Peter’s lips as he’d retire to his room before Harry could see how much Peter wanted you.

Back in his room, Peter would convince himself that you and Harry being together was the best thing for you. If you were with Peter, he’d only end up hurting you. You deserve the very best, and Peter knew he would never be good enough. He was a fucking mess most of the time. He was always late to things, never on time, he couldn’t afford to treat you to nice things like Harry did, and his double life could make you a target, which was the last thing he wanted.

Peter kept his distance the best he could, but as time went on it got harder and harder to convince himself that Harry treated you the way Peter thought you deserved. Peter knew Harry wasn’t being honest with you, and it killed him to keep his mouth shut. The bubbling anger simmering under the surface every time he’d see a girl who wasn’t you, slip out of Harry’s bedroom. Then like a curse, a few moments later, his enhanced hearing enabled him to eavesdrop on yours’ and Harry’s conversations on the phone. Harry would always apologize for being too busy to come over and hang out. And with the softest voice, you’d let Harry off the hook every time. Leaving the penthouse, to go on patrol after nights like that, Peter admitted, his punches hit a little harder.

Your relationship tasted especially bitter in Peter’s mouth whenever Harry would throw parties at the penthouse. A hand over your shoulder or around your waist, never leaving your side, showing you off like you were a prized possession and not a human being. Was this the final straw for Peter? Seeing yet another way Harry didn’t treat you as well as he should; that had made him not want to make up an excuse, like he normally would, when you’d ask him if he wanted to study at the diner.

Peter had kept his distance from you for the last six months. Tried to stay in his lane. To turn the other eye. To fold his feelings for you in on itself like a piece of paper so many times he hoped they’d disappear. But one look at you again, sitting across from him at your regular booth at the diner, and his origami-ed feelings had sprung up again like a blooming flower in spring.

“I just really wanted to see him, you know? I’ve been so stressed about this chemistry exam– that I know I’m gonna fail by the way, and work’s been kicking my ass– and I just wanted to hang out with my boyfriend… but he canceled on me three times this week”.

Or maybe the final straw, for Peter, was the way your whole body deflated in front of him. Peter could feel his heart break in real time watching you turn your head away, hiding the wobble of your bottom lip. And the worst part of it all was that Peter knew why Harry had canceled on you. He’d been over at someone else’s place. But Peter knew he couldn’t tell you that.

Carefully he reached out his hand, brushing it over the back of yours as you rested it on the table. “I’m sure Harry’s just been busy! I know he’s got his exams in a few weeks, and he hasn’t been home as much lately” Peter said, trying his best to make you feel better.

You watched your hands for a moment, how Peter brushed his hand over yours trying to sooth you the best he could. Then you turned your hand, wrapping it around his in a gentle hold. The soft touch of your warm hand, making Peter stop breathing for a second.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “you’re probably right, Peter”. You tried your best to smile, but Peter could see your sorrow written all over your face, breaking Peter’s heart even more.

“You’re a good friend Peter!” you started, “I’m so sorry for always talking about Harry, but it’s just that you know him so well, so it’s easier to talk about him with you– and you always manage to say the right thing to make me feel better” you looked down at your intertwining hands.

“It’s almost scary how easily you can make me feel better Peter– it’s like you have superpowers or something” you said, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you about my superpowers?” Peter quipped, trying his best to cheer you up even more. A smile spread across your face as you shook your head.

“My powers are actually being very good at chemistry– AND knowing how to make my friend who’s failing her chemistry class feel better”.

A giggle left your lips at Peter’s joke as you let out a sarcastic “haha, very funny”, playing along.

If only you knew though. How he wished that this mess could be fixed with his actual superpowers. How he wished he could just put on the suit and save you from Harry. How he wished he could free you.

Landing safely on the rooftop of Harry’s penthouse, Peter looked around for his backpack he’d hid with his clothes. He’d managed to hide his double life from Harry so far, and he planned on it staying that way, which meant changing in and out of his suit crouched behind a rooftop vent, every day.

He was back earlier than usual, cutting tonight’s patrol short as it had turned out to be a quiet night. He’d stopped a man stealing a lady’s purse, and after he’d helped a man, who he was 90% sure had dementia, find his way back to his apartment. After that he’d just swung around the city for a few hours. At sunset he’d found a good spot at the top of this new skyscraper they were building downtown. His feet dangled off the scaffolding as he watched the sky turn every shade of pink and orange, before the sun dipped below the horizon.

Back home, on the roof, Peter felt the soft touch of the spring night against his naked skin. He quickly changed out of his suit before stuffing it back into his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder before he headed towards the rooftop door. With a light bounce in his step, Peter made his way down the stairs, his head filled with thoughts about all the studying he needed to do before his exam next week. Slipping through the front door he’s so distracted by his own thoughts he almost doesn’t hear it. The sounds of muffled moans accompanied by Harry’s bedpost hitting the wall.

But he does hear it, and images of how sad you’d looked earlier at the diner start flickering through Peter’s head. Before any rational thoughts can stop him, he’s fished his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He’s had enough. His fingers work on their own accord, pulling up your contact.

Peter hi, um are you at the penthouse right now?

He knew you weren’t, but he figured this was the best way to bring it up. Taking long strides across the floor, he made his way towards his bedroom door. Why did he suddenly feel like he needed to hide?

He passed through his bedroom door while he slipped his backpack off his shoulder. Not even ten seconds later his phone buzzed in his hands with your reply. He sat down quickly on his bed, one leg bouncing in an anxious rhythm, as he read your reply.

You no? i’m at home why?

Peter i think you should come over there’s a girl with harry in his room

Did this make him a bad person Peter asked himself as he watched the three dotted bubble appear and then disappear. Was this just him acting out of his own selfishness? Letting the devil on his shoulder whisper in his ear and guide his hand? Or did it make him a hero? Saving you from a toxic relationship?

You i’m coming over.

The sound of your footsteps echoed down the streets, mixing with Peter’s calls of your name as he practically jogged behind you trying to catch up to you.

“Peter” you sighed, “just please go back home”.

“No!” he finally caught up to you, grabbing a hold of your wrist, pulling it a little, making you slow down.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now”.

Your face was blank, the only sign of any emotion coming from your restless eyes dancing across his face. He couldn’t decipher what you were thinking. You were angry of course. You were furious only minutes ago when you stormed out the door with both Harry and Peter at your heel.

Harry had spoken his sorry sentences. Telling you it wasn’t what it looked like. Begging for your forgiveness. But he was only kidding himself trying to convince you it wasn’t what it looked like, that he hadn’t cheated on you, when you’d literally caught him with his dick inside another woman.

Harry stayed behind in the lobby, probably thinking it wasn’t worth it to go after you into the spring night, in only his robe. Just as Peter were about to rush after you Harry spoke up,

“If you go after her you’re dead to me!”.

The venomous bite to Harry’s tone stopped Peter dead in his tracks.

“I know you fucking told her” Harry accused, “If you go after her I’m kicking you out– I NEVER want to see you again”.

But standing here, out on the streets of New York at midnight, holding your hand Peter knew he’d made the right decision.

“Ok” you said it so softly Peter didn't think he’d even hear it if his hearing wasn’t enhanced.

“Ok” he repeated.

You pulled your hand away, a knife twisting in Peter’s heart, and started walking. You didn’t say a single word on the way back to your apartment. Peter imagined you were hurt, but you weren’t crying, and Peter didn’t know if that scared him or comforted him.

Safely back inside your apartment you didn’t even acknowledge his presence as you threw your jacket off by the door. Then you walked down the hallway, taking a right at the end, to where he assumed your living room must be. Peter had never actually been in your apartment before.

He followed you down the hallway, after neatly hanging both his and your jacket on your coat rack. He found you on the floor by your couch, your back resting against the front, holding your knees to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as soft sobs escaped you.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that” Peter apologized, sitting down next to you on your carpet. A feeling like his only purpose in life was to comfort you, overcame him. So, he wrapped a hand around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You leaned in closer to his body, your hands shifting from hugging yourself, to hugging Peter tightly.

“No, this was exactly how I needed to find out” you sobbed, “I needed to see it with my own eyes, or I wouldn’t have believed it”.

Peter let you cry until there weren't any tears left to cry, cooing you and whispering all the most reassuring words he could muster up past midnight.

“I don’t know why it hurts so bad… I think deep down I always knew he wasn’t being honest with me– he always kept me guessing” you said. No, Peter thought, he kept you down.

Before Peter could say anything, you lifted your head from his chest, a big wet spot on his t-shirt left in your wake. You looked him right in the eye, and Peter could feel a budding warmth of red covering the apples of his cheeks.

“Please Peter” you pleaded, moving your face closer, the closest it’s ever been to his. Your right hand traveled to cup his hot cheeks, pulling him even closer to your face. So close he felt your breath tickle his skin while you spoke,

“You always make me feel better– it’s your superpower, remember? Please make me feel better”.

Closing his eyes, Peter knew he couldn’t deny you, his heart screamed out for you. This was everything he wanted, was it not? With a shuddering breath and a heart beating out of his chest, he closed the space between you, brushing his lips over yours.

Your other hand cupped his other cheek, pulling him even closer to your body, letting out a small whimper as you kissed him back. Peter felt like his head was spinning. He didn’t know where he ended, and you began.

Then it all became a bit of a blur. His hands found your waist as you climbed onto his lap, brushing your tongue over his bottom lip, deepening the kiss. Your hand left his cheek to toy with his hair, and Peter just about moaned into your mouth. He needed more of you, and with the way you were grinding down on his growing bulge, he knew you did too.

Warmth flooded his body wherever you touched him, and he didn’t think he could ever get enough of you. When your hand left his hair, he just about sighed with disappointment, until he realized how you toyed with the hem of his t-shirt. Raising his hands, he helped you pull it off him. Absentmindedly, you threw it away, before your eyes fell to his chest, quickly scanning over his muscles before they traveled up to his face, where they looked into his soul. Half a second later you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

His hands fell to your ass, helping you grind down on him. Fuck, he was properly hard now, his cock straining against his jeans. With every brush of your core against his cock you whimpered into his mouth, making Peter almost feel lightheaded. You were so pretty. Your lips tasted like raspberries, and under his hands your skin was softer than velvet.

“Take off your pants please” you pleaded against his skin as you started pressing soft kisses down along his jaw and neck.

His hands raced to unbutton his jeans. You pulled away from his neck, staggering to your feet on wobbly legs, making a whine leaving Peter’s lips. Over him you started pulling on your pants, dragging them down your legs along with your panties in one go. Mesmerized by your silhouette, Peter almost forgot what he was doing. You quickly sat down beside him, fingers coming up to hook around the waistband of Peter’s jeans. Then you started pulling them down to his mid-thigh along with his boxers. Peter almost forgot to breathe as you freed his aching cock.

When you climbed onto his lap, Peter’s brain started working again. His hands fell to your ass, steadying you as you got comfortable on his lap.

“D-did you want me to…” Peter trailed off, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say. Instead, he showed you. His right hand rubber over your ass and hip before his fingers brushed over your clit. You mewled at the contact, your eyes closing before you shook your head.

“No, no I just want you– I need you, Peter”.

Fuck, Peter thought. He’d dreamt of hearing you tell him you wanted him, for months. And now it wasn’t a dream anymore.

“O-okay” he stuttered, reaching a hand between your bodies, grabbing at his shaft in a rough hold. With his other hand he helped guide your hips to hover over his tip, sliding it back and forth over your slit, and lining it up with your opening. He could feel how wet and desperate you were, coating his cock in your arousal.

With a hand resting on his shoulder, you slowly sat down on his cock. First slipping the tip in, before your walls swallowed the rest of him, taking him fully inside. A choked moan fell from Peter’s lips as he savored the feeling of your velvet pulsing walls around him. Rocking your hips back and forth, your puffy clit rubbing up against his pelvis, as your mouth fell open in a silent gasp, gaping around words you couldn’t get out.

“Shit” you panted, “You’re so deep”.

“Yeah” Peter breathed out, head falling back against the couch, “You feel me in your tummy?”.

“Fuck,” you lifted your hips, slowly starting to move, “y-yes, I d-do”.

Looking up at you, as you moved over him, Peter thought you looked like an angel. The way your ceiling light lit up the back of your head, Peter was sure you were wearing a halo.

Your rhythm increased and soon you were bouncing in his lap. Your breathy moans falling from your lips, the wet noises coming from where you were connected, and the way you were starting to clench around him, were making the tension in Peter’s stomach grow. Knitting his eyebrows together, Peter didn’t know how much longer he was going to last.

Scared he’d finish before you, his fingers found your clit, pressing down in tight circles. Under the touch of his fingers you almost jumped, while a shuddering breath left your lips. Then Peter felt himself start to get desperate, meeting your bounces with a thrusting of his hip, pushing his throbbing cock even further inside you.

Every brush of his fingers over your clit, coincided with a thrust of his hips, and soon he felt your wall flutter around him. He could feel how your wetness ran down his shaft and down his balls, and he knew you were as close to the edge of ecstasy as he was. His fingers never let up on your clit, and soon you clenched around him so hard he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Fuck,” Peter spat, “I’m gonna cum”.

“I–Inside” you moaned, “You can come inside– it’s okay”.

Your words pushed him over the edge, making him come hard inside you with a grunt. He didn’t slow down his fingers on your clit, and the feeling of him filling you up and the brush of his fingers, must’ve pushed you over the edge. Half a second later your hips stilled as Peter felt the frantic pulses of your orgasm milking his cock.

The feeling of you riding out your orgasm on his sensitive cock, clenching down on him as your body shook with aftershocks, it was almost too much, too intense for Peter. His breath came out in hard pants, and his body felt hot to the touch.

Peter didn’t know how much time passed as you both came down from your highs. It could have been three seconds or three hours. All Peter knew was that with you, he lost all sense of time. But this moment of bliss must come to an end. Everything is temporary, and someone must be the first to pull away.

On wobbling legs, you slid off his lap, sitting down next to him on the floor. You leaned back, grabbing your panties off the couch. Peter averted his eyes. The act was somehow too intimate to watch, even after what you two had just done. Instead, he busied himself with pulling his pants back over his ass, and tucking himself away, as a silence fell over the both of you. It felt heavy, loaded with questions he didn’t know if he wanted an answer too. After a few minutes a whisper left Peter’s lips, breaking the silence,

“I think I might be homeless”.

You didn’t answer right away, but Peter could hear your breathing change multiple times, like you were going to say something,

“I’m sorry”.

tagging some mutuals (this is so embarrassing): @hollandweather, @luciwritesstuff, @userholland, @t-lostinworlds, @silkscream, @sparklingsin, @logangarfield, @justapurrcat, @tomdutch, @devotion, @lnmp89, @mayal0pez, @melodicheauxxo-writes,

...

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x y/n #spider man x reader #spider man #tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #spider man smut #spider man fanfiction #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #*writing

2K notes · View notes

permanentswaps · 3 months

Text

The Party Pt. 3

Inspired by @swapping-caps1-deactivated20220 The Party Pt. 1 and The Party Pt. 2

Oct. 31st Halloween 9:00 PM:

Mr. Thompson POV:

Approaching the Sigma Chi house with Xander, the pulsating bass reverberated through the street. A sea of people in funny costumes walked towards the entrance. I guess we were the only ones to get the message to show off tonight.

Flashing a smirk at Xander, I asked, "Are you ready?"

"Let's do this," he said.

Entering the house, we turned just about every head in the room. We attracted jealous stares from some of the frat guys and lustful looks from everyone else. Our destination was clear - the beer pong table.

Effortlessly sinking shots, we quickly found ourselves enjoying a pleasant buzz. Before I knew it, Xander and I had won 5 games. Xander, feeling the effects, started to get a bit handsy. Running his fingertips around my sweaty bare torso, and flirted, "Hey, you're on fire tonight," before biting his lip and turning away.

I shot him a playful "you're crazy, dude" as I blushed and then turned to the table, sinking my next shot.

Eventually, we migrated to the dance floor. As I danced, I could feel the lights playing across my face and the strength of Mitchell's body coursing through my veins. For the second time today, I looked down at my body and thought to myself “this is my body.”

Xander, Spiderman costume that clinging to his pumped-up muscles, danced up next to me. He flashed me a goofy smile as he playfully grabbed my bicep. He looked irresistibly cute.

Teasing him a bit, I flexed my arm, causing his hand to loosen its grip. Then, I reached down and pulled his waist toward me with one hand as I reached behind his neck with the other. Shocked for a moment, his lips were frozen, before he then pushed them back against mine as we hungrily embraced.

"Wow, I didn't think you swung that way," he said, almost out of breath, "but you have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that."

Looking back at him with a cocky smile, I replied, "I can't believe I waited so long … and I've got more surprises in store for you tonight."

Mitchell POV:

Freaking out, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were spiraling out of control. Racing towards campus, I pushed my car's limits, the clock read 11:03 pm. I know my dad had said that he would swap me back when I finished all my work, but I don’t think we had time for that. The old folklore story said that the swap could be permanent if it lasted longer than 24 hours. I don’t know exactly when my dad swapped us, but I couldn’t have that much longer.

Arriving on campus, I rushed towards the Sigma Chi house. Bursting through the door, I quickly scanned the room, desperately looking for my dad or Xander. The sea of costumes made it challenging, and I had no idea what my dad would be wearing.

Amidst the laughter and thumping music, I couldn't spot them. Panic set in as I weaved through the crowd, desperately searching. Every passing moment heightened the urgency.

Suddenly, a frat bro stepped into my path. "Hey, old man, what are you doing here?" he sneered.

"I'm just looking for someone," I replied, trying to maintain composure and look around behind him.

He laughed mockingly, "I don’t think you’re on the guest list. Get lost, grandpa!"

Frustration bubbled within me, but I kept my cool. The frat bro, with a smug grin, pushed me towards the exit.

The door slammed shut behind me. leaving me standing outside in the cool fall night. Time was slipping away, and the unsettling realization that I might be trapped in this body forever.

Mr. Thompson POV:

After a few crazy hours at the Sigma Chi house, Xander and I decided to make our way back to his apartment. Stumbling through the doorway, we quickly made our way towards his bedroom.

Xander, still in his Spiderman costume, turned to me with a mischievous grin. "Well, well, well, look who's ready for more surprises," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

"I did promise you more surprises, didn't I?" I replied, pulling him in for another kiss.

As we tumbled onto the bed, Xander traced his fingertips across my chest, playfully circling them around my nipples.

I quickly peeled off his costume, leaving him in just his briefs before straddling over him in the bed. Bending down to make out with him again, I moved one hand to the elastic strap around his waist, slowly teasing it before finally taking off his underwear and then my own.

I reached down for my pants, which I had discarded on this floor, and fished out a condom. As I went to unwrap it, Xander looks up to me and says, “No need. Tonight, I want all of you.”

Greedily, I rubbed my uncut cock against his hole, lubed with precum and spit. As I slid myself in, I stared thrusting in long, slow strokes, whispering to him “fuck yeah baby, you’re so hot.”

It wasn’t long until I started to feel a familiar pressure growing in my cock. Just as Xander was about to push me over the edge, I activated my power. Suddenly, a familiar surge of energy burst out of my chest towards Xander’s body. Simultaneously, he felt himself launch into my body.

Now, from our new perspectives, I looked up at my face and gave the same cute smirk that had been driving me crazy all night. That was enough to send us both into a powerful orgasm. I felt Xander instinctively bend down and give me a kiss as he coated the inside of my borrowed hole.

Basking in the afterglow, I quickly swapped us back and laid down next to Xander, stroking the inside of his thigh.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, just a little something I picked up from my father,” I responded. “We come from a long line of swappers.”

Xander, still confused, looked back at me.

“You were so sexy, I thought you deserved to know what it was like.” I flirted. “But I’ll be sure to ask you next time.

“Next time?” he said inquisitively. “Well, I like the sound of that.”

As Xander snuggled back up to little spoon me, I reached around his waist and gently kissed his neck. “I thought you might,” I said.

What he didn’t know was that that I locked in my future in this sexy body. You see, the folklore says, “In worst situations, swapper may never return to there original body especially if the swap last longer than 24 hours.” That’s true alright.

However, what the men in my family also found is that, if the swapper swaps with a third person while they were already swapped, they cannot return to their original body ever again.

As Xander and I drifted off to sleep, I reveled in my new sexy form. I thought to myself “this is my body now, and I deserve every inch of it.”

300 notes · View notes

billthedrake · 3 months

Text

ACCOUNTABILITY (PART ONE)

Story idea generously provided by @talesfromunderthemattress.

Jim McCready didn't like starting his work day at 6:00, but he'd been dedicated to his CrossFit routine, and the flex schedule allowed him to carve out a couple of hours in the middle of the day. Besides, he realized he could bang out most of his work emails pretty quickly first thing in the day, as he had his coffee, without the distractions of the office or some "crucial" issue coming up.

He was in the middle of one of those emails when a light knock came from the direction of his office door.

His eldest son, Ryan, stood there, tall and bed-headed, wearing just a pair of gym shorts and one of his dad's beat-up hand-me-down Auburn fraternity T-shirts that had become his favorite. Ryan was a football jock, a senior in high school now, and Jim was impressed at how much his kid was filling out that old T.

"Hey Dad," Ry said, his voice still thick with his morning grogginess. Even Ryan's voice had gotten deeper over the last few months, a reminder to Jim that his boy would be off to college very soon.

Jim pushed his chair back. He was already in his business casual for the office, khakis, loafers, button-down, quarter-zip sweater, and the cross necklace barely visible beneath the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" he asked. When he was younger he used to chastise any of his four kids when they interrupted him at work. But a church seminar on spiritually guided parenting made him shift his focus, to put family first.

Ryan got a shy grin. "I just wanted to be honest with you... and I guess you're gonna realize pretty soon, if you haven't already..."

Two and two clicked for the middle-aged father. "Oh," he said. "I take it you're talking about the app?"

The nervous smile got a lot more nervous. "Yes, sir," his son answered. "I had a weak moment this morning.... you know..." The football tight end shuffled on his feet a little.

His father wasn't exactly happy. He'd convinced Ryan to install the accountability app on his phone. Covenant Watch. It pinged Jim anytime Ryan looked at a porn site or material flagged as sexual. Jim had even set up the same, installing Covenant Watch on his phone. Becoming accountability buddies with his son in the goal of a purer lifestyle. James McCready believed in practicing what he preached.

He'd only received two pings from the app before. Once was a mis-coded site, not porn. The other was a slip up. He and Ryan had a heart-to-heart talk about it, about temptation. And then they prayed. That was four months ago.

Something felt different now, but Jim couldn't put his finger on it. "Anything you need to talk about, buddy?"

Ryan laughed. "No, sir, I'm good. I mean... I'll do better. I promise."

Jim nodded. He believed his son. Ryan was a good kid. Good student, great athlete, devout Christian, head of his FCA chapter at school. And yet, this was Ryan's second accountability slip up.

"All right," the dad replied. "And Ry... thanks for being honest with me, buddy."

Ryan nodded. Maybe more chastised than his easygoing teen demeanor let on. "That's what accountability buddies are for, right, Dad?" He gave his father a longer look, then said, "Well, I'll let you get back to work, sir."

***

It was three days later. Ryan had fifth period free as a study period, with an arrangement to help out Coach Mitchell. Today he was actually studying for his AP biology test while Coach did some paperwork.

The phone buzzed in his pocket. He almost expected it was his best friend Braden Whitmore, but the dude had already gotten detention once for using his phone during Mrs. Clemens class, and even a dumb jock like Whitmore knew not to be that stupid to tempt a second infraction.

It was a banner notification from Covenant Watch. James McCready, 8 flagged sites, 14 flagged pages.

Ryan's heart beat excitedly. As he pulled up the accountability report, his suspicions were confirmed. Dad was looking up the videos Ryan had jacked off to Monday morning. Figures he would, the football jock reasoned. That's what accountability was about. If he didn't want his Dad to know he was watching porn, Ryan knew he shouldn't watch the stuff to begin with.

But Ryan had only watched a couple of videos in his moment of hormonal weakness. It had been a really great stroke session. While the church didn't have a problem with masturbation, their teachings made pornography the forbidden fruit. Just watch those videos of young jocks fucking some hot college chick was enough to make Ryan's palm feel extra amazing.

His teen dick was boning up fast now, and he placed the Bio book on his lap to hide his hardon from Coach, who was engrossed his work anyway. Taking one good look to make sure it was OK to pull it up, Ryan scrolled through the full Convenant Accountability Report.

His father had first watched the ones Ryan had, but then continued to watch more of the Hot Guys Fuck videos on PornHub. Like five of them.

"Hey Coach," Ryan spoke up. "Mind if I find the restroom?" Mitchell wasn't as strict in study period as some teachers, but safer to ask.

"Yep, McCready... you know where it is."

Ryan tried to play it cool, but it was like he couldn't get to that men's room stall fast enough. He shut the door and took his perch on the toilet seat and unzipped. Ryan pulled out his phone and ear buds. Helpfully, Covenant Watch had a link to the offending site, so it took just seconds to pull it up. He almost wasn't even thinking that Dad would be aware he watched it. Ryan just needed to see.

It was a hot one all right. The dude was jacked in that collegiate jock way. HUGE dick, too, thick and veiny.

At times like this the football player was glad his father had left his foreskin intact. Slowly, Ryan worked his shaft with his bare fist as he watched part of one video, then another. Then another. All with the same model/star. Dad clearly was into this stud, and the idea made Ryan's balls twitch with excitement. His hunk of a father had undoubtedly jerked off to the very thing Ryan was watching now.... tugging at that nice long Dad cock, working out a heavy, manly load... And then in the middle of the video a second buff dude entered the scene and started tonguing the dude's balls along with the chick.

Ryan was coming, blasting hard. Cum splattered on the tile floor in front of him, and the rest dribbled down his first.

"Fuck!" he hissed then caught himself, glad no one else was in the restroom during the middle of fifth period. Hurriedly, he cleaned up and flushed the tissue paper down the toilet. The video was still running and Ryan was about to shut it off, when it occurred to him that his Dad would know he watched it. He knew he could in a pinch pass it off as being an accountability buddy, just seeing what Dad had clicked on. His Dad probably wasn't dumb, but it's not like his old man hadn't done that to him.

But, fuck, a part of Ryan didn't want to get off easy. He clicked on the "Bisexual" tag and scrolled till he found a hot looking one. Then hit play. He didn't even need to let the whole thing run. He had to get back to Coach Mitchell's office pronto, anyway. But this would be enough. His Dad would know.

Ryan shut the video and stuffed his phone and earbuds back in his pocket. He washed up and made his way back. Now he was trying to play it cool in a different way, trying to calm his breathing and hoping that he hadn't totally fucked up.

***

Jim could barely look Ryan in the eye that evening. The father could not believe he'd been so incredibly weak that afternoon, but it had been a slow day at the office, and just, well... he was horny as fuck. He'd actually jerked off on Tuesday just looking at the names of the websites Ryan had watched. That's before the guilt had sunk in. He should be leading his son away from sin, in Christian stewardship.

Then that afternoon guilt gave way to horniness. He'd watched more. And not even thirty minutes later, Covenant Watch was sending its accountability report.

The thing that had caught him off guard now was that Ryan was doing his best to act cool. Jim knew his son was nervous as fuck, as nervous as he was, but every body language signal his son sent out over dinner or as he helped his Dad cleanup and do dishes was "it's cool, Dad."

The tension was still thick as they were alone in the kitchen. Ryan broke the spell, leaning in to whisper, "You mad at me, Dad?"

Jim shook his head. For all the emotions he was feeling he wasn't upset at Ryan. He had to wonder why he wasn't. "No..." he replied back in an equally soft whisper. "It's just we shouldn't have done it."

Ryan gave a grin, though it was more of a supportive one than a cocky one. Jim never felt as much as he did now that his eldest was all grown up, 18, fully sexual. "I know, Dad... it's just... knowing you were looking at those sites, too..." He didn't finish his thoughts be he didn't have to.

"Not my proudest moment," Jim said. "This stays between us?" He KNEW he shouldn't be asking his son to cover for his own shortcomings as a man and a father. Accountability had become conspiracy. But he also knew he didn't want Kelly knowing what he'd done. He'd rather lose face with Ryan than that.

"Course, Dad," Ryan said. "I guess that means I'm not grounded or anything..." OK, now that cocky smirk was there.

Jim had to laugh. "Nah, kiddo, you're not grounded."

The conversation had cleared the air a lot. Jim felt better, and as he got ready for bed that evening, he reflected that his own lack of conjugal connection with his wife had put him in the mindset where he'd stray. Not that he was blaming Kelly for any of his shortcomings. But the idea of the no-porn pledge was to channel his male desires into marriage.

But Kelly rebuffed his attempt to initiate sex that night. Any other night, it would have felt normal. Marriage was a partnership and both people had to want sex. That night, though, it was like Jim McCready was looking for a lifeline. Looking for his wife to save him from more debased desires.

Those desires came hard and heavy, as the father tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. They continued even as he finally entered his deep REM sleep. And they were there when he woke up at 5 in the morning, rock hard as he'd ever been.

Jim lay awake thinking about the bisexual scene and how he wanted to watch more... how he got excited by the two guys kissing, or one dude sucking the other one. This wasn't the first time in his life that he'd had gay fantasies, but they seemed surprisingly strong now.

He looked over the clock. Earlier than he got up, but not too early, he decided. He slipped out of the bed and found some sweats to put on. He went to start the pot of coffee and then made his way to his home office and shut the door.

Last night everything had seemed clear in his head. He'd implied to Ryan that they'd stop this escalation. Only this morning, he was horny as fuck. Moreover, the more he replayed last night's conversation with Ry, the last he was convinced that his son saw it as a stop to things.

Already, Jim was pulling up Pornhub on his phone. With his heart beating, he clicked on the "Straight" selection on top and changed it to "Gay." The algorithm did the rest. The page filled with thumbnails of hot, muscled collegiate-jock looking guys. Handsome, clean-cut. Jim turned down the volume on the phone and pressed play for one...

***

Ryan woke up and when he looked at his phone there was a Convenant Watch notification. 27 forbidden sites accessed.

"Dad, you naughty fucker," he said aloud as he sat up in bed and looked at the full report. Already he was pulling down his briefs and taking his morning wood in hand.

***

Jim was a little disappointed that Ryan only watched one of the videos. Then he started getting freaked out. Maybe the gay video was a step too far. They'd shared some bi-ones, but this was different. As he got dressed for work after showering, his whole body shook. What if Ryan wasn't gonna keep this between them? If his son told anyone, Jim was royally and truly fucked.

But as he walked into the kitchen, everything was normal. His family was there eating breakfast. Ryan had gone through a phase of skipping breakfast or maybe just grabbing a breakfast bar, but now he was working out a lot and had football, and the kid now was eating nonstop.

"Morning, Dad," his daughter Olivia said as Jim came in and poured his second cup of coffee for the morning.

"Hey Princess," he winked, then Kelly greeted him, but mostly laid out the plan for shuttling the kids from practice that afternoon. Her bossy planning mode used to annoy the hell out of Jim, but now he appreciated how his wife kept it all running. They had four amazing children, who were growing up fast.

Some faster than others, Jim thought with a gulp as he looked over at Ryan, scarfing down eggs, sausage, and toast. At least the kid wasn't giving him the silent treatment or even seemed bothered.

It out the door time, now. Kelly took the two youngest, Sara and Mitchell, while Ryan would drive Olivia to the high school they both attended. Jim went to his office to retrieve his hard drive and papers to take in. He took one final check around to make sure he'd cleaned up the cum from earlier. It had been a big load, for sure.

He heard a knock.

"Hey Dad." It was Ryan's voice. Quiet, almost as his son stepped in and shut the door softly behind him. "Just wanna say, sir, you have good taste." Ryan had his normal polite kid demeanor, but that smirk coming back.

That caught Jim off guard. Ry's words but more than that his nonchalant approach. "Yeah, buddy?"

Ryan nodded, like he was getting turned on a little just talking to his father like this. "Oh yeah... I mean, I couldn't make it through one before losing it." His eyes locked with Jim's for a second. It turned the father on, and yet he also felt the earth was opening beneath him. Swallowing him to Hell. "Anyway... catch you later."

"Yeah," Jim croaked in reply. Mad that he couldn't be the responsible dad. Mad that he was letting his libido drive things. "Have a good day, son."

#drakestories

163 notes · View notes

ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 months

Text

He Doesn't Deserve You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Two

Summary: You decide to finally do something for yourself and ease your mind Pairing: Noona reader x Jeon Jungkook (She's 28 and he's 22) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Not too much for this chapter in particular besides mentions of domestic violence BUT yändere, manipulation, self harm, cheating, explicit language, smut, angst throughout the rest of the story a/n: Since you guys seem to be really liking this story I worked hard to get chapter two out quickly! Let me know what you think! p.s. Fuck me y'all I literally deleted chapter 2 but luckily I write on wattpad and I was able to restore it. I was literally about to cry Requested by the lovely: @kkusadmirer 💜

We had another fight.

Honestly I don't even remember what it was about, something stupid like I left the door open after I came in with the groceries and forgot to lock it. Or maybe it was the fact that I actually left the house and got them instead of just ordering them to get dropped off on the doorstep.

He always tells me it's too dangerous out there or that I should just wait for him to go with me instead. If I did that though we would never have any food here and I'm not about to order takeout for every meal.

I don't understand why leaving the door open would be such an issue. We live in a relatively nice complex and our neighbors always make sure to look out for me so I don't understand why something as simple as that could set him off.

But then again it doesn't take much to set him off these days, I guess it was something I should've expected.

He hasn't been home for two days and at this point I've decided that maybe it's time I went out for the night. Nothing crazy or anything but just, out.

Putting on yet another turtleneck I make sure that the old and new marks are covered. I've taken it a step further and put some makeup on to make sure that no one will notice. Although I doubt anyone would notice me anyways since I usually fade into the background.

But tonight isn't about feeling insecure in myself. Tonight is the night where I finally do something on my own and get out of the house.

Taking out my phone I look up the address for the local pub I've decided to go to, making sure to wear comfortable boots since it's a little ways away. I'm luck that it's winter right now so bundling up is normal, making my outfit even less suspicious.

Taking a couple of deep breaths I reach for the handle, unlock the door and step outside.

'Should I really be doing this?' I question but before I'm able to second guess myself I hear our next door neighbor unlock her door as well and step outside her door.

"Oh, y/n. What a pleasant surprise! It's been a while since I've seen your pretty face" she says scanning my features, clearly having heard the fight we had had the other day and making sure that I look okay.

"Hi Mrs. Mitchell. How have you and Mr. Mitchell been?" I ask, returning her warm greeting but feeling awkward talking to someone that isn't Taehyung or my editor.

"As well as we could be I suppose. Harry just turned 73 last month so he's been complaining about how old he his and how his knees don't work the way they used to. What can you expect when you get to our age?" she says, chuckling at her husband who is a few years younger than her.

"Seems like no matter how old men get, they still whine and complain whenever they get sick or injured" she continues, clearly trying to lighten my spirits. "I guess so" I say, not daring to bad mouth Taehyung since he's probably already gotten a pretty bad reputation around here with everything we've been through over the past few years.

Sometimes I'm surprised by the fact that we haven't gotten evicted with all of the noise complaints we've gotten.

He always makes me answer each and every call from our building even though he's the one responsible for a majority of the noise but he always makes sure to stand close by to make sure I don't ask them to send help no matter how severe things have gotten.

"Where are you off to?" she asks taking note of the fact that it's getting late in the evening. "I figured I might just head over to the pub a few streets down and see if I can clear my head for a while" I say, not bothering to give more information than necessary. Not that there would be any more information to give.

"Good for you dear! It's always good to go out and get a new perspective on life. Let me know anytime if you need any help alright? Oh and I'm so excited to read your next book!" she says and with that last part catching me off guard. "You've read my books?" I question, taken aback and almost embarrassed at the fact that a woman of her age would be reading the type of genre I write, let alone my own.

"Of course dear! As soon as I found out that you were a writer I went straight to the bookstore and bought all of them! You really are very talented" she finishes, with a glimmer of admiration in her eye.

"Thank you so much, your support means the world to me, truly" I finish and she quickly shoo me off, apologizing for holding me hostage.

"Next time I see you I'll sign your copies if you'd like" I offer and the look on her face is absolutely priceless.

"I'll make sure to have them sitting by the front door with a pen in hand!" she beams and I wave one last goodbye before I make my way to my destination.

~~~~

Walking in the doors of The Blue Pearl I'm greeted by the sound of soft rock being played in the background and a low murmur of the small amount of people spread through out. This pub seems to be a little old fashioned so I guess it's not a big draw for the younger rowdier crowds. Which was exactly what I was looking for.

Just a slow night to clear my head and a strong drink to drown my sorrows. Knowing me though I'll probably stop after one or two drinks.

I decide to sit at the bar on the stool closest to the wall and wave the bartender over.

"Surprise me, something sweet but something strong" I say trying to sound as confident as I can. "You got it" she says and comes back soon with a pink drink of some sort a few moments later. "What is this?" I ask after taking a sip, already dying for another one at the fruity but subtly sweet drink.

"I like to call it The Slut Puppy" she says with a proud smile. I tilt my head when I look at her, confused as to how she came up with the name. "I'm still workshopping it to be honest but your reaction to the name definitely played true to the puppy part. I laugh realizing that I subconsciously played into her game and she laughs right along with me.

"Long night?" she asks after I've settled in, using her bartender powers to see right through my act while walking away a bit to clean up the shaker she had used to make my drink.

"Try long life" I say, rolling my eyes before taking a sip of my drink again, sighing in contentment. "That bad huh?" she laughs bitterly, knowing one way or another that what I'm dealing with is beyond fucked. "Let's just say the best part of my week so far has been this drink" I and steal a quick glance at her, embarrassed that my words are flowing so easily to a complete stranger.

"But it's Saturday night" she say with her brows pinched together. "Exactly" I say and before I can even ask she decides to grab another shaker and makes me another drink which I accept with a somber smile. "I put some extra ice in this one so don't worry it's not gonna go straight to your head" she says, looking out for me as if she were someone I had known for my whole life.

"I'm y/n by the way" I say, hoping to move from strangers to acquaintances at the very least. "Rae" she answers before tending to another patron.

"So y/n" she starts as she makes her way back over to me "what do you do?" she asks, maintaining conversation but not trying to pry when it comes to what I'm clearly upset about.

"I'm a writer" I answer and her interest is immediately peaked. "A writer? Really? What do you write about?" she asks, leaning up against the counter so she can hear me a bit better.

"To be honest my stories are pretty fucked up romance novels" I say scratching the top of my head feeling a bit awkward at the confession.

"Sounds like my type of book" she laughs. I let out a breath, thankful that I won't have to explain myself to her since this genre isn't everyone's cup of tea. "So what are some books that you've written? Maybe I've read one before" she says going back to cleaning up a few things, making sure to use her time wisely.

"Well 'Trials of the Broken' is one of them. It's my best seller at the moment. I'm actually working on writing the sequel right now" I respond, embarrassed but proud of my achievements all the same.

"I think I've heard of that one! My friends have been trying to get me to read it but I never got around to it" she says, surprised at her chances of meeting me.

"If you ever get around to it then let me know what you think" I say, now kicking myself for putting on the pressure for her to read it. "I definitely will" she says and makes her way over to the other side of the bar to serve some more patrons that just made their way inside.

Glancing over at them I notice one that is a few steps behind the crowd, making me question if he's come here alone but I go back to looking at my drink, trying my best not to stare.

My eyes somehow manage to drag themselves over toward him as he places his order and waits for Rae to make it.

He takes off his hood and I'm met with first, the sight of his sharp jaw, then his shaggy hair he ruffled as soon as the hood dropped and finally his lips, the bottom one pierced twice rested in a soft smile. I realize though that the only way I would be seeing his full on smile would be if he was looking back at me and I make somewhat panicked eye contact with him before quickly turning my head in the other direction.

'Great job y/n, drooling over the first hot guy you see. He's probably going to think I'm some sort of creep now' my thoughts thought are interrupted with the sound of what I believe to be is a drink set down on the counter a few seats away from me.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" a smooth baritone voice says, making butterflies fill my stomach.

"Um yeah sure" I say, taking a sip of my drink before glancing at him, quickly looking away again before I start to stare again.

"So how's your night going?" he asks, clearly in an effort to make small talk.

"It's going. How about yours?" I question back and see that he's no longer looking at me, instead watching as he swirls his mystery drink around in his cup. "About the same" he chuckles, clearly amused with both of our lack of effort to divulge any details.

We sit there for a second or two in silence before Rae walks over and gives me another drink. I watched her make it and I can tell she she went even easier on the alcohol this time and makes sure to question nonverbally if I'm alright to which I nod.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, smiling at the visual of the bright pink drink with two cherries placed on top. "You're gonna laugh" I say, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear, feeling a little apprehensive saying words like this to a complete stranger (a hot one at that).

"It's-" "It's called a Slut Puppy" Rae interrupts from the other side of the bar, not even bothering to hide the fact that she was clearly listening. "Um yeah, that" I chuckle, taking a big sip of it to hopefully calm my nerves.

"A slut puppy?" he asks, flashing an amused smile at me, sending my heart beat into overload. "Her name, not mine" I laugh awkwardly. Trying, but failing at sounding normal but from the looks of it he doesn't seem to mind. "Right" he says dragging out the first syllable before taking a sip of his drink.

"Do you guys know each other?" he asks, curious as to who our not so secret eavesdropper is. "Kinda. We just met. Although it almost seems like I've known her my whole life" I say smiling at her, thankful for the fact that she was able to lift my spirits so easily.

"It's nice when you meet people like that" he says and when I bring my attention back over to him I can tell that he's been looking at me for a while, making me shy all over again.

"Oh, I'm Jungkook by the way" he says holding out his hand, and I turn my stool towards him and shake it, fixing what would've been an awkward angle if I had stayed in place. He after seeing what I had done decides to turn as well, angling his body towards me and I notice now that there's only one seat between us. A respectful distance, making me feel a bit more comfortable talking to him.

"I'm y/n" I say and he gives me a soft smile, whispering my name under his breath, almost as if he were trying to keep it as a secret all for himself. "So y/n, what's your story?" he asks, withdrawing his hand at almost the same time I do and goes back to taking another sip of his drink, making sure to keep his sparkly eyes trained on me.

'Sparkly? Y/n you are a married woman. You shouldn't even be talking to this guy'.

"My story? Well to be honest there's not much to tell. I grew up and went to school in the city and now I'm a writer. There's not much else to my life if I'm being honest" I say, doing my best to maintain conversation but also not give away too much.

"That ring on your finger says otherwise" he says, nodding towards it and playing around with his straw. Not in an abrasive way but more as if to remind me of something else that I might've forgotten.

"Oh, um yeah" I say, showing him the ring up for a second to confirm his suspicions but pull my sweater down to cover it up a second later, hoping he won't ask anything else about that aspect but unfortunately luck is not on my side in that department tonight.

"Is that why you're here? Needed to get away for a while?" he asks, curious but not insinuating anything that I would expect a guy of his age would be asking me. "I guess you could say that" I say taking a deep breath deciding that if he's asking I might as well get the male perspective while I can.

"With being a writer and everything I'm pretty much cooped up in the house all day. Which for me is fine and it's been like that for a few years" I say, taking a second to try and figure out how to formulate my next words carefully, not wanting his to worry or judge the situation too much.

"I'm sensing there's a 'but' here" he chuckles and takes another sip of his drink and waves at Rae in an effort to get both of us both another drink without me noticing to avoid protest. "But" I start out, confirming his suspicions. "with my husband being used to me doing that all the time he tends to get a bit, how should I say this..." I trial off, still not sure how to phrase it.

"Controlling?" he offers, a bit more blunt than his other responses. "Worried" I counter, although his word is more accurate than mine. He nods a bit, clearly not believing my words but doesn't press in hopes that I will continue. "He's worried that something might happen to me if I go out alone. That someone might recognize me because of my books and try to do something like kidnap me" I say, fully confident in my words.

I hear Jungkook snort beside me a second later, leaving me looking over at him with my brows scrunched up. "What's so funny?" I ask, confused and almost annoyed by his reaction. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry continue" he says doing his best to calm down. "No, what about that is so funny?" I press as I can clearly see that he's still trying to hold his laughter in.

"I'm sorry y/n it's just, well isn't kidnapping a little bit of a stretch?" he says, clearing his throat and breathing through what he thought was a ridiculous excuse. "Woman and children get kidnapped everyday! Look up the statistics!" I retort, trying to convince him that there's truth to Taehyung's argument.

"Yes, I know that it happens a lot, but you can't let that keep you from going outside and living life. It's a horrible thing and I don't understand why anyone would do such a thing but you can't use it as a way to cripple yourself from ever leaving your house" he says, this time being completely serious and trying his best to convince me that I shouldn't be living like this.

"I'm out now aren't I?" I argue, and to that he nods his head but presses further. "How long has it been since you've been out like this though?" he asks and I just let my head droop a bit in response before taking a sip of my new drink.

"Well I'm proud of you for coming out tonight and doing this for yourself. And look, you're completely safe. Plus seems like you've already made two new friends tonight" he laughs motioning to himself and Rae and when I look over at her all I can see is her bright smile, happy to see me getting more comfortable.

"Who knows though, you might just be acting nice to me just so I'll let my guard down so you can kidnap me" I tease and at that he acts like he's offended, throwing his hand over his heart as if I had shot him.

"You hurt me with your words. It's a shame though, I was just in the market for a new best friend" he says, wiping away a fake tear. "Or in the market for some fresh meat" I continue laughing at his act. "Twist the knife why don't you" he says, now resorting to pouting.

"Aw, it's okay I didn't mean it" I say patting his shoulder in an effort to apologize. "You better not" he says looking at me, still pouting. "Come on, let's turn that frown upside down. Why don't I buy you a drink?" I ask as a way to make amends.

"No that's alright, I've actually gotta get going" he says, pulling out his wallet and placing some cash on the counter to more than cover his drinks. "Let me get you some change" Rae steps in, quick to help since she is otherwise unoccupied. "No it's okay, use it to cover us both and then keep the change" he says as he straightens out his jacket a bit.

"No you don't have to do that" I argue and go to take some cash out of my purse as well. "It's okay I got it. But if you want to make it up to me I'll always take your number as payment" he says with a cheeky smile.

"Just as friends of course! I would never want to seduce a married woman" he says, jumping over himself, making me sure I know his intensions are pure.

"Can we do email? I spend most of my time on my computer so it's easier for me" I say, making excuses as to not giving it to him. "As long as you promise not to mark my messages as spam" he jokes and hands me his phone so I can add it in. "I promise. It was really nice to meet you Jungkook" I say handing it back to him, our hands touching a few moments longer for it to be seen as something with the promise of being platonic.

"Take care" he says giving me a soft smile and then waves at Rae, clearly seeing her not even bothering to hide that she's staring at us.

"Bye" I say under my breath, not knowing how to feel about anything now that he's gone.

prev / next Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @bangtans-momma @coralmusicblaze @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @marvelbun @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi @forevrglow @jesssssmaybankk @teugiie @chaconnelatte @whoa-jo @snehal @xumyboo @mindurbuzznezz @diorh0seokie @hehurst23 @caro134340lina @ye0nvibezzn @olimpiiaa @hrtsj1m @junecat18 @ellesalazar @babycandy111 @felixz4life @lively-potter @esther-kpopstan @gyukookswhore @koohrs @skzthinker @vminkookgf @kookiescupcake0109 @itsyoooeui @latinapoetbts @sisterstantas @euphriajjks @lady-belz @pamzn @aierixerxeez @kookssecret @akaligogrrr @pitchblack0309 @kouyoumarryme

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

203 notes · View notes

bellezaycafe · 4 months

Text

Get Your Shit Together - Chapter 3

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: there will be romance but I haven't finalised who yet. platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: swearing

context: Sadie, a 20 year old university student from Melbourne, decided to take a gap year and volunteer at 2 Formula One races in different countries.

Sadie's Faceclaim: Maia Mitchell (but you can visualise her howver you want :) )

comments: I guess this is a series now. I'm keeping the title Get Your Shit Together because I think Sadie is the kind of person who pretends to have her shit together but doesn't, so she helps everyone else get theirs together.

Part 1 | Masterlist

----$----

Max Verstappen was in a paddock interview when someone caught his eye. Dark brown hair, round face, sharp nose and a confident aura that compared to no others.

“Wait- hang on. Lewis, Lewis.” The older man looked over and his gaze followed Max’s pointed finger. “Mate, is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah mate, I think so.” Lewis’ smile only grew as he agreed.

“Who are you pointing too?” the interviewer asked.

Max hoped that she was just out of view of the cameras as he said, “the volunteer from Australia. The good one.”

He didn’t know how else to explain his respect for her in English; to him, she was good.

“It’ll be good to finally learn her name,” Lewis mused, scratching at his neat stubble.

“None of you know her name?” The reporter asked.

“No,” Lewis said into Max’s microphone. “I never had the chance to find her after the interviews.”

“I saw her the next day, I apologised for my behaviour to her,” Max commented. “But I forgot to ask her for her name.”

The reporter shook his head. “Alright well, thank you both for your time.”

Max nodded respectfully while Lewis said, “thank you.”

Then they both charged through the crowd towards the last place they saw the woman.

“Bets on her name?” Lewis asked.

“I don’t know. Something very Australian?”

“I feel like she’s a Layla or a Nira.”

"I think it's Sadie," came Lando's voice as he squished himself between the champions. "I asked Dave, one of the McLaren staff."

But when they reached the spot she had been, she'd vanished.

Max frowned and tried to use his height to see her but it was hopeless. Lewis pulled his phone out of nowhere and dialed a number. Lando just sat on the edge of a nearby pot plant.

"Heya," Lewis said into his phone. "I'm gonna need a paddock pass for our garage."

A pause.

"No, ass. I haven't found someone for the weekend and I don't intend to. It's for the girl from Melbourne, the volunteer George told you about... Yes, I know Carmen wants to meet her, that's why I'm asking you for a paddock pass."

Lando laughed from his seat, something boisterous and loud that had surrounding staff glancing over. Max was glad to hear his laugh again, it had been too long since they had hung out.

"No, I don't know her last name. I haven't even confirmed her first name... I can't ask her, she's not in front of me... I don't know where she is, we saw her from a distance... Max and Lando... Alright, fine. We'll find her."

Lewis hung up and sighed with a glance to the sky.

"They won't give you a pass?" Max guessed.

"They need her name first."

"Did you see who she was with?" Lando asked.

"Yeah," Lewis said. "Some paramedics. I recognised Mark, he's been the on call medic for years."

Max mulled over the fact he hadn't noticed anyone around her. He also mulled over the excitement little Lando Norris was trying to squash.

"I know where the medic tent is." He almost leapt up from his perch.

Lewis gave Max a knowing smirk as they disappeared into the crowd.

——$——

Sadie had no idea they had seen her. She was hoping that none of the drivers would remember her. She still hadn't seen their interviews from Melbourne and was clueless about the actions the FIA had taken to hand out penalties directly after the race.

"Hungry?" Mark, a middle-aged paramedic with greying blonde hair and smile lines besides his eyes, asked.

"I am starving, please tell me there is somewhere I can get a decent sanga."

Mark frowned. "Sanga?"

"Sandwich," Sadie corrected. She was almost bouncing as she spotted the food trucks.

"You Australian's are weird," Mark commented but he couldn't hide his smile.

"And you English are uncultured," she returned.

She liked Mark, they'd met yesterday during practices and clicked. He was her supervisor during the free practice sessions and qualifying but she'd stuck by his side off track too. He didn't mind, he knew she was there, on the other side of the world, alone, to work for a sport she loved.

He'd told her at the volunteer's group dinner last night that she was living the dream he had wanted to at 20. He'd had a couple wines and would not shut up about how much his wife would love to meet her.

"Mark, what do you want?" she called over her shoulder as the reached the sandwich truck. When he didn't reply, she glanced behind her.

He was 100 metres back, talking to none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton. Sadie turned back around, remembering their interaction in Melbourne.

Another body stepped up beside her, swathed in bright orange.

Correction: Papaya.

Sadie didn't turn, assuming it was a McLaren employee looking fro some early lunch.

"It's a surprise to see you here." Lando offered the icebreaker.

She turned at his voice and fought to keep her composure. His brown curls swished as he turned his head towards her.

"I didn't think you'd remember me," she said truthfully. Sadie focused her eyes on the bridge of his nose as she spoke, she didn't want to meet those ever-changing eyes. She'd already noted that they matched the day's grey sky.

"Most of us did." The driver shrugged. "Carmen, George's partner, wants to meet you. Lewis is trying to get you Mercedes paddock passes."

Sadie groaned at that, stepping closer to the food truck as the line moved forwards. "I'm not stepping near any of your garages unless I'm doing my job. Too many cameras, too many people."

Lando laughed. "Understandable, but Lewis is determined."

Sadie paused for a moment as the line moved again. "How about, I will come and meet George and Carmen after the race? I'll meet Carmen while Lewis and George do their interviews and debriefs?"

The same brown curls swayed as Lando nodded. "I think they'll agree to that. All the cameras will be focused on the interviews and top three."

Sadie made an 'exactly' gesture and stepped up to the food truck with a goodbye wave.

By the time she had ordered her sandwich and Mark's signature wrap, the drivers had finished speaking with the paramedic.

He joined her while they waited.

"You never told me it was you who scolded Max in Melbourne," Mark noted.

Sadie muttered a curse. "I was hoping that everyone had forgotten about that. I lost my temper and I'm not proud of it."

"Lewis said that you stood up for yourself."

"I scolded him like a school teacher."

"You did call him a child."

"Angry, remember?"

"Sandwich and wrap for Sadie!" the food vendor shouted.

She stepped up, collected their food and handed her wrap to Mark.

"I didn't tell anyone about it because don't like media attention," she told him. "I hate how how the media follow the drivers. They have to fight for a private life, and I hate that. Max was angry, I was angry, and that interaction was something between the drivers and I. It had nothing to do with the fan's consumption of the race."

Mark hummed his agreement around his wrap.

"The media circus doesn't know what happened, and they don't need to. His reaction was fair, and they don't need to be involved."

Sadie watched something pass over Mark's face but she couldn't place what it was. She devoured her sandwich instead.

----$----

Please let me know about how you feel about the direction this thing is going!!

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x oc #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lando norris #max verstappen #lewis hamilton

156 notes · View notes

panelshowsource · 6 months

Note

i’d love to know, what are some panel show moments you think about a lot?

omg like just off the top of my head?

just the whole episode of cats after jimmy's tax avoidance scandal

"good evening your majesty you tax-dodging bitch"

david mumbling "chancellor of the exchequer" in small font

when the horne section was doing macarena on catsdown and the rose was so limp WHY WAS IT SO LIMP

the greatest breath smeller game

"this makes me so angry because they wouldn't show the clip of me attacking my mother with a taser! i thought it was really funny!"

josh groban being an absolute wizard at singing intros followed by martin freeman being an absolute wizard at guessing them to the point production asked him to slow down giving the answer because he was too good

when stacey solomon said she likes teresa may and jimmy carr, gino d'acampo, and carol vorderman were absolutely speechless

alex’s reaction after joe says he has pineapple in his ass

when jimmy used the 30 seconds to wax his leg??

the way the queen’s pussy being haunted was like genuine headline news

mark sending greg 148 texts and getting 0 points ("what a terrible waste of time")

when that nude model came on for jimmy to (pretend) to live draw and lee mack was so gobsmacked at that man's penis he violently elbowed david o'doherty going "look at that!"

"you wouldn't do that during shakespeare, would you?"

on outsiders when joe wilkinson couldn't believe david mitchell is only 47 and literally said "do you live outside"

phil wang roasting ed gamble and saying "ed's girlfriend is such a dog i tried to eat her"

"you cannot imply that only gay people eat vegetables"

♪ but bin men get sad ♪

when those podcasters were reading joe wilkinson his own tweets and he was sweating so much and then just covered his eyes and went "what's wrong with me..."

"stephen fry wouldn't read 'pussy-friendly finger'"

when johnny vegas was literally eating a tin of fucking dog food and kathy burke was like "what's happening??" and jimmy so nonchalantly went "we're just eating dog food :)"

when noel ate some of alex's beard and greg said "you are aware that when we're at home alex is only allowed to move around like a snake?"

every joe & rachel hug ever here's a cute one :')

claudia completely bodying this lie and everyone's animals being so cute and funny and rob and lee complaining just the whole thing

on rhlstp when richard was Being Richard for the last hour and louis theroux was Over It and richard went "have you ever tried to suck your own cock?" and louis just died and then muttered "...do we have to..."

"i don't really eat potatoes it feels a bit irish :/"

johnny vegas pulling something out of rhod gilbert's pants, sniffing it, and then scandalising the entire room by saying "i've been told i smell better from behind than i do from the front, lovers have told me"

gosh my rotted brain is always rattling around panel show moments ..i wish to be cured

247 notes · View notes

rthko · 5 months

Note

Hey, I remember reading a while ago a post or two of yours about the word faggot, specifically as almost a third/"failed" gender. I've come to identify with the word a lot myself as I've figured out my sexuality and gender, so I was wondering if you had any further reading on the word and its history and reclamation that I could look into? Thanks!

First, I'm glad this post resonated with you! I unfortunately can't help much with the etymology or history of the term itself, but maybe I can help with the concept I use it to represent. It has been an ongoing project of mine to articulate, if nothing else to myself, the specificities of gayness. "Gay" refers to too wide a range of experiences to really be specific, but I am referring to those of us for whom "gay" refers not to the mere fact of our desires but what distinguishes us in a gestural and cultural level from other men. In effect, a gender in its own right. When writing that post I opted for "faggot," because what I wanted to described referred not just to male homosexuality but the experience of having chance or the expectation to live as men and symbolically or literally rejecting it.

I have a lot to say but I'll try to keep it brief. When I have articulated something like this in the past, some people have commended it saying that there's a lot of writing on lesbian as a gender but not the same for gays. This is not entirely true. Karl Heinrichs Ulrichs was the first to write of and identify with homosexuality as an essential characteristic, but this version of homosexuality was the urning, or "woman enclosed in the body of a man." We would recognize this today as trans womanhood, although there is great writing by trans women challenging the "wrong body" framing. This concept came to be known as inversion, which sexologists co-signed often in good faith but to predictably unhelpful ends. This concept is understandably obsolete because of its essentialism, the proliferation of trans theory, and of course the offense it poses to gay men. But as someone who has always self-identified and been externally considered at the fringes of manhood, I took a strange comfort in it. To know that gay men and trans women were grouped together in this uneasy alliance goes against ahistorical notions that transgenderism is an unwelcome intrusion into queerness.

So I guess the text I was looking for was The Faggots and their Friends Between the Revolutions by Larry Mitchell, 1977. People recommended me that book after my post, and I was stunned by its resonance. Mitchell waxes lyrical about the faggots, their allies the women, and their adversaries the men. His description of the faggot's identify formation is as follows:

The faggots once called themselves the men who love men. But they discovered that they did not love men, they loved only other men who loved men which was not that many of them. The men who hate others were false and death-inflicting and obsessed with being strangers. The men who hate others hate the men who love men. And this hatred is so strong that it turns the men who love men into the faggots.

Notice it does not use the logic of inversion or make any pretense of the faggots being women. Yet it does locate the point at which "faggots" detach from "men" and recognizes them as different categories. The post-stonewall pre-AIDS period in which this book was written produced a lot of "proto-nonbinary" identities, like faeries and queens. It's hard to determine by 21st century standards who in the mix counts as trans and who doesn't.

When I tried to articulate in more personal terms what this gray area means to me today, a lot of people found it resonant but a lot of people found it offensive. I felt like I owed apology to those who felt aggrieved, but the problem was that half considered it offensive that I considered myself related to transness in any way and the other half considered it offensive that I still described myself as cis. I was either a cis man who refused to check his privilege or a self hating non-binary person who just needed to come out already. I maintain that whatever you want to call me or what I want to call myself, there are material distinctions between me and most trans people that can't be ignored. And I think what keeps me from making the jump is that to introduce myself as nonbinary would make people tiptoe around language in a way I don't personally feel is necessary, but gayness has its own methods that work for me. I like the way we careen promiscuously between gendered scripts and signifiers, and the camp sensibility that refuses to take itself too seriously. I am also hesitant to describe myself as what Lyft would call "Women+."

This is a long post by Tumblr standards but if I were to really say everything I want to say Tumblr would not be the medium for it. But if you're looking for something to read on the subject, I recommend Larry Mitchell of course, Susan Sontag's Notes on Camp, Judith Butler's Gender Trouble (but just skip to part three and the conclusion honestly), Cruising Utopia by José Esteban Muñoz in part for his analysis of gesture in queer of color dance, and The Queer Art of Failure by J Halberstam that further elaborates on Muñoz's writings on failure and adds a butch perspective. Currently I am reading Male Subjectivity at the Margins by Kaja Silverman, which is a little psychoanalytic for my taste but offers a fascinating re-evaluation of inversion theory without endorsing it.

Despite all the effort I put into this post it will not be rebloggable sorry. 🤐

160 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 1 year

Note

First time Iris stays over the whole night with Jake, and he’s trying to figure out all the ways to make it happen again. Maybe he brings her breakfast in bed?

I feel like Jake & Iris experience a lot of first together. But especially the whole next morning after the first full night together after they become ‘exclusive’ I.R.I.S Masterlist Here.

Warnings: Smut! Jake Seresin x F!mitchell!reader. Undisclosed age gap.

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

After about a two hour debate, a solid rebuttal and a flawless conclusion as to why you should be let into the TopGun program again, Beau Simpson ultimately caved and gave you one final shot. He gave you one chance to prove that you could keep a lid on your temper, you’d admit that you knew you had to work on that. Guess hot headed egos ran in the family. But you made sure not to leave until you’d heard that Cyclone would take back the command he’d given to have your points pulled. He did, internal investigation be damned.

“The only reason I mouthed off in the first place was because you held a gun to my back, sir—“ You explained as Cyclone looked at you with an expressionless face. “You know I’m better than those guys, who my dad is shouldn’t mean shit—it’s not like he helped me get here?” You couldn’t have said anything more perfect, Cyclone raised a single brow your way, you were right. Pete Mitchell had never offered you a helping hand your entire career. “Fuck Bradshaw got more of a handout than I did! He’s a gold star! That’s nepotism too and Goose isn’t even around!” It was a dog shot, but in your case you needed every ounce of leverage.

“Okay, okay—I hear what you're saying, Lieutenant, I’ll expunge the record.” Tickled pink, you beamed, ecstatic you’d been able to plead your case and enter back into the program. “You Mitchell’s age me ten years every month I swear—“

“I still don’t think I should have to suppress myself because of what those idiots think of me. You would survive through this knowing one day your rage would truly be witnessed by the men who poisoned you with it in the first place. “But I’ll do it if that’ll appease them—“

“They’re a sensitive bunch I’ve noticed.” Cyclone smirked for a millisecond of time as you sat across from him at his desk—looking all kinds of like your father. Just a little scarier and a lot more unpredictable. “But it’s more to keep you in check than anything else, I’ll scratch your back and keep any allegations of nepotism off your back if you scratch mine and keep your nose clean and out of trouble, understood?”

It was game time. You were back in business and you were heading back to Jakes to celebrate such a victorious moment. Because fucking a superior officer didn’t correlate with keeping your nose clean and out of trouble did it?

“In abundance, Sir, you have my word.” But first? It was off to the Hard Deck.

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

“I’mnothometonight—“ You practically said it without so much as a second in between words. It all came out against your dads cheek in one single moment as you kissed him goodbye and headed towards the front door with a bag full of stuff slung over your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Woah woah?” Pete frowned as he looked up from his book, perched on his favourite recliner enjoying a good cup of tea. He was in full relaxation mode. “Where are you off to?” You’d prepared for this moment, you knew there was a chance Mav would ask you where you were going. So you’d already come up with a cover story to get you out of the house.

“My friends in town, Lily? She got a hotel room up at the gorge.”

“You didn’t tell her she could just stay here?”

“What? And have you all up in my business?” You groaned. “I’m not sixteen anymore dad, I’m an adult—I’ve got my work gear with me so I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Pete just looked at you over the top of his reading glasses, something was up, something was incredibly up here and he knew better than to trust your word. Why? Because you were his damn daughter.

“Alright well just don’t go crazy, you fly a multi million dollar fighter jet for a living—keep your wits about yourself on a Wednesday night, kid.” You couldn’t have rolled your eyes harder if you wanted to as you grabbed your keys from the key bowl near the front door.

“Bye dad, love ya guts.” You chuckled to yourself as you left, did you feel bad about lying to Mav? Not entirely. It was for his own good. The poor guy would have a heart attack if he knew what you were up to and who you were doing.

But did you feel any ounce of regret? No—because Jake Seresin was the perfect amount of thrill, the perfect high, the perfect rush to any thrill seeker. And you were addicted.

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

Jake knew you were coming over so he did his best to freshen up the place. That’s not to say his house wasn't clean–because it was. But he lit a candle and fluffed the pillows on the lounge and spent a little longer than he would ever like to admit researching what was the correct way for toilet paper to roll. Over and under he still didn't know. He went under.

“I parked down the street–” You made sure to tell Jake as he opened the door for you. “Mav grilled me pretty hard when I told him I was heading out for the night so I thought it was probably a good idea.”

“Hi to you too Iris.” Jake chuckled as you walked on it.

“Hi Hangman–” You cooed. Turning on your heels as you dropped your bag off your shoulder.” You look. Good.”

“Oh I am good Iris–” Jake smirked wildly as he backed you up against the wall in the entryway. Leaning on the cream painted dividing wall with his hands on either side of you, trapping you there against him. “I'm very good, but I'm even better now that you’re here.” Jake maintained his gaze as you drank in the sight of him, dropping your hands to play at the waistband of his sweatpants. Exposing the elastic band of his boxer briefs. “It's good to see you.” It was a nod to Jake's declaration that he was officially seeing someone, Hangman was off the market and very much invested in the entanglement he had going on with none other than Pete Mitchell's incredibly hot headed and beautiful daughter.

“You just saw me when I demolished you at pool.”

“Ah, ah, correct yourself there Iris, you mean when I let you demolish me at pool.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night there deadman–” Jake was the one who leaned in first, connecting his lips with yours in a fever dream kiss. His hands made quick work to cup your cheeks, spreading your legs further apart with his foot against yours. “Jake–” You moaned into his mouth as one of his hands came down to find its way into your sweat pants. Both wearing grey, just in different fonts.

“I wanna try something, but you gotta trust me.” Jake had a wicked glare in his eyes as he ducked his hand into your pants. The gentle motion he used to spread your lips apart and find the sweet, sweet spot that needed all his attention made you forget how to breathe. “Do you trust me Iris?” Jake asked as he slowly but surely worked the pads of two of his digits against your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come on baby, tell me you trust me?”

“I trust you–” You sighed out, rolling your hips as Jake used his fingers to expertly guide you towards your first orgasm. You weren't there yet, you weren't even close. But you were going to be very soon if Jake kept going exactly how he was. “Fuck, yes, I trust you–”

It was all Jake needed as he pulled his hand out from your pants and scooped you up. With a gasp you wrapped your legs around Jake's waist as he connected his lips to your once more and walked you to the living room. His bedroom was too far away, he needed you now and the lounge would just have to do. As he dropped you down carefully, Jake stood over you. He said one word that made you soak your panties right through, but it wasn't like you were going to need them anyway.

“Strip–” You didn’t hesitate as you saluted your Lieutenant Commander almost seductively.

“Yes sir.”

In a needy and almost giddy fashion, both you and Jake stripped down, articles of clothing were discarded in not so respectable piles on the floor before Jake was hovering over you, his forearms on either side of your head as he kissed up and down the expanse of your next, leading down to your exposed chest to take you nipples in his mouth one by one.

“God your tits are perfect, you’re perfect baby.” Jake mumbled as he looked up at you looking down at him with your tit in his mouth. It was truly a sight that made you feral. “Now I'm usually one for foreplay, you know me, but we’re gonna do things a little differently tonight.” Jake stated a matter of factly as he sat back and pumped himself a few times, just thinking about what he was about to do. He needed to confirm his suspicion because the unknown was killing him. “I know you're ready for me though–” It was true, you were, and as Jake jerked himself off, you reached out to help guide him down between your legs.

“Need you, now.” Slowly, inch by inch, Jake buried himself inside you. Watching as your jaw slacked and your eye rolled as you stretched and welcomed him to the hilt. “Ohh yess–”

“Fuck you’re so perfect, such a perfect cunt Iris.'' Jake made sure to kiss the pulse point at the juncture of your neck as he throbbed away inside you. Staying still for a second before he began to rock his hips. “Holy shit so good–”

“Love your cock so fucking much–ahh!” It felt so good to be so full, but this wasn't what Jake needed to do. He needed to call someone, he needed to fuck you while he called someone to see if he had really formulated a connection, if the idea of really loosing every he had got him off to a new extreme. Jake had called it the Mitchell effect, and he was as deep inside it as he could get. “What are you doing?”

Jake reached out to the coffee table, not once slowly his thrust as he grabbed his phone.

“Shhh–” Jake manoeuvred the two of you into a different position, he made it all look so easy with strong arms encapsulating you and putting you wherever he wanted, wherever he needed you. Where he wanted you was on his lap, warming his cock as you slowly rode his shaft, still with a curious expression on your face as Jake pressed the name in his phone that sent your blood pressure skyrocketing when he turned the phone around to show you who he was calling.

Maverick:

“Oh my god! Jake no what are you—!” Within seconds of your heart sinking into your stomach Jake sat forward to press a palm against your mouth. With wide eyes and a soft moan you looked at him as if he were crazy. He was, he was crazy because he was with you.

“Shhh, don’t let daddy know you're riding me baby.” Jake's phone rang once, twice, three times on loud speaker. “You wouldn’t want Mav finding out his daughter is a little whore now would you?” It made your core tighten around Jake's cock as he thrust into you. Keeping a hand over your mouth and squishing your nose. “Would you?” Jake was waiting for you to give him a response, you nodded softly as the fourth ring rang out and your dads voice came through the phone.

“Hangman—“ Pete’s voice was gruff as he answered the phone. “What’s up man? Is everything okay?”

“Hey Mav—“ Jake replied as casually as he could as he fucked up into your tight little pussy, your arousal dripping down his shaft like to tomorrow as he kept a palm pressed harshly over your mouth. “Yeah nah everything’s good, I was just ringing to see if Iris had any luck with Cyclone today?” It was a question Jake could have asked you, it was a question he could have asked you at the Hard Deck even—or asked Pete! But he wanted to wait, wait until you were riding his cock. “I didn’t get a chance to catch you.”

Jake placed his phone down beside him on the lounge as he pulled you forward against his chest, reminding you to keep quiet before he pulled his hand away from your mouth. Mouthing a silent ‘keep quiet’ your way before he took your arms and wrapped them behind your back.

“Yeah, yeah she said he’s gonna give her another chance, so long as she keeps a lid on your attitude and doesn’t get into any mischief.” Mav laughed to himself all the while Jake placed his feet firmly on the ground as he held your hip with your hand and your forearms behind your back with the other and fucked up into you. Deep and harsh.

“Oh yeah that’s real good isn’t it.” Jake smirked as he buried himself inside you. “She’s a good kid man, didn’t deserve that—“

Against Jake shoulder you sunk your teeth into golden skin to stop yourself from singing out in utter euphoria. This was wrong, so fucking wrong yet you felt like every nerve ending in your body had been set alight. Jake could feel you tightening around him, your velvet walls took him in without mercy and threatened to keep his length hostage.

“She is, just do me a favour and don’t give her any special treatment?” Mav added. “People know you’re like family, just like Rooster, if she slips up you pull her up no questions no hesitation.”

“You have my word Mav, no special treatment for little miss Mitchell.” Jake could feel his orgasm barreling towards him as he let go of your arms and let you sit up. Gripping your hips as tight as he could as he lifted his own and fucked harder and deeper and faster into you as you threw your head back and cupped at your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming. “Anyway, I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Seeya tomorrow Jake, have a good night.” Mav signed off as Jake hung up with the single press of a button. The moment you knew the call was over you cried out into the heavens above.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!!” You hissed as you and Jake toppled from the lounge to the floor. “Ahh god I’m gonna cum, fuck!!!” You cried as Jake fell on top of you. Wrapping you in his arms as he continued to fuck you with force. He was so close.

Damn—his suspension was true. He had formed a connection. Fuck.

“I’m so fucking close, I’m gonna fill this little cunt of yours baby.” Jake babbled to himself as he reached between the two of you, rubbing small circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Cum for me Iris, cum with me, cum on my cock beautiful I know you want to.”

“Jake! Fuck yes yes don’t stop!” It was nearly overwhelming but you were there. You got there in the end and with a moan that could have only escaped from God's golden gates, you came as hard as you ever had as Jake spilled himself inside you. “Ahhhh god yes!!”

“Fuck my life I’m screwed—“ Jake sighed and he buried his head in your chest. Kissing along the curves of your swollen breasts. “I’m so fucking done for.”

“Jake?” You sighed, both panting heavily as you came down from your respective highs.

“Yeah babe?” Jake looked at you, with golden hair clinging to his forehead and sweat coating his body, making him glistening in the dim light of his living room.

“You have three seconds to get off me before I fucking kill you for that.”

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

When you woke up in Jake’s bed to see he wasn't there, wrapped in the mess of tangled sheets next to you. Your heart sank for a brief second. The slight nervousness was quickly replaced by reassurance and the smell of bacon and eggs and what could only be the undeniable notes of burnt raisin toast. You weren't alone–Jake was just in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

He’d never cooked breakfast for anyone the morning after, because you were the first woman he’d ever wanted to cook breakfast for the morning after and he wanted to do it over and over and over again.

“Mornin–” You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes and padded into the kitchen. One of Jake's crew neck jumpers had become your attire of choice. It smelt like him in all the best ways. Notes of creamy vanilla and aged bourbon from his time at the Hard Deck, fresh ripe pear and hints of beautiful freesia coated the fibres of the navy crew–his scent of choice for cologne.

“Hi–” Jake sent you a smile when he caught sight of you. Bed hair looking all kinds of messed up and unruly, no makeup–although you never really wore much to begin with. His jumper adorning your body just barely covering your ass. The sleeves were a little long on you which made it even easier for the fabric to just encompass you. “You sleep well?”

“You run hot like a furnace.'' Jake chuckled softly as you came to wrap your arms around his mid second from behind, pressing your cheek into the warmth of his exposed back. “But I quite liked it.” A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as the sound of bacon sizzling away in the frying pan babbled away. “You make enough for two?”

“I didn't know how you liked your eggs so I just guessed.” There was a soft hume creeping across the apples of Jake's cheeks as he felt you unwrap your arms from his mid second. “Hope over easy is alright, and there's coffee in the pot.”

“Man of my dreams.” You sighed as you padded over to the coffee pot, working to pour yourself some liquid energy into the mug Jake had gotten out for you. “You treat all hookups with this kinda bed and breakfast service?” There had been a definite shift in your dynamic with Jake recently. Things were becoming real, serious, all consuming and suddenly it wasn't just sex. There were feelings here, real and raw emotions the two of you didn't exactly know how to navigate.

But there was no harm in being honest.

“Uh, no–actually.” Jake turned to face you, a pair of tongs in his hand as the other came up to rub the back of his head nervously. “I actually haven't cooked breakfast for someone before, you know, after–”

“Oh.” You caught what Jake was trying to imply. “I'm uh, honoured then, I guess.” As you took a sip of the coffee you'd just poured yourself and held the warm mug in the palms of your hands. You sauntered back over to where Jake stood with his low hanging sweatpants and his morning wood bulging through. “I'm very honoured actually, so much so I might just go back to bed with this amazing coffee and settle back in and wait–”

“Wait for what exactly?” Jake questioned as he dipped down to take your lips hostage with his for a fleeting moment. Pulling you closer by the small of your back.

“For you to bring me breakfast in bed.” You smirked, walking two of your fingers up the expanse of Jake's chest. “I'm still a little tired from last night, Lieutenant Commander–” Jake felt his heart skip a beat as you kissed him, he felt his whole world shift when you swiped your tongue across his lip to gain access to his mouth. He let you in with ease as he followed your lead and deepened the kiss. Only to feel you pull away seconds later. “Breakfast in bed, you me?” It was an open invite for Jake to join you, the corners of his lips curled into a cheshire cat grin as he nodded.

You really had become someone of import to Jake. Your weren’t just Mavs daughter anymore. You weren’t just Mavs daughter that Jake was messing around with. You were exclusive, dating, you were officially unofficial because no one knew. So as you smiled up at Jake, wearing his crew neck in his kitchen drinking coffee from his mug? He thought maybe you were worth all the risks that came along with being with you.

Because being with you made Jake Seresin feel more alive than flying ever had.

“Give me five minutes and it's a date.”

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

“Good Morning aviators, this is your captain speaking–” Maverick had somewhat coined this Basic fighter manoeuvres speech since he'd first done it with the dagger squad who were all now his friends and respected colleagues, some as it would turn out, were a hell of a lot closer to family than he thought. “Welcome to basic fighter manoeuvres–as briefed earlier, today's exercise is dogfighting.” If there was one thing about your dad you did admire, it was his ability to seamlessly and effortlessly get under your skin without even trying. “Guns only–no missiles.” He knew you were out for blood, he knew you were set on seeking revenge and this was his way of promptly and professionally telling you to pull your head in before he smacked it off your shoulders. “We do not go below the hard deck of five thousand feet, working as a team, you have to shoot me and Lieutenant Commander Seresin down, or else.”

“Or else what, Sir?” P:E smirked into the comms as you rolled your eyes. You knew, it was kinda a drag that you knew your dad like the back of your own hand. You were one in the same. You knew because well, if it was you in Pete Mitchell's shoes you'd be just as cocky, if not worse.

“Or else we shoot back–” Jake's voice came in hot and strong through the comms and the thought of taking him down a peg in such an exercise that could see you back in the game if you did had your whole pussy throbbing as your grip tightened around your throttle. “If we shoot either one of you down, you both lose.” Putting Jake Seresin in his place in the sky was your number one priority, especially after the stunt he pulled last night calling your dad.

“This guy needs an ego check.” Back on land in the rec room, Bradley Bradshaw had never experienced a case of deja vu harder in his life as Rebound rolled his eyes and puffed his chest. “We’ll see to that, won’t we boys?”

“Hangman, for a while there fellas, was the only aviator on active duty with a confirmed air to air kill.” Rooster didn't even look up from the written assessments he was grading on what it means to be a good TopGun pilot. He could tell right from the get go whose response he was reading before he even looked at the name. “He’ll be sure to make you work for it today, you can count on that.”

“Did anyone notice Iris was back in Normex this morning?” Lieutenant Davie ‘Trash’ White asked as he stuffed his face with a protein bar he’d just brought from the vending machine, he always needed something in his stomach before a flight. Something small and light and that would keep him full for a while because he wasn't gonna wanna eat for some time after landing. “Didn't take daddy dearest long at all to step in and pull the ‘But she's my daughter’ card on Cyclone.” Bradley's ears grew hot as he tried to mind his business. He couldn't help but to listen as the guys who all sat around waiting for their turn ragged on you. All taking turns obliterating your self worth, your value. “The fucks that about? I thought she quit the program after Hangman dragged her into Cyclones office for a double-teamed spanking?”

“She's wasting her time, as if the Admirals would allow a Mitchell to take TopGun, they barely let Mav himself back on sight after his stint.” Coen ‘Rebound” Rhodes smirked to himself as he flipped through one of the old aviation textbooks on the bookshelf. “I would've just taken the spanking.” Rooster, as professional as he was, was a prankster, a grade A shit stirrer just like his dad had been. He’d brought the nerf gun to piss of Coyote but in all honesty, the childrens toy that say in the bottom drawer of the study desk he was currently sitting at came in handy right about now as he pulled it out, loaded it silently and sent a single bullet flying into the middle of Coens big ass forehead. “Aye! What was that for?”

“I found out how you got your callsign the other day, just how the hell you ended up here really makes me question the state of the US Navy.” The group of aviators all chuckled and laughed at Braldey Bradshaw's comment that made Rebound go silent. “I’m sure you’re all aware of what Iris stands for, don't let her out of your sight because the second you do it's over for you lot and me and all the other guys around here don't need your poor performances to prove that she's already a shoo in for this, despite your ugly ass tactics to get her to bail on herself.”

“You know. I don’t think I like what you're insinuating there Rooster—“ Coen snarked as he stood his ground with his arms crossed over his chest. Fanboy was only just now coming in to gather the next group ready for preflight. “Sounds an awful lot like you're defending someone who you see as a sister to me?” Everyone went silent as Rebound thought he’d gained the upper hand, he hadn’t. There was an awful lot Bradley Bradshaw could put up with in life, but listening to people degrade his family, the small select few he had left, was not something he could tolerate in a professional or personal environment.

“You won’t like the foot that’ll go up your ass in three point five seconds if you don’t act your rank, Lieutenant.” Bradley fired another nerf bullet Rebounds way as he smirked and watched the sorry excuse of an aviator duck for cover. “Sit down and shut up before I report you for misconduct.”

“Ill take him off your hands, Rooster–” Mickey chuckled. “You too krod.” Spell it backwards and you'll understand why Levi ‘Krod’ Henderson was such a huge dork. “Up in twenty, on my time so move it or lose it lads.” Mickey sent Rooster a nod that asked if he was good. Bradley nodded back, explaining in a single motion that he was in fact, okay.

Just don't ask him to tell you that he knew for a fact Pete had pulled your name from the TopGun poll of potential candidates on at least three separate occasions because he knew that you'd get coined as the nepotism baby like no other person. Did Rooster agree with Mavs tactics, no– he didn't. But much like his own struggles with Mav pulling his papers for the Naval Academy, he grew to understand the motive behind his actions.

He just wanted to protect his daughter.

“What was that about?” Mickey asked as he walked over to where Bradley sat, watching as he stretched his arms above his head and let out a groan. Dropping his weapon in the process.

“Oh I don’t even know at this point, Iris has me all kinds of worked up as of late.” Bradley tried to shrug it off. “She doesn’t make it easy to defend her when she’s fucking around with Hangman and mouthing off to admrials and—“

“Woah woah woah, back up, Iris and Jake?” Mickey leaned over the desk Bradley was sitting at. “The hell are you talking about Rooster?” Bradley hadn’t even noticed what he’d said before it was too late to take it back. He looked at Fanboy like a deer caught in headlights.

Fuck.

“Fanboy you can’t tell a soul!” Rooster hissed as he stood, looking around the now empty rec room as he ran his hands through his hair. “Fucking hell and for the love of everything that’s good in this world don’t tell Mav!”

“Tell Mav what!? I don’t even know what you mean by Iris and Jake!” Mickey shouted through gritted teeth, he could already feel himself burning up. His Abuela would kill him if she knew he was harbouring secret scandals like this. “Are they sleeping together?”

“Worse—“ Bradley sighed. “They’re dating.”

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

#iris // jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fic

580 notes · View notes

ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 5 months

Text

Unpredictable, Part 4-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: I thought this one was going to be a little shorter but I was wrong. Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: swearing, sensuality, and Rufus appears in this part.

Word Count: 6.6k

Series Masterlist

Being perpetually early was a good habit until it left me bored and looking up from my phone every few seconds. Of course, it was always a stranger, and we would exchange quick smiles when we made eye contact. However, my nervousness increased each time it wasn’t Jordan.

As I replied to a voice note from Sydney, I wondered why Jordan asked to train with me today. Last year, they basically forced me to train with them all the time after our first match.

“You can’t be one of Brink’s new favorites and be this bad at basic combat,” they’d insisted.

Every match was horrible, and I thought I was going to die each time. Though Jordan never hit me hard, they were still intense, and my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest at the end. When I passed my Intro to Combat class, Jordan agreed that we didn’t have to train together as much but they still expected me to practice.

I gulped at the thought and sent off the comment.

At least I was in shape.

“Lookin’ good, Y/N,” a deep voice called.

When I glanced up, Chad Mitchell and Thad Browne, the Alpha Tau vice president and treasurer, were walking up the gym steps. A pair of skinny blondes in Lululemon leggings exiting the gym gasped at the two of them. Chad grinned widely, revealing his movie-star smile, and Thad winked at them as they passed. No one could blame any girl for staring at two tall broad-shouldered guys in Gymshark t-shirts, Gymshark shorts, white Nike ankle socks, and Nike sneakers.

Chad pushed his dark blonde hair away from his face while he towered over me.

I straightened up a little. “Oh, thanks, Chad.”

“I never thanked you for warning me about trying to do a backflip during the Get Lei’d party,” Chad said.

“It’s no problem; I’m glad I had a vision about it in time.”

“But it would’ve been awesome if you landed a backflip from the house roof!” Thad interrupted.

Chad glanced at him. “The broken nose and knee would not have been worth it.” He turned back to me, eyes roaming the black Alo Yoga set I wore before making it back to my eyes. “So, was rush a success for Si Chi?”

I swallowed and folded my arms over my chest. “I would say so; Bid Day will be interesting. How about Alpha Tau?”

“We always get the best,” Thad interjected, chuckling.

“Yeah, ours aren’t looking bad. You know, after Bid Day’s over, Alpha Tau and Si Chi should have a mixer; make sure all our recruits get to know each other,” Chad proposed.

He placed his hand on the wall beside me, right next to my head, and leaned closer. The scent of musk was nauseating, and I turned away from him to cover my nose with my jacket.

“You should reach out to Alina about that; she’s in charge of social events,” I rushed.

Chad nodded but I wasn’t sure he listened. “Yeah, Thad, do that.”

“Cool,” Thad agreed.

“You seem a little jumpy, Y/N. Are you waiting for your boyfriend or something?” Chad asked.

Last year, Thad and Chad ignored me, opting to hover around Alina and Sasha. I guess my warning impressed Chad at the end of the year Get Lei’d party. Plus, it wasn’t like either of them were bad prospects but each time Chad looked at me, it was like ants were crawling over my skin.

“Sort of.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too sure. Why don’t you warm up with Thad and me? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

That would be the worst idea since acid-washed jeans. However, Si Chi and Alpha Tau were close houses and one had to maintain the balance between them. Sydney and Lydia always made it look so easy.

“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes?” Jordan’s voice cut through the air as she strolled up the steps, irritation clear on her feminine features.

Suddenly, Chad was about a foot away from me, both hands in front of him for a second before he finally put them back at his sides. Thad looked as though he saw a ghost as he moved to stand next to Chad.

“My bad, Jordan, I didn’t know she was with you,” Chad rambled.

“Yeah, man, we had no idea,” Thad added.

Jordan glared at both as she moved to stand next to me. “You can go away now.”

I never saw them move so quickly and when they were gone, I stared at Jordan. “What was that?”

She shrugged. “They know their place. Were you waiting long?”

“No, they just happened to beat you here. Thanks, by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do you have to see them a lot?”

“Kind of and this is the first time either has been that close to me.”

“I thought frat guys were every sorority girl’s type.”

I scrunched my nose. “Not the stereotypical ones.”

“Oh, I forgot, you’re the pickiest girl I know.”

I huffed and gently pushed her shoulder, but she didn’t miss a step as we walked towards the gym entrance. “Don’t judge me for having standards.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re easy to tease.”

Since Jordan rented out the training space, it was quiet outside of the few grunts and weights clanging in the neighboring weight room. The entire space was reinforced for any power mishaps and the focal point was the blue mat in the middle of the space with a large black ring lining its perimeter. I groaned as Jordan pushed on my back, forcing me closer to the mat and making my inner thighs burn in the splits.

“I thought yoga was supposed to make you flexible,” she quipped.

“I am, but I think you like seeing me in pain,” I replied.

“Never,” she teased. “So…did you get anything else on Emma?”

Her words made me stiffen and I sat up on my forearms and shook my head. “Something’s blocking me. Usually, even when I can’t see clear images, I get blurry images but it’s like something has shut off that part of my brain.”

It was the same issue last night when Jordan, Marie, Andre, Cate, and I went looking for Emma. All I could see was her with that guy I never met. Even though everyone said it was okay, their sulking shoulders and lack of eye contact spoke louder; especially Marie’s.

When I got back to the house last night, I gave myself a migraine trying to find Emma and it took me forever to stop hyperventilating. I could have killed Andre for coming up with the dumbest plan on planet earth.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jordan said, cutting through my thoughts.

She let me sit up and I turned to her.

“I just feel useless. Finding things out is the one thing I’m good at and I can’t even do that?”

“Hey, it’s not the one thing you’re good at. You’re good at dancing, studying, fashion, and helping other people.”

Jordan’s tone was earnest and matter-of-fact; no one could have argued with her and I suddenly felt all fuzzy.

I smiled. “I am the best-dressed on campus.”

“Relax, we’ll find Emma, just focus on what you can do. Like, trying not to get knocked out of bounds four times in a row.”

I scoffed at Jordan but she grinned at me. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

“Oh, she has an attitude now?”

“Maybe you just bring it out of me.” I pushed myself up to stand. “Usual rules?”

“I won’t use any powers outside of shifting, you can use yours as much as you want, no cheap shots, and the one knocked out of bounds the most loses.”

“I can’t wait to try the new sushi place at the union; Shelby said it’s amazing.”

“You’ll be trying it on your own dime.”

Jordan always got cocky when sparring. Now that Luke was gone, Jordan was the best fighter on campus. Whenever we trained, I tried to use wiping that big smirk off their face as motivation and it never worked. The best I ever managed to do was not break anything.

Jordan’s smirk never left her face as we squared off from each other. I took the deepest breath I could and tried to quiet my mind. Seconds later, my mind filled with the image of Jordan going for a right hook. I blocked her and went for a jab of my own, skimming her left cheek.

“Not bad,” she huffed as she dodged it. “You need to hold your upper body better; anyone could knock you off balance right now.”

Based on a brief flash, I knew that she was either going to sweep me or push me to prove her point. So, when she went to push me, I slipped away from her, maintaining my guard. She blew a piece of hair out of her face.

“What was that about my balance?” I panted.

“Don’t get cocky, freshie, I won’t go so easy on you,” She taunted.

My heart might have skipped a beat as I took a risk based on a vision and rushed her. When I saw she was going to shift, I stopped just short of Jordan’s reach, slipped down, and swept her feet. Just when I was going to make contact, she backflipped, shifted in the middle of the back flip, and landed in a crouch.

His elated expression made the hairs on the back of my neck stand as he stalked towards me. Our sparring match continued with me utilizing my ability as well as I could to get in the best hits. My heart hammered in my chest as I kept up with their ever-changing forms and fighting styles. In between jabs, Jordan continued giving me tips.

“Use your full body weight with each punch.”

“Your right roundhouse has gotten stronger, that’s good.”

“You’re dropping your left elbow too much when you weave.”

I did my best to incorporate all their tips into the sparring match and even got a couple of hits on them. At one point, Jordan and I exchange a flurry of punches and blocks and for the first time, I almost laughed while fighting them.

It was…fun.

I was able to get some distance between us before attempting another roundhouse kick that was guaranteed to make contact with the side of his head. Just as I was about to kick out my left leg, Jordan shifted to their female form and tackled me. Her grip was harsh around my shoulders while mine struggled to hold onto hers because of the sweat. I paused and noticed she was practically drenched and panting over me. A few strands of black hair fell out of her ponytail and stuck to her forehead, and she was still so pretty.

She seemed to pause as well and raised her eyebrows at me. “Focus on the fight.”

Her words stirred something in me, and I focused on what could be my best move.

The image was only a few seconds long but it almost left me catatonic went it ended. If this didn’t work, I had no idea how I would live it down.

Quickly, I leaned up and closed the distance between us. Jordan’s lips were so soft against mine and I yelped a little when her body pressed more into mine. Her soft breaths felt like whispers over my face as she kissed me back and I squirmed underneath her.

Focus, Y/N, focus! My mind screamed.

As casually as I could, I pushed my wrists against Jordan’s hands, and a second later, she loosened her grip. Her fingers trailed down my arms as my legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to me. When I felt her smile against my lips, my stomach sunk.

Sorry.

The leverage I had around her waist was useful as my hands grabbed her shoulders and swung her down onto the mat. Jordan gasped as we pulled away and my hands captured her wrists. “What the---”

“I win!” I cheered.

“No, you just pinned me,” Jordan rasped.

I shook my head and gestured to her right hand, which was just over the out-of-bounds line. In the dozens of fights we had, this was the first time that I won. If I could fly, I would have probably been floating. When I looked back at Jordan’s face, I came back to earth.

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered, releasing her wrists and pushing myself to stand. “And I’m sorry about kissing you without warning.”

When I extended my hand, she looked at it as though it was a cobra ready to strike. After a few seconds, Jordan took the risk and let me help her up. Then, she walked back over to her bag, grabbed her water bottle, and chugged.

“It’s okay, uh, just don’t make out with everyone you fight with; that’s how you catch mono,” Jordan rambled.

I wrinkled my nose. “Ew, I wouldn’t even think about it. With us, I knew it would be my best way to beat you.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

Then, I took a second to look at Jordan. Something was off, she seemed tenser than she usually did after we sparred. Also, she stopped looking at me and started playing with the rings on her fingers. It had to be because of the stress of Emma missing and how there was more lurking on campus than anyone thought. That on top of Brink and Luke’s deaths would make anyone nervous.

Yes, that had to be it because those were the reasons my lips buzzed the entirety of the next training round.

The two extra rounds gave Jordan their bragging rights and no one could wipe the giant smile off her face as we wandered around campus. At the very least, the blazing sun provided some comfort from the cool breeze that blew past us. Since there were several classes in session, only a handful of people were hanging out, panic-studying, and Tik-Toking.

“You should have seen your face when you landed, it was gold!” she laughed.

“I’m glad it was entertaining,” I replied.

Jordan glanced at me, fished a protein bar out of her gym bag, and handed it to me. “Here.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

Jordan paused in her walk to side eye me and I stopped as well. “Don’t give me that shit. I didn’t say anything earlier but, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Jordan sighed. “That came out wrong; I mean, you look like you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

The situation was almost laughably ironic since just a couple of days ago, I was sleeping like a baby. However, the Emma-shaped hole was enough to spike my anxiety and the final touches on Bid Day were not helpful either. If Alina tried to deny my top pick at this last meeting…

Oh no, I had totally forgotten to take my meds.

“It’s okay, you actually have perfect timing,” I replied, accepting the protein bar.

It wasn’t super chalky and even if it was, I didn’t care as I popped two of the pills from Shetty and chased it with water.

“You pop pills in public now, freshie?” Jordan joked.

I shook my head and nibbled on the protein bar. “They’re prescribed by Shetty. That explains why I was freaking out earlier.”

“With Dumb and Dumber?”

“Chad and Thad, and yes.” Jordan nodded. “So, they work?”

“Yeah. I probably would have been able to save you the trouble if I’d remembered.”

I put the pill bottle back in my bag as we continued walking. The medicine would take a while to kick in but it was better late than never.

“It wasn’t trouble,” Jordan said.

I didn’t know how to respond so all I could do was nod. In all honesty, I was still processing that kiss. Jordan must have reacted the way she did because she was so caught off guard. If Emma were here, she would help me process, that is if she was willing to speak to me.

“So, do you want me to buy you lunch today or tomorrow?” I asked.

Jordan shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, I’m a good sport and I always hold up my end,” I tried to joke.

“Yeah, so it makes sense that I would do the mature thing and treat you to that sushi place you were talking about. You beat me for the first time and that shows how much you improved; I remember when you used to drop your guard every time you got scared.”

“It’s not my fault that my first instinct is to run!”

“You won’t always have the chance to run when you’re a supe. Now, I feel better about you being out there on your own.”

Her words made me swell with pride and I thanked her.

“Plus, there’s no one out there as good as me.” I playfully rolled my eyes. “Of course, it all goes back to you.”

“I’m being honest. Seriously, wherever you get a contract, you’ll kick ass especially if you practice more.”

“Fine, Mx. Li.”

At that moment, I couldn’t wait to go back to the house and shower. Class wasn’t for another hour and a half which gave me enough time to try and process everything.

“Is that Marie?” Jordan asked.

I paused and looked in the direction she nodded to. Across the way, Marie slowly approached the bleach-blonde weasel that was Rufus, who was smugly perched on an overpriced bench. He was (fake) reading a book and looking semi-thoughtful.

The protein bar suddenly felt like a rock in my throat.

“What’s she doing with Rufus?” I muttered.

Jordan didn’t reply and we both watched as the two started speaking. Then, Rufus set his book aside and reached his hands out to Marie.

“Shit!” Jordan exclaimed.

“Marie!” I called at the same time.

It was too late, as soon as her hands grazed his, they disappeared. Panic started rising up from the back of my neck and everything was suddenly quiet.

“Y/N!”

When I blinked, Jordan’s hands cupped my face, and our faces were nearly touching.

“Focus, where did Rufus take Marie?”

After taking a couple of seconds to focus on it, I answered Jordan, and she nearly yanked my arm out of its socket as she raced towards the location. A minute later, we were pushing past people in the dorm until we reached Rufus’ room. My stomach lurched at the muffled sounds of “True”.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.

Jordan didn’t respond. Instead, she took one step before kicking Rufus’ door down. The sound of the door hitting the ground should have made me jump but I was too busy staring at Marie’s blood-splattered face as she stared down at Rufus’ keeled over body on the floor. When he rolled onto his back, I saw all the blood covering his groin and the agony on his face.

Somehow, it was both disgusting and exhilarating to watch, kind of like those ridiculous mukbang videos.

I didn’t realize I was staring until Jordan tugged me by the arm down the hallway, Marie in tow. When we got a few hundred feet away, Jordan released us and glared daggers at Marie.

“What the hell was that?” Jordan demanded.

“I don’t know…I just exploded his dick,” Marie uttered, astonished.

“That was…wow,” I breathed.

Marie smiled, accepted the towel Jordan handed her, and wiped her face. “Thanks, I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Why were you talking to Rufus anyway? He’s a creep,” Jordan scolded.

Marie narrowed her eyes at Jordan. “We didn’t have any leads on Emma, and I heard he was a psychic.”

I winced at the jab.

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Rufus is not a psychic; he’s a perverted loser who takes advantage of anything with tits.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marie hissed. “I can take care of myself.”

She shoved the towel in Jordan’s chest and started storming down the hall. Immediately, we started following her and my irritation grew with each step.

“Fine, then I won’t rescue you next time,” Jordan called.

That made her stop and whirl around. “What?”

“I saved you back there, well, Y/N and I both did since she knew where Rufus would take you,” Jordan insisted.

Marie took a step towards us. “I exploded his dick; I didn’t need your help.”

“But I provided a distraction; tag-team cocksplosion here,” Jordan said, gesturing between the two.

“I’m okay being cut from this team,” I commented.

“Oh no, you’re in it too,” Jordan said.

Marie shook her head. “Weirdo.”

Jordan shrugged. “More importantly, Tek Knight is on campus and he’s doing a story on Luke’s death.”

Marie’s eyes widened and I had to stop my mouth from falling open. Tek Knight was the slimiest, most prolific true crime “journalist” on Vought TV. He covered only the buzziest stories, and it made sense he would be on campus. I thought I heard some guys talking about it during a lecture yesterday, but I was so preoccupied that I didn’t focus.

“He’s guest lecturing Shetty’s class today and he’s going to want to talk to you,” Jordan stated.

“Shit,” Marie cursed.

I ran my hands through the ends of my braids. “And if he even gets a hint of what might be going on, we could all be screwed.”

“So, what do we do?” Marie asked.

“If you decide to keep up the lie, don’t let him see you waver, he loves going after that shit,” Jordan grumbled.

Marie rolled her eyes. “Are we on this again?”

“Yeah, you lied!” Jordan snapped.

Quickly, I stepped between them. “Okay, this won’t get us anywhere. Just breathe for a second.”

They both did, eyes still shooting lasers.

“We need to think about this. Since you two are in Shetty’s class, you two will have to figure something out.”

“Are you taking her side?” Jordan accused.

“Are you taking theirs?” Marie asked.

“I’m not taking anyone’s,” I insisted. “If you two keep fighting, no one wins. Just go your separate ways for now and regroup before class?”

It was not my best work but they both seemed to agree as Jordan went one way and Marie started to head down the other. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and jogged to catch up to Marie.

“Hey!”

She slowed down a little but didn’t face me. “I’m not sorry for trying to find Emma.”

“And that’s great but you should talk to the rest of us before getting mixed up with someone like him.” I shivered at the thought.

Then, she turned to me. “Like I said, we had no leads.”

“I know that, and I am working on it, trust me, I am but I can’t believe you went with Rufus the Rapist instead of giving me time.”

“We don’t have any, Y/N!” Marie snapped. “She could be hanging on by a thread somewhere or dead but we don’t know anything and now I have this Tek Knight shit to worry about.”

I flinched. “I told you, she’s alive and I know you’re scared but I’m scared too. Emma is my best friend and not being able to figure out where she is has been driving me crazy.” Tears began burning in my eyes.

Marie hesitated and looked down for a moment. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it just sucks that the last time we talked, we fought. I didn’t even get to talk to her at the gala,” I admitted.

“Yeah,” Marie looked back up at me, “I saw you were talking to a lot of people.”

“I kind of had to.”

“With Jordan?”

I cocked my head at her and she stared at me. “Wait, what?”

She sort of pouted. “I saw you were spending a lot of time with them.”

“We were schmoozing for their ranking,” I explained.

“Oh.”

I didn’t need a vision to tell me that she wanted to say more. What was going on with everyone today?

“Next time, I could help you do it, I mean, I don’t think you’ll need my help with Vought liking you,” I thought out loud.

“Don’t remind me.” Marie leaned against the wall. “I don’t know what to do! I’m so deep in this shit that there’s no crawling out.”

She slowly slid down until she sat on the ground, and I sat across from her.

“It might seem like that but, there is a way out, you probably just won’t like it.”

Marie’s eyes flickered up at me. “Are you siding with Jordan?”

“No! What is it with you two? It’s like a live X beef and I’m somehow in the middle!” I exclaimed. “No, I’m not on anyone’s side, I can see both your sides clearly: you want to get ahead and this a great chance to do it and Jordan feels like they saved you only to have you trample all over them.”

Marie frowned at my words. “They would have done the same thing!”

“I don’t know…” I don’t know anything anymore.

I pushed myself to stand. “It’s your choice, Marie.”

“What would you do?” she whispered.

“Honestly, I have no clue but I would probably talk to Cate about it.” I pulled her to her feet. “By the way, that cocksplosion was so awesome.”

Marie smiled. “Like I said, it just happened out of nowhere.”

“I knew he had some bad karma coming his way, but I didn’t think you’d deliver it.”

Then, she hugged me and I felt stunned. She smelled like cinnamon and something earthy that I couldn’t put my finger on. I had no idea that she had such a strong grip, it was kind of comforting. I slowly hugged her back and when she pulled away, she gasped.

“I got blood on you, I’m so sorry,” Marie apologized.

“It’s okay, no one should be able to tell unless they have a luminol ability,” I pointed out.

She nodded and as I made way out of the dorm, my curiosity got the better of me, and I focused on how the lecture would go. Unfortunately, all I saw was a brief scene of Jordan and Marie speaking in Marie’s dorm. They weren’t fighting so that must be positive.

Two hours later, I was sitting in one of the beach chairs out by the Si Chi pool, fuming. Sasha thought she was so slick, trying to persuade Sydney to let Justine in despite all the issues. She could have at least come up with a decent argument; the fact that she hadn’t even tried was almost the most insulting part.

I just happened to catch the two of them speaking on the staircase when I returned from my advanced modern dance class. Sydney politely nodded as Sasha spoke.

“…and she’s the best in her class!” Sasha finished.

“That’s great, but I don’t want anyone who uses someone else’s triggers for their own gain representing this house,” Sydney replied firmly.

“But----”

“Sydney, how’s the selection process going?” I called.

They both turned to me and Sasha lost some color in her face.

“Good, we’ve narrowed it down and we’ll finalize it tonight,” Sydney said.

That should have been satisfying but it wasn’t. Who did Sasha think she was? She could be antagonistic but she never outright bullied anyone. Does she want Justine to be a protégé?

“Y/N,” someone whispered.

I jumped in my seat and glanced around the pruned backyard. No one else was out with the other girls either heading to another class or studying. It must have been my imagination.

“Y/N!”

That time it was louder, and I slowly stood. “This isn’t funny, whoever’s out there!”

This day really was turning into too much. First, I kissed Jordan----which I still hadn’t unpacked----, second, Rufus got castrated in the most violent way possible, and third, I was hearing voices or being stalked.

Slowly, I started creeping back towards the house. Maybe it was time for a nap since sleep deprivation could drive anyone crazy. Maybe that would help me find Emma.

“Y/N, it’s me!”

And now the voices sounded like her.

“Over here!”

Something told me that I wouldn’t end up like every non-final white girl in a horror movie. So, I started walking in the direction of the voice, which just happened to be in the thick wall of shrubs that lined the perimeter.

“Where is here?” I whispered.

Then, a hand reached out from some shrubs on the right side. Carefully, I approached it and knelt down, still keeping my distance. Then, a head of curly blonde hair poked its way out of the shrubs, pieces of greenery attached to its scalp.

“Emma!” I rasped.

“Hey, do you mind being surprised after you help me out of here?” she asked.

As soon as I got her out, I hugged her. I was right, she was alive this whole time. I almost cried tears of joy as I slowly pulled away from her.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you two but we’re both in trouble if someone catches us like this,” Emma said.

As quickly as I could, I snuck her up into my room and she collapsed on the bed as soon as I closed the door. With the better look at her, I noticed she was in a random black movie theater t-shirt, shorts, and she only had one shoe. She wasn’t too dirty but I tried not to think about having to wash my comforter once she left.

“Emma, where have you been? What’s going on?”I asked.

“Well, Andre sent me on a mission to find Luke’s brother,” Emma started.

“I know that much; is that the guy you were with?”

Emma shot up to a sitting position. “You saw us?”

“Sort of. I had no idea where you were going, why?”

“No reason, I don’t know why I was surprised, you see everything.”

Even though I didn’t, I let Emma continue. As she spoke, my eyes got wider and wider. There was so much to unpack: there was a research lab under the school called The Woods where they tested supes, the researchers faked Sam’s, Luke’s brother, death but kept him in The Woods, and they are working on something big.

“What is it?” I asked.

Emma shrugged. “Sam has no idea but he knows that the doctors have been working on it for a while and they’re almost done.”

I nodded. “Okay, where is he now?”

“In an abandoned theater. It sounds creepy but the stale snacks and ambiance make it kind of cute,” she chirped.

I shook my head. “You like him.”

Emma gasped, “What? I do not!”

“He’s your type: cute and a little messed up.” “I don’t have a type and even if I did, you might’ve been close to it,” she muttered.

I smiled and hugged her again. “It’s so good to see you again. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Hey, like someone could kill me.” Emma tried to keep her tone lighter, but I could tell she was scared.

When I pulled away, I apologized for everything that happened before the gala. I wasn’t that good of a friend and Emma did everything she could for me, even when she didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have projected and called you perfect; I know that everything with your parents has been rough for you and you’re managing it as well as you can. Plus, I hid the whole how I get small thing from you,” Emma rambled.

“Why’d you hide it from me? You can tell me anything, that’s what best friends do,” I whispered.

Emma looked down at her hands. “Because I knew it would make us both feel like shit. You had other stuff going on and I didn’t want to be a burden. I’m the one who cheers you up and I was ashamed.”

“You’re allowed to feel bad sometimes, Emma, but it really hurt knowing you felt like you couldn’t reach out to me for help,” I managed, feeling myself starting to choke up.

“Don’t cry because if you cry, then I’ll cry.” She hugged me again and we both sniffled. “Okay, from now on, we tell each other everything.”

“Agreed.”

When Emma pulled away, she had the most mischievous grin on her face paired with a fake nonchalant look in her eye. I immediately eyed her as she crossed her legs and started glancing around the room.

“So, to go off that, what’s going on with you and Jordan?” she asked.

“Are you kidding me? You come back from disappearing and that’s the first thing you want to know?”

“I could have died, Y/N.”

“Do not try to guilt me!”

I took a deep breath and mulled it over for a moment. A couple of hours ago, I would have killed for this chance to talk to Emma and now that it was here, I was stopping myself. There shouldn’t be anything stopping me, especially since we just promised each other that we wouldn’t keep anymore secrets. With that thought, I told her everything, from the night at the club, to when we kind of rescued Marie.

When I looked at her, Emma was stunned.

“What?” was all she could muster.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

“You went from almost kissing Jordan to full-on kissing Jordan. I could tell you liked them by the way you talked about them last year but this is progress,” Emma remarked.

“I didn’t like them like that last year, I don’t now. Anyway, I only did it after I saw the vision and it was to win the fight, so does that really count?” I asked.

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Did you feel anything on the other side of that kiss?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you feel them kissing you back? Were they breathing all heavy? Were their hands moving all over your body?”

All those things happened but, Jordan must have been caught up in the moment.

“If Jordan was caught up, they would have snapped out of it but they didn’t until you pulled away,” Emma pointed out.

“I did it as a distraction tactic!”

“Doesn’t matter since they liked it,” Emma said with a shrug. “And you must have enjoyed it.”

“How would you know?”

“Because the tip of your nose is turning red.”

I yelped and covered my nose. “It’s because this conversation is embarrassing. Besides, I don’t have time for a relationship; I have to finish out rush week and then there’s initiation and not to mention classes---” Emma placed her hands on my shoulders and forced me to look at her. “Y/N, ‘having time’ has nothing to do with liking someone. You’ve had googly eyes for Jordan for a year now, it’s okay to admit it!”

“I have not! They bullied me for half of last year.”

“Really? Did they ever say anything super mean to you or try to hurt you?”

As I took a second to think about my dynamic with Jordan, I realized that they only delivered playful jabs that I returned when I got comfortable around them. So, I shook my head.

“And aren’t they always trying to keep you out of trouble?”

“Not always,” I muttered.

Emma groaned. “Why did I think it would be easy to get you to admit that you like someone? You’re so oblivious.”

“I am not!”

“Really? So, how would you describe your relationship with Marie?”

“Friends.”

“Really? Because when you were doing her makeup that night, I thought you got lost in her eyes. Those big, beautiful, puppy dog eyes.”

I playfully pushed her but she maintained her pose and I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped me. Even though her words were lighthearted, I had paused a few times that night to admire Marie but she was pretty, everyone admired pretty.

“I was trying to do a good job with her eyeshadow. Besides, I thought you were still insisting I like Jordan,” I responded.

Emma relaxed and stared at me like I grew a second head. “You are way deeper in denial than I thought you were.” “What are you talking about?”

“I know that sexuality is a spectrum and a journey and everything but, Y/N, you clearly like two people.”

Her words hung in the air as I returned her stare. Emma had lost it, officially.

There was no way I liked both Marie and Jordan. Marie relaxed me as soon as I saw her and friends are supposed to be relaxed with friends. I felt like I could tell her anything and any friend would feel bad about accidentally ditching their friend on a night out. Also, any friend would feel like crying if their friend told them that they accidentally killed their parents. Any friend would want to try to make them feel better since they couldn’t take away the pain.

And as far as Jordan went, I was well aware of how attractive they were in both forms and occasionally felt warm inside when they smiled at me, but those were just hormones. Plus, Jordan was a protective person so it made sense that they would jump in when necessary. The shivers I’d attempted to hide when they pulled me onto their lap were normal.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense,” I muttered.

“I can only help you so much. It’s clear to me and maybe even to Jordan and Marie.”

I shook my head. “We don’t have time for this. We should find Marie and let her know that you’re alive and everything you told me.” “Okay, and if she just happens to give you a thank-you kiss, I’ll try not to gloat.”

“Emma,” I warned.

“Okay, can I borrow some shoes before we leave?”

Emma practically bounced with each step on the way to her dorm. Even though I convinced her to wear one of my hoodies just in case, she seemed happy to be back on campus. Hopefully, we could get everyone together and get this all figured out. Once this was over, then I would be able to focus on Bid Day and maybe what Emma had been saying.

It was going to be so awkward talking to Marie after that conversation. I felt so many things that I didn’t know what to settle on: confusion, frustration, anxiety, and all the others I couldn’t name.

The meds must have kicked in as Emma began trying to unlock her door. I was settled and comfortable. Everything was going to be fine.

Finally, Emma threw open her door. “Holy shit, so much is happening!” she announced as she stormed into her room.

I trailed after her and felt my anxiety break free from its cage. Jordan had Marie pinned against the wall, kissing her like it was his last chance. Marie seemed equally as passionate as she tugged on his shirt. At Emma’s words, they jumped away from each other, both frazzled and disheveled, eyes wide.

Then a flood of more emotions I couldn’t name washed over me.

#black!reader #jordan li x reader #gen v x reader #limoreau x reader #marie moreau x reader

231 notes · View notes

callsign-mayhem · 1 year

Text

to the moon and back

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Mitchell!Reader Word Count: 5.2k

You are the daughter of Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and the lifelong best friend of Bradley Bradshaw. Nothing has ever been able to get in between the two of you, not even the feelings you’ve been harbouring for him for as long as you can remember. But when you both get called to Top Gun for what seems to be a suicide mission, you realise that life is too short to keep your love for him a secret.

Y/CS - your call sign

Use of Y/N but no description of reader

You couldn’t remember the last time you laid eyes on Bradley Bradshaw, and if you’d known you would be this affected by the mere sight of him then you would have better prepared yourself. He was in his rightful place behind the piano at The Hard Deck, performing ‘Great Balls of Fire’ with all his usual enthusiasm, and then some. His infectious personality had every person in the bar gravitating towards him, belting out the lyrics along with him as though their lives depended on it. You had to draw from every reserve of strength you had so as not to march right up to him and kiss him senseless. You’d missed him so much.

Being deployed had been difficult for you and had felt like exactly the wrong thing at the time, but eventually you realised that it was what you needed. If you’d stayed, it would have only been a matter of time until you spilt your guts to Bradley about the feelings you’d been harbouring for him since you were teenagers.

The song was almost over and so was your time for composing yourself. It was ridiculously warm in the packed bar, so taking a deep breath was no good. You resigned yourself to a few shots of something strong - liquid courage if you will - and headed to the bar to speak to Penny.

‘Y/N!’ she exclaimed, ‘what are you doing here?’ ‘I have no idea,’ you told her, ‘an assignment of some sort. I find out more tomorrow,’ you gestured to Bradley and a few of your other friends from the academy, ‘and apparently I’m not the only one they called. I don’t know whether I should be worried or relieved.’ ‘Your dad was just in here. He know you’re back?’ ‘Yeah, I haven’t seen him yet though,’ you gestured to the bottle of Jack behind her, ‘can I get one of those, please? Or three?’ Penny reached for the bottle and a shot glass. ‘Not wasting any time, huh?’ You glanced behind you to where Phoenix was patting Bradley on the back and getting everyone to cheer for him, ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen these guys.’ ‘You mean it’s been a while since you saw Rooster,’ she smiled knowingly. You downed your shot and slammed the tiny glass back down. Penny refilled it immediately, ‘That too,’ you admitted with a wince. ‘You already know what I’m going to say.’ ‘Yes, and you already know why I can’t tell him.’

You downed your second shot and just as you were about to do your third, someone covered your eyes with their hand. You knew who it was without having to hear him speak or look at his face because you’d know him deaf and blind. Hell, you’d know him in death.

The familiar rumble of his voice in your ear set your entire nervous system alight: ‘Guess who.’ ‘Hmm,’ you pretended to think, ‘I don’t know. Hangman?’ Rooster scoffed, ‘I haven’t seen you in two years and the first thing you do is insult me? Glad to know some things never change, Y/CS.’

You spun around and looped your arms around his neck, pressing your face into the side of his. He lifted you off the floor and spun you around with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, laughing like a little kid. It felt like no time at all had passed.

‘And you’re still shooting whiskey like it’s water,’ he noted, setting you down gently, ‘so you definitely haven’t changed.’

You drank him in hungrily, trying to act like you weren’t totally out of control on the inside. In one of his dad’s old Hawaiian shirts with his aviators perched on the tip of his nose, he wasn’t exactly a brand new man. Something about him was different, though, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Even as the two of you had gotten older, you’d always seen him as the goofy kid in the cowboy hat that could make you laugh on the darkest days. Throughout high school and your time at the academy, he’d been the person you confided in about everything, and the only secret you’d ever kept from him was your ever-growing feelings for him. But now, after just over two years apart, he felt more like a stranger than ever before. Nothing had changed, but everything had changed, and you were struggling to figure out how that could be.

‘You want a beer?’ you asked. ‘Sure, but no more shots for you. We gotta be up early and I know if you carry on drinking like that you won’t get out of bed.’ ‘When you’re right, you’re right.’

You got Rooster a beer and a JD and coke for yourself before heading over to the rest of the group. There were a few people whose reputations preceded them but you’d never met in real life, and then there was Phoenix, one of your closest friends from the academy. When she saw you she practically jumped on you and Rooster had to take your drink from your hand so it didn’t spill everywhere.

‘Y/CS!’ ‘Hey,’ you giggled, ‘Phoenix, it’s great to see you too but I can’t breathe.’ ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she relented, ‘how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since your deployment. When did you get back?’ ‘Couple of months ago,’ you told her, ‘I’ve been in South Carolina.’ ‘You’ve been back months?’ Rooster cut in, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘You know how it is, Roo,’ you said, ‘you get deployed, come home and your whole life is upside down for a while. By the time you’ve settled back in, weeks have gone by and you still haven’t had a chance to see anyone.’

He nodded, but his hurt was apparent. Hangman sidled up next to you and you’d never been more relieved by his incredibly annoying presence. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hugging you tight. He was a massive ass, but you’d somehow ended up friends while being stationed together a few years ago. A lot of his bravado was an act, and when he let his guard down he was actually a great person to talk to.

‘Y/N Mitchell,’ he said, ‘Long time no see.’ ‘Can’t say I’m mad about that.’ His usual shit-eating grin was plastered across his face, ‘You and I both know that’s a lie.’ ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, Seresin.’

Everyone makes small talk for a while and those who have never met before are introduced. You pull a barstool over and sit next to Bob, Phoenix’s new back-seater. She’s the first one to point out the elephant in the room.

‘So anybody know what this ‘special detachment’s’ all about?’ ‘A mission’s a mission,’ Hangman replies, ‘They don’t confront me. What I wanna know is who’s team leader. And which’a ya’ll have what it takes to follow me?’ Hangman winks at Rooster, needling him, ‘Hangman, the only place you’ll ever lead anyone is an early grave.’ Hangman looks up from his next shot and walks over to Rooster until they’re standing face to face. ‘Anyone follows you is just gonna… run outta fuel. But then that’s you all over, ain’t it, Rooster? Snug on your perch, waitin’ for juuuuust the right moment. That never comes.’ Rooster tenses visibly and you grab his arm, ‘Hey, you wanna get another drink? Feel like we’ve got some catching up to do.’

You leave the rest of the group to their game and grab a couple more drinks before heading outside. The Bronco is parked out front looking prettier than ever, paintwork glinting in the late-evening sunlight. If you had a dollar for the amount of late-night drives you and Bradley had taken in that thing, you’d be a billionaire.

You intended to sit at one of the tables outside The Hard Deck, but Rooster had other ideas. You ignored the swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he took your hand and led you down towards the beach and reminded yourself that you had no reason to be nervous; he was your best friend, he didn’t know about your feelings and nothing had changed.

‘I still can’t believe you’ve been back months and you didn’t tell me.’ You cringed, ‘I’m sorry, Bradley. I should’ve called, I know.’ ‘Mav know you’re back?’ Yeah, he’s here too.’

Your father was a touchy conversation subject and you tried to avoid talking about him as much as possible. Once you’d eventually realised that there was no way of convincing Rooster that everything he’d done had come from a place of love and concern, you’d given up trying to keep the peace. It was difficult, letting him fester in his own anger, but it wasn’t your fight. However, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still holding out hope that things would go back to the way they used to be someday.

‘How’ve you been, anyway?’ you asked, swiftly changing the subject, ‘What’s new in your life?’ ‘The usual. Getting called down here is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in months.’ You laughed, ‘That can’t be true. What happened to the girl you were dating?’ ‘Molly? Jesus Christ, that was over as quickly as it started. I stopped seeing her not long after you left,’ he sipped his beer, ‘what about you? Meet your future husband while you were away?’ ‘Nope,’ you sighed, ‘starting to think I’m destined to be alone forever.’ ‘What about Hangman?’ Rooster asked, Jake’s callsign sounding like ashes in his mouth.

To call your brief fling with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin a mistake would have been putting it lightly. You’d been stationed together in Alabama for a little while and he was the only familiar person there so, naturally, you’d gravitated towards him and him to you. After getting to know each other better, one thing had led to another and you’d ended up sleeping together after one too many JD and cokes. That one night had led to another and another until you were pretty much dating, although neither of you had ever mentioned putting any kind of label on whatever it was the two of you had going on. Rooster had been up in arms when he found out, yelling at you down the phone that Jake was a complete and total asshole and that you deserved so much better, leading to the worst - and only - fight you’d ever had.

While getting involved with Jake was definitely a mistake and you didn’t plan on walking down that particular path ever again, you still stood by what you said in his defence: you have to get to know him in order to understand him.

‘You already know that’s over.’

Rooster looked at you and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You’d never wanted to kiss him more in your entire life.

‘I’ve got no idea why we’re here,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad you’re with me, Y/N.’ ‘Me too, Bradley. Me too.’

The special detachment, as it turned out, was a suicide mission. There was no other way of putting it. Your dad was immensely proud of you and your accomplishments and had never once doubted your abilities as a pilot, but he wasn’t happy that you were on this particular mission. He wasn’t happy that Rooster was on it either. After your first day of training, you went to dinner with your old man so you could catch up and talk about what you’d be in for over the course of the next couple of weeks. You hadn’t realised just how much you’d missed him until you were sitting in front of him, but part of you wished it was under different circumstances.

‘Surely me being part of the team you’re training goes against some kind of rule,’ you said around a mouthful of steak. ‘The stakes are so high, I think mostly every rule has already gone out the window.’ ‘I haven’t been this scared since I climbed in a cockpit for the first time,’ you admitted, ‘but I’ve also never wanted to be on a mission more.’ Your dad smiled, but there was fear in his eyes, ‘I don’t like that look, Y/N.’ ‘It’s the only one I got, Dad, and I got it from you.’ ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.’

White hot rage blinded you like a fire poker between your eyes. The minute Rooster walked through the doors you were racing up to him. Jake had to grab both of your arms and pull you off him to prevent you from swinging at him.

‘What the fuck was that Bradshaw?!’ you roared, ‘You got a fucking death wish?!’

He ran a hand through his hair, face flushed from the heat and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. You weren’t just angry at him for endangering his life, or your dad’s, for that matter, you were angry because you understood why he’d done it. And you knew that if you were in his shoes and you were up there with something to prove, you’d have done the exact same thing.

‘Can we not do this here?’

You shrugged Jake off and straightened out your flight suit, leading Bradley out of the room. He followed you outside into the blazing heat of the San Diego sun where you preceded to turn around and punch him so hard in the shoulder that he took a step back.

‘Jesus, Y/N,’ he huffed, ‘was that really necessary?’ ‘I don’t know, was nearly killing yourself and my dad really necessary?’ ‘I had it under control!’ You laughed humourlessly, ‘Yeah, it looked like it.’ ‘I’m not gonna have this fight with you,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘I’m sorry for scaring you, but you have to understand-’ ‘I do understand!’ you screamed, ‘But just because I understand, doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed as hell!’

He pulled you flush against his chest and you softened immediately, unable to resist the comfort and security that came with one of Bradley’s bear hugs. If you had it your way, you’d stay in his arms like this for the rest of time.

‘You really need to have it out with Mav,’ you mumbled into his flight suit, ‘this is getting beyond ridiculous - it’s dangerous.’ He kissed the top of your head, ‘I know.’

You had to admit, dog fight football was a stroke of genius on your dad’s part. It was the perfect way to relieve any tensions between the team and also take everyone’s minds off the upcoming mission. Jake and Bradley - the two team captains - tossed a coin to decide who would pick first, and Jake ended up picking you. You suspected he did it just to get underneath Bradley’s skin, and judging by the set of his jaw as you marched over to Jake, his plan worked.

You also had Payback on your team, and between the two of you, you were carrying the whole game. You didn’t like to toot your own horn but… toot toot.

‘Come on Bradshaw!’ you yelled, smirking devilishly, ‘You really gonna let me kick your ass so spectacularly in front of everyone?!’ ‘You’ve got Payback! It ain’t fair!’ ‘Oh, so you don’t think we could win without him?!’

He was holding one of the balls and was preoccupied with insulting you, so when you ran at him at full force and snatched it right out of his hands, he was too stunned to try and stop you. Hangman and Payback both cheered, but as soon as Bradley refocused he was on your heels, and he had the advantage of extremely long legs.

Just before you could score, he came up behind you and wrapped both of his arms around your middle, lifting you off the ground and throwing you over his shoulder. You were so startled you dropped the ball and unluckily for you, Coyote was right there to pick it up and score another point for their team.

‘Put me down you cheat!’

Rooster was laughing so hard you could feel him shaking with it as he ran. He didn’t stop running until he reached the water and it was up to his waist, and then he dropped you in. It was freezing but actually quite a relief after running around in the sun all afternoon. You came up for air coughing and sputtering to find him doubled over with laughter, and you took the opportunity to drag him back down with you, pushing his head down further under the water. You knew you wouldn’t be able to overpower him long and before you could even comprehend what was happening he had a tight grip on both of your thighs, yanking you back under.

If not for the fact that it all happened so quickly, you would have spent more time revelling in the feeling of his big hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs. Your whole body broke out in goosebumps, and you knew it wasn’t from the chill of the water. When you both resurfaced you were smiling like fools and laughing like two lovesick teenagers, and you never wanted the moment to end.

‘Hey!’ Hangman called out, ‘Are you two still playing or what? I’ve got a game to win!’ With an eye roll, you yelled back: ‘Yeah we’re still playing, you couldn’t win without me anyway!’

Somehow, Rooster’s sunglasses had remained on his face throughout the entire fiasco, and you reached out and gently slid them off. He blinked against the sunlight and watched in awe as you put them on.

‘Did I say you could wear those?’ he asked. ‘Did I ask your permission?’

The two of you made your way back towards the rest of the squad, and it looked like your team was back in the lead. A sly remark about Rooster’s sabotage failing was on the tip of your tongue, but then he put his hand on your waist and pulled you into his side, ruffling the top of your head affectionately. The skin-on-skin contact was enough to drive you insane, and your words died on your lips.

‘Keep them,’ he murmured, ‘they look better on you anyway.’

When the mission got moved up, any calmness you felt dissipated like water on the hot asphalt of a runway. Your dad was now team leader and you had mixed feelings about it. You’d spent your whole life fearing for him, but knowing he was going on this mission really took the cake. And then there was the small issue of you being his kid, which would undoubtedly cloud his judgement when it came to selecting the rest of his team. For one, the chances of him even wanting you on the mission were slim to none, but then there was the worry that if he chose you, it would be seen as favouritism.

The final day of training was over and you’d been told to go and get some rest before tomorrow, and despite your exhaustion, you knew that if you were to lay down in your bunk now sleep wouldn’t come. It was one of those rare moments where the sky over Fightertown was empty and as a result, an eerie quiet had settled over the base. You were still in full flight gear - minus your helmet - sitting on the ground in the shade provided by the wing of your F/A-18. Before settling in for the night you still had to find time to shower, get something to eat and see your dad, but you were paralysed.

You dreaded to think how long you would’ve sat there if Rooster hadn’t suddenly materialised. He sat down opposite, stretching his long legs out so they were on either side of you.

‘What are you still doing out here?’ he asked gently, ‘You feeling okay?’

You were fiddling with your dog tags, a nervous tic you’d picked up in the academy, and Rooster never failed to notice. Looking into your eyes earnestly, he took both of your hands in his.

‘Talk to me, Y/CS.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I’ve never been this nervous about a mission before. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’ ‘This is the highest-stakes mission either of us has ever gone on in our careers. I would be worrying if you weren’t nervous.’ ‘Yeah, but you know me, Roo. I don’t do nerves.’ ‘You think I’m not shitting my pants at the thought of having to fly tomorrow?’ You laughed despite the lump in the base of your throat, ‘You hide it better than me, then.’ ‘You can’t keep anything off your face, Y/N. I always know what you’re feeling.’ ‘You do?’

Your heart dropped at the thought of him being able to read you so well, but in hindsight, you should have known. You’d literally been destined to be best friends since before you were born, since your dads stayed up late one night talking about their futures, wondering if they’d have kids and how well they’d get along. As far as you knew, he’d never kept anything from you, and you’d only ever kept one thing from him. You lived your life at the same pace, shared the same moral compass and wanted all the same things. You finished each other’s sentences and could have secret conversations through facial expressions, without even having to speak. If he called, you answered. If he needed you, you ran to him, and vice versa.

You didn’t need him to confirm your worst fear: he knew you were in love with him. There was no doubt in your mind and you were a fool not to have seen it sooner.

As though he’d read your mind and sensed the worsening of your anxiety, he changed the subject.

‘What do you say we go and grab a bite to eat?’ ‘Like a last supper?’ Bradley laughed, ‘You can be really morbid sometimes, you know that?’

‘It’s been an honour flying with you,’ your dad said, ‘each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that, and nothing more.’ ‘Choose your two Foxtrot teams.’ Cyclone told him.

You fought the urge to vomit down your flight suit.

‘Phoenix and Bob. Y/CS and Payback.’

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘And your wingman.’

The tension in the air was palpable. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck.

‘Rooster.’

You could feel Bradley’s eyes on you, but judging by the unpleasant feeling that had overcome you, turning around to face him wouldn’t be a smart idea. For one, he more than likely looked just as nauseous as you and seeing him like that would only cause your anxiety to skyrocket. Secondly, he was the one person you could be completely vulnerable in front of and since it was already taking every ounce of your strength not to cry, it was probably best not to engage.

For the next hour, the seconds passed you by like cars on a highway. You listened to Warlock explain the mission for the final time, but his words went in one ear and came out the other. You stayed at Payback’s side up until it was time to go, but just as you were heading out to the flight deck, your dad pulled you aside for the conversation you’d been anticipating since he said your name.

His expression was, as ever, unreadable and you decided that it was probably a good thing that you didn’t know exactly what he was feeling in that moment. If Maverick was nervous, then you really had something to worry about.

He pulled you close and squeezed you tight, and you let out a single, strangled sob.

‘I know you can do this.’ ‘Me too,’ you were clinging onto him for dear life, ‘but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified.’ ‘If I didn’t believe in you completely, I wouldn’t have chosen you.’ ‘I know, Dad.’ ‘I love you, Y/N.’ ‘I love you too. I’ll see you when we get back.’

He kissed the top of your head before letting you go and you headed out to the flight deck together. Payback was already waiting for you, but it seemed as though there was one more conversation to be had. Maverick patted Rooster on the back as he passed, throwing one final glance back at the two of you. All you could do was remind yourself over and over again that you’d be seeing him later and that you’d be going for steaks at your favourite diner back in San Diego before you knew it.

You could tell Rooster didn’t know what to say but it didn’t matter. You already knew, because you were thinking all the same things.

‘When we get home, I have some things I wanna talk to you about.’

He reached out to touch your cheek and you leaned into his hand, almost nuzzling his palm with the side of your face. Hugging him, you decided, would be too final. It would feel like a goodbye, and this wasn’t a goodbye, it was simply ‘see you later.’

‘There are some things I want to talk to you about as well,’ you smiled sheepishly, ‘but if you can read me as well as you say, you already know that.’ ‘Yeah, I know.’ ‘Fly safe, Roo.’ ‘Give ‘em hell, Y/CS.’

It wasn’t humanely possible to count how many times you’d flown. It was as natural as breathing oxygen, almost a second thought at this point. Getting into the cockpit of a fighter plane felt more like coming home than walking through the front door of the house you grew up in with your dad.

But nothing could have prepared you for that mission.

And nothing could have prepared you for the immense feeling of sheer panic and terror when your dad was hit. It was as though the bottom of your plane had dropped out and you were in freefall. If that wasn’t horrific enough, Rooster had gone after him. This paired with the chaos of the dogfight was traumatising enough that you’d forgotten how to breathe and what you were supposed to be doing. You had absolutely no idea how Payback managed to talk you down from going after both of them, but he did, as well as calming you down enough so you could fly back to the aircraft carrier.

You weren’t in the habit of being overly emotional in front of anyone who wasn’t Bradley or your father, but when you climbed out of the cockpit and Phoenix was already waiting for you, arms open, you collapsed onto her and broke down. You’d been completely inconsolable up until you got word of Rooster’s signal in an unidentified F-14.

Surprisingly, the relief came after cursing yourself for ever believing that your father could be bested by anyone. At this point, you were almost entirely sure that he was immortal. And as for Bradley, he was much stronger than everyone else realised. He gave Maverick a run for his money, and that was saying something. Phoenix was the only reason you hadn’t collapsed onto the ground when you realised they were okay and coming home, with the help of Hangman, of course. In the back of your mind, you were wondering how long it was going to take to hear the end of it from Jake.

And there you were on the flight deck with Phoenix’s arm around your shoulder and Payback’s around your waist, watching your dad and your best friend make the rockiest landing you’d ever seen. It felt as though all your internal organs were in your throat as you watched the net get thrown out, ready to catch the incoming aircraft and stop it from going overboard. The sound was near-deafening but you hardly noticed with the rushing blood in your ears. As soon as that plane stopped moving, you tore away from Phoenix and Payback and made a beeline towards the F-14, safety concerns be damned.

Your dad climbed out first, somehow steady on his feet despite what he’d just been through. But that was Mav all over, wasn’t it? He didn’t so much as wobble until you threw yourself at him.

‘Dad!’ you shrieked, ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’

He held you with the strength of someone who had a newfound value for their own life. He cradled the back of your head with one hand and stroked your hair like he used to when you were small.

‘I’m okay, are you okay?’ ‘You’re seriously asking me that?’ He laughed breathlessly, ‘I’m okay now.’ You squeezed him tighter than ever before, ‘I love you, Dad. I love you so much.’ ‘I love you too,’ he replied, releasing you reluctantly, ‘and I want you to know how proud I am of you for pulling that off.’ ‘It’s in my blood.’ He put his hands on either side of your face and leaned in to kiss your forehead, ‘I think you should go and speak to Rooster,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll talk more afterwards, okay?’

At the mention of Rooster, all the wind was knocked out of you. All you could do was nod at your father before he headed over to the rest of the squad, leaving you alone in front of the battered F-14. Rooster had jumped out right after your dad, but he’d given the two of you some space. You locked eyes like they do in the movies, but this wasn’t a movie. The world didn’t tilt on its axis or stop turning altogether; it was more like the two of you were the only ones in it that actually mattered. Everyone around you might as well have been frozen in time.

He was taking long strides towards you, but he couldn’t get to you quick enough so you ran to meet him halfway, not stopping until your face was mere millimetres away from his. He was filthy, covered in blood, and sweat and God only knew what else, but you were blinded by the light behind his eyes. You’d always been totally mesmerised by him, but this was something else entirely. It was suddenly very apparent to you that you would do anything this man asked of you, follow him down to the eye of any storm, love him until you took your final breath.

‘Y/N-’ ‘Don’t say anything,’ you interjected, ‘I already know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t wanna waste any more time.’

And before he could utter another word, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started out soft but then he ran his fingers through your hair and somehow managed to pull your face even closer, deepening the kiss. He ran his tongue along your lips and you parted them for him, finally tasting him the way you’d wanted to for as long as you could remember. Your veins were thrumming with so much electricity you thought your head might explode. When you eventually parted, the space between you was too much for you to bear (you never wanted there to be any space between you and Bradley ever again) so you looped your arms around his neck just like you always did when you hugged him. His face was full of so much adoration, anyone would think you’d hung the bloody moon in the sky.

‘Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?’ he asked. ‘If it’s anywhere near as long as me, we’re going to be kicking ourselves.’ He kissed the tip of your nose and you damn-near melted, ‘I don’t want to go another day without kissing you like that.’ ‘Neither do I.’

You’d forgotten that the rest of your squad was standing a few feet away, waiting to celebrate with you. When you turned around, they were all cheering for you and Rooster and you could just about make out Phoenix’s ‘finally’ over the sound of Payback’s hoots. You knew you had to go over there and that there would be plenty of time to be alone when you got back to San Diego, but you couldn’t wait until then to tell Bradley how you felt about him. If he hadn’t already guessed.

You had to stand on tip toes to reach his ear, where you whispered: ‘I love you, Bradley Bradshaw. To the moon and back again.’ You felt him shiver beneath your touch. ‘I love you too, Y/N.’

693 notes · View notes

worldofheroes · 7 months

Text

Teach You a Lesson

pete “maverick” mitchell x fem!reader

summary: you and maverick continue to tease each other, and maverick finally does something about it.

warnings: 18+, language, unprotected sex

wc: 1.2k

a/n: based on this request! hope you enjoy.

“Jesus, Mav, get off of me,” you say over the comms, annoyed that you can’t shake him.

“I’ll get off of you when I’m done with you,” he tells you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Scared?”

“Not at all,” you say, maneuvering your jet so you fall behind Maverick’s.

“Oh, you’re not getting on top,” Maverick says in almost a growl.

The unexpected change in demeanor makes you jerk your plane to the right.

“Shit!” you exclaim, trying to recover.

“You forgot about the private comms, didn’t you?” Maverick teases.

“I wasn’t expecting my instructor to talk like that,” you say over the private comms.

“Mm, well, I like it when you’re under me, so we’ll have to change that,” Maverick says, and his jet moves in a backwards leapfrog maneuver.

“Fuck, Mav, you can’t talk like that!”

You hear tone.

“Fuck you!” you exclaim over comms.

“Knock it off.”

You land your plane and go over the post-flight checklist when Maverick walks up to you.

“You’re a good pilot, y/c/s,” Maverick states.

You don’t say anything.

“I’ll see you inside.”

During the debrief, you can’t focus. Your thoughts are filled with Maverick, and you can’t help but check him out the entire time.

Every so often, Maverick will catch you and shoot you a look, warning you to stop. Of course, you don’t.

Maverick takes another glance at you, and you drop your eyes to his crotch and back up, biting your lip. Maverick immediately breaks eye contact and you can see him set his jaw, trying not to react to you. You’re having fun teasing him like this during class.

Maverick dismisses the class an hour later.

“Y/c/s,” Maverick calls out.

You turn. “Yes Captain?”

“I wanna talk about what happened up there.”

“Sure,” you say, walking to the front of the classroom.

Maverick leans against the podium.

“You don’t like to follow rules, do you?” Maverick asks.

“Funny question coming from you,” you retort.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” you ask, taking a step closer and running a hand up his arm.

Maverick clenches his jaw. “You can’t do this here.”

“I believe you started it.”

“Watch your attitude.”

You bite your lip, dropping your hand from his arm.

“Just be careful,” Maverick says, standing up straight.

He walks past you, but pauses beside you.

“Come to my place tonight, 8pm. Some… disciplinary action needs to be taken,” he whispers.

You cock your head. “Is that so?”

Maverick nods as he walks away from you.

You watch him leave the classroom, surprised by the interaction that just happened.

Sure, you had a crush on your instructor, but you never thought he would do anything… you never thought he would say the things he did to you or invite you over.

Later that night, you park about a block away from Maverick’s and walk there.

When you knock on the door, he opens it instantly, pulling you in and shutting the door.

“Not even a hi?” you ask.

“I don’t want anyone to see us,” Maverick peeks out the blinds.

“No one’s around, Mav, no one saw me.”

Maverick nods and turns his full attention to you.

“Those things you did today were not nice,” Maverick says as he walks up to you.

“Mm, I barely did anything,” you tell him.

Maverick pushes you against the wall.

“I need to teach you a lesson.”

Maverick pauses for just a moment before he kisses you. His hands desperately touch you as his kiss deteriorates into open mouth kisses on your jaw and neck.

“Mav,” you sigh, your hands running through his hair.

“You were very naughty during class today,” he says into your skin.

“I was just paying attention to my teacher.”

“I think you were daydreaming about me.”

“And if I was?”

“I guess I’m gonna make your dreams come true.”

Maverick returns to kissing your lips, and your hands wander his body, desperately learning every curve and muscle.

“Mm,” he hums. “I think we need to change location.”

“Where to, Captain?”

“I think you know where,” he whispers.

You melt against him as he guides you backwards to his bedroom.

He gently pushes you down on the bed, and he takes his shirt off. He helps you with yours.

Maverick’s eyes scan your body.

“What?” you ask him.

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just so pretty.”

You feel your face get hot.

“But enough of this, we need to get to your lesson,” Maverick almost growls.

“Shit,” you moan, closing your eyes.

Maverick works at your pants, kissing across your lower abdomen.

He hums against your skin as he pushes your legs open.

Your panties still clothe you, but you’re afraid they’re embarrassingly wet.

Maverick kisses your inner thigh, lightly sucking at your skin.

“Mav,” you whine in anticipation.

You feel Maverick smile against you. He places a gentle kiss on the fabric of your panties.

You bite your lip.

Maverick roughly pulls your panties down, and immediately goes back in, licking your wet cunt.

“Mav!” you exclaim with pleasure.

He hums against you, as his tongue circles your clit. He presses a finger against your slit, then pushes it in, making you moan loudly.

He continues to work at you with his mouth, and you are squirming beneath his touch.

Just as you feel yourself building to that edge, he stops.

“Mav,” you complain.

“Not yet,” he says, sitting up.

You watch him as he takes his pants and boxers off. You bite your lip, anticipating what’s about to happen next.

“Flip over,” he practically orders you, and you comply.

He wraps his own hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes as he teases you with his tip, gathering your slick as lube.

Maverick pushes into you, and a loud moan escapes you.

“Are you going to continue to give me attitude?” he asks you as he moves his hips painfully slow.

“No, s-sir,” you stammer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Oh yes, Mav, please just fuck me.”

“You need to promise me you’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, I promise I’ll be a good girl!”

Maverick starts thrusting, and the room fills with moans from both you and him.

It feels so good. Maverick is definitely an experienced lover, and it’s something you’ve never experienced before.

Maverick works faster and harder, the noise of your bodies slapping together getting louder. Your moans fill the air, and Maverick can’t contain himself. You feel and sound so good.

“Shit,” Maverick mumbles, pace slightly faltering.

“Mav, I need more… almost there…” you moan into the mattress.

He’s able to hold on a little longer, thrusting hard into you, continuing to make you feel good.

“Mav!” you cry out as your orgasm washes over you.

Maverick groans loudly as his cum spills into you. He places gentle kisses on your back as you both come down from your highs.

Maverick moves to lay beside you, opening his arms for you to snuggle into, which you do happily.

He wraps his arms around you and gently kisses your forehead.

“Did you learn your lesson?” he chuckles softly.

“I don’t think so, you might have to teach me it again,” you tease.

Maverick smiles. “You’re bad.”

“I’m not the one fucking my student.”

“I’m not the one who didn’t try to stop it.”

You laugh, and wiggle in his arms to get comfortable, closing your eyes and dozing off in his arms.

#tom cruise x reader #tom cruise imagine #top gun x reader #pete mitchell x reader #maverick x reader #pete maverick mitchell imagine #pete maverick mitchell x reader #pete mitchell imagine

213 notes · View notes

compacflt · 11 months

Note

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father.

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life.

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots.

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.”

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.”

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation.

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.”

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.”

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is.

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie.

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm.

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well.

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady.

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.”

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.”

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider.

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens.

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

#happy Father's Day!#some light discussion of religion in this one but u should be used to that with me #this one is long bc it hits a LOT of prompts sry it took a minute #going thru my inbox: for this anon obv #and FTAW (for the anon who) wanted more competitive icemav #for the FOUR anons who wanted ice and bradley to talk about queerness in the navy #FTAW wanted rooster to explain how hangster came to be #FTAW wanted more ice breaking the rules (‘management tier asshole’ lol)#for the THREE anons who wanted more soft 90s icemav #which is hard for me to write bc those years are kinda boring #it’s literally just: they wake up together. Go to work together. raise their kid together. eat dinner together. fall asleep in the same bed #occasionally fuck. Keep it a secret. don’t talk about it.#for 5 years. like… narratively speaking it’s v boring but yeah they’re happy :)#FTAW wanted more of ices prenavy backstory (this isn’t really much but…)#FTAW wanted icemav’s relationship with religion #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #you guys sure love ur anonymity don’t u #i wanna know who’s sending in asks!!! my dms are open!!! Please come say hi!!!#there are some timeline issues wrt Carole in this one sorry. u can deal.

356 notes · View notes