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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — YUTA x FEM READER

You’ve been trying to get a boyfriend to get over your one sided crush, but being known as Yuta’s girl across campus is a major cockblock for your romantic endeavours. The worst part? You’re not even dating.

wc — 4.8k

tags — pining, childhood friends to lovers, jealous Yuta, possessiveness, college au, Getou #1 wingman Suguru but only cause he gets a kick out of watching Yuta suffer, Yuta and you are so delusional, some suggestive content

♫: cologne — beabadoobee

This is the fifth boy that’s turned you down so far. You’re starting to wonder if something’s wrong with you.

As with all of your woes, it ends with you at Yuta’s apartment. Is it pathetic to be comforted for your failed attempts at flirting by the boy you’re in love with? Very. Do you trust anyone else but Yuta not to make fun of you? No.

“Yuta,” you whine into his stomach. He’s sitting on the couch with his legs tucked neatly together to form a cushion for your head. “Am I ugly?”

He drops his controller instantly, muttering a quick sorry to Inumaki who’s suddenly left single handedly defending their team against the enslaught of monsters. “Why would you say that?”

He pinches your cheeks between two fingers, squishing your face until your lips form an ‘o’. “You’re the prettiest girl in the world! Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Clearly not, or Yuta would have you. He’s just saying that because he has to. He’s your best friend.

“Did someone say something to you?” He asks.

“So you do think I’m ugly!”

Yuta grabs you by the wrists and hauls you upright so you’re face to face on the couch, knees uncomfortably entangled with his as you’re forced to sit up. He’s too earnest, too eager as he presses your hands together in his grip and says, “Everything about you is pretty! I never want to hear you say that again. Don’t disparage the eyes and lips and nose that I love.”

This is the reason why you can never get over him. How can you when he says things like that? If you hadn’t known Yuta since you were five, you would say he was leading you on. But because you’ve grown up together, you know it’s just the way he is, like the sky is blue or the sun is warm. Yuta just loves you - but not like that. Not in the way you want.

Never in the way you want.

It’s been difficult. You and Yuta have no secrets between you, or at least you used to. It’s a side effect of growing up practically out of the same womb. What’s his is yours and vice versa. When you share everything with each other, it goes against your very nature to hold things back. Your secret strains at your lips, climbing up your throat, constantly begging to be set free even as you suppress it.

“You’re making me sad,” he says, poking at your cheek at your silence. He’s trying to provoke you. “Why can’t you see yourself the way I do?”

Normally he can get a smile out of you under any circumstance, so it distresses him not to be able to cheer you up instantly. He’s your best friend, the only one you have. You’ve been together your entire lives. Would telling him really change everything?

You want to trust him more than the fear that he would reject you. Even if he can’t love you back the way that you want him to, at least this nightmare would be over. You could learn to accept what he was willing to give you, in time. Isn’t it a slight against the love you share to doubt him like this?

But you’re scared. A childhood friend is irreplaceable. You can make new friends, but you can never get another Yuta. You’ll never be able to replicate the way he’s shared all of the bumps and bruises of your childhood with someone else. His mother has a box of your baby teeth that she keeps with her mementoes of his childhood. Who else can you say that about? You can’t risk it.

“Yuta. Stop flirting and get your ass back in the game before we die!”

Inumaki’s normally quiet voice hits a volume so loud it echoes through the headset. Yuta winces. Sorry, he mouthes at you. Talk later.

God damn it, Inumaki. You were so close.

“It’s not my fault,” he says through a mouthful of rice at lunch the next day. “How was I supposed to know that’s what you guys were talking about? I thought you guys were making your usual goo goo eyes at each other, not making breakthroughs.”

“To be fair,” Panda says. “We never thought you were going to make a breakthrough, so it can’t be Inumaki’s fault.”

“Ouch,” you rest your head against the cool linoleum of the table. “Way to let me down easy, guys.”

“Come on,” Inumaki pushes his miso soup at you in a show of contrition. “You know we’re just joking.”

“I know, I’m just annoyed cause you’re right - keep your mouth shut, Inumaki. He’s never going to see me that way.”

“Didn’t you just jump from friend to potentially attractive friend? Sounds like a win to me,” Inumaki says.

“For anyone else, yeah. For Yuta, it probably just means he’s going to start setting me up with his friends so I realize I’m pretty.”

Inumaki and Panda share a look. You know the look. It means they think you’re being dumb.

You steal Panda’s soup too as payback.

Inumaki and Panda are easy to talk to about Yuta. More often than not, they’re the ones who bring up your relationship woes first because Inumaki loves teasing you and Panda secretly loves rom coms.

It’s a complete contrast from your other best friend. You’re too scared to tell Maki about the latest development in your relationship because she hates hearing about it. She’s a good friend who cares about you and your feelings, or so she claims, but she can’t stand watching you drag your feet.

“Just confess already,” she hisses, using her textbook to shield her face from the professor.

“I can’t! It’ll ruin everything!”

“Don’t be a baby,” she snaps back, unaware of the professor walking towards her. You try to gesture at her to shut up, but she’s too focused on saying her piece.

“Ladies. Would you like to continue your riveting discussion outside?”

Even getting kicked out of class isn’t a deterrent for Maki. “Fine. You won’t confess to Yuta. What about your other plan?”

“No one will talk to me because they think I’m dating Yuta,” you wail as quietly as possible.

“You serious?” She squints at you. “I’m telling you, just confess at that point.”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Fine! Ignore me if you want to, but you see that guy coming our way? Try it one more time so I can see.”

Maki pushes you down the path towards him before you can say no. You have an inkling how this is going to go based off the five previous times you’ve tried this, but Maki’s stare is drilling holes into the back of your head.

“Hey,” you smile.

“No thanks,” he says immediately. “Just save yourself the trouble. No one’s stupid enough to go after Yuta’s girl.”

“Yuta’s girl? What does Yuta have to do with anything? Why does everyone keep saying that to me?!”

“Bark up the right tree enough times and eventually you’ll find the devil.”

“…I think the saying is ‘if you knock on enough doors, the devil will answer.’ How did you even come up with that?”

“I’m just saying! Feels like the answer’s obvious to me, Yuta’s girl.”

“Argh!” You march back to Maki, who’s giggling to herself. You just hope that at least she’ll be able to help you after that embarrassing little display. “So? What’s your advice?”

“Huh? Oh, I didn’t have advice. I just wanted to see it happen in real time.”

Maki’s no help, either.

The problem with being in love with Yuta is he doesn’t even allow you the grace of trying to get over him. No one will touch with you a ten foot pole until Getou.

Getou is two years your senior, thinks of Yuta as this cute little puppy that follows Gojo around, and looks just right for your purposes. He’s not a carbon copy of Yuta. He just shares features with him. If anything, he could be his older brother. He has long black hair instead of short, but the same haunted eyes.

It’s better that way, easier to not cut too deep. You know exactly how far you can go before the pleasure of pain tips too far into the wrong side. If he looks like him just enough, then you can slip in between lucid dreams. Yuta’s face comes to you in flashes rather than consistently when you’re together with Getou.

He’s a smart man. He picks up on it almost instantly.

Another reason Getou’s perfect for you?

He simply doesn’t care. It’s not his problem what his darling little underclassmen get up to as long as it doesn’t interfere with his life. If you just want to have a good time, he’s down for that too.

If you weren’t so hung up on Yuta, you think Getou might be fun. Fun could turn into love, perhaps. But those were only what ifs that were useless to you. It’s Yuta, it’s always been. He’s the only one for you.

You can’t lose him.

But you want him in ways he isn’t willing to give you. Incessantly, he haunts you at odd hours. You’re doing homework at one in the morning when your thoughts wander and you’re thinking of him. The way he’d coach you through this problem. The sure, strong strokes of his handwriting, as familiar as your mother’s voice.

It’s hopeless. Every part of you has already been attuned to Yuta since childhood. You can’t extricate yourself. You can only hope to outlast the growth, and cling on as long as you are able. The only concessions you can allow yourself are small ones.

Yuta’s a good student who sleeps early, but he’ll pick up for you. He always does. You’re his childhood best friend after all, and that leaves a sour taste in your mouth even as you begrudge yourself your own greediness.

“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep, husky and low in a way that you know doesn’t belong to you. You savor it anyways, these small intimacies you get to keep until he finds a girl of his own and doesn’t need you anymore.

“Hello?” He says again. “Are you drunk? Do you need me to pick you up?”

“Just bored,” you reply, playing with your pen. “Sorry, were you asleep?”

“Don’t play with my feelings like that,” he laughs. “We both know you knew I was. Want me to stay up with you?”

“Nah. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You know I’d want you to, anytime. Are you working on the paper from English?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep,” you say, letting the smallest of smiles grace your lips. Alone in your room, you can allow yourself these small weaknesses.

“Mm, but I wanna stay up with you,” he says, even as his voice grows softer and softer. You can almost picture him, hair sleep tousled and eyes half lidded. It’s a sight out of your dreams.

“I’ll hang up when I’m done. Go to bed, Yu.”

By the time you finish, you can hear his breathing evening out through the speakers. He’s a light sleeper, so you tip toe around as you finish getting ready for bed. When you have to hang up, you’re almost tempted to leave him on speakerphone so his soft breaths can lull you to sleep.

You banish that unwelcome thought to the deepest, darkest, most remote time out corner of your brain and immediately text Getou to meet up the next day. You need to get a hold of yourself.

“You know,” Getou drawls, “keep calling me out like this and I might get the wrong idea.”

“If you fall for a girl that only talks to you about how much she likes her crush, that’s your own fault.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs. “So what is it this time?”

“I called him at night and his voice was so sleepy-“

“I meant,” Getou says, a finger running over the rim of his coffee cup as he looks at you. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Please make me forget him.”

Getou smiles at you. “What a coincidence. I needed to blow off some steam today.”

If you close your eyes, you can imagine someone else when Getou kisses you. One thing leads to another and he ends up taking you home.

The thing about your relationship with Getou is it’s so ridiculously easy. There’s no strings attached for either of you, so when you wake up to his peaceful face in bed the next day, there’s no regrets.

Well, except one.

Getou’s a gentle lover in every way, but he’s a biter. There’s a trail of dark bruises blooming over your neck and collarbones.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” He calls from the bed as you admire yourself in the mirror.

“You’re an asshole,” you tell him. “I have to get breakfast with Yuta today.”

He grins. “That’s the point.”

You barely have time to messily apply concealer before you’re almost late to your appointment with Yuta. He’s waiting at the place he and you claimed as your own the very first day you arrived on campus. The nice granny who runs this diner has a soft spot for the two of you and often gives you free desserts.

You slide into the seat across from him just as he’s wrapping up one of his readings for that day. He barely looks up when he feels you come closer, just lifts his arm wordlessly so he can tuck you into his side like a baby bird under its mother’s wings. He turns his head to the side even as his eyes are following the words on the page to press a light kiss to your temple, his breath stirring your hair as he rests his head against yours for a brief moment before returning to his textbook. He flips a page.

Would he still allow you these gentle, nonchalant touches if he knew how you really felt? Your stomach drops at the intrusive fear that he might be disgusted by you afterwards, withdrawing the easy skinship he shares with you that he thinks nothing of, but you savor. You’re hyper aware of every brush of his hand against your shoulder as he lets his arm hand loosely around you.

“I’m done,” he announces, stretching out so his lanky body is pressed flat to the table for a second before he straightens. He must be sore from hunching over his textbook all morning. In sympathy, you lightly rub at his shoulders.

“Did you eat yet?” He asks. “Want me to order you something?”

“No-“ You’re in the middle of replying when his face is suddenly far too close to you.

“Hey there,” you laugh nervously. “What are you doing?”

Yuta pulls back, but there’s a minute crease in his expression.

“There’s something on your neck.” He says.

“What?”

His hand curls around the base of your neck. It doesn’t hurt. There’s a complete lack of pressure in his grip, fingers loose and curled. He’s just holding you. You inhale sharply, a recoil aborted.

“Sorry,” he says, easy smile and gentle demeanor that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re a little shadowed today, harried. He wears his emotions all over his face. You know he has a final today, that he likely didn’t sleep last night. It must be why he’s acting weird.

His fingertips ghost over your neck, light tap-tap-tapping that makes you shiver. “What’s this?”

You pull out your phone to check yourself in the camera. The concealer you put on this morning has sweated off, leaving streaks on your shirt. Underneath the smudges, the blurry outline of the marks Getou left on you last night are visible.

Your face burns with mortification.

“Yuta! You shouldn’t ask people stuff like that!”

It’s not like he’s a child. You know he knows what a hickey is. He’s just pointing it out so you know he knows.

He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, I’d be more careful about what I was saying if it was anyone else, but it’s you. What the hell happened? It looks like you had a tryst with a vampire.”

Gingerly, he touches your neck again, his fingers cold from holding his iced latte. You need him to stop doing that before you do something stupid.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

“It felt good-“

“Stop! I didn’t need to know that,” he says, face turning red.

Defensively, you retort, “Well, you asked!”

“Forget it,” he sighs. “I’m sorry I spent all of breakfast studying. What are you doing later?”

“Hanging out with Getou, probably. He said he wants to go to this new restaurant that just opened up.”

“He’s the one that gave you all those love bites?”

At your nod, Yuta rolls his eyes. He’s certainly in a mood today. Poor thing. He’s been working really hard lately. Not just today, but every day this past week, he’s been studying non stop. You should reward him.

“Don’t go with him,” Yuta coaxes. “Hang out with your best friend instead. We can have another sleepover. Don’t you want to game all night?

The decision is made before Yuta even offers you a choice. You text Getou a quick apology, to which he replies with a lazy ‘lol. Loverboy?’

You’re happy Yuta asked you to come over. You’ve spent so much time fearing how he’d react if he knew that you’d forgotten how nice it felt to just hang out with him.

You’re cuddling with Yuta on his couch as you watch a movie. He opted for a quiet night instead of gaming, so he broke out the snacks and remotes instead of controllers. You wish there was a way to push him away without explaining what’s going on. You and Yuta have always been touchy like this, comfortable with each other in a way that superseded even the closest of friends.

It was never abnormal until now, when new love has redefined every aspect of your relationship with him. It makes it awkward to touch him, to be this close. But you always want to be this close. It’s hard, fighting a war with yourself.

You snuggle into the hoodie he lent you, trying to hide your face. Your eyes dart to him, watching him instead of the movie. His hair has a faint blue sheen from the screen. He’s enraptured, staring open mouthed at the action sequence.

Your heart beats double time, as it always does around him, prey instincts going into fight or flight. Yuta just does that to you, makes your body sing like it’s in the most exquisite agony possible. Like a runner’s high, you’re addicted to the pain of having him but not having him. Even the scraps of romance you can get are worth more than a lifetime of other lovers.

You hope he can’t tell. Yuta has always had weirdly sensitive senses.

Yuta’s line of sight shifts from the TV to you. You feel like a deer in headlights, trapped in the yawning black void of his gaze as he looks back, watching you as you have been watching him.

‘Hey,’ he mouthes at you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile.

‘Hey back,’ you mouth in return, wanting him, loving him, missing him.

You rarely bring clothes when you’re staying the night at Yuta’s. Either he has some for you in a dresser he’s saved for your use, or you can just borrow his. You always end up changing into his clothes, anyways, so big and comfortable they swallow you up.

He’s lying on his belly on the bed when you come out of the bathroom freshly showered and in his T-shirt. He looks up when he hears you.

“Oh,” he says. He blinks once, hard. “Come here, please.”

Self conscious, you cross the room to him. Your crush makes you miserable, coloring your every action. The fear that your desires are written across your face shadow every step you take. Are you that transparent? Can he tell?

He reaches up to touch your face, reverent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, then he pulls you down onto the bed next to him.

“Don’t tease,” you tell him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, embracing you. Even this feels too much. His skin against yours feels like a thousand colts of electricity. Where his nose brushes against your nape is so sensitive you squirm in his grasp, kicking uselessly in his hold.

“I only say things that are true,” he tells you solemnly. “You are pretty.”

You don’t know how you’re supposed to sleep after that.

In the morning, you’re finally back in your own set of clothes to head out and face the day. You and Yuta get ready together, running through your morning routines. You brush your teeth and eat breakfast side by side.

Before he leaves for work, he spritzes himself with the cologne he leaves on the dresser. When you reach for the perfume you keep in his apartment, a twinning his and hers set you had gotten together one day during the holidays, he pins your hand down. With an appeasing glance over you, he spritzes his cologne on you instead.

He leans in and sniffs experimentally.

“You smell nice,” he says.

You lift your wrist to your nose and inhale.

“I smell like you,” you say, laughing. He smells like a crisp winter morning, a hint of pine and frost.

“Well, yeah,” he says. “I wouldn’t have picked this scent if I didn’t like it.”

It’s true. Nothing Yuta does is unintentional.

“What the hell,” Getou says as soon as he opens the door to you. “You reek.”

Your face burns.

Getou roars with laughter when you tell him why you smell the way you do. “What a brat,” he says.

“Hey!” You feel the compulsion to defend Yuta against even the smallest of slights. It’s instinctual, even though you know Getou doesn’t really mean it.

He shakes his head at you. “I really pity you, you know? You’re so whipped.”

Hanging out with Getou doesn’t end in anything physical tonight. He injured himself playing volleyball with Gojo and he’s not interested in anything but good company. You don’t know if you’d be interested, either. It’s always easier to pretend you don’t want him after a little bit of distance. Trying anything right after seeing Yuta would only tear your heart apart. You and Getou pass the time in amicable silence, working on your separate assignments in the same room.

Your phone buzzes three hours in.

Yuta 4:15 You busy?

You 4:24 With Getou Working on homework Why?

Yuta 4:24 Come over I miss you

You 4:24 I saw you this morning

Yuta 4:24 …

Yuta 4:25 …

Yuta 4:25 I always miss you when you’re not here

Getou cackles. You jolt, startled. You had honestly forgotten where you were.

“Is that loverboy?” He says, trying to grab the phone out of your hand so he can see the message. “You look so lovestruck.”

You yank it back from him. “I gotta go.”

“Abandoning me again?” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “I’m really just a toy to you, huh?”

That makes you hesitate, even though you do want to see Yuta.

He ruffles your hair. “Ah, youth. So gullible. I’m fine, sweetheart. Go see your beau. And send him my regards,” he says with a devious smile as he walks you to the door. His eyes light up when he sees the forgotten garment he had discarded on his coat rack.

You look at him quizzically. It’s not strange for him to be a gentlemen, but it is strange for him to offer you his letterman before you leave. He loves that jacket. He wears it so often that his name emblazoned across the back has been worn down into a soft cream instead of eggshell white.

“What’s this for?”

“Just wear it. And tell me how Yuta reacts.”

With that, he pushes you out of the door.

Yuta wrinkles his nose at you in a display of badly disguised contempt. He was so excited to see you when you walked through the door, but as soon as he saw what you were wearing, his smile dropped off his face.

“What’s with that guy?” He grumbles. “It’s so weird that he’s giving you his letterman. Isn’t that almost like a claim in the sports world?”

For some reason, it pisses you off. On most days, Yuta could commit a crime and you’d help him cover it up, but this time you seriously can’t tell where he gets off acting like this. He’s not dating you. He’s not interested in you. He doesn’t even see you as a potential partner.

You jab your finger into his chest, punctuating every word you speak by prodding him. “Why do you think you can judge Getou? You don’t even know him.”

“I know that he’s going after a taken girl.”

“We’re just friends, Yuta.” The admission stings. No matter what anyone else thinks of your relationship with Yuta, that’s all you will be.

“Yeah, but no one else thinks so.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Is it so bad to be seen with me?”

“It is if I’m trying to get a boyfriend! You’re the reason no one wants to date me!”

“Do you need to date someone?” he says. Every word out of his mouth only makes you’re more incensed. He’s being condescending without meaning to, but it doesn’t soften the blow.

“I want to!”

“And if I don’t want you to?”

“Excuse me?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your head is spinning. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t want you to be with Getou,” he says. “I want you to be with me. You’re right, it’s not fair, but I get this ugly feeling in my chest when you’re together and now I know why. I can be so much better for you than he is.”

“This isn’t about who’s better! You’re always-“ You’re on the brink of tears. “Ugh! You’re so frustrating, Yuta! I’m trying to get over you and you think you’re being noble by dating me because you want to keep me safe? Why would I ever want that?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, so soft it makes you want to run into his arms and run away from him at the same time. Then he frowns. “Did you say you’re trying to get over me?”

You glance at him, then the door. The calculations you run in your head say you can make it outside before he catches you. You turn so fast on your ankle the floor makes a despairing screech beneath the soles of your shoes as you beat a hasty exit.

The calculations in your head are wrong. He loops his arms around your waist and picks you up, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder so he can carry you to the couch. You’re deposited with a soft grunt as he climbs over you and pins you down so you can’t even think of escaping. You thrash, regardless.

“Let me go, Yuta!”

“I thought you called me Yu,” he teases.

“You aren’t being cute!”

“Is it him?”

“Him?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to look at me that way this whole time,” Yuta says despairingly. “I didn’t want to scare you away, but I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. But before I even got a chance, this asshole steals you away?”

“Yuta, what are you talking about?”

“Are you in love with Getou?”

“Are you stupid?” You can feel hot tears well up in your eyes. It’s frustrating to be crying so easily because you’re embarrassed and angry. “I said I was trying to get over you! Just say what you have to say, don’t torture me like this.”

“Did it work? Are you over me?”

“I’ll never be over you,” you sniffle. You just want him to leave you alone now so you can wallow in your own patheticness.

“I’m glad,” Yuta says, and then he cups your face in his hands so delicately, like he’s holding the most precious treasure in the world, and kisses you like he’s trying to steal the breath from you.

Your knees crumble underneath you. He catches you easily and hoists you up, letting you settle with your legs wrapped around his waist. He holds you up with just one arm as he presses you harder against the wall, cushioning your head carefully. You’re pinned between his body and the wall. You moan against him, pleased and warm and disgustingly in love with him. All your senses are full of him as you cling to him..

Distantly, as if through water, you hear your phone buzz.

Getou 6:01 You owe me for that, by the way.

#sera writes #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta fluff #yuuta fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu x you

5K notes · View notes

gojot-t · 3 months

Note

also 👉👈

can i make another order for being locked together with kageyama? (again, its completely all right if not!)

id love to have “Is this okay?” “Yeah, that— that’s okay. Please— keep going.” for the topping

(im sorry for all the bothering, you dont have to do these if you dont want to)

from the valentine's day event! ⊹ ࣪ ˖

kageyama + being locked together + “Is this okay?” “Yeah, that— that’s okay. Please— keep going.”

cw/tags: tanaka and noya being questionable wingmans, gn!neutral reader and making out :o

If someone said to you 30 min ago that you would be locked together in the small, small broom room with Kageyama, you would laugh in their faces. But it seems that life has a funny way of working because that's the exact situation you find yourself in.

See, you're not some kind of genius or clairvoyant to know why things happen, but if Noya and Tanaka’s malicious laugh that you managed to hear before a body was basically thrown against yours and everything went dark would serve as a clue, then you think you have an idea.

“Hm… S-so...” Oh yes. The main problem at the moment. For more than one reason, actually.

"Don't worry, Kageyama-san. I'm sure that someone sooner or later will get us out of here... hahah... I hope…” It's not like you thought this was the worst situation in the world, on the contrary, you slept imagining your dear freshman, who you may or may not have a crush on, doing the famous kabedon on you at least three nights, the only difference is that well... not in the tiny broom closet.

Oh, here's another hint as to why this may happe- “S-Senpai... Please stop moving so much.."

“Ah! Sorry, Kageyama-san!” You try to make your body more upright, but you only end up headbutting his chin. “S-Sorry!!" You squirm even more, and his hand, which was on the side of your head, moves to squeeze your waist. You don't know if this is the heaven's blessing or punishing you.

“Ahg… Senpai!” He kind of made a weird sound now... When you look at him, the sliver of light passing through the door illuminates his face so red that you worry. Ignoring how handsome he looks at this angle, you focus on desperately cursing the two idiots who put you in this situation in the first place. If before you thought he hated you, now you are sure.

You've never been close to the youngest, even though he's never left your mind since he saved you from getting hit in the face in front of the entire volleyball team, you're sure he doesn't feel the same. Every time you tried to talk to him about something, he would just stare at you with a red face before walking away.

It must be because of your feelings, he probably feels uncomfortable being around you. You were sure you're discreet, but apparently it was pretty obvious, if even the two goofballs found out even though you never talked to them about it.

"Sorry, Kageyama-san... You must be hating this.”

“E-Eh? No! Ah- I mean, no… I just never did this before…” He takes a deep breath and looks at you before continuing to speak. "Look, I have been trying to tell you this… That… I really-”

“It’s fine, Kageyama-san, I get it. You hate me, right? It's totally fine, you don't have to force yourself to-”

“W-what?? No! Just listen to me a bit-”

“It's okay! Really! Totally fine and-”

You're interrupted by him holding your face firmly in his hands, eyes looking so serious and desperate that you don't have the courage to say anything else. Wait... His face has always been so close to yours?!

“I've been trying to tell you this…” His lips whisper just above yours, eyes fixed on you as if asking for permission. There's only a second of silence where neither of you move before your lips meet his at the same time.

Like a moment of epiphany, your body seems to fly and the only thing holding you to the ground is his hands on your body. Even if the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongue, you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. His hand on your face moves back to your waist and hugs you closer to him.

You wrap your arms around his neck and end up accidentally biting his lip slightly. “Ahg, Senpai…”

“Tobio..." You only pull away when you're completely out of breath. You stare at each other for a moment with wide eyes before kissing again. The movements that were once desperate and frantic are now slow and steady, trying to hold on to every second of the moment.

You part with his lips and move to his neck, giving it a light kiss before lightly grazing your teeth against the skin there.

“Tobio… Is this okay?”

“Yeah, that— that’s okay. Please— keep going.”

You knew that when you got home, you would scream into your pillow thinking about where you got the courage to do this, but at the moment, your mind could only think about him, his lips, his touch.

Your lips suck at the skin just enough to form a shy red, and your tongue soothes the irritated skin when you pull away.

When you lift your face to kiss him again, the door is suddenly opened.

“RIGHT!! the two lovebirds had their time~ ARGHH! What is this vulgar scene?!?!! Noya-san, close your eyes!!”

You really feel like killing these two.

a/n: don't worry anon, you could never bother! actually, I had a lot of fun writing this, even though it was my first time writing a kissing scene. I hope I did well. I hope you liked it! ♡ btw, im working on your tsukishima order too^^

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio x reader #hq fluff #tobio hcs #gojot t valentine's day event! 𓍯𓂃

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years

Text

My Future in You | 0.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in this chapter and a few to come, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, crying & early on pregnancy hormones, Bradley’s a dick

Special thanks to G @topguncortez for being the best wingman and listening to all my bad ideas + giving me all of her evil ideas in return 🥹

“Ma-ma!” The baby coos out. She claps her hands and receives a round of applause from an adoring family, giggling excitedly. She’s so loved. You snuggle softly and lock your phone. The video disappears from the screen. Is this what the next nine months would be like? — the next eighteen years? — Crying at videos of strangers’ babies on the internet?

You drop your phone onto the bed and let out a heavy breath. You grab your water bottle. You’re borderline dehydrated at this point. Your only symptoms of growing a tiny Bradshaw is that you’ve been having the worst cramps known to man without getting your period, and that you just can’t stop crying.

It’s ridiculous. Jake’s still the only person who knows, but last night your roommate mentioned in passing that she broke one of your cups — you had had to leave the room so that she wouldn’t see you cry. Before this, the only thing that had made you cry was calculus.

It’s December 12th. You’re due to go back to Texas next week for Christmas break. Roughly six weeks since Halloween.

Four days since you had taken two pregnancy tests on the bathroom floor in your college apartment. Half as a joke — literally only because one of your friends had made a joke about your period being later than usual.

You’ve had four extremely sleepless nights. Thinking about the apparently tadpole sized bundle of cells sitting in your womb, holding your future in its entirely theoretical and currently undeveloped palm.

You’ve googled just about everything about the fetus. Including all about drinking during pregnancy — you spent hours crying about that birthday party two weeks after Halloween. Apparently drinking at two weeks isn’t going to fundamentally alter the fetus’ life, but it still made you guilty.

This thing is just lucky it picked your exam season to start developing, otherwise there would’ve been plenty more alcohol involved.

You roll onto your back. You’ve been debating whether or not you even care, whether you should care. You graduate in a couple of months, you’ve already got a grad job secured — which you could easily defer starting for a year.

It isn’t like you’re in high school. You could get an apartment. You could have a baby that claps it’s hands and says mama, and does that screechy little baby giggle.

You sigh softly. You look down at your stomach. The tadpole hasn’t changed your physique at all yet. It’s there. You wonder what you would look like in nine months. Your graduation is in a little over five months. You would be six and a half months pregnant crossing the stage.

Your phone buzzes. Outside - J.

You push yourself up from your bed and put slip into some comfy shoes. Sunglasses are the only way to hide how puffy your eyes are right now. You head downstairs and shiver slightly as cold air hits you. You should’ve brought a coat.

If you have a kid, you have to remember to bring their coat places too. You swallow, willing yourself to keep it together as you cross the street and slide into the passenger seat of Jake’s car.

“Morning. How’s the tadpole doin’?” Jake greets, watching as you buckle your seatbelt. You’ve been texting him all week. Since no one else knows, Jake has had to put up with hearing every single detail. Not that he minds. If anything, it’s helping him warm up to the idea.

“It’s… we’re tired, I think. Didn’t sleep much.” You explain. The night before your appointment. You just keep thinking about your future. It doesn’t help that the night before you had a dream about holding a baby and it smiling up at you, curling it’s fist around your finger.

Jake nods, pulling away from the curb, “Still haven’t decided?” He asks.

You shake your head. You always thought this decision would be an easy one. Sure, you want kids. But you had always pictured that being much further down the line. You hadn’t ever pictured your kid being fathered by your brother’s best friend either.

“If you keep it, you have to tell Dad,” Jake points out, his eyes still pointed calmly towards the road. That’s not fair. Your Dad isn’t the calmest at the best of times. “He’ll know you had sex.”

“I think he knows his kids are sexually active, Jake. We’re not little kids anymore.” You rest your temple against your fist. It’s a pretty gloomy day. Makes sense.

“He wouldn’t let Lauren’s husband sleep in the same room as her for thanksgiving.” Jake points out. You’re screwed. Lauren’s your oldest sister, and your dad has always been most strict with her and you. Jake and Beth always get away with the most. You wish you were a middle child too.

“Do you think I’d be an idiot to keep it?” You fiddle with your hands. You can’t bare to look at Jake’s face, fearing that he might say yes. Jake glances across at his baby sister. Always so strong and capable. He purses his lips.

“I don’t think you’d be an idiot,” He decides eventually, you lift your head to look at him finally. He shrugs his shoulders, “But I do think it’s going to be harder than you realise.”

You nod. That makes sense.

“But, you’ve got me.” Jake promises. He shoots you a soft smile. “Whatever you decide, kid.”

You let out a breath.

That helps. You wonder if your parents will disown you over this. It’s a possibility. Your dad’s running for local council in Austin — it doesn’t look great to have a daughter in college having a kid with someone she barely knows.

Jake waits in the car for your appointment. You wish he could come in with you. Well, actually, you wish someone would just give you the right answer. Tell you what to do.

You don’t know what you’re so nervous about. This is just a consultation. Just to confirm your pregnancy and talk about your options.

Yet, here you are, stuttering your way through your medical history.

“Have you ever been pregnant before?” The nurse asks. You shake your head quickly.

“N-No.”

She’s nice, and friendly. She makes it as easy as it can be. But it’s still not easy. The consultation takes just over an hour. Jake sits and plays on his phone until the battery is almost dead.

He flinches as the car door opens, dropping his phone, losing his chance at beating his high score. He tilts his head, craning forwards to see your face as you slip into the passenger seat.

“So?” Jake prods. He sits up a little straighter and half turns to face you. “How did it go?”

“I’m definitely pregnant.” You breathe out. You rub your temples. Jake nods, he has already come to terms with this much. You bite your cheek, tapping your foot nervously.

He waits.

“I think I want to keep it.” You admit.

Jake claps his hands together. You look up and he’s smiling. Mostly so that he doesn’t freak out and scare you into changing your mind.

“Holy shit.” He breathes out. You truly can’t tell if he’s wincing or grinning but he sounds excited. “I’m going to be an uncle!”

He leans across the console and hugs you tight. You sigh softly, squeezing him. You don’t know what you would do without him.

“Holy shit,” This time he says it more quietly as he pulls back to look at you. “You’re going to be a mom.”

You will yourself not to start crying again.

“You’re going to have to let the dad know. Common courtesy to send a text if you’re bringing someone’s child into the world, I think.” Jake decides as he turns his attention to the road and pulls out of his parking space.

You sit back in the seat and realise you don’t even have Bradley’s number. You’re going to have his baby and you don’t have his phone number. Instagram.

You tilt your phone away from Jake and search. You have plenty of mutuals, including your older brother. You find him easily.

He’s not on private. It’s mostly pictures of game days, parties, pictures with his friends. Frat boy stuff. He has a story. You feel weird for a second about watching it — since you don’t follow him. You figure you’re probably past worrying about creeping him out by now.

You click on it. 3m ago. You recognise the view in the picture.

“Could you drop me off at the library?” You blurt out. Jake glances across at you and frowns.

“Our library? Like UVA’s library?” Jake asks.

“Yeah.” You don’t have an excuse yet. You squint. Jake watches you try to think of something, while he tries to maintain and eye on the road.

“Does he go to my school? — Do I know him?” Shit, he’s so on to you. You debate telling him now. He’ll have to find out one day.

“No, you don’t know him.” You lie. You hope he can’t tell. You remember the guy who wouldn’t leave you alone at the Halloween party, before Bradley. You know Jake saw you talking to him earlier in the night. “It was at your Halloween party. The tall guy. From the other frat.”

Jake’s jaw hangs open, “That guy?”

He makes a displeased face. You wince. This is going to be so much worse if he finds out the truth.

“My niece or nephew is going to be 50% that guy?” Jake complains. Your brows furrow. That’s what he’s worried about right now?

“Just — library. Please.” You sigh.

Jake doesn’t argue with you. He does, however, keep looking across at you and wondering what he did wrong in teaching you about guys for you to choose to reproduce with that guy.

“Should I come in with you?” Jake asks. You scoff, already half way out of the passenger side by the time he has put the handbrake on.

“No! I’ll walk back to your place. I’ll see you later!” You can’t risk him seeing you with Bradley. Especially not if this goes as badly as you’re expecting it to, you don’t want Jake trying to kill him in the history section.

You jog up the first three flights of stairs, then realise that you should make the most of being able to jog while you still can. In a couple of months, you’ll be waddling.

You’re having a crisis about that when you catch a glimpse of him. You crane your neck. He’s sitting at one of the desks, but his chair is pushed back really far. You lean forwards for a better look, craning your neck further.

Then you realise why his chair is pushed so far back. There’s a girl standing between his knees. He’s smiling at her, they’re talking about something you can’t hear.

No wonder he’s in the library all the time if this is what he calls studying. You debate just walking back down the stairs and leaving. Then, the girl smiles and turns away, nodding.

You wait for her to leave before you step out from behind the column and start towards him. Bradley’s already looking back down at his notes. He doesn’t notice you until you’re standing beside his desk.

He looks up and frowns immediately.

“Hi.” You say softly.

“Hey.” Bradley answers, confused and clearly not thrilled to see you. “How’s it going?”

“Can I talk to you about that, actually?” You push your hands into your pockets. Bradley glances around, half expecting Jake to rush him at any second.

“Well, um, I’m kinda busy, so…”

You bite your cheek and nod your head. So busy flirting with that pretty girl. “This’ll just take a sec. I promise.”

Bradley taps his pencil impatiently on his notebook and motions for you to sit down. “Alright. Shoot.”

You sit on the edge of the desk in front of him. You need to be close enough so that he can hear you without you having to raise your voice.

“You remember Halloween?”

“Vaguely.” He answers dully. You squint. His tone would suggest that he’s already mad at you — what does he have to be mad about?

“Okay, well,” You shake your head, trying to find the words to say. “Do you remember the conversation we had, right before, about the…”

You glance around and lower your voice to a whisper, “Condom?”

Bradley scrunches his brows closer together.

“Shit, careful.” You scolded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing the foil package out of his hands. Bradley frowned, not understanding the issue.

The issue, being that he was trying to open the condom like a caveman and the latex just made a snapping sound. You inspect it. Bradley leans forwards and drops his mouth down to your neck, peppering kisses along your jaw, your throat, down onto your collarbones.

“It’s fine.” He says softly, reaching between the two of you and taking it from your hands. You close your eyes and hum softly as his mouth works at your neck. You nod your head.

Bradley squints.

“Well, I’m — fuck, this is scary.” You breathe out. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

He stares at you. For too long.

He raises his eyebrows and looks around him. You’re confused.

“This is a joke, right?” He checks, still looking around him. “What, did Jake make you do it to fuck with me?”

Jake knows how weird Bradley is with family stuff. Bradley’s the only person who stays at the house during Christmases. He doesn’t ever talk about back home. Jake’s never heard him talk about anything to do with his future other than flight school.

“No, I’m serious,” You answer him sheepishly, fiddling with your hands. “I just got back from the doctor.”

You reach into your bag and pull out your paperwork copy, setting it down on the desk in front of him. He sits forward and looks down at the page. There’s today’s date. There’s your name. There it is. Pregnant. Approx six weeks.

He sits back again and goes back to staring at you. He scoffs. Shakes his head. Then laughs. You frown slightly. He laughs in your face.

“Look,” He leans forwards slightly and looks around, “I have no idea what you’re trying to pull right now — but whatever it is, I’m not interested. I’m not having a kid.”

You swallow, willing yourself not to cry. This bundle of nerves needs to stop playing with your emotions. You refuse to let him see you cry.

Bradley stares at you. His expression is cold.

“Figure your shit out,” He says softly, his tone deadly serious, “And leave me out of it.”

“B-But-“

“I’m done talking.” Bradley interrupts. He looks back down at his work. You push yourself up, grab your bag and take the paperwork back. You wonder if he’s as emotional as this kid seems to be because you’re just about to choke up.

He glances up at you. It’s clear in his expression that he finds you pathetic right now.

You swallow the lump in your throat and stand upright.

“I’m keeping it.” You say softly. You turn away before you start bawling in front of him. Bradley watches you head for the elevator, his gaze burning into your back.

He squeezes the pencil in his hand, biting the inside of his cheek. He sits there, seething, until the pencil gives under the pressure, wood splintering out onto the desk.

You walk all the way back to Jake’s place holding in tears. Your eyes burn from blinking them back. Your throat’s sore from trying not to sob.

Jake’s on the couch as you get inside. He turns and looks at you. Just one look at the look on your face and he knows that he’s got an ass to beat. You start crying, knowing that he can tell you just got your feelings hurt.

Jake’s getting used to the tears now, they don’t phase him as much as they did when he first found out. You’re glad, because you hate being fussed.

“Stay here,” Jake stands up and hops over the back of the couch. “I’ll handle this. Is he still there?”

You sniffle and grab his shirt, shaking your head, “Don’t. It’ll make it worse.” Plus, you can’t exactly let Jake go and beat up the wrong guy. You have half a mind to just tell Jake the truth, let Bradley suffer the consequences.

But you would have to suffer them too.

“He was such a dick.” You whimper softly. Jake sighs and hugs you gently. “He wants nothing to do with me, and- and-“

You whimper, trying not to break down completely.

“Let me kick his ass.” He responds. You smile, sniffling against his shoulder. You shake your head at him and wipe your eyes.

“Could you just drive me home please?” You say softly.

“You sure? You could stay here? — I’ll stay in Bradley’s room with him.” Jake notices the way your face hardens when he mentions Bradley, but let’s it go. It’s been a long day and he doesn’t have time to worry about the fact you find one of his friends hot.

“I need to be alone for a bit.” You breathe. Jake nods. He’s pretty sure he would be freaking out even more than you are right now. So, like a good big brother, he drives you home and makes sure you’re settled in and safe — he tells you that he’s always going to be here for you and tadpole, no matter what.

Then, on the drive home, he calls Bradley to tell him to grab some shoes because they have an ass to beat. It goes straight to voicemail. Jake figures he’s at the gym, he’ll catch him at home.

Then, when Jake makes it home, Bradley’s still not there. He considers rallying the other guys, but they always cause too much of a scene. Jake just needs someone to watch his back whilst he goes and explains to this kid that he needs to grow a pair and step up.

Jake tries Bradley’s number again. Voicemail. He shakes his head and walks up to his room. He waits, tossing a ball at the ceiling and catching it. His door is open so that he can see when Bradley arrives.

Jake heard him before he sees him. The front door slams. Heavy footsteps in the hall, on the stairs. Jake sits up, brows furrowed as he watches Bradley. Face stern, stomping towards his room.

“Hey, where’ve you been? — I tried calling you like—“

“Library.” Bradley answers, he shoves open the door to his room without looking at Jake. He can’t stand seeing that smug fucking smile.

“Oh, okay.” Jake answers, still confused about who pissed in his cornflakes. Bradley’s door slams behind him. Jake rolls his eyes. He lays back down and grabs his ball. He toys with it between his fingertips.

It hits him like a tonne of bricks. He shoots upright and looks across the hall at Bradley’s door.

…

Tag List:

@thedroneranger

@chaoticweirdogeek

@alanadetigy

@itsmytimetoodream

@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

@bioodforbiood

@luckyladycreator2

@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #jake seresin #top gun #top gun: maverick

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apinkheartinmiddle-earth · 1 year

Text

Many people talk about found family in different media, but I hear next to no one talking about Faramir and HIS found family. It plays out so beautifully for me because it’s a bit nuanced and requires some reflection on the reader/viewer’s part.

Think about it: Faramir has never had a stable family life since his mother became ill. His older brother was highly favored and his dad treated him like a liability of sorts, even though Faramir has shown time and time again how capable he was. Fortunately, he was greatly loved by his older brother, was able to become very learned with the guidance of Gandalf, and had the respect of his fellow rangers.

He still did crave Denethor’s approval and love, as any child would (even if the parent is so obviously despicable) but luckily Boromir’s love was there. Until it wasn’t. That just left him and Denethor. Until it didn’t. Not that they had any kind of good relationship, but essentially, every piece of family Faramir had was ripped away from him.

Given the context above, how did Faramir find his new family? It began with one Peregrin Took, a kind and gentle hobbit who saw the good in Faramir. Pippin, by the way— did not even once compare him to Boromir even if he knew that they were brothers. He saw Faramir as his own unique and wonderful person. I’d also like to think that Pippin thought that he would do Boromir a great honor if he were to look after Faramir in any way he could.

Next, we have the love of his life— Eowyn. I could do a whole post praising their love, but I’ll just try to do a shorter version for the time being. They have similar backgrounds: they are both skilled warriors, both are the younger siblings who are overlooked, and both seek a sort of validation they cannot have. Already, they would form a bond from those shared experiences. What is truly wonderful for me is that Faramir effortlessly loved every part of Eowyn, even the parts she was not proud of. On the other hand, Eowyn saw and loved Faramir for the great man that he was and helped him see that for himself. Eowyn became his family and eventually, it grew once they had their son.

Faramir’s found family doesn’t just stop with Pippin and Eowyn. You have to give credit to his other interactions. Many are just heavy implications on my part, but still. His chance encounter with Frodo and Sam would shape a lot of his character in the series and I’d like to consider that an important bond. Then we have Merry, the greatest wingman in Middle-earth. He was kind enough to tell Faramir all about Eowyn and I’m almost certain that a brotherly bond formed because of their love for her (and possibly for Pippin too). Lastly, there’s the king himself, Aragorn. I love reading headcanons and fanfiction that depict them as just being the best of friends. Faramir is the Steward of Gondor and he has definitely spent a lot of time with Aragorn enough to be one of his dearest friends.

I just find Faramir’s entire story arc so compelling because of how much you can draw from it. He is such an amazing character and he deserves all the happiness in the world after going through the worst things imaginable. His found family is his greatest reward in life, by far.

#text #long post #lord of the rings #lotr #tolkien #faramir #eowyn #boromir #denethor #pippin #pippin took #peregrin took #aragorn #i can’t believe this came about while i was trying to write farawyn fanfic #this was all written on a whim #found family

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years

Text

best bud, you alright bud? (javy “coyote” machado)

a/n: hehe we’re finally addressing The Incident. pry this friendship from my cold dead hands. this later half of this fic plays quite heavily on and that’s when i lost it and the in between, so if you haven’t read those yet, i definitely recommend reading them first but it’s not an absolute necessity (but also there’s some pretty cool references and I like to see how their friendship has grown.) (me saying that like i’m not the one who did all the work). i’m really, really proud of this one. like, when i say this is the best thing i’ve ever written, i mean it with every fiber of my ENTIRE being.

summary: 5 times Coyotes realizes something about his best friend, and the one time he does something about it

part of the same mistakes-verse

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: swearing, same mistakes-verse canon bullying/hazing, near-death experiences, brief implication of suicidal thoughts/suicide, like very brief few sentences at the end, i don’t know how the Navy works, i did research for this, Coyote and Hangman were wingmen in Top Gun and I won’t change my mind about this, i don’t know if i’m gonna come back to the Green Vipers after this but we really flesh them out here, the movie gave us no backstory on Coyote meaning I can write whatever I want, i don’t know how to fly a plane obviously, i plagiarized myself, giving characters callsigns is actually my most favorite thing in the world, the Green Vipers are essentially just the Iron Daggers but worse

word count: 8,096

i. the first time he flies with you

Lt. (Y/N) (L/N).

Callsign: Rebel.

He turns the information over in his head as he walks to the classroom that day, preparing to meet his new wingman. The first thing Coyote notices about his new wingman is that she’s quiet. She’s off to the side, not talking to anyone, very clearly nervous. She’s not gonna last, he thinks. Coyote recognizes that he’s not being exactly fair to his new wingman. He’s still upset about the loss of his last wingman, Venom, who was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and a new squadron after a really successful mission. (And well, quite frankly, he misses flying with Hangman, even if that son-of-a-bitch left him out to dry more often than not.)

Coyote takes a seat a few rows behind you, wanting to observe you before he introduces himself. He watches as Shadow and Raven fall into their routine of antagonizing the new members, seeing if they can hang with the viciousness of the team. Coyote’s got a thick skin, it’s the only way he can stick out the team, but this squadron’s unnecessary bullying never fails to grate on his nerves. Still, Venom could more than handle their taunting and he’s gonna need you to do the same if you’re gonna last in the air together.

“Hey fresh meat.” Shadow says, sauntering over to you, his sister Raven in tow. Raven’s reaching out to touch one your braids, a detail he knows Admiral Thompson’s gonna rip you a new one for. He realizes you’ve already started to live up to your callsign. Coyote waits with bated breath as Raven says something under her breath that he can’t quite hear. Guessing from the way you shrink back from the pair, it couldn’t have been good. She’s really not gonna last, he thinks to himself. The door opens behind them and Shadow and Raven quickly fall into seats just behind her. He watches as your shoulders tense up, clearly aware they could see your every move. Admiral Thompson pauses as he sees your figure, eyes narrowing.

Admiral Thompson’s callsign is “Tyrant”, a name he lives up to each and everyday. He expects perfection from his team, the best of the best. Every rule will be followed and if it’s not, if your flying isn’t perfection, he does not want you there. They’ve lost too many pilots to Shadow and Raven, but they’ve lost a handful who could withstand the bullying but not live up to Admiral Thompson’s expectations of perfection. Coyote’s been with this team just over a year now and they’re by far the worst he’s ever been assigned to. Still, they don’t direct their treatment to him, knowing he can hold his own in the air and on the ground, probably a direct result of being friends with Hangman for this many years, and he’s not about to start something he doesn’t care to finish.

Thompson moves forward, not addressing your presence. It’s usually customary to introduce new pilots when they arrive, so they’re off to a good start. Moonshine leans up from behind him. “Ten bucks she lasts a week.”

Ghost quietly snickers. “You’re on. Twenty she doesn’t last the day.” He refrains from adding to the bet, hearing Arrow and Owl make their guesses. He’ll make his guess once he sees you in the air. Because for him, that’s where it really matters.

They go through their training debrief for the day, and then they’re being dismissed to their respective locker rooms to change into their flight suits. He watches as you follow the girls, clearly hanging back. Whatever Raven said did a good job of making sure you didn’t feel welcome. He starts to think maybe Ghost would walk away with twenty bucks at the end of the day after all.

He’s doing final checks on his plane when he sees your shadow approaching him. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, just continues on with his checks. “Hey, you’re Coyote right?” He briefly glances over at you. Your hair’s no longer in braids, and he takes in the way you’re standing there awkwardly with your helmet, the way Rebel is plastered over it.

“Yeah.”

“Um, Owl directed me over here. I just thought I should introduce myself.” A quick glance to Owl’s plane tells him she’s laughing at the very obviously uncomfortable situation unfolding, even if she’s too far away to hear the conversation.

“Cool.” He responds, really not trying to get to know you. He already knows you’re not gonna last, so why bother? You nod, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m... looking forward to flying with you.” You say and he looks at you again.

“Yeah, don’t fuck up.” He responds, earning a cackle from Raven at the plane next to them, and moving to the other side of his plane. You must’ve taken the hint because when he moves back, you’re gone. Shadow claps him on the shoulder, his sister (and WSO) standing nearby.

“I can’t wait to get rid of her.” He laughs. “Thanks for helping.” Coyote finds himself nodding despite himself. He finishes up, climbing into his plane. The team’s been split into three groups of four for whatever training exercise they’re up to today. It’s standard and he falls into an easy, familiar routine once he’s in the sky. It’s almost easy to forget Venom’s not the one flying with him. Almost.

The second thing he notices about his new wingman is that she will not shut the fuck up. You’re asking him every goddamn question about the maneuvers and exercise. You’re not familiar with this squadron or their exercises, but come on. “Hey Rebel.” He calls as he levels his plane next to you.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking over.

“My last wingman didn’t talk this much.” You nod slowly, shooting him a confused look.

“...Okay?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ghost’s laughter fills the comms as does Moonshine’s snickering.

“Oh. Sorry.” You say, embarrassment clear and he almost feels bad. Almost.

He doesn’t get time to feel bad though because Ghost is coming out of nowhere, true to his callsign, and he’s having to dodge the pilot, trying to include all the maneuvers they’re supposed to be practicing as he tries to get away from the pilot. He should be calling out for you, asking for your position and if you see Moonshine, but he’ll be damned if he depends on you. A dial tone sounds over the comms as you call out Moonshine, meaning you targeted the pilot and were successful in shooting her down. Huh, he didn’t expect that. Admittedly, Moonshine was one of the teams weaker pilots, so it doesn’t say as much about you as it would if you got, say, Owl or Shadow out. Still, it’s enough proof to him that maybe he should be depending on you, as he’s still struggling to get away from Ghost. He feels badly asking for your help now after just telling you to shut the fuck up, but he’s not sure he’s got another choice.

“Hey Rebel, could really use some help out here.” He calls, pulling into a risky maneuver, one he doesn’t always complete successfully, trying to shake Ghost from his tail. You don’t respond and his heart sinks as he realizes you’re not coming for him. Good job Coyote, he thinks, your wingman isn’t gonna come save your ass and it’s your fault.

And then there’s another dial tone and a “Shit!” from Ghost’s part, meaning he was out. He’s not quite sure how you did it, the way they were flying was risky, which means you must’ve matched their pattern. He had to give it you. That was good.

You don’t say anything to the two of them as you fly past, checking with the call tower that you’re meant to land when the exercise was over and double checking that you were clear to land. Ghost shoots him a look from his window as they fly down together. You’re halfway out of the plane when he touches down and he’s scrambling to get out of his plane before you disappear as Owl and Arrow and Shadow and Raven get ready for their run. “Hey! Rebel!” He calls, trying to not to jog as he watches Ghost and Shadow watching him. You turn and he catches up to you, trying to not make it obvious, that yes he was kind of running. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming for me?”

You shrug. “You told me to shut the fuck up so I did. Didn’t want to bother you.”

He struggled for a moment. “I didn’t-”

“Look, I don’t leave my wingman.” You say and then you’re turning on your heel, headed towards the locker room. He’s stunned for a moment, looking over at Owl, who had been listening in to the conversation. She shrugs and turns back to her plane, climbing in as she’s getting ready for her run.

He realizes you’re a damn good pilot.

ii. the time something happens to your Dad

The classroom door opens. It’s not even really a classroom, he thinks, as someone enters, just that it’s a spare room on base used for debriefings of the squadrons. Admiral Thompson stops, clearly annoyed at being interrupted as he explains the details of the new mission Shadow, Raven, and Ghost will be flying. They all turn to see another Captain from the base walk in. “Captain Hills, how can I help you?” Rear Admiral Richard “Leapfrog” Thomas asks.

“Sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow Lieutenant (L/N) please? There’s a matter that requires her.” Leapfrog glances at Thompson, unsure if they should excuse her. You’re in the seat next to him and seems to be unsure about what you should do, looking to him. You’ve been with the squadron for about a month and a half now and he’s slowly become tolerant of you. Thompson narrows his eyes and then clears his throat.

“Of course. Lieutenant, please go see Captain Hills.” She nods shortly, quickly moving from her seat next to him and out the door. The door shuts with a quiet click and Admiral Thompson is talking again. He wonders what matters require her attention. He wonders if his new wingman put in re-assignment papers already. If she did, this would make her the quickest departure. He's unsettled by the fact that the thought of her leaving makes him feel so weird.

The door to the common area opens. Ghost and Shadow are playing a card game. Moonshine and Arrow are playing a game of foosball, Raven egging them on. Owl is in the corner reading a book. The rest are spread out across the room, discussing plans to go to the bar off-base tonight. He looks up from the letter he’s writing his Mom to see your figure appear in the doorframe. He watches as your eyes scan the room and then land on him. He’s already halfway out of his seat before he realizes what he’s doing but it’s too late because the team has noticed your arrival. He takes quick strides to get to your figure, leaning in close. “How’d the meeting go?” He asks quietly, wondering what the hell he’s doing. You shrug, biting your lip.

“Horrible. My Dad’s in the hospital. I have a week’s leave to go see him. Just thought I should tell you now you’d be wingman-less for a week.” He nods, curiosity raising in him as he wonders what’s happened. They aren’t usually granted leave for things like this, making him realize that whatever has happened has to be serious.

“Your Dad, is he okay?” He asks, because that’s a safe question. Only a shit person wouldn’t ask that when told someone’s family member is in the hospital. You’re not friends, he tell himself, just someone he tolerates because he has to. You shake your head, blinking like you might be ready to cry. He really hopes you don’t.

“Uh, no. He’s, uh- it’s not looking good.” You really look like you’re about to cry and Coyote’s wishing he wasn’t here. He can feel Shadow burning holes into his back. He has a feeling you came looking for comfort but he’s not gonna be the one to give it to you.

“Well, I hope everything works out.” He says, turning his back to you and walking back to his seat. He inwardly cringes at his words. Hope everything works out? What kind of bullshit was that? He knows his Mom would wring his neck if she found he had said that to someone so visibly upset, let alone his wingman. Your figure has disappeared from the doorway by the time he returns to his seat, and he realizes the entire squadron has gone silent, staring at him.

“What’d she say?” Moonshine asks.

“And why does she look like someone killed her dog?” Ghost joked, earning a snicker from Shadow.

He shrugs, deciding the information about your Dad probably shouldn’t be divulged. “She’s getting a week’s leave. Family emergency.” He says, picking his paper back up, trying to be nonchalant in his answer. Owl lets out a low-whistle as she shifts on her seat on the couch, her ponytail following her as she tilts her head, looking up from her book.

“A week’s leave? Can’t be good.” She states and he nods.

“Yeah, it didn’t sound it.”

Redwood, a towering pilot, chuckles from his place next to his WSO, Charm. Charm’s a little thing, stark contrast to her pilot, but she’s got the best eyesight and enough charming chatter to keep them entertained and in good moods on missions. “Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll stay stateside.” Charm outright laughs at that.

“Now we’re talking!” Charms says, eliciting laughter from the rest of the squadron. He shakes his head, trying to not to make his disgust well known. He’s not even sure why he feels so unsettled by that, because you’re not friends. He tolerates you because you’re a good pilot, that’s it.

He’s not sure what’s gone down. You’ve been gone for an extra week and there’s not an answer on your expected return date. He wonders if you’ve now put in for the re-assignment orders or you’ve asked to be stateside permanently. He isn’t sure why he cares so much about what’s happened to someone he doesn’t care about. Owl is talking to him about her time at Top Gun, but he’s not entirely listening and he knows she knows. He wishes Owl had been his new wingman. Behind her hard exterior, she’s a good pilot, but she flies a two-seater. Her WSO, Arrow, has the biggest ego, one unusual for a WSO, but it’s oddly familiar in the way it reminds him of Hangman. He makes a mental note to call Jake soon, see how things are going at his base, when he realizes you’ve appeared in the dining hall.

Coral, one of the younger pilots, is sat next to him and sees you at the same time he does, nudging her WSO, Revenge. Revenge kicks Ghost in the shin, who turns around. Within a matter of seconds, the entire team’s attention is on you. You’re in line for food, pretending like you don’t feel them all watching your every move. Once you’ve gotten your food, you turn and look around. The squadron, all 11 of them, are crammed into one table together and he watches as you pointedly walk away from them, electing to sit with some pilots from another squadron stationed on the base. Celestial, one of the pilots, brightens when she see you and pulls you down to her bench. He pretends he didn’t see the dark circles underneath your eyes and decides he’s not gonna ask. Still, he watches you from his seat, food and conversation with Owl long forgotten. When the team elects to get up, heading for the bar, he shakes them off. He’s not sure why but he feels like he should talk to you, see if you’re alright. You’re his wingman, after all, and maybe he’ll get an answer about if you’re actually planning on getting a re-assignment. Celestial and her teammates are long gone, the dining hall becoming empty as everyone finished dinner and heads out to whatever it is they’re doing with their evening. You’re alone, pushing your food around the plate and he takes the chance to walk over to you.

“Hey wingman.” He calls and you turn, glancing at him. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, worse than the quick glance he got earlier.

“Hey Coyote.” You say as he approaches the bench opposite you.

“You okay?” He asks. He should sit down but he’s not going to because that would make it seem like he wants a conversation and he’s not really here for that. You shrug.

“Why do you care?” He wants to flinch back at your words but he knows there’s some truth to them. He’s not exactly tried to get to know you on any level.

“I’d like to know if my wingman’s gonna disappear again.” You shake your head.

“No, much to everyone’s disappointment, I’m back for good.”

“Your Dad okay?” He finds himself asking, even though he got the information he had originally told himself he came over here for. You nod.

“Yeah, there was a moment there where... well, he’s gonna be okay and that’s what matters.” He nods.

“That’s good to hear.” He says sincerely. Losing a parent is horrible and he wouldn’t wish the same on anyone, but especially not a wingman. You nod, clearly not planning on continuing the conversation. “Glad to have you back Rebel.” He says and then is walking away from your table before you can say another word.

He realizes he’d miss you if you weren’t his wingman anymore.

iii. the time you almost die together

“Smoke in the air!” She shouts over the comms.

“Rebel, watch out, you got more on your left.”

“Shit, Coyote, I- I can’t shake them.”

“Rebel, just give me a second, I’ll come getcha.” He breathes, but he’s not sure if he believes it. This had been a last minute mission, one they were briefed on this morning, with little prep, and everything had gone wrong. And now he had SAM’s on his tail he couldn’t shake either. There’s yelling and he can’t hear his own thoughts over the sound of explosions and the panic ringing in his ears and then- There’s an explosion, one too big to be a destroyed SAM. “Shit shit shit shit. She’s down, Rebel’s down, I didn’t see a chute.”

“Coyote, you are not to go back for her, do you understand me?” Thompson’s saying over the comms, but he’s still facing multiple SAM’s and he’s not sure he’s walking away from this one either. “Coyote, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, sir. But I got to get clear first and I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” He breaths out, narrowly dodging another one. “There’s too many.” The Admiral is saying something, but he sees a SAM out of the corner of his eye he knows he can’t dodge and he knows it’s over. He yells out that he’s ejecting as he does it, knowing he can’t waste any time. He’s feeling the heat of the explosion as he slowly floats down to the metal-filled ocean below him. As he settles in the water, he sees a figure in the distance and he realizes it’s you. He’s got no idea if you’re alive and he finds himself desperately swimming to your body, praying you’re okay. He calls out as he gets near you and you turn, clearly disoriented. You’re struggling to stay afloat, clutching your shoulder in what seems to be immense pain, thrashing about, and within moments he’s pulled you into his chest, steadying you. “Hey, hey, I gotcha, you’re okay.” Your eyes are wild, still trying to move and he holds on tight, despite the fact that it’s making it difficult for him to swim. He just keeps talking, eyes shut as he tries to not think about how panicked you were to be this far gone, but eventually you come back, breath steadying. He looks down at you, looking for any remnants of the wild panic on your face and in your eyes. He sees none. “You okay?”

“Yeah, you can let me go now.”

“You sure?”

“I do know to swim Machado.” You spit, and he winces, letting you go as you slowly drift a few feet from him. “So what now?”

“Well, my beacon’s gone.” He says, looking down at his flight suit.

“Mine hit the canopy on ejection. It’s crushed. No idea if it still works.” You confirm, looking down at your shoulder.

“So, we’re stranded in the middle of the ocean with no idea if search-and-rescue knows where we are or is coming for us.”

“Great.” The two of you float in silence for a while. You snort, looking over at him. Your dog tags sit floating in the water in front of you, where one hand had been playing with them.

“What?”

“I came to the Green Vipers six months ago to the day.” He almost laughs.

“You wanna know something? You’ve lasted the longest.” You shot him a look.

“You’re lying.” He finds he’s laughing despite himself.

“No, I’m serious. This current cast of characters is mostly all new within the 9 months before you came. We’ve had a serious rotation problem because of Ghost, Shadow, and Raven. They’ve just finally found people to match.”

“Oh, so they do this to everyone?” He’s nodding and you’re laughing. “What the fuck.” Your laughter subsides and he watches you dip your head back into the ocean water, the sun beating down on the two of you. The ocean is actually a nice contrast to the heat of the sun, definitely no risk of hypothermia. Well, maybe if they sit in the water long enough, something will happen, but right now, there’s no immediate concern. The ocean is still, just gently rippling. For being stuck, waiting for rescue that might not come, it could be worse.

“If we get out of this, my Dad’s gonna kill me.” You mutter.

“Oh yeah, how he’s doing?” You look at him confused and then shake your head, remembering.

“Oh, right. Made a full recovery. Man’s immortal.” He snorts. You look back down at your dog tags.

“Even if we starve to death—or die of dehydration, I forget which comes first—I hope they find our bodies.”

“Morbid much?” You shake your head.

“No, I don’t want my Dad to have to bury an empty casket. I want him to have my dog tags. I need him to have something of mine, something for him to remember.” Coyote lets out a deep breath. He thinks about how much his Mom treasured his Dad’s dog tags, knew what that meant to her. He hopes she’ll get the same for him.

“He’ll like that.”

“Sorry, I should probably shut the fuck up.” You say, looking away from him. He winces.

“I should’ve have said that. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, but don’t say anything. Your head is leaned gently back into the water, eyes closed. “If we’re gonna die, then we should know each other before we die.” He announces and you lift your head looking back to him.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“Twenty questions, we’re-gonna-die-in-an-ocean-together style?” You snort but nod. “Okay, I’ll go first. Where you from?”

“That’s your first question in we’re-gonna-die-in-an-ocean-together style? No deep question like, what’s your earliest traumatic experience or do you think you’re worthy of love or anything?” He rolls his eyes.

“Just answer the question.”

“Fine. San Diego.”

“Fightertown, eh?”

“There’s more to the city than Top Gun, but yes. What’s your favorite color?”

“Emerald green. What’s your relationship like with your parents?”

“Upping the ante here, are we? Mom walked out when I was two. Dad’s my best friend. Any siblings?”

“Three younger sisters. Favorite movie?”

“Dude, what kind of question is that? Ask me something good.”

“Why do you hate all my questions? You asked me what my favorite color was!” He defends and you’re laughing, the sound echoing across the empty ocean. He finds he’s laughing with you. The two of you continue back and forth, for what he knows is a long time, when you cock your head.

“Do you hear that?” He shakes his head, gently splashing water on you.

“Dude, don’t tell me you’re going delirious already. C’mon, ask me something else.” You splash water back at him, shaking your head, clearly distracted.

“Dude, no, shut up.”

“Ouch.”

“Coyote, I’m serious, be quiet.” He’s long accepted they’re not gonna get found. He looks at you, seriously concerned for a moment about your mental well-being. You hadn’t shown any beginning signs of already being delirious, any early signs of losing it, so this is worrisome. Still, he’s quiet, straining for whatever sound you think you hear. Just as he’s beginning to think maybe he should leave your delirious ass to rot in the ocean before your crazed state can kill him (is this a bit extreme, maybe, but he hears nothing), there’s whirring. He looks at you as you look over to him.

“Helicopter.” You both whisper. And then you’re both shouting and splashing the water, trying to get the attention of the faraway chopper that has appeared as a black little dot. He realizes that this may actually be an enemy chopper, but he decides the two of you are too far past that now. The chopper comes increasingly closer and Coyote sighs with relief when he realizes it’s a chopper that belongs to them. They lower the rescue swimmer and he sends you first. You went down first and he’s worried about your shoulder. You were clutching it as the two of you floated, very obviously in pain. He watches as you get lifted into the chopper and he feels like he can breath a sigh of relief. The rescue swimmer is soon back for him and Coyote thinks he may cry as he’s helped into the chopper. He looks at you, sitting opposite from him, both of you wrapped in a towel. And then the both of you are laughing, clearly exhausted and relieved to have not died. The other people in the helicopter are giving the two of you weird looks, he can hear one of the pilots radio in that you’ll need immediate medical attention for your shoulder, but he finds he cares about little else then the fact that you’re okay.

He realizes he actually likes you quite a bit.

iiii. the time Admiral Kazansky comes to your rescue

It’s a long time he sits outside Admiral Thompson’s office. He sighs, leaning his back against the chair. He’d been sent to sit out there after a medical exam said he was alright, just minor bruises. You’re taking longer getting your shoulder looked at. He didn’t want to leave you, but you insisted you’d have to come find him anyways, so he hesitantly made his way to Admiral Thompson’s office. Eventually, you appear at the end of the hallway, nothing visible on your shoulder. He looks to you as you sit down next to him. “They wanted to do x-rays, make sure nothing was shattered or fractured, but I’m just banged up. Got a pretty sweet bruise to match and the doctor said I was lucky, because with the force it took to crush my beacon, it should’ve had some sort of break.”

“You’ve got a pretty sweet guardian angel then.” You hum.

“I’d call him a guardian bird but...” You trail off, lost in thought.

“What?”

“What?” You say, looking back at him. He’s not sure if you realized you said that out loud, so he’s choosing to let it go. The two of you sit there a lot longer and he’s starting to get really tired, the events of the day, hitting him full force. The discussion has been going on for a long time, and he wonders what’s being said. Admiral Kazansky, one of his teachers at Top Gun, is here, along with a few other officials. He’s not sure why there’s this much discussion over this, or why Kazansky flew all the way out here, but he figures if the mission failed this horribly, the two of you are probably in a lot of shit. And then there’s the cold, sinking feeling in his stomach. “We weren’t meant to come back from this mission.” He mumbles, not sure why he let the words out of his mouth.

“No, I wasn’t supposed to come back from this mission.” He looks at you, slowly realizing you were right. The little preparation, the logistics of everything, the way the mission was supposed to be flown, the way there was yelling from the Admiral before he went down, the way the two of you weren’t sure if you would ever see search-and-rescue, you’re right. “They only saved us because you went down too.” Your eyes are closed, shoulders slumped. He opens up his mouth to respond, to comfort you, when the door opens and the Admiral storms off. The other officials disappear down the opposite end of the hallway, but Admiral Kazansky is patiently waiting.

“Lieutenant Machado, it’s good to see you again.” He stands, saluting the Admiral. He waves him off, shaking his head. “Could you give us a moment please?” He nods, taking his leave, but finds himself sitting just around the corner, just within earshot. He shouldn’t, especially if you’re about to get fired, but after what the two of you just went through together, he can’t bring himself to go too far from you. You don’t say anything and then he hears the creaking of a chair, assuming the old man had sat down.

“Hey Ice.” You say softly. Ice? He knew the Admiral’s callsign was Iceman, but why- in what world would you get away with calling him that?

“Hey kid. You gave us a real scare today.”

“How’d Dad take it?”

“He only knows that you went down, not the extent to which. He knows you’re safe. He doesn’t need to worry about you more than he already does.”

“Was worried he thought I was floating dead in an ocean somewhere, and I just kept feeling real rotten about all of it, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what went down with Goose.” He hears the old man take a sharp breath. Who the hell was Goose?

“I don’t know if your Dad could’ve handled that.”

“I know.”

“If he loses you or Rooster-” Rooster?

“Ice, please don’t.” Your voice is wavering, on the brink of tears. He hears the Admiral sigh and there’s a few minutes of silence. “Did I get fired?” He hears a chuckle.

“No, your tyrant of an admiral was told no.” You snort and Coyote has to keep himself from laughing. “He’ll blame me, of course, but there was a consensus.”

“Damn, I was almost hoping they’d reassign me.”

“You not liking it here?”

“Hell no. They’re assholes.”

“(Y/N).” Admiral Kazansky says firmly.

“Well, they are.” You whine and he can only imagine the look the Admiral is giving you.

“What about Lieutenant Machado? I think quite highly of him.”

“He’s okay, I guess. I’m just- I’m lonely Ice. I want to see Dad, I want to go home.”

“You’re homesick.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, luckily you and Lieutenant Machado are being granted three days stateside leave.” He has to stop himself from shouting at the news. It won’t be enough time to go home, but he’ll take it.

“We almost die and we only get three days.”

“That’s all I could get out of your Admiral.” You sigh.

“Still wish I could see Dad. I just want a hug. I miss him.” That’s what does it. You’re crying and Coyote thinks his heart breaks at the noise.

“Here, tell you what. Why don’t you come to the house, have dinner with Sarah and I when you get back? Bring Lieutenant Machado with you.”

“He doesn’t know about Dad or any of this though.”

“That’s okay, Sarah and I can keep a secret. I’ve got a feeling you don’t want that information getting back to Thompson anyhow.” What about your Dad shouldn’t get back to his Admiral?

“Ice, I really hope you didn’t take too much shit for doing this for me.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Really Ice, I know my Dad and I have asked a lot from you over the years. I appreciate it.”

“If this was your Dad we’d be having a different conversation. But kid, don’t be so hard on yourself.” There’s silence. “(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“What do you want from me Ice?”

“I would like to give your Dad confirmation you’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Let it go, Ice. You spend enough time saving my Dad’s ass, don’t gotta save mine.” There’s another silence and Coyote’s struggling to figure out what’s happening. There’s clearly a history here he doesn’t know about.

“I like to-”

“Admiral Kazansky.” Comes Ghost’s voice and Coyote’s struggling to not shoot around the corner and drag you away. This is the last thing you need right now.

“Lieutenants.” Lieutenants, plural. There was multiple. Fuck.

“What’re you doing here?” Owl asks.

“Having a discussion with your Admiral about today’s events.”

“And with Rebel?” Shadow asks, in a very hostile tone. Damn, Shadow’s got balls for talking to Kazansky like that.

“I hardly think that’s any of your business.” He hears shuffling.

“Thanks for the update about Coyote and I’s leave, Admiral. I’ll be sure to tell him.” You say, and then he hears the sound of your shoes on the tile floor, moving ever so closer towards him, and he’s trying to plan an exit before you find out he’s been eavesdropping. He eventually just picks the closest door and throws it open. It’s a janitorial closet thankfully, and not an office, or worse, an office with people inside of it, but he’s cringing at the smell of the chemicals as he hears you walk past. He’s straining to hear what’s going on with the rest of his squadron but it’s muffled and then it’s gone. He takes a deep breath, and then leaves the closet, shutting the door quietly behind him. He turns the corner from which he came, startling to see the Admiral still sitting there.

“Admiral.” He starts and he looks up. “Uh, sorry, I’ve been walking around, trying to clear my brain from everything. Didn’t realize you’d still be here.” If Kazansky doesn’t buy the lie, he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Lieutenant Machado, may I ask something of you?”

“Absolutely sir.”

“Look out for your wingman. In the air and on the ground.”

“Of course sir.” He says, nodding.

Admiral Kazansky nods, studying him for a moment before sighing. “Well, I must be going. Enjoy your leave, son.”

“Thank you sir.” Coyote stands there, trying to process everything that just went down in the last 30 minutes.

He realizes you need a friend.

iiiii. the time your Dad calls

A year ago today was the mission that almost killed you, and then him. The two of you are a lot closer now, practically attached at the hip the way Shadow and Raven are. He spent his three days leave at your house in San Diego, getting the “grand tour” of the city as you called it. Despite being there for twelve weeks for Top Gun training, he realized there was so much he hadn’t seen. You both returned to the Green Vipers better than when you left. The two of you made an impeccable team in the sky, flying seamlessly. He knew it annoyed Thompson to no end and it only fueled Shadow’s hate as you showed him up time and time again. He also knew Shadow (and Raven and Ghost and Revenge and Moonshine and Arrow and and and) were slowly breaking you. He waited every day to be told that you’d asked for re-assignment, despite the fact the he also knew you’d tell him if you decided to do that. And it’s not like you ever brought up that being a possibility before.

Still, as he watches the way you sat alone in the corner of the bar, eyes anxiously moving between the exit and your team, waiting for a sudden movement, he thinks that this is no way to live. Your body is on high-alert all the time. You don’t sleep most days, something evident in your body. He’s worried, despite your assurances that they’ll have to get bored or get a new teammate eventually. He’s starting to think Admiral Thompson is playing a waiting game, seeing if you’ll bend first. He’s barred from removing you from the Green Vipers, Coyote knows that much. There’s no rules about isolating someone until they quit. Well, there is, but Tyrant Thompson doesn’t follow or care about them in the slightest.

The two of you should be celebrating, having escaped death a year ago today. Instead, you look downright miserable and he decides to take pity on you. He excuses himself from the group, most too drunk to realizes he’s leaving, and makes his way to your table. You look up at him and he nods his head to the door. As he drives back to base, your phone starts ringing. You look down and a flurry of emotions cross your face. “Hey, can you-” He’s already pulling over to the shoulder before you can finish asking. “Sorry, it’s my Dad.” He’s not sure what your Dad does for a living, you don’t talk about him much. He knows the two of you are close and whenever he calls or sends you a letter, you usually spend the rest of the day crying in your bunk. He’s not totally sure why, but from the way you talked about him that day in the ocean, he’s all you have. He’s pretty sure the separation hits you harder than you’d ever admit to your Dad, so instead you cry to Coyote, who allows you to cry about it any time you need. You’re out of the car before he can say anything. He can’t hear your Dad, but he can hear you, voice traveling back to the car as he tries not to eavesdrop.

“No, I’m good Dad.”

“Yeah, Dad promise.”

“No near death experiences you don’t know about.”

“Same old same old.”

“Dad, I swear I’m fine.”

“Yes Dad, I’m getting enough sleep.”

“How would you know?”

“Did you call to yell at me?”

“Well, it sounds like it.”

“Dad, I would tell you if something was wrong.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Dad, that’s not fair.”

“What I told Ice a year ago isn’t- Dad.”

“Yeah, I’ve got friends.”

“Well, okay, I’ve got one.”

“Yeah, the one I went down with.”

“Yeah Dad, I know you care.”

“Yeah Dad, I know you worry. I worry about you too.”

“Already?”

“No, it’s okay. Write me soon.”

“Okay, I love you too. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay, bye.”

Coyote watches the exchange go down, taking in your figure, in the words, and adds it to what he already knows and he figures your Dad approached the conversation Coyote’s tried to have with you. Coyote studies you carefully as you move back to the car. You’ll deny it but...

He realizes you’re not happy.

+ the one time he does something about it

Coyote isn’t sure what the hell he’s doing. He isn’t even sure what the hell he’s gonna say. This is his Captain for God’s sake, his best friend’s Dad. The conversation he wants to have is all kinds of inappropriate. Still... he can’t stop thinking about the look of pure fear and terror (and then grief) on your face today. The tired look in your eyes after Admiral Kazansky died. The way you broke down in his arms that night they thought he was being re-assigned. The way you’re laying out on the tarmac of the aircraft carrier, where you’re most definitely not supposed to be, just to hear your own thoughts. He has to say something because he can’t watch his best friend break anymore. He knows your Dad is gonna get a promotion after this and he assumes his re-assignment orders to Iraq still stand, meaning you’re going to go back to Green Vipers alone. You need your Dad to be here for you, need more of him in your life if you’re gonna survive the team. If you’re gonna continue on in the Navy.

He takes a deep breath, playing some game on his phone, passing the time. He knows tonight’s the only time he’ll have this chance to have this conversation and he’s not even certain your Dad will wake up. He’s all too aware of that that the longer he sits in here, the longer he leaves you alone on the tarmac. And then he hears shifting, and he glances up, realizing Maverick is awake and looking at him. He takes a deep breath, putting the phone away and moving closer to Maverick. Payback’s snoring loudly and he’s cringing at the man. What a mood-lifter for the conversation he’s about to have. “Hey Mav.” He finds himself whispering, deciding it’s a good place to start.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He nods to the door.

“Tarmac.”

“It’s late, why is she out there?” He shrugs, struggling to give a proper answer to Maverick. He’s still not entirely sure how close she exactly is with her Dad, how much he knows. She keeps her cards close to her chest when it comes to her family, that much he’s learned.

“Just thinking, I think. I’ll probably go join her later but, uhm...” He’s hesitating now. C’mon, say the things you came in here to say. “No, it’s not my place.”

“Coyote.”

“Well, sir, it’s just that-” Coyote, what the hell happened to don’t think, just do?

“Coyote, forget for a moment that I’m your instructor. You’re my daughter’s best friend, it’s just you and me.” He nodded, trying to figure out what to say. “Sir, you really scared her today.” That’s not where he was going with this. “Um, but-” He pauses, trying to figure out how to say this. “I’m also worried about what your decision to select Rooster as your wingman is gonna do.” That’s not where he was going with this either. Mav’s shaking his head, clearly confused, and honestly Coyote isn’t sure what he’s doing either.

“Coyote, how long have you known my daughter now?”

“Two years, sir.”

“And how close are the two of you actually?” Coyote starts to nod, thinking about when he told you to shut the fuck up, and then when your Dad, the man in front of him, got injured so badly you got called stateside, and he told you he hoped everything worked out.

“We had an, uh, rocky start, but I’d give my life for her. She’s my best friend.” That was a true statement.

“Then you know her well.”

“Yes sir, I’d say so, sir.”

“Then how would my decision to select Rooster as wingman affect her?” He starts to shift, uncomfortable. Now as any would be a good time to discuss the loneliness and unhappiness that you carried these days, feelings that would only intensify after returning the Green Vipers alone. He sighed, second guessing himself and why he came here to have this conversation.

“Sir, I don't really know if it’s my place-”

“Coyote.” He was sighing, again, knowing it’s now or never.

“All I feel I should say is that, well,- you should be prepared for your relationship with you daughter to change.” He pauses, wondering why those were the words that came out instead. “If not end entirely.” He realizes he means them, even if this wasn’t what he intended to say. It’s clear to all of them that Hangman wasn’t wrong in what said all those times he went after her. “Sir, I don’t know what happened between you and Rooster or her and Rooster. But I do know that she carries the weight of everything on her shoulders and I don’t know if she’ll walk away from this one the same.” There we go. Not exactly it, but close enough. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and decided he’s left her alone long enough. “I- I should probably go check on her.”

“Coyote.” Comes Maverick’s voice and he looks back at the man who’s studying him.

“Sir?”

“Thank you for looking out for my daughter.” He nods, unable to find the words to answer his instructor. He finds himself thinking back to Admiral Kazansky’s request so long ago. He leaves the room, praying to God he doesn’t see anyone on the night shift out and about. He makes it to the tarmac unspotted, and he sees her lone figure out there. He slowly walks over to her, knowing the two of them need to have a discussion. They haven’t had a real one since they got here and so much has changed.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“You gonna stick Cyclone on me?”

“Nah, I couldn’t let you sit out here alone.” He slides down next to you, looking over. “Whatcha thinking about?” You shrug and moved to sit up. He follows you, grateful he’s not having to laying on the hard asphalt of the tarmac for very long.

“When we got called back for this mission, I told myself that I would get things right with Rooster this time. That we wouldn’t make the same mistakes. But now- when we dock, we’ll have a few days off maybe, and then we’re all back to our original posts. And it feels like we’re just always doomed to repeat the past.”

“So talk to him. Don’t let him leave without knowing everything you want to say to him.” You shake your head.

“There’s so many unfinished conversations. So many things left unsaid. Years of hating each other. Maybe it’s just better to accept the past for staying in the past. I mean, he’s alive, after today can I really ask for much more?”

“You learned today that tomorrow is really never promised. Maybe it’s time to finish those conversations and say all those things you’ve left unsaid until now. What would you have done if today and really been the end and you knew that you hadn’t fixed things like you set out to do?”

“I don’t know.” He lets you sit in silence for a while, thinking everything over, but he finally decides it’s time the two of you talk about the big elephant in the room.

“Rebel, I’m gonna ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly.”

“Okay.”

“When you go back to the Green Vipers, are you going to be safe?”

“Safe is different than okay.”

“Are you going to start flying like you don’t want to come home?” He didn’t ask you if you would fly like you didn’t have people to come home for. He knew you did. But flying like you wanted to come home and flying like you didn’t have people to come home for were two very different things, something only pilots of their caliber and experience saw and understood. He knew his Dad flew like he didn’t want to come home and one day, didn’t.

“No.” You state and he looks at you carefully, realizing you’re telling the truth.

“Okay.” That’s all he wanted, all he needed to hear from you.

“Hey.” You say after a few moments and he looks back over to you from where his gaze was settled on the moon. “Thanks for being my best friend.” He lets out a soft laugh, thinking about the first time he met you two years ago, not knowing his new wingman would become his best friend.

“Surprised you let me be actually, considering I told you to shut the fuck up.” You snorted.

“Oh yeah, maybe I should start practicing that.” He kicks your leg up, interlocking your leg with his and grabbing you, pulling you into his side, giving you a hug.

“Absolutely not. Never shut the fuck up.”

#javy coyote machado #javy coyote machado fics #javy coyote machado imagines #javy coyote machado imagine #javy coyote machado fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fics #same mistakes

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themorriganwitch · 1 year

Text

Up in the Sky / Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary: The first time Bradley Bradshaw saw his dad after his death.

Warnings: English is not my first language (so please be aware of mistakes) mention of death, mention of grief, mention of goose (yes that's a warning!), mention of crying baby Bradley (we are just incredibly sad in here, lets be honest) so if you need a good cry - be my guest

Length: 0,8k words

Pairing: Young!Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Carole Bradshaw, Goose and Mav are mentioned.

This is my very first post on Tumblr and as I said English is not my first language. So I would be incredibly happy if some of you could give me some feedback, and don’t be shy with your critic! Thanks in advance

_______________________________________________________________________

The first time Bradley Bradshaw has ever laid his eyes on that particular shiny dot up, up in the midnight sky, was at five years old.

It was a couple of months after his dad had passed away. Bradley and his mom were sitting on the cemetery in the cool Dawn breeze while Carole was drinking a glass of sweetly smelling red wine, which used to be Gooses favorite.

Visiting Nicks grave on every last Saturday of the month has become the new normal for the two remaining Bradshaw’s.

At first young Bradley wondered why his mom would not invite his Godfather Maverick, who has become a stable figure in both of their lives after his wingman’s passing, to their monthly gatherings.

Carole had simply shrugged her shoulders and offered her son a sad smile. ‘You know I love your uncle Pete’, she said when Bradley asked this question for the first time. ‘I really do. But I like to think that these meetings are just for the three of us. You, your dad, and I’.

The young boy frowned at her words. ‘But Daddy isn’t here’, he whined, feeling hot tears building in his big brown eyes. To his surprise his moms smile deepened, even though the same heavy tears started to glisten in her own brown eyes. ‘Your Dad is always with you, honey’, she cooed softly and placed her right hand on her son’s chest.

‘He is always with you. No matter if you had a terrible day at school or if you scratched your knee while playing hide and seek with your friends. Your Daddy will never really leave you, sweetheart’.

Hot tears were now streaming down Bradley’s face while he started sobbing hysterically. Every time Carole Bradshaw believed the worst moment of her entire life was the one, when she got the call that her beloved husband got in a terrible accident at work, she was reminded that the most horrendous part of it all, will never be over until her own son takes his very last breath. There is nothing more heart-wrenching than seeing your own flesh, her little Gosling, growing up with a broken heart, a missing part of his soul and tears in his eyes.

‘Why did he leave me, Mommy?’, Bradley’s sobs grew bigger, and his words were nearly not understandable. Carole’s heart ached so much, she felt like it was bursting out of her chest. And if that would be needed to erase the pain in Bradley’s eyes, she would not hesitate a second. Seeing her son – Nick’s son so incredibly broken isn’t anything she would wish for a single soul on this world.

‘Daddy did not leave you, little Bird’, his mom started but Bradley felt the hotness of his own tears sunken into his chest, into his little heart where they were mixed with the hottest, most consuming feeling out of all – anger. ‘Yes, he did! He left me. He left us. And he is never coming back!’

Carole wrapped her arms around her little Bradley, pressed him against her chest- rocking him slowly while she desperately tries to help him through his outburst. After a couple of minutes, she felt Bradley relaxing in her lap, so she eased her grip a little.

‘I need you to do something for me, honey’, the blonde woman whispered, trying to make her voice sound softly. If her son would have been a bit older, he probably would have told her how horribly she failed at her attempt. Nevertheless, he turned around in his moms’ lap, focusing his gaze up in the sky where Carole was pointing with her finger.

‘Do you see that star up there, sweetheart?’

The young boy nodded a little confused.

‘That is your dad, Bradley’.

His confusion widened.

‘But mommy, how do you know?’

‘Can you see those two little stars, right beneath the one I showed you before?’

Bradley nodded.

‘This is us. You and me, together with your Daddy. Up in the sky, just like he’d loved it’.

For the first time in weeks Carole Bradshaw started to feel a real smile growing on her face.

‘Whenever you need to tell your dad something you just have to keep your eyes up in the sky, where your dad has always been. And where he always will be. Together with both of us.

‘But Mommy, there is another star. D’you see?’ It is right above Daddy’s’!’ Bradley claimed, pointing on the star he just found.

His mother chuckled softly, brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. ‘I guess this has to be your uncle Pete’.

‘Uncle Pete?’, again he was baffled.

‘Yeah, I believe your dad knows, that from all of us, he has to keep an eye on your Uncle Pete the most’.

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Hope you enjoyed this, as I said I would be very happy about some feedback. Lots of Love - Lexie

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mollymauk-teafleak · 2 years

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I won't let go 'til the end

We're just taking out favourite scenes from Top Gun: Maverick and making them gay, thats all we're about over here. So this is the end scene. Have fun and please comment over on Ao3!

Many many thanks to the wonderful @nb-fearne who deserves all the fics in the world ever because they are just the best

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Silence was worrying in a number of specific circumstances. With excitable small animals. With sugar rushing toddlers. With unstable nuclear reactors.

And with people who had been described as those things on separate occasions. And, in one impressive insult from an officer who’d really been pissed off, all three in the same breath.

So when Tom pulled out his headphones- the fancy waterproof ones that Bradley had set up for him and he still didn’t fully trust, convinced they’d get stuck in his ear one of these days- to hear a silent house, something inside him prickled. The same something that told him when a missile was about to be fired at him, when he needed to bank hard and get out of the goddamn way.

But he didn’t do that, not with Maverick. With Mav, his job was to run straight towards it.

So Tom knotted the towel tighter around his waist and padded into the house, leaving wet footprints on the kitchen tile. His hip was already aching now he was out of the pool. When the doctors had said that injury- a souvenir of the worst crash he’d had in his entire military career -would stick with him the rest of his life, they hadn’t been kidding. Swimming helped though, taking the pain down from a constant roar to a dull buzz.

It was helping less the older he got though. The medals they’d given him in recompense didn’t help much either.

What did help a little better was Maverick rubbing him down after he did his prescribed hour of exercise, even if that was only because it usually led to sex which distracted Tom from how much his fucking hip hurt. Another reason to find his husband.

“Mav? Sweetheart?” he called, listening for the sound of footsteps upstairs or the shower running or off key singing from the front lawn, any of the usual sounds that accompanied his never silent wingman.

But there was nothing. Nothing but a scrawl on the whiteboard stuck to the fridge, the one that was supposed to be for writing what groceries they needed.

Had to run to the hangar. Won’t be long. Love you!

Tom frowned, despite the heart drawn at the end of the message. A frown that had nothing to do with the painful ghost of that crash in the Gulf.

He’d kind of assumed Maverick would abandon that empty hangar when he got kicked off the Darkstar project, the whole reason he’d bought it was for those nights he had to stay so late at the office there was no point in him riding home. But for some reason, Maverick was spending more time at the place now than he had then. Every weekend he seemed to disappear up there, saying he wanted to work on something and very little else. It had been going on for ages now, he was pretty sure Mav went up there while Tom was at work too.

Whenever Tom asked what exactly his little project was, if he could help or maybe just come up there and be in the same place as his husband on their days off, Maverick suddenly took evasive maneuvers. He didn’t want to make Ice drive all the way out there, Ice hated taking his motorcycle, he’d just be bored, he hadn’t got the place fixed up nice, the fridge set on fire sometimes. A flock of reasons Tom couldn’t follow and he’d run out of the door even faster.

Tom had known his husband for more than thirty years now, even if they hadn’t gotten to spend as much of that time together as they’d have liked. He’d been his rival, his wingman, his commanding officer and finally, after too damn long, his husband. So he knew when the guy was hiding something.

Something sharp and tangled twisted in Tom’s chest, something he’d been trying to root out with years of therapy but wasn’t ever going to get rid of completely. He tried to shake it off and busied himself with getting a glass of water, with heading upstairs to shower, with rinsing the chlorine off his skin, paying attention to every small action to try and keep his brain focused on what was real, rather than chewing over what wasn’t.

Because of course there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Maverick was acting like this. Tom couldn’t think of one right now but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. Since when had he understood everything his husband did? The man willingly ate snacks in bed and had to be told to take his shoes off at the door for some reason, did Tom convince himself his marriage was in trouble because of that? Of course not.

Maverick just happened to have an isolated hideaway he was spending increasing amounts of time at and he was hesitant to show or explain to his husband. And that was…fine.

Tom stopped, halfway through pulling a shirt on. He was pretty sure this counted as chewing over it.

That tight, tangled feeling was biting into his chest again, it had grown thorns while he hadn’t been looking. He tried to take a breath and tell himself he was being an idiot but it just clenched in response, threatening to do some real damage, threatening to spiral.

Alright then, fuck it. He’d prove to himself that he was being an idiot.

Fully dressed, Tom went into the kitchen and put together a fairly passable short notice picnic. A flask of coffee, sandwiches, those ridiculously hot chips Maverick liked for some inexplicable reason, even the cold pierogi from the fridge to get himself some extra points. Enough for the two of them to have a nice afternoon together, doing whatever the hell it was Mav was doing up there.

After all, Maverick had never explicitly told him not to come up to the hangar. This wasn’t breaking a rule or crossing a boundary, not technically, this was just going to spend some time with his husband and put a goddamn sock in the mouth of his anxiety.

So Tom grabbed his keys and headed out of the door, climbing into what Bradley and Mav insisted on calling his Midlife Crisis Mobile and Tom instead called a perfectly reasonable car for someone who’s job had been to go very fast. The drive through the desert was calming, enough that he almost considered turning back a few times, more willing to believe he didn’t need this as the horizon fell away into an expanse of golden sand.

But Tom kept driving all the same, maybe putting his foot down a little harder than he needed to, just to feel the wind in his hair. Jaw working, the whole world rushing past him in a blur, no one thing able to catch him and pin him down, the whole confusing world just meaningless noise. It wasn’t flying, not quite.

But it was as close as he was going to get these days.

It had been his eyes in the end, not the cancer or the crash. The slightest fuzz in the edges of his vision and suddenly Tom was being told he couldn’t fly anymore. After he’d worked so hard to hold himself together, it was something so goddamn small that finally grounded him, something he couldn’t fight through with sheer force of will.

Tom’s fingers tightened on the wheel and he pressed his foot down harder, trying to force those thoughts into the noise. It was working less the older he got.

The hangar came into view after an hour or so as the roads grew rougher and more twisting, dust clouds billowing up behind the wheels now. Mav’s bike was there so he drew in next to it, just outside of the enormous doors. He put his heel to the horn a few times to announce himself, already smiling as he climbed out of the car, just at the thought of seeing Maverick, the look of surprise on his face, the way it would melt into that crooked tooth smile, the way he’d run at him and knock any last doubts out of his mind with a flying hug.

That smile dropped like a lead weight as instead, he got Maverick ducking out of the doors, shirtless in just a pair of grease stained jeans, eyes wild with panic. He saw Ice and that panic cracked into out and out terror.

“Oh fuck…” he grimanced, putting his back to the chipped wood door like he was ready to defend it, “You’re not supposed to be here…”

Ice stopped dead, voice flat, “You have thirty seconds to do better than that, Mitchell.”

As he watched Maverick’s mouth work, as he watched him fidget with the chain that held their dog tags, a sure sign that he was about to say something he didn’t want to admit, Tom’s anxiety helpfully provided him with an avalanche of words that were going to come out of his mouth and ruin his life. Hundreds of options for precisely how this was going to hurt him.

But, as ever, Maverick surprised him.

“Fuck…and it’s not even close to your birthday…” he groaned, pushing a hand through his hair and leaving a large smudge of what looked like engine oil on the side of his face.

Tom was no less confused but he was slightly less terrified, “Excuse me?”

Maverick groaned and leaned back against the door, head thumping against the splintering, scuffed wood, “Like I can’t even try and make this seem deliberate, it’s a whole goddamn year away…”

“What exactly does my birthday have to do with this?” Tom frowned, feeling like he was missing a few very important pieces of this admittedly already strange puzzle.

“Because this was supposed to be the year I finally got you back!” Maverick covered his eyes and groaned in frustration, proving he definitely did not know his hands were covered in oil, “You nail it every single time and I had such a good idea for once but apparently I married freaking Sherlock Holmes…”

“Hardly. You’re just ridiculously unsubtle, Mav,” Tom tilted his head, “And I’m still standing over here with about a third of a clue what you’re talking about.”

Now looking like a raccoon, Maverick dropped his hands and gave him a coy smile, “Any chance I can convince you to just get back in your car and forget you came out here? At least until March?”

Tom had to smile wryly, “None in the slightest, Captain.”

Maverick sighed but the smile stayed, growing an edge of excitement, “God, you’re stubborn…alright then. I’ll just tie a bow around my dick on your birthday, I guess.”

He rolled the door back just a little, enough to make a gap that broad shouldered Tom could slip through but not enough to show what was inside. He’d need to go and see for himself. Mav just stood to one side and gestured grandly, like a carnival showman, his smile growing wider.

Only feeling slightly apprehensive, Tom moved from the desert heat into the cool shade,

When he saw what was inside, his anxiety had nothing to say. The rest of him was feeling a little lost for words too.

“Pete…” he breathed softly, hearing his own surprise echo in the dim expanse, hearing the deep emotion in his voice and for once not flinching back.

Maverick beamed and threw the door wide open, letting the sunlight flood in, brightening the space so Tom could think, numb with surprise, yep, he’s actually done this.

The plane was old, there was no denying that. The paint was peeling a little, some of the panels and parts clearly weren’t original, in fact it was a Frankenstien’s monster of different bits and pieces now the light was on it. Just from a glance, Tom knew Maverick had dragged this thing from actual ruin, nothing like this was still in the air and, honestly, there was probably a good reason for that.

It was one of the most beautiful things Tom had ever seen. It would have been the most, if his husband wasn’t standing behind him with that light in his eyes and that smile on his face.

“You can’t fly for the Navy anymore,” Mav came and stood beside him, gazing at Tom’s face like he was trying to memorize it, “But a privately owned aircraft is a whole other ballgame…”

Those words settled over him and any hope he had of getting through this with dry eyes disappeared.

He tore his eyes away from the plane- his plane- and looked at Maverick. Everything this man had given him, his heart, his protection, his faith, the countless ways he’d already saved Tom’s life and here he was doing it one more time.

“You got me back in the air, Pete,” he murmured, those words far too small to contain everything they meant.

But Mav understood. Of course he did, he’d always been one of the few people who understood.

“God, I missed that smile on your face, baby,” Maverick gave a tear streaked laugh.

His arms were already open when Tom pulled him into a fierce hug, tight enough to linger as an ache in his ribs. In that embrace, those tears dampening his bare shoulder, the shaky exhale against his ear and the black smudges Mav’s hands were leaving on his shoulders, were all the things there just weren’t words for.

“I love you,” Tom whispered, “This is…this is just…”

“I love you too,” Maverick swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, “But maybe save the end of that sentence until we see if she’ll actually fly. I literally pulled this thing out of a junkyard a year ago and I’m pretty brilliant at fixing broken shit but still…”

Tom chuckled roughly and pulled away enough to look him in the eyes, “You managed to fix me. I trust you, Pete.”

And he did. Tom Kazansky hadn’t always trusted Pete Mitchell but he’d learned his lesson real fast and hadn’t gone back on it in thirty years. He definitely wasn’t going to start today.

It took a lot more golden afternoons together in that hangar, especially after their first was mostly spent with Ice showing Maverick just how much he appreciated his gift and then eating their picnic cross legged on the floor when that demonstration proved the final undoing of that old sofa Mav kept there. But with the two of them working on it, along with Bradley when he and Jake were in town, the day came a lot quicker than it would have otherwise, still nowhere near his birthday.

Tom’s heart was in his mouth all morning, right up until the point he sat in the pilot’s seat. As soon as he did, all the fear, all the uncertainty, all the discomfort with the body he was in now, it all disappeared. He could have been in his twenties again, with those ridiculous frosted tips and always pulling back his smile because he was self conscious about his teeth, only ever certain of his ability to fly better than anyone else.

Right up until the moment Maverick leaned forward from the seat behind, a small, foil wrapped stick in his hand, “Can’t forget this.”

Tom grinned, leaning back to take it, unwrapping the gum, “Thanks baby…”

There was the slightest rattle as the engine started up, a vaguely off center feeling as Tom took them to the end of the runway. This wasn’t a military grade plane, it was old and awkward and temperamental. Tom was already head over heels, even before he kicked the engine into gear, fired the engines and sent them hurtling forward.

He knew it by heart, the motions of flicking buttons, easing the throttle, snapping up the wheels and the wings to take them into the air. The rest was just inhaling. The rest was just freedom.

Tom’s vision was blurring, though he thought it was more down to the tears. It didn’t matter, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Somewhere in amongst it all, as the world turned and spun around them, gold then blue and back again, as they chased down the sunset, Tom felt Maverick reach forward and put a hand on his shoulder, gripping tight. Keeping him grounded even as he left everything else behind, reminding him what he got to go home to when he was done.

Tom could have shouted over the noise but he just put his hand over Maverick’s, knowing it would say what he needed it to. Sometimes silence said enough.

Tom Kazansky wasn’t that kid anymore. But right now he couldn’t be more relieved.

#top gun #icemav #maverick #iceman #pete mitchell #tom kazansky #please reblog and comment!

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itsuki-minamy · 1 year

Text

"SIDE GOLD"

CHAPTER 2: UNNO YUTAKA (PART 1/2)

* List of Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Special Attack"... Short for Special Attack Corps. A suicide ram attack is generally referred to as a special attack unit. At the end of World War II, the Japanese army, which was in a difficult situation, made a systematic and large-scale effort to get out of the war situation. On October 20, 1944, the name of the first special attack unit, "Kamikaze Special Attack Corps", could also be called "Kamikaze".

Unno Yutaka was screaming at the empty sky.

"Hey, please wait."

At noon on August 15, 1945 (Showa 20). He had been yelling ever since he was told the war was over, after the radio broadcast at Oita Air Base, where he had no idea what was being said. There were those who cried, those who crouched down, those who were stunned... There were many, but he was the only one who...

"I do not think."

...was screaming.

"I guess we're meeting here to carry out a suicide attack."

Driven by a sense of mission and exhilaration, he was taught that his own emptiness was the same as death, and it all bothered him, but still, from the bottom of his heart, he couldn't help but scream.

"Since I joined the camp, I've been beaten up by shitty people for shitty reasons, but I'm still here to hold on to fly and throw everything I've got to that shitty enemy in the sky... I guess."

He jumped from the barracks into the scorching summer sky and screamed at the place where he had decided to die.

"It's too good to provoke a lot of people and stop because it's over. Like you until this morning, say something nice. What about your beliefs, what about your spirit?"

The boy's cry did not resound like a cicada and disappeared under the sky.

Because he was like that, he was glad when he heard that the lieutenant general, who had been the commanding officer, had decided to launch a kamikaze sortie on his own, saying that he wanted to follow in the footsteps of a large number of loyal generals who had not yet received a formal ceasefire order.

"That's it. It's about taking responsibility for what you've done."

Without hesitation, he volunteered to accompany him.

Several people who had just woken up from his collapsed state immediately after the broadcast also volunteered to accompany them.

Then, after 17:00 on August 15, the 11 "Comet" carrier-based bombers that could fly at the base flew into the pre-sunset sky with a heart-rending engine sound. It didn't even have a machine gun, it was a kamikaze plane that couldn't be used for anything more than the 80th weight bomb that would hit the enemy.

The sky is infinitely wide, and the sea is infinitely distant. It was a sight that made them forget that far ahead, a brutal American and British fleet was closing in to trample their homeland. They greeted the setting sun.

"Well then, Sun God. We will never meet again."

Before long, night fell, and when the formation flight began to be in danger, they were able to miraculously meet the enemy fleet.

Having avoided the worst possible outcome of a running out of fuel accident, he was delighted at the chance to throw as much as he could, and turned his nose towards the enemy fleet. A tremendous density of flak guided them from the other side. Or maybe one of the wingmen crashed first.

"Thank you."

He thanked the enemy fleet and his wingman and began to descend.

His body floated, and then he was pressed against the seat. Wrapped in those shuddering sensations, his mouth wrapped in a white silk scarf contracted.

(I’m not afraid, I cannot be afraid.) He thought like that frantically, had not any moment for flashing back to his whole life. (It is not fear, I have no fear, laugh, hey come on, laugh.)

The airship's shadow flashed with gunfire, and before he got there, the sudden sound of metal being torn away and the dull tremor of the collision tore through his entire body.

It was hit and the airship was crushed by the shell.

He immediately burned and died.

"Sorry, fuck off."

The words may have been felt and not expressed.

However, there was only the feeling of falling while a machine spinning out of control.

And so, their war ended.

++++++++++

Unno Yutaka woke up under the sun that he should have said goodbye to.

He woke up in a clean bed.

He could tell at a glance that he was inside a ship.

"I'm alive... what a shame."

Also, the ship was not Japanese, it was an American warship.

As soon as he thought he had been taken prisoner, he put his hand to his waist, but of course the self-determination pistol was taken from him. Of course, he had no intention of committing suicide.

He didn't know the spirit of living and not being humiliated as a prisoner of war printed by stupid air force personnel. He just thought of grabbing a gun and going on a rampage to the end and dying.

But at that time he had no weapons.

Most of all, he realized that a significant part of his heart had been discouraged by the fact that the suicide attack, which he had faced with such despair, had failed. Maybe he was disappointed in himself for not getting to the place where he was supposed to die.

"There is a gun, at a time like this... either to kill yourself or to go on a rampage and die, was it a talisman to keep you alive?"

It was as if the heat that filled his entire body had disappeared.

Then, in a daze, an officer in a starched military uniform approached him, who did not have any stains on his body. Perhaps they planned to interrogate him or even execute him. The officer spoke to him in fluent Japanese. Somehow, he seemed to think of him as a boy who had been recruited.

"Don't be silly, I'm far from 20 years old, but I'm a full-fledged person."

Even when he yelled back, the officer laughed and excused himself, saying that the Japanese look young.

During the conversation, he learned that the officer had stayed in Japan for a long time as a military attaché, that he had many Japanese acquaintances in the quarters, and that he had learned Japanese at that time.

"Before the war, you mean?"

When he was young, he had no idea that he had just spent time before him where he could get along with the Americans. More than that, he hastened to ask him if he would be executed, but he replied that the war was already over, there was no need to listen to him, and he didn't want to kill him now.

"Now..."

A single word with precise pronunciation, just now... marked the end of the war in his mind.

After that, he spent more than two weeks with the soldiers until the warship docked in Yokosuka. The soldiers loathed kamikaze like madness, and indeed, kamikaze had caused great damage to the fleet in the past, but even so, as a kamikaze pilot, he was nonchalantly treated as a "cheeky kid who slipped into the ship".

"Heh, that one wins, this one loses, so there's plenty of room."

At first, he thought that the reason they treated him that way was because they were happy that they had won the war. To some extent, his assumption was correct, but after a while he realized something else, completely normal.

Any soldier. They weren't brutes who were indoctrinated by their superiors, they were the older brothers. Reluctantly dragged onto the battlefield, the rude and impatient soldiers, or the timid and clumsy, or the hostile and kind-hearted...were not meant to be killed.

He couldn't help but feel that the image of the enemy within him was terribly distorted.

He also learned from an officer (perhaps thinking that the "little warriors" wanted to know the outcome of their battle) that a ruthless reality was one of the main reasons for the soldiers' attitude.

In other words, the final suicide attack from him did not cause any damage to the fleet.

It was because they had no criminal record that he felt at ease.

Even though his pride was greatly hurt, he still acted tough on the spot.

"I don't like being treated like a child, but whether it's an arm wrestling or a fist fight, the odds are 50/50."

After that, for a while, he worked in the kitchen for food, singing nostalgia songs with which he didn't understand the language. In the fist fight at the drinking party, he was "fighting amongst themselves", and he learned broken English. On the contrary, he taught Japanese, and as he dealt with various faces, confusion began to arise in him.

"Hey, did I go out of my way to kill these guys?"

When he received a letter from an officer at his residence in Tokyo, he thought.

"These guys aren't the ones I have to hit with everything I've got."

Seeing the ravages of Yokosuka approaching, he reflected.

"Well then... who are those guys? What is that? Who was that? What was that?"

Unable to give an answer, he got off the warship and asked the officers and soldiers to see him off.

"Thank you."

He said that and said goodbye.

Unno Yutaka returned to Tokyo, alternating between the burned fields and the remains of the fire.

The hustle and bustle of the black market, the hustle and bustle of people, saw a boy clinging to an Occupation Army jeep, heard a happy song on the radio, walked past an ex-military policeman being lynched, and headed for a temporary destination .

There was nothing in the pension in Japan requested by the officer.

To be more precise, only the pillars that had not been reduced to ashes greeted him. Still, he did not give up, asking roaming scavengers and people living in the barracks about the whereabouts of the inhabitants.

"I am alone and have nothing else to do. It is a debt of gratitude for a night's stay and a meal."

He heard many stories as he searched for things that he didn't know if they were dead or alive.

The commander who led them on a suicide attack was criticized here and there.

Most of those who spoke badly were the comrades of the commanders, that is, the leadership of the old army. They unilaterally declared to the dead that if they decided to commit suicide, they would do it alone, that it would be nothing more than a suicide attack by a private army that ignored orders, taking with it young people with a promising future.

"Don't be silly to say something against the man who constantly puts a line on what he has done."

He was angered from the bottom of his heart by that ruckus.

"What, next time you should use that life for the restoration of your homeland. It must have been until yesterday that you took it from a young man with a promising future and ordered him to die."

From the bottom of his stomach, a kind of fever revived.

"Are you ordering me to turn my palms back, value my life, and work hard to rebuild? Don't you think of people's lives as nothing more than a tool that can be used for your benefit? Fuck you."

The heat hadn't gone away.

"The kamikazes did it because it was an order after all, whether they wanted to die or not. The bigger you get, the duller it gets, and you can roar to whatever you want."

Like a buried fire, he kept burning deep inside.

"How long will they continue to give orders to my life and our lives?"

A rumor reached his ears while he was dying with a pain that he could not scratch, even if he wanted to.

It was rumored that the occupying forces would collectively incinerate the Japanese army planes.

His feet turned towards Chofu, the elimination site.

Unno Yutaka grimly muttered.

"Even the execution ground is not that far away."

Under the autumn sky, the darkness increased with each step.

It was all a sad spectacle.

When he arrived at the Chofu airbase, mountains of various sizes had been built here and there.

The wings that once flew through the sky were now mountains of scrap that had been mercilessly crushed.

He knew well which ones were thrown away without even being burned.

A twin-engine trainer with a broken leg, a Type 0 transport plane with its cockpit torn off, a Shiden with its wings torn off… the marks of having been destroyed by human hands, not in combat, were clearly visible. Tires had been removed from many aircraft. According to a nearby resident, it was taken away to be used as farm equipment. There was no need for those things anymore, so what was wrong with using them for something else?

"Ha, I'm losing... it's disgusting."

And then, with a heavy heart, he arrived at the base's large airstrip, where the end was about to begin.

The bulldozer rushed forward and pushed the Type 100 reconnaissance aircraft upside down onto the aircraft next to it. Also, the planes they had brought back had probably been pushed into space, and the twin-engined Type 1 and Type 97 had their muzzles sunk into each other. Front, back, left, and right, Gale and Hien were crammed into a small space.

A Japanese worker scattered fuel between them, which there was no point in taking care of anymore. In addition to the roughly patrolling guards, many other onlookers gathered to watch the victory for them.

Before long, a harsh whistling sounded and a fire started.

He was watching his fate closely.

"......"

Thick black smoke rose up, followed by a dazzling flame.

The planes are slowly roasting.

"Something like this..."

He finally squeezed out a single word of emotion that seemed to make sense.

Suddenly, one of the wings burst open in the flames.

"......!"

The remaining fuel in the fuel tank caused the explosion.

Small explosions occurred one after another, tearing the plane apart.

"Uh..."

The smoke and flames expanded even further, swallowing the form of what had once been.

Before the invisible and disappearing things,

"Hey, please wait."

Unintentionally... he hid his voice, spilling out his real voice.

Like the planes, everything on it was burned, blown up, and smashed.

Forgetting to even blink, his voice continued to spill out as he covered himself in the smell of oil and the soot of smoke.

"Iron Wings, are you going to leave me behind?"

The wings that looked up in admiration mercilessly disappeared into the flames.

Being left behind, he didn't even know where to throw everything he had.

He didn't even want to obey an order that told him to go for a selfish prospect.

Wings, enemies, life, everything that should have existed for him to live was completely lost.

Anger, frustration, and sadness swirled inside him like a storm, burning with flames.

The tears that could have flowed were dried by the flames that burned irreplaceable things.

"All of me, all shining, should have been there."

Dokun... Something pulsed in the distance.

"But everything, I can't help it, I made it somehow."

Dokun… his heart was pounding, and something about it reached him.

"I'm..."

To the other side of the flames, to there...

"As I did?"

He let out an angry roar that welled up from the depths of his heart.

"Turn it off, alright, ooooooh!"

At the top, his senses suddenly expanded.

"......?!"

From the end of the darkness that he went through, the "Slate", the "King, Red", destruction.

Various fragments of theory flowed into his mind, but he knew nothing at all... With only his senses, he knew that the heat that burned him was accompanied by flames. He knew that the flames were overflowing without stopping.

"Why, this guy...?"

The words he addressed to those who interrupted his shouting were voices, not voices, but in a different form. Instead of exhalation, masses of flames dispersed. The open palm in front of him, and the entire body that was looking down, were engulfed in fiery red flames.

It was very hot, but it did not burn a layer of clothing or a single layer of skin.

He was irritated by the hellish disgust of not being able to die

"......?"

Capturing the sensation of being a part of him, he looked up.

He looked up at the sky for the first time that day, and it was floating in the black smoke that was rising towards the gloomy cloud.

It was a gigantic sword that gave off a dazzling red glow.

He muttered as he breathed in flames.

"I don't even care about the wings..."

He didn't like the fact that it was something that connected him.

A startled cry broke out behind him.

It's not a Japanese voice, it was a familiar American voice.

When he turned around wondering what was going on, several US soldiers on guard were staring at him with pale faces.

He vomited from the disgust of being burned alive.

"Fuck it. I'm in a good mood now."

Something hit him in the stomach.

If he only looked at it, he could see one of the American soldiers pointing his cannon at him, which was leaking gunpowder. He thought that he was going to clean it with a gun before. There wasn't a single scratch on his belly, let alone on the clothes he wore.

He felt that the flames had fanned.

"How nice."

He was stirred up, and his spirit was also on board. There were times when he wanted to freak out, even though he knew freaking out wouldn't help anything... Now was the time.

With hellfire burning his wings behind him, he stepped forward.

Although his shoes didn't burn, the ground he stood on did burn.

He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that.

His smiling voice turned into flames and scattered into the sky.

He cried out loud to his heart's content.

Feeling like a nightmare, he jumped on those who would shoot him.

The bullets that hit him did not hold as long as the raindrops.

He learned that, with the power of his fists, he could turn anyone to ash.

However, after waiting for a second, he yelled.

"Hey, you guys!"

After the US soldiers fled, they vandalized the jeep.

As he was convinced, the iron melted, expanded, and exploded.

The surroundings became noisy and US soldiers, in addition to security, rushed to the scene.

Even with hundreds of thousands of machine guns and rifles firing all over his body, he kept going.

At that moment, he advanced as if he was flying a distance that he couldn't reach from far.

He broke the armored car like candy, he saw further, he went further.

"Hahaha! Hey, isn't there a tank?! A warship is fine!"

With his own cry, the faces of the officers and soldiers suddenly came to life.

"Eh?!"

He looked around to see if there was anyone inside the armored vehicle that had been smashed to pieces.

He then he let out a fiery breath in the middle of nowhere, and turned white.

"Oh... what the hell is this fucking dream... I can't wake up."

He turned on his heel and walked slowly amid countless frightened stares.

In the fire that still burned the wings and the rest.

Finally, black smoke swirled in the wind, the flames rose, and the nightmare for the American soldiers ended.

He stepped on the rubble, and when he got to the middle, he exploded under a step and flew into the sky. Leaving behind the flames, he stepped through the black smoke and looked closely at the huge gigantic sword.

It was strangely shaped, neither a machine nor a creature.

"What are you going to do?"

He asked before the levitation of the explosion finished, but there was no answer.

With a snort, he made another explosion in the transition from floating to falling and flew away. He did not set any particular address. He left it to chance and flew as far as he could, but with all his might.

Those who made a fuss on the ground did not notice the star that had fallen from high above their heads.

"This kind of thing... what should I do?"

Unno Yutaka whispered into the empty sky and closed his heavy eyelids.

From somewhere in the past, he prayed for the dream to start again.

Although he knew it would not come true, he kept praying.

December 1948.

The Shizume area, which had been burned down during the air raids, has now formed a decent urban landscape. Of course, a splendid building (even if it burned down) was not enough for the fingers of one hand. All the wooden houses are smaller than the barracks, and the only advantage is the animation.

In the city center, the street stall-style black markets had all but disappeared, except in a few places. Instead, "markets", which are permanent shops lined up in rows of densely packed terraced houses, were common. Most of the shops were crowded restaurants and bars, pachinko parlors, sundry shops, and a slightly quirky dance hall.

Three years after the war, domestic distribution had been revived and shopping was no longer the job of an individual carrying a large backpack between the country and the city. The normal economic activity of middlemen buying ingredients and merchandise in bulk and selling them wholesale to each store was returning to normal.

An organization called "Kumi" was in charge of the operation of the entire market, management of trading rights, transactions with brokers, surveillance patrols, arbitration of disputes, and even negotiations with the government.

His predecessor was a group called Kagushiyashi, who had been in charge of land division (store locations) and entertainment at many local festivals. In the crowded market, there was a group that divided up each section, and while supporting the vitality of reconstruction, sharpening its rival's day by day with the goal of prosperity.

One of them was a group called "Kagirohigumi".

It is an emerging group born after the war, and the tightening of the market was relatively weak. Both the payment collected at the store and the brokerage fee were cheaper than the market price. Of course, kindness was not the reason. On the contrary, the members' arms were ridiculously strong and the controlled area was several times wider than the other groups, making it cheaper for that amount.

The Shizume area was originally a lawless area where many groups created a black market right after the war and fought over territory just like in the Warring States period. There was no patience to look at each other, no reason to compromise, and from bullying like obstruction of business to outright violent incidents, the chain of vices was the daily life of that town.

At the beginning of 1946, the disastrous situation changed completely with the sudden appearance of Furaibo. A wandering man... or, rather, a boy who ate everything on his strength alone.

Starting out as a free food eater at a street stall, sounding like a street fighter, being hired as a bodyguard at a market, and finally starting out as "Kagirohi-gumi" at the end of his fierce to-and-fro with multiple groups, even barefoot he was a fierce upstart in the career. Even after establishing the group, it took him more than two years to deal with other interventions and conflicts, and the former Furaibo was now in the position of a big boss who controlled most of the market in the Shizume area.

The big boss, who returned from a kamikaze attack, was exactly like a kamikaze attack, he was not afraid of death and even wanted to die.

In other words, he was "Unno who was slow to pass away".

#k #k project #k side gold

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sapphicsrph · 2 years

Text

⚡THUNDER FORCE SENTENCE STARTERS

A collection dialogue taken from Netflix’s Thunder Force. Feel free to adjust as needed. TW: Alcohol mentions, swearing, violence

"Let’s give someone else a chance.”

“So, I can’t say, ‘Wayne is a stupid bags of crap,’ I have to say, ‘Wayne is a stupid bag of crap’?“

“Worth it.”

“I’m not a nerd. I’m smart. There’s a difference.“

“I’m sorry about your parents.“

“Now, get in that dumpster. ‘Cause that’s where the garbage goes.“

“If I had superpowers, I’d beat the crap out of whoever did it to them.“

“I think I’d be a pretty kick-ass superhero.“

“Yeah, I knew that. I was testing you.”

“I made us friendship bracelets. Now we’re officially friends.“

“If Jesus was here, he would crush it.“

“There’s a break in the fence. I could sneak us in.”

“If you can’t tell a joke, you’ll never get a lady. That’s factual.”

“You’re gonna crack from the stress though.”

“Don’t worry. I got your back. Trust me.”

“No! Oh my god, I am late. You were supposed to wake me up.”

“Oh, wow, that did not go like I planned at all.“

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m trying to do something with my life.“

“Hey, I’m sorry, I messed up.“

“Sorry isn’t enough. I have important things to accomplish.“

“I can’t let you drag me down.“

“We all know I’m not special.“

“I could be the president, getting chauffeured in limousines.“

“Who blows up an angel?”

“I can’t even pay to fix my window.”

“I don’t talk to her anymore, and you know it.“

“Got her number for you.”

“You don’t know unless you ask.”

“That’s not the worst of it.”

“I worry about ya, but you do make a hell of a pancake.“

“Hey, you be careful out there.“

“I wish she was here.“

“She’s probably hangin’ out with strippers, sippin’ smooth champagne, eatin’ nachos filled with goose meat or something.“

“Do you wanna hear a joke?“

“She probably just needs a wingman.“

“Sorry, it’s after hours. Do you have an appointment?“

“I guess you could say we’re estranged now, but not in a way that’s, like, restraining order.“

“She doesn’t go to parties on her own.“

“I’m kinda relieved that’s the answer.“

“Whoa, this place is taters.“

“Can I get, like, an ice-cold brewski?“

“I remembered that you never liked to go to parties solo, so I just thought I’d...swing by and see if you wanted me to go with you.”

“Don’t touch anything while I’m gone, please.”

“I need you to keep an eye on things.“

“Oh, uh, she said that you’re supposed to get me another cold beer right away.“

“Alright, I’m gonna sit, not touch anything else, and wait for my beer.“

“Whoa! This is the world’s stupidest massage chair!“

“It’s not a massage chair, you idiot.“

“Okay, I touched a couple… I touched one thing. I’m so sorry…“

“I’ve worked for this my entire life and you’ve ruined everything.“

“I always knew you could do it.“

“Well, that’s not…very soothing to hear.“

“Wait a minute, I’m not staying here.“

“This looks like the jail cell on Battlestar Galactica.“

“Did I do that?”

“You have a kid and I didn’t even know it?“

“We have clean women’s clothing for you. Everything you could possibly need, and we will burn what you are wearing at the first opportunity.“

“If you need anything, someone will be on call.“

“Oh my god, don’t put your address online.“

“We should play. But I gotta warn you. I play dirty!“

“Uh, I don’t start at 5:00 a.m.“

“Oh my god, I’m gonna throw the shit out of a city bus.“

“Why does it look like a carnival thing?“

“I think I sprained my groin. Do chicks have groins?“

“It’s a miracle you’re still alive.“

“You know, I’m scrambling to find the silver lining here.“

“Hold on to your ta-tas, ’cause this thing’s getting crushed.“

“Well, that’s a stone-cold bummer.“

“I hear you’re not eating.“

“Don’t judge me, it’s so good.“

“Go easy on her. It’s my fault.“

“Can’t unsee that.“

“Oh, sexy science talk.”

“I told you I was fun.”

“Alright. Where are you? We’re gonna put a bell on you.“

“You know what? Respect me.”

“Welcome to the carnival, bitch!“

“Maybe if we don’t look at her, she’ll stop.“

“You know what we need? We need a little snack break, get our brain juices going again.“

“Everything sounds stupid the first time you hear it.“

“This car makes me ovulate.“

“I wanna have shiny, purple Lamborghini babies.“

“I knew I didn’t wanna hear it.“

“The Crab? What’s his power? Like, tasting delicious with melted butter?“

“We need pump-up music.“

“I’m gonna kangaroo his ass.”

“Stop bragging about your thighs.”

“Does take a certain woman to look good dropping through acoustic tile.“

“Please don’t film this, sir. This is a mistake!“

“We’re not doing it for thanks. We protect the city.“

“Not to sound like a femme fatale, but it feels like I need to kill them.“

“This is a social visit. Otherwise, you’d already be, you know, dead.“

“You two are working together? “

“Can you keep a secret?“

“I always knew you were right for each other.“

“Uh, wow, that’s a… that’s a lot to unpack.“

“You’re a meme now.”

“Find an aloe plant and chew on that.“

“I’m not some little kid throwing a tantrum!“

“You know, boss, I, uh… I validate your feelings.“

“Well, as I like to say, when life gives you lemons, make…lemon-flavored napalm.

“Because this city deserves what’s coming to it.“

“Sometimes I can’t picture certain people doing certain things.

“Maybe you’re weaker than you thought.“

“Get a shovel. I’m gonna bury that bitch.“

“I’m sorry. I messed up. I was trying to stop her.“

“You understand this isn’t a game? We have a job to do.“

“Whatever you say. You’re always right.“

“Am I too tough on you?“

“Anyway, I went into a life of crime.“

“I didn’t know we were getting food and entertainment.“

“I heard you were on a date.“

“What happened to your buttons?“

“Don’t point at me! Don’t point at me! Don’t judge-y point at me.“

“Did you get surf and turfed?“

“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I really think we can trust him.“

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m mad at you because you always go crazy or if I’m really just mad at myself because…I never do.“

“Even though I was dumb enough to let us drift apart, you’ve always been special.“

“Some people just deserve a dumpster.“

“If this goes bad, I wanna thank you for being my friend.“

“You’re the best person I ever met.“

#rp meme #sentence starter meme #roleplay meme #sentence prompts #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters

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motheatenscarf · 1 year

Text

I think I'm almost done with Post-Shadowbringers stuff

I just did Paglth'an, so here are some catchup thoughts.

Holy shit, Alisaie figured out the cure for Tempering and between her, G'raha, Y'shtola, and Master Matoya, they've figured out how to mass produce this shit so that Tempering is basically no longer an obstacle. Go team!! Ga Bu's! little! voice! He sounds like he's about to ask if please, sir, he can he have some more porridge. Tragic little urchin. Outright Dickensian. So cute ;_; But more importantly,

This has led to the Alliance leaders finally, F I N A L L Y, making peace with and inviting the Beast Tribes to the table. They all seemed to start moving in on it at the same time, but credit still goes to Lyse imo for being the first one to insist, no, we mean everyone gets a seat at the table with the Ala Mhigan republic they're creating. Granted, they modled that on the republic Aymeric built and he was also talking to the Vanu, so. My goodest noodles. I love them so much! I liked Merlwyb getting some character development, but also the entire time she was talking about how to make amends to the Kobolds, I just sat there going, "Land back. You can give their land back. Land back???" But she managed to get them to agree to join up anyway, so... fine :T

Estinien's back! \o/ And he's maybe staying this time? We freed Tiamat and watching Talia, Estinien, and Alphinaud try to figure out how to put a software update on a 3,000 year old phone was way funnier than it had any right to be. Buncha dingdongs. Also, holy shit, Estinien meeting Alisaie was everything I hoped it would be and more. He mistook her for Alphinaud and gave her a noogie. She fucking H A T E S him. It was clear she was envisioning a heroic knight based on Alphinaud's descriptions and then Estinien made the worst mistake of his life. Amazing restraint on her part that she only yelled at him, I thought for sure that was the end for him. But he's actually grown a lot and had a good moment with Fordola where he basically said, "There are enough assholes out there who are good at killing like you and me, but what the world NEEDS is idealists like Alphinaud who actually plan to BUILD something out of the ashes we leave behind." Out of the Scions, I think Estinien is the one who groks Talia the most for this reason alone. That mentality of, I am not good. But you are. I was mostly joking when I said Estinien is her best friend/wingman now and he doesn't get a say in this, but yeah, they would definitely be the "We still never talk sometimes" kind of friends who can just chill in comfortable silence because they're on such a similar wavelength. Which I will say, did make me start to wonder about him and Aymeric and that very gay religious art way he was carried back to Ishgard. Like, oh no, do they maybe have some history there? But then Estinien said, verbatim, "I don't want to go to the Alliance meeting, Aymeric will be there and I don't want to be lectured," so... probably not! Also, the one instance where Talia can't relate to Estinien. Keeping the people you care about at arms' length because you're scared to let anyone in after what you've lost? Tired. Recklessly devoting yourself body and soul to protecting the people you care about because you'd rather die than be alone again after what you've lost? Wired. Get on her level, Estinien, in this house we listen to the Moogles' advice that the fuel powering dark edgelord shit is love.

Anyway, with the Tempering cure in the works, a LOT is shifting in the status quo, which I like. Fandaniel is boring and continues to be just... the fucking most, and I'm tired of him. I'm so tired of him. I have thoughts, but that's for another post.

Zenos keeps making a big deal about wanting a new weapon and they keep deliberately not showing it, and I know Reaper was introduced in Endwalker, so I think that's what they're teasing there, and if he winds up going Reaper I am going to SCREAM. He's already Talia's dark mirror and I already headcanon that her dumb Dark Knight sword that's too big for her was yoinked out of his stupid golf bag. So if he just goes "uno reverse, bitch!" and is now copying her by going Reaper, they are going to be in danger of being legit frenemies and I don't know how to feel about that! That is the exact kind of escalating rivalry I've wanted out of a good nemesis for her!

But also like, Zenos' plans seem so fucking stupid. I don't know what he's got in the works with Fandaniel, he says all he wants is to fight the WoL again, but I don't get how facilitating the apocalypse accomplishes that?

Like, buddy, if you want a fight, roll up and ask her. I brought a character who started her existence as a fucking Sith into this game, you are never gonna find another WoL more eager to drop whatever she's doing just to kick your ass.

#Caitlin Plays FF14 #FF14 spoilers #Eschatalia Solanum

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laufire · 3 months

Text

repeating last month's reading meme, with the stories I completed this month (many of them started waaaaaaay before though. thus is the nature of comics).

list and some thoughts under the cut.

NOVELS

Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett. As with every other Discword novel, I practically devoured this one. Very enjoyable, especially Granny's plot, which did hit close to home for me lol.

Dare Me by Megan Abbott. This is proof that, despite having aged out of the YA bracket, some of it, the really good one, still holds up. Still, I know that if I had read this as a teenager, I would've made it my whole personality for at least a while xDD. Nonetheless, it was a great read. It's a pity that the show was cancelled before it covered the entire story, because I would've loved to watched an adaptation :/

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. Of the Austen novels I've read so far, I would probably put it in the last place, but I did end up enjoying it. I had a good laugh with the Ferrars family drama, and I enjoy how... anti-karma Austen can be. Sometimes shitty, selfish people behalf shittily and selfishly, and that works out perfectly for them, lbr.

COMICS COMICS COMICS

Arsenal. And absolutely great mini (four issues long) in Devin Grayson's melodrama era. Vandal Savage collecting body parts of his descendants to replace his rotten ones is A Concept. And I loved the cameos by Dinah, Oracle, Connor... perfect.

Robin (vol. 1). Tim goes to Paris to train a bit more after Bruce decides he's ready to be Robin. There he ends up in between mob complots and gets trained by Shiva for a little while. My main takeaway is that Tim should have a musical staff in more stories.

The Cull. I kept waiting for this miniseries to go somewhere and... eh. The ending is a bit open so it might continue, but unless I hear something really solid I wouldn't pick it back up.

Batman: City of Madness. The concept of this story ended up being far grander than its execution, and I think I would've liked a longer, more involved, riskier storyline... The art is still amazing, though. It's given me some proto-ideas, though.

Dark Spaces: The Hollywood Special. I could literally copy-paste the last paragraph here lol.

Batman/Huntress: Cry for Blood. Amazing. Perfect. 10/10. One comic I'm going to recommend.

Robin II: The Joker's Wild!. This should've gone harder with the Jason-haunting-the-narrative concept, IMO, but I am NOT an unbiased party lol.

All of Jason Todd's New 52 (2011-2016) appearances. There is... so much I could say about this. Not much would be good, because yes, I still rage against the reboot xD. RHATO vol. 1 ends up looking even good after Red Hood/Arsenal (which improved a bit at the very end, admittedly); Lobdell is the worst, either way. Batman Incorporated/Wingman... too little effort put on it. Appalling, poorly thought-through characterisation all around, really, alongside a lot of choices I'm still baffled by (chessmaster Joker by beloathed). Batman & Robin Eternal got on my nerves, and not just for Jason. Robin War, Grayson... all of it needed a lot more development for me to be sold on it. The cameos in Deathstroke were... fine, but forgettable, when they shouldn't have been.

I did use the cover for Supergirl vol. 6 #35 because that's the ONE Jason appearance I can say I fully enjoyed! Jason is competent (aided by some "venom" which was an arc that amounted to nothing, but whatever), he is a MENACE, he seeks a team up with Supergirl but is a fucking asshole about it despite clearly wanting to be friends xDD... it felt as if I was almost reading new earth!Jason circa Green Arrow/Outsiders, which I really enjoyed! The stupid uncanny valley helmet makes an appearance but I just ignore that xDD

Robin III: Cry of the Huntress. Tim and Helena meet for the first time and team up! It was all right.

World Without Young Justice. I read the Tim-centric issue as it was one of the firsts in Lewis's run, so I decided to read the other four issues in the arc. Tim's is my favourite, though: it has Steph as the original Robin, in a story that really caught my eye and I might use at some point... honestly, I think superhero!Steph/civilian!Tim is a DELICIOUS set-up for the ship that I know I'll revisit in some fics where I don't have Tim donning a mantle (or at least, not in a traditional way).

Batman Plus Arsenal. Great one-shot (Devin Grayson does it again etc.). The moment where Roy gets on Batman's case for how sparse he is with praise was gr10.

Harley and Ivy: Love on the Lam. Another one-shot, by Winnick this time (I have my selected favourites). The dynamics are very clearly inspired by the DCAU despite being a new earth comic, but as those are my favourite versions of the characters involved, that works for me. It's about cycles and how hard it is to break them, of course

Knightfall. I started reading the arc in January. Although I'd read part of it before, this is the first time I really set out to read the complete thing. My veredict is that it focuses way to much on JPV, who I simply don't connect with LOL. The parts with Bruce, with Tim, and especially with Dick, and even with Gordon and Essen, are far more appealling to me, and I would've preferred them to be expanded upon to JPV's detriment tbh.

Bruce Wayne: Murderer?/Fugitive. Amazing story arc, and as far as I'm concerned, a must-read among Batman/Batfam fans. Bruce's reasons for finally getting his head out of his ass were also very poignant and rang very true to him, as did his shitty non-apology about his actions lol. And in the end, Sasha and Bruce-Sasha ended up being a really fascinating part of it all. I might go back and read her older appearances.

Jon Lewis's Robin Run (vol. 2 #100-120). Really fun! A very enjoyable take on Tim Drake, very cute Steph/Tim stories, really good overall! And the plot with Tim's birthday... jail, jail to Bruce for one thousand years xDD. Very sad that Tim can't be allowed to be mad at him for longer than five pages smh.

#reading meme #books #comics #dc comics #my thoughts #dc thoughts #dc #id in alt text #captioned #tag game #dare me #carpe jugulum #sense and sensibility

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lordfrezon · 2 years

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Ace Combat 7: 4/10

It is said that in order to truly hate something, you have to have loved it first.

I hate Ace Combat 7.

I really do. It is a truly awful game. I cannot think of a non-League of Legends game that has infuriated me more than this one. I literally just rage quit an uninstalled it on the very last mission. I haven’t beaten the game. I likely never will.

Ace Combat 7 is the latest in the Ace Combat series, a game series I might consider my favorite of all time. 5 and Zero are incredibly fun and Ace Combat 4 was the video game of my childhood, and remains impeccable today. Project Wingman, basically a reimagining of Ace Combat by an indie studio, is one of my all-time favorite video games. As good as all of those games are, Ace Combat 7 is as bad.

There are a bunch of factors that play into why this game is just that bad. First, the gameplay. Even playing with a fun DLC superplane, I felt that I lacked control over my plane far too often. Weather conditions will force you to fight against your controls. Missiles from your enemies force you to swerve wildly as they fill the screen. The levels themselves often force you to do unnatural movements or make insane turns to survive the terrain, not to mention enemies. There are several canyon/tunnel missions in this game, and they are all terrible. You have effectively 0 room for error, if you don’t do exactly what the game wants you to do, you crash.

You would think that, with that much desired precision, the game would at least handle well. It doesn’t. Your plane’s hitbox is unnatural and will often hit stuff that you definitely missed on your screen. There’s the aforementioned fighting against your controller. There’s the weather. The game is demanding you to play perfectly, and then doing its best to ruin your attempts to do so. Dark Souls 1 is not this unforgiving. And I was playing on Normal.

The story is laughable, and not in a haha funny way, but in a why did they think this was a good idea way. Ace Combat 5 and Zero had their share of melodrama, and Project Wingman has antagonistic allies, but in general their stories were good. You save the world, save your buddies, get betrayed, fight the oppressors, it’s a good time. Ace Combat 7 has a lot of those same elements, but executes on the about as poorly as you can. Spoilers, for the first quarter of the game.

Mission 4 has you flying through some radar bubbles (a gimmick taken from Ace Combat 5) to rescue the former president (from Ace Combat 5). You do it, fight some drones (oh yeah, a lot of the enemies aren’t people, they’re drones. So much for making you feel like a badass ace.) and escort the president. Then the game starts screaming at you, there’s a drone next to the president, shoot it before it shoots him. You do, and the game switches to a cutscene: the president is shot down, and it looks like you did it. Besides you knowing, hey, I definitely was shooting at a drone, there’s nothing, for 12 missions, to prove it wasn’t you. So the game is actively making you, the player, feel like an asshole.

But wait, it gets worse.

You’re then sent to prison, where you meet the absolute worst fucking characters in pretty much any video game. There’s the warden, your prison awacs, your squadmates, and literally all of them constantly berate you, belittle you, and threaten you. This goes on for 6 missions, nonstop, culminating in you having to escort (god aren’t escort missions the best?) the abusive warden, who keeps at his bullshit the entire journey while you’re saving his ass. Also, the game expects you to suddenly care about one of the prisoners who’s now your wingman, except he is an arrogant prick who tries his best to steal all your glory. He faces no repercussions for this.

This is just a small snippet of the awfulness of the story. The between-mission cutscenes include a character who I could not care less about (though I don’t actively hate her, so that’s something), occasionally adding in the princess who started the war, who is supposed to be a sympathetic character. The game is full of stupid banter between NPCs. There are a total of two characters I like, and one is your nemesis. It is a disaster.

Do you want to know what’s even worse? There’re 3 DLC missions.

They’re actually fun.

The 3 missions feature a villain who is meant to be hated, so you hating his ass is good, and he’s pretty well written. There’s two secondary antagonists too, and they’re assholes and you like shooting them. The new ally NPC is kinda cool dude so that’s nice I guess. But there are no stupid weather gimmicks. There are no tunnels or restraints on your flying. The closest thing to a gimmick is you have a time limit in a couple of the sections and the giant aerial burst cannons that are actually well made and tense. And the game is fun as hell. You get to fight a ton of enemies, there are two incredible boss battles, including the best ground boss in the series, and the music is great (which I have to admit is true for the rest of the game, the music slaps).

And all of this just infuriates me even more, because it proves that the devs CAN make fun missions, they CAN engage you in stressful content without stupid gimmicks or taking away control from you. For the campaign, however, they just don’t. Having to go back to the main game after Anchorhead Raid and Ten Million Relief Plan is a kick in the balls.

The bright spots in the game just serve to amplify how awful the rest is, and playing older games? Don’t get me started, they just demonstrate how far Project Aces has fallen. The majority of the game’s “cool” moments are nostalgia bait from the previous games, specifically 4 and 5. The game is aware it can’t stand on its own, so tries its hardest to evoke nostalgia from long time fans to try and get them to like the game. But in doing so, Ace Combat 7 demonstrates itself to be devoid of any message, any originality, and any fun.

Screw this game.

#Ace Combat #Ace Combat 7 #frezon does a game review

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pourcap · 2 years

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thoughts: pg chapter 15

He had learned how to handle Veretian armour. i love that this acts as an indicator of 1) how much closer he feels to veretians in general and 2) laurent lol

man, i just want the regent to die and before that, i want everyone to find out about all that he's done. i want nicaise to be safe and faaaar away from terrible people and instead close to laurent, and i want laurent to be a happy king with a great reputation and another happy king with a great reputation by his side :')

Because it was impossible, he allowed himself to imagine, just once, what it would be like to face Laurent as a man . . . (...) and he was honest enough with himself to admit that if he had encountered Laurent in that mode, all golden lashes and needling remarks, he might well have found himself in some danger. i am about to have a breakdown <3 once i'm done with these books i'm going to read every single au in which everyone's happy and alive and damen and laurent find their way to each other without anything or anyone in their way <3

Laurent said, ‘I’m afraid you don’t have time.' hhhhh

Laurent said, ‘Lazar said he came because he took a wrong turning.' i feel like lazar and damen could be great friends. like, in a modern au, they'd go out and be each other's wingman and get laid until obv damen would meet laurent and fall head over heels in love with him

aahhh laurent asking about sex again

'Auguste preferred women. He told me I would grow into it. I told him that he could get heirs and I would read books. I was . . . nine? Ten? I thought I was already grown up. The hazards of overconfidence.' alright so, in the above-mentioned modern au, damen, lazar and auguste would go out to get laid :') (i also can't think about a cute, innocent baby laurent without sobbing, so i'll just think about lazar, damen and auguste being happy hoes in my au lol)

Damen said, ‘You can rest easy. You are ready to face Lord Touars.' the familiarity :( the understanding :( i love this sm

Laurent said, ‘Maybe it seems that I can outplay him now. But when this game began I was . . . younger.' i want laurent to become king, put the regent in a cell and then just let him rot there until he dies a slow, torturous death

Younger. Laurent had been fourteen at Marlas. (...) Younger. Thirteen, on the cusp of fourteen. please. i will cry.

(...) It was just as impossible to imagine him fighting in battle at that age as it was to imagine him trailing around after an older brother he adored. It was impossible to imagine him adoring anyone. first part: did laurent fight at marlas? i thought he was just there...? second part: OPEN YOUR EYES.

And their general wasn’t the King, it was the twenty-five year old Prince, holding the field. :( auguste deserved better. i know it was war and if he hadn't died, damen had, but still. i hate this.

Father, I can beat him, he’d said. Then go, his father had said, and bring us back victory. that was difficult to read for me. to think about damen and his men celebrating their victory and laurent's entire world being shattered at the very same time... it's just really tragic

ugh no, not the regent's men...

'They’re moving to flank us. Have they mistaken us for an enemy troop?’ said Jord, confused. ‘No,’ said Laurent. oooh laurent is finally a real threat to his uncle <3 yes <3

‘There is still a path open to us, to the north,’ said Damen. ‘No,’ said Laurent. laurent is so hot

i just LOVE how damen has become laurent's closest confidant

executed for treason????

(...) You can outplay him, Damen had said, but it had been long weeks since he had faced the power of the Regent. (...) in all honesty, the regent is such a good villain. he's the worst person, horribly disgusting, smart, and i really, really, really want him to die very soon, but props to pacat for managing to craft an authentically gross character like him

WHAT THE FUCK

aimeric??????

i knew it. i knew he was going to be a problem.

i haaaaaaate him

oh shit i forgot about jord

Aimeric watched with his chin up, but gave Jord no particular attention. Jord’s face was stripped raw with betrayal and stricken guilt as he dragged his gaze from Aimeric and met Laurent’s hard, unrelenting eyes. (...) How long had Aimeric been missing, and how long, out of misplaced loyalty, had Jord been covering up for him? oh no :( i feel so bad for jord but what did he assume aimeric had gone missing for...? ... laurent isn't going to kill him for this, is he?

'I don’t betray my family. I’m not like you,’ said Aimeric. ‘You hate your uncle. You had unnatural feelings for your brother.' is there a single person in vere's court that has not been manipulated by the regent?

'At thirteen?’ From his frigid blue eyes to the tips of his polished boots, Laurent could not have looked less capable of feelings for anyone. ‘Apparently I was even more precocious than you.' laurent really can dish it out... but also, "precocious"? isn't aimeric laurent's age? i remember damen saying he couldn't be older than 20 in one of the earlier chapters

i really hate aimeric so much

This rabble of men, who not long ago had been divided, shiftless and disloyal, would fight to the death for their Prince, if he asked them. i'm getting emotional

i couldn't make it through guion's whole spiel about the regent's kindness and patience without gagging so i won't quote it to spare you the displeasure of having to read it again

'Speaking of negligence,’ said Laurent. ohhh!!!! he's got a trick up his sleeve. of course he does :')

'I have something of yours. I’d chide you on your carelessness, but I’ve just had a lesson in the ways that the detritus of a troop can slip from one camp to another.' i don't know what it is he has but i just wanna say that i love him and that he is the coolest, most intelligent, most shrewed person in the world

There were fourteen prisoners today, when yesterday there had been ten. He looked sharply at Laurent. i still don't know what that means but i'm sitting here smiling so much lol laurent is seriously so fucking cool

Thick-tongued, ‘My lord—a force of men to the east, riding to intercept you at Hellay—' 'This is Hellay,’ said Councillor Guion, with sharp impatience, as Captain Enguerran looked at Laurent with a different expression. oh my goooooddddd i love this i love laurent so much what the fuck is his brain how is he so cunning i love himmmm

'What force?’ Aimeric’s sudden voice was thin and edged. yeah, that was pretty terrible timing to switch sides

laurent has been planning this for so long?????

'You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ said Laurent. i hope damen sucks his dick someday (if laurent wants him to)

TORVELD. that was in book 1??? what thef uck laurent???

'I have a choice?’ said Laurent. You planned this! Nicaise had flung the words at Laurent. You wanted him to see! ‘Did you think,’ said Laurent, ‘if you threw down a challenge to fight, I would not accept it?' sorry to repeat myself but laurent is. so. hot. (also love nicaise being mentioned!!! i miss him </3)

'My scorn and contempt,’ said Laurent, ‘are not in need of your leniency. Lord Touars, you face me in my own kingdom, you inhabit my lands, and you breathe at my pleasure. Make your own choice.' what a line. (what a man <33333)

'I need you to captain the men. Take the command from Jord. It’s yours. It should have been you,’ said Laurent, ‘from the start.’ The words were hard as he spoke of Touars: ‘He is going to fight.' aaaah i'm sad about jord but yes!!! go damen!!! "it should have been you from the start" i am actually going to pass out

i feel like i haven't taken a single breath this entire chapter lol

'I can win you this battle. (...) He felt his battle instincts rise within him at the audacity of it, to take one of the most powerful forts on the Veretian border. It was something not even his father had dared, had ever dreamed possible. (...) his confidence is so attractive. also, i love how the idea of taking ravenel because it's so difficult and complicated. he and laurent could truly be a match made in heaven <3

Laurent said, ‘You were right about him. He spent his first week here starting fights, and when that didn’t work, he got in bed with my Captain.’ His voice was inflectionless. ‘What was it, do you think, that Orlant found out, that got him skewered on Aimeric’s sword?' noooo that's what killed orlant?? man, i hate aimeric so much. i really do. what an asshole.

that was such an incredible chapter but probably super stupid of me to read at 1 am bc now i am too tense to sleep lol

#captiveprince #lamen #capri #captive prince #damen #damianos #damianos of akielos #laurent #laurent of vere #damen of akielos

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marianomivida · 2 years

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Misc Mariano Headcanons/Imagines

A/N: Um I do be brainrotted fr. This list includes platonic, romantic, and suggestive headcanons.

—-

Platonic

Be prepared to hear about his romantic woes if you’re his friend.

Partner is upset with him? He comes to you for advice (regardless of whether or not you’re romantically inclined), and if you have no advice to give he simply grieves and mopes.

He likes to be seen for who he is, often being mistaken as just a “pretty boy” he likes to have a friend who really gets him. Someone who sees more than romantic value in him.

He has a lot of love to give, and not just to his significant other! He will give hearty hugs and pats to his friends as well.

You guys both listen to each other equally, he knows what it’s like to not be heard, so he does his best to listen to your troubles and at the very least offer his company.

He definitely tries to get you into his hobbies, and get into any of yours that you’re willing to share. You could write the worst or edgiest poetry known to man and he’d still have a blast reading it, and he may try and teach you how to play some guitar.

He shops for his house, so you’ll often see him at the store or he’ll invite you to come with him. He likes having a friend to shop with him, keep him company.

Great at idle conversation. Pleasant to talk to overall.

If you like someone he will totally try to wingman for you, he will be a lowkey hypeman and tell the tale of all your glorious feats to the person you’re interested in.

Romantic

He is big on romance as a whole. It could be anything. Physical affection, verbal affection, acts of service, romantic displays, you name it, he’s for it.

If he senses that any of those overwhelm you though, he will do his best to stray away from them. He doesn’t want to scare you off.

I like to think he’s had a few failed relationships before, which is why he’s so desperate for love but at the same time so scared to lose it. He’s kind of a pushover for that reason, willing to do anything to keep his partner.

When giving gifts and such he likes to make sure they’re special to you in particular. He’ll write a poem about a time you two were on a date somewhere, and talk about all the endearing things that you don’t notice about yourself. He’ll write a lovely song and sing of your beauty, your passions, your everything. He’ll get you a box set of that telenovela you like, engage in one of your hobbies and make a gift through it, etc.

He treasures your gifts like they’re ancient artifacts. He keeps them in a special place in his room, away from the world. He keeps them to himself, you made them for him and he is allowed to be protective over them, as a treat.

Believe it or not, he likes to cuddle with your head on his chest. You get to feel just how much his heart beats for you. Cheesy, I know.

Honestly doesn’t care about your status. You could be homeless for all he cares, as long as you love him as much as he loves you he’ll happily take you in.

Very tender kisser. He kisses you so softly sometimes that you can barely hear or feel the soft suck if his lips as they pull away from yours. He likes to handle you gently…

He pops the question every other day— or rather keeps suggesting it. You guys bump into each other at the store, then lock eyes and smile? “We should get married.” You’re cleaning the house and open up the window for some fresh air, and he happens to be strolling by and pops his head in just to say hi? “We should get married.” He says it jokingly, but once he finally proposes he completely knocks your socks off.

The wedding is defo happening in Encanto. It’s likely where you two met and where his family is, and it’s such a beautiful place for parties and festivals… Who wouldn’t want to get married there?

His ENTIRE family shows up. Be prepared to say hi to a lot of people you’ll probably never see again, and never knew existed. You gotta remember them all though, on the off chance you see them again for a birthday party or two.

Your wedding kiss is the most passionate one he’ll ever gift you. He’d gather you up in his arms, crushing your back as he snatches the breath right out of your lungs. The crowd would go wild.

Long story short, he’s an amazing partner. It doesn’t get much better than Mari.

Suggestive

Aight, those of you uncomfy with adult themes can go now, go on, git!

Everyone likes to think that the “five kids” line from Dolores was just her making things up, and that may very well be true… But for the sake of creative liberty I’ve chosen to believe it is genuine, for funsies. You know where this is going, don’t you?

So… Breeding kink.

Not as aggressive as one would think, but still present in his desires. It’s not just the carnal aspect of it, it’s the intimacy aspects. The act of him being so deep within you, close enough to where he feels as though he could melt into you… That’s what gets him. He often wonders how your children would look like if you were to have any, he thinks they’d be beautiful. He wants to fill you with his love and lineage, badly.

He’s hairy. Not messy hairy, though. He takes good care of himself, so his body hair is maintained as well. His pubes are trimmed, and the happy trail is neat, and his chest hair is spread evenly and is nice and soft. He’s wayyy into body care.

He’s a soft top, not necessarily a dom. I can’t see him being aggressive and intimidating in the bedroom. He’s flirty and playful, and sets up a romantic scene in the bedroom before he finally gets you in there. The classic candles and rose petals, it’s laughably cliche but his smugness is so damn hot that you can’t fixate on the humor of the situation for very long.

He likes to keep you as close as he can during. Something he’d wind up doing a lot is holding your face in his hands while kissing you, your body laid mostly flat on the bed (with the exception of your lower half). He’s between your legs, leaned into you. You’re both mumbling nothings into each other’s mouth, occasionally broken up by meaningful smooches.

He prefers to go in raw, but if you tell him to use protection of course he’s going to. He respects your boundaries.

Your first time with him is his first time. He’s been in relationships before but they’ve never gotten far enough to this point.

Ideally, the setting is your honeymoon. The place of your choice is just as amazing as you thought it’d be (because you don’t have to live there) and you both had fun doing couple stuff. When you two get back to your lodgings you know what is expected of couples during this period and… Well… You both get started.

He kind of knows what he’s doing. He’s running on passion alone as opposed to overall knowledge, but the sex serves its purpose. He makes love to you, he does not “fuck.”

Might go for another round, he gets easily excited right after. Just the slightest hint that you have more stamina is enough to get him up again.

He’s a little embarrassed that he made a mess, but what he really wants to do is lay there with you and cool off for a bit. Cleanup can happen… Later.

Make sure you affirm that he did well, he lives on praise and affection. He gets really bashful when you tell him he pleased you, especially if you go into detail.

Full balls btw. Be careful with them.

You can top him pretty easily, he doesn’t really care who bottoms as long as you’re having a good time and so is he.

Very healthy sexual relationship, he respects your boundaries and never tries to convince you if you tell him no.

#mariano guzman #mariano x reader #mariano encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto #Mariano guzmán #lime #orange #lemon #citrus #citrus scale #fanfic #headcanons #imagines #encanto imagines #encanto headcanons #encanto x reader #EDIT JUST NOTICED THE TYPO 😭😭

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stilemawillow · 2 years

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A Poem for the Right Person [Levi | Reader]

a poem for the: i - wrong person; ii - right person

Knights, fairytales, Prince Charming, a damsel in distress. Standard universal formula. An unfortunate pretty girl struggles with her unfair life, meets her Prince, survives a crucial misfortune, gets back to her beloved and they live happily ever after. Standard formula.

Comparing yourself to the main heroine would be quite presumptuous. Somebody who wrote poems to express their feelings wasn’t somebody who had a realistic grasp on the world surrounding them. A dreamer could make of the worst heartbreak a beautiful tragedy. He could make of the simplest gesture a literary piece full of colours and meaning. He could see a teacup and whip up a quick fantasy about the life of the person who’d last touched it. He could watch death and say it’s kindness. He could live years of unrequited love and say it’s simply meant to be, in some life, in some form – that it’s beautiful and fulfilling despite its misfortune. You were that kind of hopeless unrealized dreamer.

Because you observed people and you couldn’t help it – thinking what their thoughts consisted of, thinking their smallest of movements and changes of expression held meaning. You couldn’t help thinking whatever was meant to happen would happen regardless of you and your actions. Fate was fate and you were yourself – nothing more and nothing less, and you couldn’t affect anything – you could only sit and write it down. Now, Corporal Levi Ackerman had a contrasting opinion.

“It’s been a year. You’ve gone nowhere near a confession.” He was at his desk, working through a discouraging amount of paperwork as you sat on the small couch on his right, pondering your newest poem and recklessly ignoring the duties he’d burdened you with. Well, not exactly “burdened” because, a week after you’d moved into your new quarters, you’d begged him to have you repay his kindness in some way. He refused at first before settling on a simple secret deal. You became his personal assistant and he let you stay in that room. Your duties entailed bringing him tea, helping him with non-confidential paperwork, fixing him baths sometimes and memorising the times of his meetings for him. Even if you didn’t fulfil those duties he’d never kick you out of your quarters. It was more of a “make yourself feel useful” kind of deal.

“Because I don’t want to. He’ll reject me.” You were tapping against the paper in your lap and it would take you a few seconds to realise the ink had created an ugly blotch in its margin. Did “failure” rhyme with “gesture”? Could you sell it well enough? Maybe? The current topic was something the Corporal often pursued when you were buried to your knees in his paperwork. Midnight was closing in but you always refused to go to sleep – thus why he’d already given up on asking you. Your love life was in a stalemate. Both the one he thought you had with Eren Jaeger and the one you realistically envisioned in your head.

“And if he doesn’t?” It’s really ironic that he didn’t know he was the “he” in question. Him finding you in front of the locked closet had been the catalyst, of course. The poem had been the second part. Him urging you into action was something else entirely. Giving you the empty room was kindness and trying to play the very bad part of your wingman was beyond baffling. Jaeger this, Jaeger that – you talked less of him when you loved him. A year later, that tragic love had been slowly replaced with a strong warm feeling of camaraderie. Levi Ackerman didn’t know that. So he pushed you still. To sit next to the teal-eyed cadet, to talk to him, to spar with him, to confess to him. For a man so perceptive and observant, he sure wasn’t well-versed in the art of romantic feelings. “I see you’re spacing off.” You’d forgotten to answer and now he was looking at you.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll---“

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s Levi? I feel more disrespected when you don’t follow my orders to disregard my title.” Not exactly a bark, but it was cold and it was a reprimand. Your shoulders shrunk in mild shame and you clenched your pen tighter. This little “call me by my name” deal had happened about three months ago. He’d gotten so fed up with listening to “sir” this, “sir” that, he lashed out at you one night and ordered you use his name when it was just you two. Two reasons for that: first, you had the unpleasant habit to constantly remind him he was your superior; second, for about two hours every night, he didn’t want to be your superior.

“I’m sorry.” It was a timid apology, accompanied by a low voice and a pair of shamefully downcast eyes. Truth be told, you had no idea whatsoever your Corporal harboured a smidge of affection for you, which might as well put you in the category for “observant but oblivious” with him. Also, speaking his name – something you’d refused to do ever since he’d first ordered it – wasn’t something that came easy to your heart. When he first lashed out, you dropped the honorifics, leaving empty spaces where an address to him should originally reside. You still did that.

“Just write the damn poem.” He was looking back at his papers when your gaze snapped up to meet his. The grey was focused on the parchment and the ink but it was almost as if both of you could hear the way your heart sped up dangerously. At your baffled silence, he elaborated: “I can see it’s on your mind. Barf it on the paper and get back to work. You’re going to fuck up my documents if your thoughts are otherwise engaged.” Sounded logical. And a bit too kind of him. You bit back a smile and did as you were told.

The rhymes weren’t perfect the first time around, it was a bit short and a bit vague and you were stuck on the last two lines for about twenty minutes. You were watching him the whole time and, every time his gaze would flicker in your direction impassively, you’d feel a gulp get stuck in your throat. It was astonishing, how well you’d learned to cover it up, contrary to your crush for Eren, where you became a blabbering red mess in need of a visit to the infirmary. Maybe it was because you felt more comfortable in the presence of the Lance Corporal.

He always said the right things, even when they were vulgar. Always at the right time, too. He was welcoming in his manner. He let you babble for hours on end about things he surely wasn’t a single bit interested in. He got mad at you on three occasions only: for spilling ink because it hardly washed off, for being late and for performing below average during training. Not for fucking up his tea, as you realised once you’d substituted salt for sugar and he drank it all; not for messing up his documents; not for cracking his floorboard by tripping; not for waking him in the middle of the night and begging him to please help you get your door back on its fringes; not for falling asleep on the couch in his office and drooling on the cushions; not for accidentally hitting him with the wooden dagger during training; not for being the most terrible cook when you were on kitchen duty; not for being incapable of something as simple as brushing a horse properly. Not for many other things either.

Half of those accidents had occurred mostly due to the fact you’d been a bit too mesmerized by him to pay attention to the task at hand. It was weird how in a matter of months, the things that were so enrapturing about Eren became simple features that called forth in you sympathy and respect, whereas your superior turned into, weirdly enough, not a glorified version of what he’d once been. Contrary to worship, your attitude towards him exuded more appreciation.

He wasn’t the most handsome man, the smartest or the best. He was just the best man to you. The lilac crescents under his eyes didn’t disappear – they became something for you to worry about. The pallor didn’t turn into porcelain – it turned into skin you wished to touch. The cold glare didn’t turn soft and affectionate – it became one you wanted to have on you. His voice wasn’t suddenly smooth like honey – it was deep and husky and mostly cold, but it was now a voice you could recognise across a full mess hall of rowdy cadets. It was weird. You noticed more and more of his kindness every day – and to think it had been there the whole time was astounding, because there was much more than what you’d pinpointed at the beginning. You sometimes pestered him by noting on your case file.

“I’ll grab these,” you could see he was about to fall asleep in his chair, “and I’ll drop them off tomorrow before breakfast.” You stood and he nodded in understanding, didn’t bother arguing and, when you returned half an hour later, his face was resting on his desk and you had to place a blanket over him after blowing out the candles. You went back to your room, wrote a passage in your journal, edited and rewrote the poem on another piece of paper, finished all the documents you’d been too spaced off to work on earlier and went to bed with the stacks of paper next to you.

It was a few hours later when a knock sounded at your door – you jumped immediately, knowing the Corporal always knocked and left when you were sleeping in. Your hair was the usual mess and your lids only opened after you poured a cold bucket of water on your head. You hastened to comb your hair and put on your uniform, hastened to tuck the journal under your mattress and, in a frenzied hurry, gather all the strewn papers and bring them to his office. You were out of the door in less than ten minutes, visiting his office, knowing he’d left for the mess hall, and leaving the messy pile of documents on his desk. You almost cringed at the impending lecture that awaited.

It was about noon when you were sparring with Mikasa and the Corporal ordered a short break for the cadets prior to silently giving you a “come hither” sign with his finger. You jogged to his side, pretended to ask him something about the combat moves you’d been practising and then he shut you down when you both realised nobody was paying you any attention. Being smitten with somebody you always needed an excuse to talk to was quite the pain in the ass.

“I’ll be delivering the paperwork to Erwin at today’s meeting. You dropped them off?” His gaze was on your face and you felt your heart beat faster. You nodded and shamefully looked around – still, nobody was paying attention to your pair. This might as well be pinned an intimate conversation because your fellow cadets as well as his fellow superiors had no actual idea he’d relocated your quarters and made you his personal assistant.

“Yes, sir. But I didn’t---“

“Arrange them? Would’ve guessed that much myself.” He clicked his tongue and your lips pursed in bashfulness – of course, he’d know. You never arranged them and when you did it was such a badly done job, he always had to redo it. He never once scolded you for that. Just once he’d told you you’d learn if you were promoted. And that had been the end of it. “I’ll sort them myself. Have my tea ready before dinner.” His patience, truly, sometimes seemed endless. You nodded, loudly addressed him as sir, and went on to quietly ask his preference for tea. “Chamomile.” His fingers rose to your shoulder and dusted it off, lightly brushing your neck and making goosebumps rise along its length. “Go back to the field, (L/N). And keep up the good performance.” Praise from him really made your whole day.

You grinned brightly, nodded, held back a salute and relished in the sound of your surname out of his mouth prior to swivelling and not catching for a second how his fingers lingered at the collar of your uniform. You walked with a pep in your step, hummed a tune during lunch and received three separate comments from your comrades how you were in a good mood. Truly, you were. You were whistling on your way to your quarters, straight-up singing whilst showering and then decided to tuck the stray paper with last night’s poem in your journal. Except it wasn’t on your bed where you left it. It wasn’t on the floor, under the bed, in the drawers of your nightstand. You were sitting in your towel when realisation hit you. In your morning haste, you’d misplaced the poem and put it with the Corporal’s paperwork.

“Oh, no.” Your eyes widened comically and you hastened to rise. “Fuck!” The curse slipped out as you rushed out the door and barged into his office. “Corporal, please, don’t touch---“ You almost swallowed your tongue when you saw Eren Jaeger sitting on the couch you usually occupied as the ebony-haired superior sifted through papers at his desk. “The paperwork.” It went out as a wheeze, you were still in your towel and it was dripping onto the floor you’d been polishing last week. “This is a misunderstanding. I mean, I didn’t know this was the Corporal’s office, I, this, um, we, well…” They were watching you – wet hair and a decent portion of bare body, and you never thought this was how you’d die.

“Jaeger, have some fucking decency.” The ebony-haired superior snapped at the brunet, who immediately whipped his head in the opposite direction – so fast, in fact, you heard his neck pop. He mumbled a loud but barely coherent “I’m sorry, sir”, then Levi Ackerman was the only one whose eyes were on you. He looked by no means enthralled by the sight and you realised it was just because he saw you as nothing but a soldier. Still, you weren’t experienced enough to notice the painfully clenched jaw and the stiff hands clutching each other over his desk. You couldn’t see the pursed lips and you were entirely blind to the way his eyes refused to comply with his own order regarding decency. “What did you want, cadet?”

“The papers. I need them back.” One of your hands was latched onto the towel around your body as the other one pointed in the direction of his desk, and when he asked for your reasoning, you felt your throat shrivel up to the point of no return. Because you left a love poem for him there and didn’t want him to read it? You couldn’t exactly say that. “Personal matter.” You barely spit it out, seeing as his sharp gaze was incessantly scanning your face and just sometimes bouncing to your bare shoulders. Your anticipation was building up – you’d come this far and humiliated yourself this much, might as well actually retrieve the cause for this whole fiasco. You saw this situation unfolding in at least ten different ways – and your superior played out not a single one of them.

“We sorted them already. There were no personal matters involved.” His glare was nestled in the crevice of your collarbones prior to meeting your frightened gaze. Might as well die on the spot – how in the hell hadn’t they found it? What did that mean? It had fallen? It was being swept up and down by the wind for anybody to randomly find and read? You felt dizzy at the prospect. “Go and get dressed now. Jeager might sprain his neck if he keeps straining it.” The mockery was prominent, stated in an unfazed monotone. You dipped your head and exited his office with slumped shoulders. And, right after the door had closed behind you, Eren was finally free to part his gaze from the wall behind him. Five minutes later, he finally built the courage to speak.

“I actually found it, sir. I swear I didn’t mean to look, my eyes just scanned it.” Frantic teal hues bounced around the room as he held the stray piece of paper with the poem on it. He expected for his superior to aim a reprimand at him or – even worse – a punch. He did neither. His glare was sharp, then he sighed and, instead of addressing the invasion of your privacy, inquired as to his thoughts on the matter. Eren was briefly taken aback. Then he wet his lips and fumbled with the paper. “It’s endearing. She writes beautifully. I never knew she felt that way.” A small smile fought its way onto his lips. Levi’s heart was clenching at his words.

“Should’ve seen the first.” There was reminiscence on his mind and ice on his tongue. This was it. Eren Jeager finally learned about your feelings – after almost two years. He’d return them and then Levi would have finally played his role as your knight properly. Things would be done. You’d stay his assistant and the only comfort he’d draw from you would be the terrible tea you sometimes made for him or the shy smile on your lips as you waited for him in his office after he was done with meetings. All would be well. Then Jaeger spoke.

“There’s more than one? Well, what I’m seeing is enough.” He chuckled just a bit but, upon further inspection, Levi found scattered remains of bitterness along his features. “She almost makes unrequited love sound beautiful, if I have to be honest.” Levi’s brows furrowed and – how the hell could this fucking brat say this so casually? The superior’s mouth was struggling not to lash out at the boy. First, he had to make sure the brown-haired idiot had an actual grasp on the situation and what it meant.

“Unrequited?” He echoed flatly, watching the teal hues scan the poem with a hint of bashfulness. “You don’t return her feelings?” Now his second question made Eren Jaeger face him properly. In fact, so properly and so abruptly his neck could be heard popping for the second time that day. About seven different emotions passed along the brunet’s countenance before his expression settled in a constipated look.

“I don’t--- what?” Eren Jaeger might’ve been dumber than Levi thought – what with not getting the gist of the fact you liked him and all that. Then the teenager shook his head and met the adult’s grey hues. “Sir, I think you’re misunderstanding.” Levi’s frown deepened. What exactly could he be misunderstanding? If anything, Jaeger was the one who--- “This poem’s about you.” Levi’s thought died down immediately. His heart froze in his chest. He, all of him, froze. Then the boy kept talking. “I mean, I could be wrong. But with the grey eyes and the indifference and---“

“What the fuck do you mean it’s about me?” He was lost and confused. His frown was now deadly. Eren Jaeger fumbled with the paper and scanned the lines till he found what he needed, his finger tapped the one word he’d been looking for and then his bright orbs were back to Levi’s tense figure.

“It says right here – “sir”. Maybe you should read it.” The raven immediately shook his head and argued that he shouldn’t. The teenager argued back and they kept throwing phrases back and forth, slowly rising from their respective seats and almost beginning to scream at each other. Levi was vehemently defending your privacy all the while protecting his own feelings – because if Jaeger was right then it meant--- “I already did it accidentally. If you’d please read it and stop arguing with me--- It’s all in here. Just---“

Levi’s nerves snapped and he snatched the piece of paper Jaeger’s hand was frantically waving around. Your handwriting was neat and small and it had surely undergone an improvement since he forced you into helping him with his paperwork. Levi’s hand held the paper to his desk as he leaned over it and scanned the words. It was about him. It really was. The fucking brat could read and he’d read between the lines well enough to recognise Levi. The superior’s stomach flipped unpleasantly.

“Dismissed, Jaeger.” His eyes were glued to the lines and the cadet was approaching the door. He hadn’t yet opened it when he turned around and timidly, almost quietly, begged the ebony-haired Corporal to let you down gently because he’d never wish to see you heartbroken. The raven’s jaw clenched. As if he’d like to see that. “I’m afraid she’s prepared for it, Jaeger. Now get out.” His voice was sharp and imperative, colder than the arctic snow. The door shut behind the brunet, then the pale man fell back in his chair and put a hand to his forehead. He was getting a headache.

“You’re cold and indifferent and oh so stern, you’re silent or raging, you give no clue still your eyes are made of flames, they burn. Grey is, I concede, my new favourite hue.

You work, rest a bit, and again that work and then you steal the breath from me; your callused hands so gentle they almost irk there’s no question, yours I want to be.”

“… yours I want to be.” He found himself quietly echoing the words in the solitude of his office. His heart was heavy and his eyes were strained but they couldn’t stop scanning the lines – over and over and over again, till they began hurting, and even afterwards. His callused fingers were clutching the paper and he was becoming increasingly aggravated with himself and with the situation. This wasn’t good. But then again – the next few lines were exactly about that.

“This is bad, forbidden, wrong – no, we’ve said once before love is nothing short of strong age and rank won’t let me adore you but I want more, don’t paint this as a chore.

Kindness overflows, you listen your generosity hidden behind frowns; I cannot describe the bliss in my heart – royalty should not wear crowns you, broken gem, glisten brighter; is this sin?

I love, love, love you; the ice and the fire, and every time you ask who I want to say with ire not the one you think is true but you, you’re my one desire.

Teach me, speak or not, hate me, love me or reproach, my heart you caught, I care not of your approach; in strength and thought, my feelings are a knot.”

“… fucking certainly sin, yes. I’m a fucking idiot.” He couldn’t stop mumbling curses, until every next word of the poem made him just spill an endless waterfall of “fuck”, over and over again, quiet and angry, then loud and angry, then loud and frustrated, then quiet and defeated. It went up and down and nobody but him could tell why he was cursing so much, nobody but him could reason with the stupid knot his own feelings had become. He sighed, then once more and when his eyes went back to that “I love, love, love you”, his foot landed a kick to the dest in front of him.

“I’m sorry for never using your name I’m sorry for wishing to see you smile I’m sorry for my shame I’m sorry for my thoughts, they’re vile I’m sorry, I’m to blame I’m sorry, I wish to watch you for a while I’m sorry, I know you’re not the same I’m sorry, age and rank are actually hostile I’m sorry, sir, for calling you “sir” so much, wish we could reconcile.”

He wanted to argue but he had only an empty office to argue with. He kicked his desk again and the abuse pushed it back and tipped over a stack of papers. He couldn’t care less. His free hand was massing his temple and his lips were pursed into a straight line. It hurt. It hurt that he had to read nine consecutive apologies about things he had no idea you’d been thinking. The fucking words hurt more than everything else. Age and rank and sorry and the “sir” made a strangled growl leave his lips. He wanted to crumple the stupid paper and throw it out the window. He wanted to go and beat up Jaeger. He wanted to go and scream in your face. He wanted also, to scream at his own face, for being so dumb and oblivious, so fucking inconsiderate and so fucking reckless.

“So allow your dutiful eyes to stray for this one thing, this little cue, just to hear me for the first time say I give my heart, useless as it is, to you.”

“… fuck.” He was tired. He was frowning. He kept rereading it. Kept thinking about lying to you and keeping it. Kept cursing. How was it possible to hate yourself all the more when it turned out the one you love loved you back? Truly, Levi hated himself when he read. He despised himself when he put the poem down and kicked his desk one last time. And he entirely loathed himself when he folded it and headed to your quarters – because there was exactly one way out of this situation and he would be who he’d always been – the asshole who tried to make things right by saying all the wrong things.

“Jaeger found it.” He knocked and you let him in and it was the first thing he said. Your expression was hardly confident. You were looking down at your lap, where you’d been writing in your journal a second ago. You didn’t bother closing it. You met your superior’s gaze and asked him if he’d read it as he handed it to you. You kept your fingers far from his during the exchange. He was silent for a bit, then he took a sharp breath and it was all you needed. “… yes. He did, too.” Your eyes glued themselves to the comforting sight of your journal. “Suddenly you can’t look me in the eye.” His comment made you frown.

“I apologise for the shame I’m feeling.” You drawled ironically, making his jaw clench as he watched you. You were trying to shrink away into nothingness and your discomfort was visible. It made Levi just a bit angry. Just the exact amount of angry to open his mouth and be the asshole he kept incessantly trying to prove to you he was. This would be his final argument. He would do you a lot of good. And himself some bad for the sake of the greater good.

“No need for sarcasm, (L/N).” He reproached coldly, stepping just a bit closer to the bed where you sat and glaring at the top of your head. “What do you expect me to do?” He saw your fingers twitch over the journal and crumple the poem just a bit. “Do you think the rules suddenly won’t matter and I’m going to sweep you off your feet and profess my undying love for you?” His voice was harsh and cold and you shook your head with a small argument that you’d never wanted that. “Then what do you expect me to do?” He was mad. He was mad and you could feel it. Your shoulder shrunk further and you told him you expected him to do what he’d always done. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“What do you mean---“

“How the fuck am I supposed to stay neutral? How am I supposed to help you with your stupid confession if it’s aimed at me? You realise nothing here can work, right? Fuck age and rank, rules don’t allow it.” His voice had raised and he was almost furious. He could see by the jump of your shoulders there were sobs stuck in the back of your throat. “You should stop feeling this way. And don’t you fucking dare cry. Because you’re giving me all and every opportunity to do something I know I shouldn’t do.” Wrong line. Wrong. He was so angry. Fucking furious. If he saw one tear (he wouldn’t manage, he wouldn’t manage) he’d completely lose his cool. “Jaeger said you make unrequited love sound beautiful. I think it’s outright ugly, but I have no taste. I’ve never had taste. The current situation is a perfect example of that.” He was spitting venom and spite and your uncomprehending gaze left your lap to take a glance of his visage. He was already facing the door. Thank God for that, otherwise you might see him crumble. “Take the day off, cadet. You’re still my assistant in the morning.” His voice went back to being cold and emotionless and he heard the first of many sobs echo on the other side of the door when he shut it.

You took the day off, as per his order. You didn’t show up to afternoon training. Didn’t show up in the mess hall for dinner. Didn’t show up in his office to help him pick up the papers he left lying on the floor. The sun had barely risen when he woke from his restless slumber because somebody opened the door of his office. You walked inside and found the place a mess. He hadn’t bothered collecting the paperwork, much less delivering it to the Commander. You got to work with that. And by the time he’d taken his morning shower and put on his uniform, you’d made the trip to the Commander’s office and left on the Lance Corporal’s desk his morning cup of tea, just how he liked it.

You knew if you didn’t go to him he wouldn’t risk painting your pair as suspicious by approaching you himself. Thus why you kept a safe distance from him and snuck papers and drinks in and out of his office when he wasn’t there. You spent a lot of time thinking too, to the point it made you bite the dust twice during combat training. You saw through his strategy. Playing the terrible asshole really didn’t suit him. You were sure he didn’t return your feelings but that didn’t mean you were blinded enough by your pessimism to miss he cared for you to some degree, much like how he cared of every soldier serving under him. For the sake of the rules and for the sake of preventing you from making a fool of yourself, he wished you’d hate him. It was something you could never do.

And, the same evening, when you entered his office with his late-night tea, you intended to make that clear. You left the cup at the edge of his desk and he glanced at you once whilst working on the late report he should’ve started yesterday. The desk was between you when you spoke, stiffly and awkwardly, with just a pinch of confidence.

“Sir, I know it’s not my place to meddle with your good intentions---“ the mere act of him taking one second to glare up at you made your voice hitch along with your breath, then you slowly recollected yourself and kept going, “but trying to be an asshole didn’t work. On the contrary, my case file is growing.” You heard him click his tongue at that. “I know you don’t like me but there’s no need to encourage my hatred for you in order to protect me.” His right hand halted as it wrote, then he sharply put his pen down and ordered you to sit down. You almost tripped in your haste to land on the couch.

“I want you to listen to me now.” He rubbed his temples with a sigh as you waited, pursed lips and clammy hands fidgeting in your lap. “I know you’re not one for acting. You probably would’ve never admitted your feelings if I hadn’t stumbled upon them by chance.” You didn’t dare nod but he was right. “I realise you won’t beg me to return them, make me feel them or throw yourself at me.” You couldn’t face him for the life of you. “You won’t say my name, much less try to kiss me or touch me. I have to ask – do you want to?” You went red in shame because, yes, you wanted to and yes, you wouldn’t dare try anything physical.

“What do you want to hear?” You asked instead, avoiding honesty and giving him the chance to withdraw from the conversation. You didn’t want to admit it – you’d hate to, honestly, but you wouldn’t object to conceding it if he requested it of you. After all, you had to set things straight and let everything proceed as it had – with you writing poems of unrequited love and him being unbelievably king and tolerant toward you.

“The truth.” His gaze was hard and you shamefully nodded your head for fear your voice might betray you. It was enough for him nonetheless. He clicked his tongue. “Alright then. You’re seventeen. We’re in the army. The circumstances are shit. I don’t like going against rules or my own moral grounds. So I won’t lay a hand on you until you turn of age.” Your brows rose and your eyes widened – what was that supposed to mean? As if having sensed your surprise and confusion, he elaborated. “After that, it’s up to you. Until then, I want that poem.” His voice was soft and quiet, like he was sharing a secret. You met his gaze and there were probably stars in your eyes. This was, far as you and the dreamer in you were concerned, an indirect confession. “And fix the fucking ending, your heart isn’t useless.”

He avoided eye contact and went back to his normal self. You glanced at the door, then your eyes moved back to his countenance. His shoulders were tense and you took a deep breath, asking him, in the shakiest voice you hated hearing from your mouth, if he could close his eyes for a second. They narrowed at your expression, then rolled in defeat and finally closed. You sighed and he could hear you get up from the couch. One step in his direction, then another. The third brought your feet right by his chair. He could hear your heart – or just his own. Light pressure on his jaw – three trembling fingers. Then your lips rested at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s unfortunate the right poem came into the hands of the wrong person this time around.” You were whispering against his skin and his hands were itching to reach up and grab you. And to think you were trying to prove to him you could throw yourself at him after all. This was wrong, correct. But that was why his eyes were closed and why he refused to move even when every fibre of his being wanted to hold you. How despicable of him, to fall for the underage cadet whose heart he’d casually picked off the floor that night he found you in front of the closet. “Thank you for always being so kind, Levi.” Your smile was pressed against the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenched and you smelled of soap and flowers. “Fuck” yet again seemed to be the only word in his mind.

You stepped back, promised you’d give him the poem tomorrow morning and fled the office. His eyes opened only after he heard the door close behind you. He flexed his hands and got back to work, and when the folded stray piece of paper appeared on the edge of his desk the following day, he tucked it in the breast pocket of his jacket and went about his day as he always did. Your eyes would sometimes meet across the mess hall or during training, you’d bring him tea and help him with his paperwork, and sometimes, when he thought of you, his hand strayed toward the secret in his pocket.

He’d wait for you and he’d be your knight. You’d wait for him and you’d be his damsel. You’d live through hardships and get a mediocre happily ever after if you were lucky. Standard fairytale formula. Until then, the perfect combination was finally achieved – the right poem for the right person. And that was enough.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reader insert #levi ackerman fanfiction #snk x reader #levi being a wingman not realising he's the object of affection #eren being wingman not realising he was the past object of affection #misunderstandings are my absolute favourite thing to write lol #not too romantic #wanted to keep it real #cause like y'know age difference and stuff

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