#hotshot oneshot

[kellyscowboy]

Hiii!! You’re my favorite ikeshot person! You write their personalities and dynamic so well!!

could you write something based on the song the 30th by Billie Eilish? the story behind the song is someone gets into a really bad car wreck(or accident of some sort) and the aftermath of it

hii!! i meant to answer this sooo long ago but i got caught up w/ school & have also been in a sims 4 grind LMFAO. thank you so much for this request!! i apologize if this is a little off from what you may have expected or what i have written in the past. it's been a hot minute since i've written this dynamic so pls bare w/ me :'). again, thank you so much for this request! i appreciate you & your support <33333

i wasn't sure if you wanted this to be modern!au or in the canon au, but i made it canon. so it doesnt EXACTLY follow the lyrics. but essentially follows the point of the song!! ALSO!! @sparkedblaze this is also for you because you are the reason i write for ikeshot <3

CW: blood mentioned, car accident mentioned, uhhh probably cussing i lowkey don't remember tbh, UHH sad gays idk i forgot how to do this

Hotshot couldn't help but stare. It made him sick to do so, but he couldn't stop. It was like watching a gruesome fight that you couldn't tear your eyes away from. Except it was Ike. His Ike. All bruised, cut, and bloodied; scrawled out pathetically on a hospital bed. He was all but disfigured. All but unrecognizable.

But often times he had this look about him, and Hotshot couldn't help but think he looked the exact same as he did before the accident. He would just look off into the distance, similar to how he used to look at the stars before everything. Occasionally he would squirm under his boyfriend's intense stare. But outside of that, he said and did nothing. He wouldn't move an inch until a nurse came to make him eat, or until Hotshot would force him to use the bathroom.

"We don't need ya kidneys to fail, now. You'se already been through enough."

It made Hotshot nauseous to take care of the boy. They had never been in this position before. Usually, it was Hotshot laid up with a broken bone or some odd illness nobody else got. And Ike was always right at his side. It didn't feel right when the roles were reversed. Not to either of them.

Ike was knocked out for a long time. The doctors and nurses started to doubt he would ever wake up. They had begun to prep Hotshot for the worst, not that he ever listened to them. All he did was sit, stare, and pray to whatever god was listening that his boy would wake up.

When he did finally wake up, the hospital was in a frenzy. There was a hushed, excited buzz about the air. All the nurses would linger by the doorway of his room and gossip about his 'miraculous awakening.'

The second his eyes opened, he was bombarded with numerous questions from the doctors. They were long, confusing questions that contained words that Hotshot could hardly believe were real. Ike was quickly overwhelmed. Tears teetered on the brink of his eyes and his breathing became rapid.

"Would ya stop pesterin' him for a second? He just woke up! What's wrong with the lotta ya? Huh? Ain't you supposed to be professionals? Let the boy breathe!" Hotshot yelled as he jumped to his feet. "He ain't just some medical miracle, alright? He's a person just like you 'n me. Give 'im a second."

One by one, the doctors and nurses began to shuffle out of the room. Each one glancing over their shoulders as they left. Hotshot could hear their gossiping whispers outside the door as he sat down closer to Ike.

"What's happenin'?" Ike asked. His voice was small, hoarse, and confused.

Hotshot furrowed his eyebrows and grabbed his lover's hand. "What'dya mean? Dont'cha remember? You was hit by one of them fancy new electric carriages."

Ike's initial confusion turned into a quick look of horror as he caught a glimpse of his bruised arms. "But... I'm alive right? I'm here? This is real?" The boy had started to freak out. He analyzed his arms, turning them every which way. He leaned forward, wincing as he did, and yanked the cover off his legs. It wasn't a pretty sight, and Hotshot had to stop himself from dry heaving just from seeing his boyfriend in such a state.

Gently, Hotshot pulled the blankets back over the boys legs. "You'se alright, Ike. For a couple of days there, I was worried. You'se was knocked out cold. But ya alive now. That's all that matters. You're alive." He wanted to do something. Squeez the boys hand, give him a pat on the leg... something. But he couldn't in fear of hurting the boy further. So, he just nodded and flashed him a forced, tight smile. "I think ya oughta lay down. You get yourself too worked up sometimes. It'll get worse if ya don't relax a little."

The other boy couldn't help but let out a laugh. He grabbed his chest in pain after he did. "Sounds like somethin' I'd usually tell you."

"Right." Hotshot rolled his eyes fondly. "Well, I reckon them so-called professionals out there are gonna wanna ask ya some questions. I'll make sure they go easy on ya, yeah?"

Ike nodded and closed his eyes as the other boy got up to let the doctors back in. He took a deep breath, once again wincing in pain, and prepared himself for the horror that would be the next few minutes.

Hotshot often felt ashamed when looking back on the day of the accident. None of it was his fault. He was often reminded by the Brooklyn boys that there was no way he could've known. But he felt as though he should've. That he should have seen the conjugation of people and he should've known. He should've listened to his gut telling him it was someone he knew. Someone important. Should've ran up and helped. But he didn't.

"It was a Tuesday, Hotshot." Spot had told him in the hospital. "Ya never could'a known. He ain't never come over to visit on a Tuesday. 'Specially not so early. Quit beatin' yerself up about it."

Even Mike had come and talked to him. Usually, they just sat there together in complete silence. But even Mike knew it wasn't his fault. "Listen, I know we ain't close but I gotta talk to ya about this. Spot told me what happened. That you'd seen the accident but didn't think nothing of it and..." He paused. Hotshot prepared himself to get screamed at. Berated for being an absolute idiot and not helping the others brother. But the ambush never came.

"It ain't ya fault," Hotshot continued. "Honest. Ya know I'd scream and kill ya if it was. Ain't no way you coulda took one look at the scene and knew it was him. Hell, I'm his twin brother and I didn't even get the sense that something was wrong 'till Scram came runnin' to tell the news." He sighed again and took another pause. "Even if ya had known. Even if ya had gone and tried to help, what could you have done? Huh? Ya ain't a professional. Situation woulda been the same any way about it."

Hotshot nodded. He understood them. He understood everyone who had come to talk to him. Deep down, he knew it wasn't his fault. But he couldn't stop beating himself up about it.

He relived the day in his head almost every single night. It was a normal Tuesday. Up as early as the birds, carrying the banner and collecting pity from people wandering the streets. He had seen the commotion early in the day. In fact, it had been right after he had bought his papers for the day.

It's far too early for this, he recalled thinking. There was always something going on in New York. Especially in Brooklyn and especially around the circulation buildings. Typically, it was a rough fist fight between two newsies, and at its worst it was a robbery of some sort. But neither of which would cause such a big commotion nor gathering of police and medical personnel.

Hotshot knew deep down something was wrong. He felt drawn to the accident, but he put it aside as his love for fights. Which is what he assumed it was. A big fight that got out of hand. Maybe one that had contanied multiple newsies instead of just two, or that had somehow gotten an adult of importance involved.

But he ignored the calling to the scene. He had a stack of papers on his bicep and they weren't going to sell themselves. Besides, the quicker he was done with work the quicker he could join Ike at Jacobi's. He hadn't even really thought of stopping to see what had happened. Just that it might be something interest, but not something he could be bothered to stop for.

Just thirty minute later, he heard Scram's pattering feet behind him. He turned quickly on his heel, looking down at the boy. He had a horrified look on his face and his cheeks were stained with tears. The boy began to speak, sputtering and rambling over himself. "It's- Ike- Well, he- It was a car- And-"

Hotshot's blood ran cold at the mention of Ike's name. The papers on his arm hit the ground with a thump and sent dust flying into the air around them. "Ike? What about Ike?" Scram began to cry again, flailing his arms and pointing behind him. Hotshot's heart sank. "Scram, spit it out! I need to know what happened!"

"There was an- an accident! He got hurt, real bad. Barely looks alive. He keeps askin' for ya! Ya gotta go! Quick! They're loadin' him into the ambulance!"

"Where, Scram? Where?"

Scram's face was red and covered in snot. "Right outside the circulation building!"

Hotshot's heart sank even farther, something he hadn't believed to be possible. "Listen to me, Scram. Listen good. You go run and you don't stop running 'till you find Mike, alright? You tell him everything. You tell Manhattan everything. Okay?" He didn't even wait for the boys response.

He abandoned his dropped papes as he sprinted as fast as he could back to the circulation building. As he arrived at the scene, he couldn't help but be angry. He pushed his way through the crowd, screaming obscenities and demanding they let him into the ambulance. Police tried to hold him back when he finally made it to the front.

"He's been asking for me! They told me he's been asking for me! I'm Hotshot! Ya gotta let me in!" Hotshot screamed. "His family's all the way in 'Hattan! Ya can't let him go alone! He'll be scared!" Before he could stop himself, he screamed: "Ya can't let 'im die alone!"

Upon hearing the last bit—and discussing the boys name, which the injured boy had been groggily repeating over and over again—the officers let the boy through. Hotshot climbed into the back of ambulance and gripped onto the other boys hand.

"Ya think I'm gonna die?" Ike sputtered out, blood covering his mouth. "I- Mike's gonna be so mad. He ain't gonna have no-one."

Hotshot realized what he had yelled previously and began to panic. "Nah, nah. Ya ain't gonna die, Ike. You'se too strong to, okay? I just said that so they'd let me through. That's all. You'se gonna be just fine."

"I'm scared, Hotshot. I'm really scared."

"Hey, don't say that. You'se gonna be alright. Don't be scared. I ain't! I know you'se gonna be just fine. Okay." But the truth was, Hotshot was horrified. He hadn't been so scared in his entire life. He dropped his voice to a whisper as he continued to speak. "Ya still look so pretty, ya know that? Gorgeous, Ike. Ya gorgeous."

After hearing Hotshot's whispers, the boy took a deep, choked breath and closed his eyes.

After Ike finally woke up, he often thought aloud about what would've happened among different circumstance. Hotshot hated hearing it. He hated thinking about how, if the situation had only been slightly different, Ike could've died.

"What if it had been on Thursday? Someone else coulda been drivin' it. Goin' faster, not have slowed down or stopped. Coulda taken me straight into the next life."

"Would ya stop that?" Hotshot muttered. His face was deep in his hands.

Ike paused for a couple of minutes before speaking up once again. "I coulda been on ya bridge. They coulda sent me straight over into the water. I don't even know how to swim now. Imagine it with broken bones..."

"Ike."

"I coulda been in that neighborhood where all them families lived. Some little kid coulda found me and not told anyone cause they'd be scared they'd get in trouble or something."

"Ike."

"If it had been winter and it was snowing or rainin'. And the car had skidded, lost control. Hit me full speed."

Hotshot had started to tear up and his composure was breaking. "Ike, please." He begged in a broken voice.

But Ike couldn't help himself. He was spiraling. "Or if I was on one of them backroad nobody goes on. Nobody woulda even seen it happen. If just a small little thing was different, I'd probably be-"

"Ike!" Hotshot finally yelled. "Stop. You need to stop. I can't keep doin' it. Can't keep listenin' to ya kill yaself in your daydreams. You're alive, okay? You're alive. So just shut up! Because there's no life, no reality where I'm letting ya die. Alright? Especially not at the hands of some rich idiot's fancy car. So just... stop."

Ike nodded, his voice small. "Sorry. I just... I'm just freaking out. I dunno if I'm meant to be alive right now."

Hotshot sighed. "Listen. You'se the great person alive." He sat down and gently took ahold of his boyfriends hand. "If anyone in this world's meant to be alive, it's you. Alright?" He kissed Ike's hand and wiped at his eye with his own hand. "You're alive, Ike. Don't think about anything else. We got a buncha years ahead of us. Don't worry 'bout nothin' else."

#omg i looked it up #and the first car accident was in 1899 #so like #accurate????? #sorry #anyways #ummm sorry if this is not accurate LMAO #i have no written for ikeshot in so long #and also i dont think ive written a whole lotta angst for them #ALSO scram is my oc for brooklyn's like news guy #they send him out to tell other boroughs news and such #like brooklyns messenger #he runs alot #anyhow #hope u enjoyed and theyre not too botched LOL #ikeshot #ike newsies #hotshot newsies #newses #livesies #newsies live #ikeshot fic #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // oneshots ❥ #newsies oneshot #livesies oneshot

[house-of-lovin]

protect her

Tara Carpenter x Detective!Reader

masterlist

Preview: "Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle."

Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of violence and mature language. slight scream vi spoilers. read at your own risk.

Note: Reader is around Sam's age, so like 25 or 26. Tara being a words of affirmation girlie. Thought this dynamic would be fun to write about. I'm incapable of writing shorter oneshots ig, so enjoy 6k+ words of whatever this is lol.

Word Count: 6.1k+

The honking of horns blowing through the cool night air was muffled when you pushed the glass door of the diner open. The chimes of the overhead bell rang alerting the room of your presence but barely anyone turned their heads – save for Sam Carpenter who smiled at you.

You shuddered away remnants of the chill air off your shoulders, stepping closer to the bartop; claiming your seat in the far corner pressed up against the wall. A mug is placed on the counter before you even finish hanging your jacket on the back of the chair.

You slide into the high-top seat as the brunette pours coffee into the mug with a carafe. “Still hot, wow, I must be special.” 

“Yeah okay, hotshot. You just happened to make it in time for a new pot.” She rolls her eyes, and you hide your smirk behind the mug; taking a sip – ignoring the fact that you usually come in at this time.

“You on the clock?” She asks, leaning on her elbows atop the counter. She glances back briefly, making sure her snitch of a coworker wasn’t around to scold her for not doing her job.

It was still too early for the influx of drunk regulars and one-timers to come by, so really the only kinds of people in here were the ones who were getting off work too late to make dinner at home.

“Just got off, 16 hours. But got a new lead on a case that went cold a couple of months ago so I guess I’m doing a double. Just reviewing some notes now.” You sigh heavily, gesturing to the files and folders sprawled out on the table. 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You work too much. You need to take a break and focus on something else outside of work. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

You roll your eyes at her mocking tone, shooting back, “Oh yeah? You learn that from therapy?”

It was her turn to glower when you remind her of the doctor visits. 

“Yeah, that’s usually the advice therapists love to give me before I actually open up – you know like they tell me to and suddenly they’re running for the hills, one by one.” 

You snort, all too familiar with the tales of her doctor visits. It took a while for Sam to open up to you; trust came sparsely these days for the Carpenter. It wasn’t until one of your frequent visits turned into you having to step in and kick a rowdy group of drunkards who were harassing Sam of something along the lines of ‘Woodsboro’ and ‘Ghostface’. It was only when you threatened the group with jail time did they relent.

Sam knew she could trust you after you sent her an acknowledging nod when the group left and went back to minding your own business. The next time you visited, she opened up; about her past, her father, her hallucinations, the attacks and the trauma that came afterward. And, how she managed to land herself in the big city, which sprouted an overzealous rant about her strained relationship with her sister.

You knew how to read people well, it was a significant part of your job to be able to. So, you knew from the moment you laid eyes on her that there was a fire behind those dark eyes that she desperately tried to douse – you had interrogated and dealt with enough people to know what the glint meant.

You were honest to Sam that you had an inkling of suspicion about the darkness in her mind – you still accepted her despite knowing her dirty secret; that a part of her doesn’t feel bad for killing Richie and Amber, if anything it felt kinda good. Sam was confused as to why you, a cop, weren't locking her behind bars at the confession. 

But, having dealt with the scum of the Earth, you can tell she was nothing like them.

It isn’t always easy to differentiate people between just good and bad, you told her when she asked.

A friendship blossomed between you two after that, bonding over similar traumas. Sam invited you to her apartment to meet her friends and sister – who all interrogated you, Mindy, most especially to make sure you weren’t secretly Ghostface. The girl had some skills in that department, you'll admit.

Coming to learn of your career and how surprisingly well Sam trusted you, the group lowered their walls bit by bit. They would never say it out loud but they felt way safer having you around.

“That’s why I don’t go to therapy.” You shrug, taking a sip of the steaming coffee; letting the heat warm your bones.

She snorts, pretending to be wiping the countertop when her coworker peeks her head out to look at you two. “You probably need it more than anyone else in this place.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” You mumble, as you flip through the evidence photos of a homicide you investigated five months ago. The pictures were gruesome, but it was just another day on the job for you. Maybe that’s why you and Sam got along more than expected.

Sam’s phone vibrates from her back pocket and she fishes it out, reading the text.

‘We got into some trouble, some help?’ it was Anika, no doubt being appointed to text Sam because the others didn't want to do it themselves.

“Dammit.” Sam sighs, already taking off her apron to leave.

“What’s up?” You raise a brow at her panicked expression.

“My sister and her friends got into some trouble. I need to get them. Crap! They’re all the way in the East Village.” She says reading the other incoming texts on her phone. “This is what I get for letting her go out.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” You say, already standing when Sam mentioned Tara. The thought of the brunette in trouble makes your heart stop for a moment.

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re working.” She shakes her head in protest.

“Carpenter, it’s a 30-minute drive just to get to the East Village, get your ass permission to leave then meet me at my car. Acting like Danny wouldn’t have my ass if I just left you like this.” You mutter, acting indifferent – but it was true, her boyfriend would have your head on a stick if you ever left Sam high and dry, not that you would ever.

She nods, knowing she won’t win this one with you. You throw a $20 tip, slip on your jacket, and make your way back out into the cool fall air.

You lit a cigarette to pass time as you wait for Sam – leaning against your car, trying to ease the nervousness raging in you as you think of what kind of trouble Tara found herself in.

You and Tara are... complicated. You two haven't exactly slapped a label on it, all you know is you care about her more than you probably should.

Because of your close connection with Sam, and how much everyone secretly trusted you. You and Tara found yourselves growing closer to each other with each visit to their apartment.

Tara was weary about you at first introduction, ignoring that you were ridiculously attractive. She can still remember Mindy asking you to your face 'Where did Sam find you?' in a flirtatious tone. You just chuckled and explained how you met her sister, and Tara knew it was kind of wrong, but she couldn't help but be intrigued…

Then Sam started leaving you two alone in the apartment to run some errands. With not much to do, Tara decided to pop a horror movie in to watch with you – finding out you’ve never seen ‘Se7en’ after inquiring if your job was just like the movies.

A connection between you and Tara blossomed from those moments in that tiny NYC living room.

Suddenly she wasn't just your friend's little sister and man, is she magnetic.

She educates you on the joys of horror movies and you watch every single one, listening to her analysis of each scene; simply enjoying the serenity she brings out in you.

Tara is secretly glad you are older than her because sometimes it meant you’re so different, but that just means she can expose you to her interests, and vice versa. You never turned her down – no matter what it was.

On the slim chance you got off work early enough, you visited the diner to keep Sam company and do some work.

Sometimes though, when Sam would end mid-morning, you two would continue your talks at her apartment – sometimes with Danny, over whatever leftover diner food she would steal from her work for you three to munch on over beers and conversation. 

Those would be the nights where you would pass out on their couch from drinking and Tara would finally come out of her room when Sam and Danny leave. She would tuck a blanket over your sleeping figure, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, taking the time to scan your features for any injuries. And in the mornings, when you were gathering your bearings from a night of drinks and bad choices, Tara would force you to sit down at their dining table and have breakfast with her. Scolding you for your irresponsible choices, but being grateful you were in front of her, nonetheless.

She worries for you with your job and all.

And as you find yourself giving into her request for morning coffee, stolen kisses, and conversation – you push away thoughts of being late to work as you find yourself grateful for similar musings the longer you stare at the pretty girl across from you.

“Wow, if people couldn’t tell you're a narc. They sure could now.” Sam takes the time to poke fun at you – pulling you out of your daydream. You look down at your figure; sporting a button-down shirt, trousers with your leather jacket on top and trusty leather boots on your feet.

You roll your eyes in realization and flick away the cigarette bud, yanking the car door open.

“It’s the work dress cod– just get in the damn car, Carpenter.”

– – 

The usual thirty-minute drive instead took fifteen minutes as you pounded on the accelerator, flipped the sirens on, and dashed past other cars on the road as they cleared the way for you.

You arrive at the corner of a lower Manhattan intersection, the East Village was known for its bustling nightlife; you can see a mix of all ages of people wandering the street as they continue their bar crawl.

It was further down the road, where you can see six sullen-looking figures sitting on the curb of the sidewalk – a police officer standing above them. 

Sam dashes out of the car before you can even finish parking. You see her run down the street and talk to the officer, getting in his face and the six others look at her panicked. You sigh, and make your way out of the car, strapping your badge to your belt – you’d need to use it soon, you’re sure.

Tara’s eyes immediately connect to you as soon as you climb out of the car. Before she can think about it, she’s standing up to meet you. “Ah ah, I said sit down! You better listen or I’ll throw you all in jail for the night.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shouts, stepping closer to the police officer. You decided enough was enough when you saw the police officer resting his hand on his holster.

“All right, that’s enough.” You grasp Sam’s elbow, yanking her away from the police officer. The older Carpenter is slightly startled by the rough tug, but you push her behind you getting in between her and the policeman.

“I think we’re all good here officer, thank you.” You say with finality. You weren’t asking, you were telling and Tara’s inebriated mind is all hot and bothered. 

“Like hell we are, these six were caught sneaking into a club underage, and this one.” He points to Sam, “is getting on my nerves. Now, it seems like I can add you to the list, ‘cause who the hell you think you are, buddy?”

You briefly glance a stern side-eye to Tara at ‘club and underage’, she immediately looks away.

“Detective Y/L/N from the 99th precinct.” You slide your jacket aside to flash him the badge on your waist.

”And, you must be… Officer Leroy. From 6th, huh.” Reading his name tag and badge.

“Think that’s supposed to mean something?” You see his eyes on your badge before glowering to meet your eyes. “I’ll arrest you too.”

The group breaks out into loud protests.

You chuckle knowingly, “How long you been in the force buddy?” You ask, not unaware of all of the eyes on you as you and the officer have a stare-off.

“Four months.” He answers confidently, pushing his shoulders up and back to appear taller.

“Hmm… see I had a feeling. ‘Cause, my buddy Rivers just got promoted to Captain six months ago over on the 6th precinct, which means he’s most likely your superior. I wonder what you’ll tell him as to what charge you picked us up for. ‘Cause well, he will see me.” You shrug, offering up that thought for him to think about. 

“Oh better yet, I’d just love to see what you write down on that case report, Officer. Leroy.” Your tone was harsh now as you stepped in his face, intimidating him.

He was forced to take a step back as you got in his space, his features paling, it took a few seconds before he conceded. “Fine! Just get the hell out of here, and don’t let me see you again!”

Everyone let out a relieved sigh as you smirked at his submission; everyone immediately takes the chance to leave and Sam tries to tug on your arm but you were still staring the cop down. He put this hand on his fucking gun when Sam got in his face and anger was quickly rising in your veins – you were unmovable, even by rough force.

“Y/N it’s over, let’s go.” Sam tries again but she can feel your arm harden as your knuckles tighten into a fist. “Y/N, seriously.”

Tara sobered up by the time police charges was being thrown around and her worry about your protectiveness was increasing. Sam couldn’t even pull you away. Chad steps in when Sam asks for help to convince you to move. He puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering calming words, no doubt. 

But nothing was working as you stood there, still unmovable. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chad threw you over his shoulder and dragged you away, even though you weren’t that much smaller than him. In your boots, you were nearly at his height and Tara had to strain her neck to try and meet your eyes. 

It was only when Tara pulled away from Quinn and Mindy’s hold and stepped in front of you, putting a hand just above your chest that you blinked, glancing down at her. “Y/N, let’s go… please.”

When you tried to glance back up at the other officer, whose partner had seen the commotion and tried his own efforts in calming him; his patience thinning by the second – was when Tara’s grasp on your shirt firmed, making you look back at her own stern eyes.

"Let's. Go." Her tone left no room for argument. Warning you from doing something stupid and you clench your jaw, looking away from the uniformed officers.

“Fine…"

Everyone slowly releases a breath when your rigid posture relaxes. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.” You exclaim to the rest but look directly at Tara, “Especially you, Carpenter.”

You place a hand on the sliver of her back and Tara shivers not used to being this close to you in a while. Your hand keeps its place even as you both turn and Sam is immediately on her ass about sneaking into a club. You guide the bickering sisters to walk to the car, zoning out the familiar sounds of their argument.

“–ou’re lucky Y/N was at the diner, who knows what that creep would’ve done if we didn’t drive out here in time.” Your hand tightens, subtly bringing her closer to your side at Sam’s words, Tara glances over when you do.

“It was fine until you got there and started overreacting, Sam.” Tara rolls her eyes, way past just ‘over’ Sam’s overprotectiveness. The younger girl loved her sister, she did, but she didn’t want to live her life constantly looking over her shoulder.

Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle.

Sam scoffed offended, “Are you kidding me right now?” And you sigh because you can feel a bigger fight brewing and you can hear the slurring in Tara’s words, not a good mix. 

“Let’s get you all home first before we do this, okay?” You cut in when you see the car come closer into view. Fishing for your keys, you throw them at Sam making her catch them. 

“Walk ahead and start the car for me, please?” You ask with a raised brow; tilting your head to gesture to Tara saying a wordless ‘i got her’. Sam relents, tightly gripping the keys and walked ahead.

Tara leans her head against your shoulder, grateful for the brief moment of seclusion as everyone else walks up ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” You glance down at her frown, before looking away. 

“No. I’m not.”

“That wasn’t very convincing. If you’re mad you can tell me… cause then I can fix it.” You feel her run her hand up and down your back, under your jacket. It made a shiver run up your spine as she continued rubbing lines on the fabric of your shirt.

“I swear, I’m not mad. A little disappointed but no, not mad.”

Tara huffs, sliding her arm off your back when you reach the car; the talk cut short. You open the car door sitting Tara inside, it was a tight squeeze but she was small. You’d sit her on your lap if her sister wasn't here. Anika did sit on Mindy’s lap though with poor Chad in the middle seat and then Tara. 

She squeezes your hand just before you shut the door.

Apparently, Ethan and Quinn elected not to go home and continue on with their night.

Sam is already sitting in the passenger seat by the time you closed Tara’s door. With a sigh, you pull your door open, sit behind the wheel and drive off to the Carpenter’s apartment.

– –

Sam hurriedly rushes everyone into the living room as soon she opens the door; making sure to quadruple lock it, twist the handle to make sure it's locked and look out the peephole. It was Sam’s routine whenever she got into their place.

“Come on, let’s go, sit down.” Sam waves at you all, walking to the kitchen to grab water for everyone.

You help Tara onto the far edge of the couch, sitting her beside Mindy, who sat beside Anika. Chad decided to choose a record to listen to get rid of the tense air.

You felt Tara pulling you down with her, “Let me sit on your lap.” She mutters only to you.

“We can’t,” You whisper in her ear, slightly shaking your head. You hear her huff when you refuse her and see the pout on her lips when you pulled back, slightly smiling at her adorableness.

You force yourself to walk away from the younger Carpenter; heart tugging firmly, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in your arms, especially after not knowing what kind of trouble she was in.

Instead, you make your way into the kitchen to help Sam with the water bottles and bread.

“Is this necessary, Sam?” You ask the brunette, who was frantically searching through the fridge on her knees.

“You kidding? Chad is literally just staring holes at the record player.” She rebuttals and you glance back at the younger boy in amusement.

With a chuckle, you say, “He’s just high as shit. He’ll come down soon, plus he’s here now, they all are. Just relax and take a deep breath, man.” You remind her in a serious tone, holding out a hand to hold all the water bottles she was passing off to you.

“I know, I know. I was just worried.” She follows your advice taking calming, deep breaths as you follow along with her. 

“Your therapist would be so proud, Samantha.” You tease smugly as she scoffs, hitting your leg from her position on the floor – you kick her back.

“Can you make sure Tara drinks and eats something, and that she’s okay before going to bed?” Sam asks you in a hushed tone, although she didn’t need to. The other four were all too engrossed either in the music or the TV in the back. 

“Why me?”

“She’s not ready to talk to me and I’m not either... and I just wanna sleep right now.” She admits with a plead behind her eyes and you nod with no hesitation. 

“I'll make sure all of them make it to bed, don’t worry.” She nods appreciatively, then stands so you can both get back to the other four in the living room – tossing them some bread.

“Finish that whole bottle before going to sleep, I don’t care if you piss your pants while you do ‘em.” You say in a stern tone while throwing the bottles, then sitting on the armchair to Tara’s left.

Sam shares a look with you as she slips out of the room, wordlessly, leaving you with the other four. They watched TV for the next 20 minutes, glancing around as each of them got progressively tired the more time ticked on. 

“Alright. I think it’s time to call it a night.” You call it.

The twins and Anika slowly got up, muttering goodbyes and promises of texting Tara once they’d made it home. You offered to drive them to their dorm but felt the silent conversation between the friends – as Tara got them to turn you down to get you to stay here with her. 

You lean against the front door, watching as the trio made their way down the stairs until they were out of sight. As soon as you shut the door closed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection – making you turn around.

“I missed you,” Tara mutters against your chest making you chuckle when it slightly tickled. 

You cup her jaw, making her look into your eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

Tara melts at the term of endearment, grabbing your neck to pull you down for a long searing kiss. Lips slotted over one another as they found the familiar grooves of each other’s mouths. Only breaking apart when Tara confessed with a bated breath, “You looked so hot confronting that other cop.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” She mutters connecting her mouth to your neck, peppering wet kisses there. She can hear you sigh in satisfaction and it makes her hold on you tighten even more. But with great reluctance, you pulled away from Tara; who whimpered in protest.

“We can’t, babe.” You remind her, pointing with your head to Sam’s room.

She frowns, “then come to my room.” Problem solved. She smirked devilishly, tugging you toward her room; you refused.

“We still can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not taking advantage.” You whisper, only stepping close to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She groans letting her head drop to your shoulder as your hand played with her hair.

“I hate that you’re a goodie two shoes.” She mutters making you laugh.

You tilt her head up with the hand already in her hair – gaze intense as you whisper, “I can assure you, I am far from a goodie two shoes.”

And Tara thought she melted at the way your voice dropped an octave when you said that but she knew she melted when you leaned down, tugging her by the hair, to connect your lips.

It was barely a peck, all tender and fleeting.

When you pulled away, she smirked knowingly watching as your eyes traced a path from her lips to her eyes – your gaze all dark, lustful. When your eyes connect you dive into her with a hair-raising kiss; all hungry and pining.

The feeling of your tongue clashing against hers and sounds of soft moans sends time stopping like only you and her exist in this apartment together. But Tara knows it doesn’t really stop and she has to eventually pull away before she takes you in the hallway – right then and there.

“God, you drive me crazy,” Tara whispers against your lips.

“So do you… cause sneaking into a club, really?” You ask unimpressed and Tara immediately pulls back, groaning.

Snickering as you follow closely behind when she walks into her room, trying to get away from you.

“You’re a mood-killer.” She mutters sitting on her bed, arms crossed over her chest; sulking.

“And you’re gonna give me and Sam a heart attack soon.” You joke but it was true. Tara loved to prove her sister wrong; not like being told what to do. It grew a defiant attitude in her that loved to stir shit up just for the hell of it, and that landed her in some hot waters with her friends sometimes. She definitely made your blood pressure sky-rocket, sometimes too.

“Why?” Tara probes. You were always so elusive and mysterious – it came with your job and allure. She can barely get you to open up about your feelings most of the time, saying you prefer to show her than tell her. You definitely did, so this admission from you was new. It has Tara yearning to hear more words of affirmation from you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I care about you, dummy. I nearly caused multiple accidents just to get to you. I was going like 80 mph the whole time,” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck a little ashamed.

“You were really that worried?” She asks, looking up at you with a hopeful stare like she was surprised.

“Of course, I was Tara. I even used the siren lights.” You shake your head at the fact that she’s even asking. 

She was smiling goofily as you walked closer to stand between her legs, taking both her hands in yours. “I worry for all of you. But you, well, I always worry for you 'cause I’m thinking about you all the time.” You confessed in a whisper in her dark room. 

Tara bites her lip, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “You’re the worst.” Was the words that left her mouth.

“What, why?” You ask laughing.

She lets go of your hands to fiddle with your shirt buttons, muttering, “‘Cause you’re standing here looking all good and saying all the right things, and you still won’t fuck me.”

“Oookay…” You chuckle, grabbing at her fingers trying to unbutton your shirt, “That’s enough from you tonight. Let’s get you to bed before you say anything else you might regret tomorrow.”

She huffed but allowed you to grab her some new clothes to help her change; still not fucking her, Tara complains. Your eyes never even strayed from hers, not even when she took her bra off to change shirts and batted her eyes seductively. When she was all ready, you helped her to bed; tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asks grabbing onto your shirt, then gripping tighter. “Please.”

“What about Sam?” You ask softly, pushing away some hair from her face.

“She’s probably already sleeping, if not, she’s gonna be in her room all night.” Tara reasons, fully tugging you on top of her. 

You give in like you always do.

Work for you and classes for Tara have been a lot right now, not being able to find time alone. You were practically living at the police station with the crime surge in the city, working late nights and long hours. With Sam’s overprotectiveness, Tara can say goodbye to dates so she only really sees you when you come over with her sister. You take your jacket off, place it on the chair in the corner of her room and tug your boots off. Remembering you had a change of clothes here from when Tara ransacked your closet; you picked out a shirt and shorts before getting into bed beside the younger Carpenter.

She was on you in an instant, swinging a leg over your waist, shoving her face in your neck. You feel her exhale a calming breath, once she’d settled into a comfortable position on you. You reciprocate by wrapping a strong grip around her waist, cherishing the way her skin warmed yours and how the weight of her body felt perfect.

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks you with such a vulnerable gaze that you would never dream of ever telling her no.

You nod, pressing a kiss to her lips, then forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Goodnight.”

She smiles against your lips, whispering her own, “goodnight.”

As you hold Tara Carpenter in your arms, you find yourself fending off sleep, only ever being this relaxed around the girl. You squeeze her slightly, feeling grateful to be with her at this moment with all the craziness in your two’s lives. No worries of outside-world problems could break the cozy bubble you and Tara created. Without ever standing a chance, you lose the fight to sleep and easily fall off the precipice with her in your embrace.

– –

“Tara, do you have my nail polish – Oh this is cute.”

You spring up, the voice startling you from the most relaxed sleep you’ve ever had; the type that makes your entire body heavy and head foggy when you wake up. You were the lightest of sleepers, a pin drop could probably startle you awake, but never when you fell asleep beside Tara.

“What the fuck?” Tara grumbles against your side, peaking her head up to see Quinn watching you two in bed.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and instantly pale when you realize you never left the Carpenter Sister’s apartment, you never even made it out of Tara’s bed. You can feel the stream of sunlight coming in from Tara’s window and just know you had majorly fucked up.

“I just needed my nail polish but this is quite a sight, definitely a pleasant surprise.” She waves a hand toward you two, and you roll your eyes.

“Shit babe, Sam.” Tara places a hand on your arm. You check the watch strapped on your wrist for the time, 10:32 AM – making you leap out of her, oh so warm bed.

“Screw Sam, my Captain is gonna be on my ass until next year if I don’t get to work now. I was late about two hours ago.” Grumbling, you yanked Tara’s closet open and grabbed the spare trousers and button-down, you stowed in there.

"Can't say I blame your Captain." Quinn retorts, heavily eyeing you as you change your shorts into trousers.

Tara groans at the mess this morning has already been, flopping onto her back.

“Screw Sam, huh?” She appears, leaning on the threshold just behind Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your hands stall on the tie you were tying as you hear your friend’s voice, making you turn around.

“I guess that’s a no on the nail polish?” Tara glares at her roommate. 

Quinn shrugs, still ogling as you changed before turning to leave the room. “Not a wasted trip though, nice catch Tara.” She winks at the brunette – holding a thumbs up.

The redhead just laughs, moving out of the way when Tara attempts to throw a pillow at her.

“Sam… I’d love to explain but I am so late for work right now.” You plead at the older sister.

Tara sat on her bed wordlessly, unsure of what Sam’s reaction is going to be – but ready to defend her relationship with you, regardless.

Sam chuckles shrugging lightly, “I already knew. Or well, I had a feeling, but this just confirms it.”

You and Tara look at each other at her confession, unsure if Sam’s words hold positive or negative connotations. Sam sees the eye-contact and laughs.

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was a little hurt that you didn’t tell me…” She pauses, “okay. I was really hurt when you guys didn’t tell me. But I realize I haven’t given Tara reason to trust me with anything about her life lately.”

That makes Tara’s head perk up at her sister’s admission. All she’s ever wanted was for Sam to trust her a little because trust went both ways in every type of relationship.

“And well, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to be with my sister than my cop friend. Especially after you came through for her last night. You were driving so fast, I thought I was gonna die.” Sam laughs a little but you’re still unconvinced.

When Sam realizes no one was still talking she chuckles again. “Guys, I’m serious!”

You cough clearing your throat, “Sorry Sam, it’s just that... I–uh,” 

Tara decided to cut off your stammering, “We’re just surprised, Sam. We thought you'd be more upset. And that we were more subtle.” She admits, shooting you a look.

“You weren't. But, I thought a lot about what to say until I realized it was just you guys and I care about you two so much. You don’t think I noticed Tara being a lot happier than usual and you actually looking somewhat at peace?” She asks rhetorically, reading you and Tara to filth – your cheeks reddening, not being used to being at the other end of the ‘questioning’.

“I see how you look at each other. I know you’ll protect her.” That last sentence she says looking at you and it means the world to get her approval – something that you didn’t even know you wanted, you nod at her appreciatively.

Sam pushes herself off the doorframe, tapping on it. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the kitchen, don't let it get cold. And Y/N, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to work today.” She winks, leaving you and Tara alone in the room.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, unable to find words to describe what just transpired in the span of a few minutes. Then you hear a scoff bring you out of your reverie.

“What the hell was that,” Tara commented, getting up from the bed and closing the door before approaching you. 

“I’m… not really sure. I can’t tell if I’m still asleep.” You mumble, grabbing at her cheeks to make sure you weren't in a dream. Tara whines against the pinching, swatting your hands away.

You laughed at her frown before leaning down to kiss her slightly chapped lips, all soft and slow. Tara pulls you closer by the neck, sighing against pressed mouths. A sweet moan escapes her mouth when you suck down hard on her lip, releasing it with a loud pop. 

“You think I should call in sick today?” You whisper, running a gentle thumb to soothe her swollen lip.

Tara nods, eyes half-open still a little dazed from your kiss. When she gathers her bearings, she runs a hand down your half-done tie, tugging you closer. “Definitely.”

"You can tell me more about how worried you were and how fast you were driving too," She whispers against your mouth, using your tie as a leash.

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Kinda... can I drive with the sirens on?" She slides the question in like it was nothing.

"No."

"Buzzkill." She teases but pulls you on top when her back hits the mattress. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

You definitely forgot to make that phone call.

The rest of that morning was spent in between Tara’s sheets, you two hidden away from the world; ignoring the flurry of texts and calls from your work phone. Only leaving her room to grab some food and water, but getting caught in the crossfire of teasings from Tara's friends when they see the hickeys on your neck.

Tara merely strides past you, dressed in nothing but your button-down, stopping for a peck on the lips and grabbing the water from your hands before hiding back in her room to ignore her friends. You don’t miss the cheeky wink she tosses you and the grimace Sam lets out as she watches. Instead, you keep your head down and follow the smaller girl like a lost puppy, ignoring the other's whistles as you do.

And, when you make your way to your desk the next day, a mountain pile of shitty cases for the next month is stacked high as punishment.

You still find it hard to feel any remorse for the no-show.

It was definitely worth it.

– –

:)

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #jenna ortega

[wambsgansshoelaces]

hiii could you maybe write something about a first kiss with roman roy? I feel like he’s so unpredictable that it could be fluffy or angsty 💖

Vending Machine Oreos

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

anon I’m so so sorry this is so late!!! I hope I delivered though :( please let me know what you think and enjoy x

honestly I’m kind of worried because I’ve been struggling with life and my writing’s been suffering because of it so I’m really sorry if this seems unrealistic or rushed or just bad. I hope you guys like it anyway!!!

Word Count: 2.215k

“Roman!”

“What?” he snaps back, not bothering to look up from his desk.

“You’re going to make us fucking late! Come on!”

“It’s not even- oh, fuck, you’re right.” He abruptly gets to his feet, slamming the lid of his laptop shut, and hurries out of his office, you not far behind.

Working at Waystar was certainly an experience. You like to say Logan Roy made you see red, and it’s a sentiment you know Roman shares. When you stop and think about it, you suppose that you’re making way too much money to actually care. Besides, Roman Roy is easy on the eyes. It’s not like all of him was so horrible. If you were honest with yourself, you never really thought he was such a bad person. He was kind to you, in his own neurotic way, and made sure all of his work was done on time. You actually find him kind of endearing, and you both happen to get along extremely well.

“Is the car outside?” he asks, pulling his coat on.

“It has been for ten minutes,” you say back, ushering him into an opening elevator.

“Why do we have to do this again?” he mutters to you in question, glancing at you sideways as you slide into your seat next to him in the car.

“Because your dad wants us to mingle,” you say bitterly. “Some new hotshot piece of shit to impress.” He sighs, turning to stare out the window and watch as New York blurs by.

The event building is large and lavish, the epitome of modern day architecture. The entire thing is floor-to-ceiling windows, and the interior does not let you down. This is the corporate version of a party. You’d spend the night milling about, pretending to listen to half-assed pitches while Roman fucked with all of the corporate jockies he hated. Logan had asked you in person for you and Roman to go. Something about the mind games he was playing with rivals and the fact that a Roy needed to be present at these kinds of things.

You and Roman get your coats checked, and you’re guided into the ballroom. The room is already bustling and half-drunk, and you mentally steel yourself for the next few hours. The two of you get roped into a mind-numbing conversation about stocks and bitcoin, so much so that when you look over at Roman, he’s staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“And what about you?”

You don’t realize the question was aimed at you until after it hangs for a few moments.

“Sorry?” you ask, returning your attention to your peanut gallery of what’s only men. You notice Roman doing the same.

“We were talking about the whore houses,” an older one chortles, immediately causing your face to sour. “We were wondering if we would see you there. What with the job performance and all.” He laughs, a loud, gaudy sound that makes you want to vomit.

All of the heat rushes to your face. You are by no means bad at your job. But despite your confidence and your skill, you can’t help how disgusting you feel.

“I speak for all of us here when I say nobody would really mind if you were,” another, younger one chimes in. You all but gag. You throw a glance at Roman, pleading, but he looks just as uncomfortable as you are. Disappointed, you realize you’re not going to get any help from him.

Without saying anything, you turn on your heel and calmly make your way out of the ballroom. You feel like ripping your skin off. Maybe then the feeling of those eyes will get off of you then.

You stroll through the halls, trying to comfort yourself. You don’t expect it, but after your second lap around the complex, you find Roman at your elbow, reaching out to take you by the arm.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something,” he admits. “That was disgusting. They’re disgusting. I’m really sorry.” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I know that doesn’t help.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, rather unconvincingly at that.

Roman makes a face at you. “We both don’t believe that.”

“Really. It’s fine. I should’ve just made a scene so we could leave,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood, change the tone. Roman gives you his signature pout, refusing to take your word for anything. He’s worked with you for long enough to be able to sense when something’s wrong.

“Oh, come on.” He leans in towards you conspiratorially. “Wanna just ditch? Pretty sure I saw a vending machine while I was chasing you around. You walk way too fucking fast, by the way.”

He sets off down the hall, fishing his express card out of the zipper pocket of his dress pants. You follow, catching up so that you’re walking side by side. “You keep a credit card in your pocket?”

“Debit.” He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it. He pats himself down, rooting through his other pockets. He fishes out some paper money and unfolds it. “Hey, look, five bucks.”

The card is sleek and impossibly expensive. You grip it tightly. Even though you don’t really know how you’d lose it, you don’t think you’ll know what to do with yourself if you do. “Do they even have vending machines in places like these?”

“Yeah, ’course they do. Saw it with my own eyes, anyway. Just told you,” he replies, letting you press the card back into his hand. He turns it over in his palm absentmindedly, eyes flitting about. “They just charge triple ’cause they know nobody’s checking the price.”

You both walk together for a short while, Roman getting a bit frustrated. He tells you that he was ‘just fucking there’ before a comfortable silence stretches, him focused on finding the damn thing. You don’t have to wait too much longer. “Hey, look, there’s an entire row,” you say, pointing.

“You know it’s fuckin’ crazy ’cause these aren’t even the ones that I saw earlier,” he mutters to you. “You like spicy chips?”

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” you tell him after you process what he said. He sighs, turning back to the nearest vending machine.

“Cool. You’re getting Oreos.” Roman takes the crumpled five dollar bill and tries to smooth it out against the machine’s glass. You don’t think it’s going to help. That thing looks like it’s been through hell.

He presses a few buttons and inserts the bill. The machine eats it, and the small screen above the keypad flashes the word ‘PROCESSING’ in red, blocky text. You watch as the curly thing keeping the treats in the machine unfurls, pushing the sleeve of cookies forward, before it shuts, the cookies hanging on to the gadget instead of dropping so that you could get it.

“I feel like that shouldn’t be possible,” you say quietly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he says back. He bangs on the glass, and the sleeve sways. But nothing happens. Roman glances towards you. “Is this real? Are we in one of the most expensive fucking office buildings in fucking New York where the vending machines are holding my fucking Oreos hostage?”

You shrug, then fish out your wallet. “Here, put another five in,” you suggest, offering him another five. He pushes your hand back towards you, making a face, instead inserting his card into the machine. Again, a sleeve of Oreos gets pushed out. The previous ones finally fall from their position, but get stuck on the slot immediately below it. The same thing that happened with the first one then happens with the one just bought.

“This can’t be real,” Roman says incredulously. “Help me out, will you?”

He squeezes himself in between the vending machine and the wall, somehow managing to tilt the entire thing forward. You brace your hands on the front of the thing, keeping it from tipping all the way over. Carefully, you jerk your arms up, trying to shake the cookies free. A couple of tries later, a strange smattering of THUDS sound, spotty and horribly nonrhythmic. Roman peers out at you from his little nook, eyebrows raised.

You manage to get the machine back upright so that he can shuffle back out into the hallway. As you get your first glance through the glass, it’s painfully obvious a lot of what was once in the machine is now at the bottom for you to take.

“All this for only ten bucks is pretty good if you ask me,” you say, smile playing on your lips.

“Thank fuck this company is cheap in their manufacturing,” he murmurs back, grinning. He leans his back against the machine once you both hear footsteps approaching. The young man who’d made that gross fucking one-liner. Even though you have no proof, you get the disgusting inkling he was looking for you. He slows his pace when he sees you, and you do your best to school your face into neutrality. He stops entirely, opening his mouth to say something, look of confidence plastered over his face.

“Fuck’re you looking at?” Roman snaps, arm coming to drape across your shoulders, hand going to cup your jaw. He tilts your head up, quickly crashing his lips against yours. You’re surprised, but not even the slightest bit opposed. You grin into the kiss, and you can feel Roman smirking. He pulls back only slightly, glancing sideways at the other man. “What, you into voyeurism or something? We’re having a moment, shoo.”

You can’t help but laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth to trap the noise, and you watch the guy scuttle awkwardly away. Roman’s fingers stay on your jaw, brushing gently up the expanse of your skin. Without thinking, you lean back in and deposit a peck on his lips. He returns the fleeting kiss as he can, head then following yours back when you pull away to press his lips back to yours.

The kiss is deep, tender, needy. In between kisses, he murmurs praise. “You know you’re thirty times the employee any of those dipshits ever will be, mm?” Another lingering kiss, his hands drifting to your hips to turn you towards him. “And you’re so fucking attractive. Thank fuck this is finally happening. I think my staring at work was getting creepy.”

As his fingers travel to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, you pull back enough to be able to kiss up his neck. You line kisses along the underside of his jaw, and he lets out a strangled noise. His free hand cups your hip, squeezing gently as his face flushes with pleasure.

He turns his head to take your lips with his again, sighing happily into your mouth between kisses. Your hands are now braced on his chest, and your heart flutters.

“Did it really have to take this to get us to make out?” you ask, smiling giddily, rubbing a hand over his pecs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Another few weeks without you and I probably would’ve lost it, anyway,” he admits to you. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Roman pulls away from you entirely, disentangling your limbs from each other. He stoops down to the output compartment, your previously won treasure forgotten in the heat of the moment. He pulls out a bag of chips, sitting down with his back leaning against machine. You go down and settle in next to him, sitting as close as physically possible. He tears open the bag before winding an arm around you, keeping you close, holding the bag so that it’s easily accessible to the both of you.

“What’re we going to do with the rest of it?” you ask, cheek pressed to his shoulder so you can rest your head against him.

“Planning on taking it with us.” Roman chews a bit, swallows, then dots kisses across your forehead. “Hey, wait, your Oreos.”

He twists to reach into the compartment behind him, roots around for the bit, and turns back around to hand you what got you into this mess in the first place. You tear open the sleeve, then offer a cookie to him. He pops one into his mouth, fat smile plastered on his face. You have to admit, you enjoy seeing him happy. Roman Roy’s smile does things to you. You mirror his expression as you gaze up at him.

He plants another kiss right onto your lips.

It’s a bit of a struggle to transport all of your loot to the car an hour later, but thankfully, nobody’s around as the two of you carry all of the junk across the building.

The drive back, you sit practically on top of each other, giggling and munching all the way.

Neither of you waste any time as the weeks go on. You start going out, and you find yourselves spending more time in each others’ offices.

One morning, a few months after you’ve made things official, you step out of your office to come face to face with a vending machine.

All that’re in it are bags of Oreos, and a small sticky note pasted to the glass with a sloppy heart drawn onto it.

#succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #anon ask #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy oneshot #requests open #first kiss roman roy

[the-authoress-writes]

Wherever You Go Chapter One

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be cursing, because these are people in the Navy.

I don’t think there’s anything else, though.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Yeah, freaking right.

This took forever (become a church musician, they said, it’ll be fun, they said, you’re in charge of the choir for the Advent season and Christmas while the choir director is on medical leave), but I’m fairly happy with how this turned out.

I think.

The impostor syndrome do be impostoring.

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

A huge thank you and shout out to @thatsrightice, who helped me so much with the hop maneuvers, by researching the F-14 and A-4 high and low for me.

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x reader! fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Previously on “Wherever You Go”…

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

Two months ago…

“So, you looking forward to teaching the next generation of stick jocks like us, Ice?” Mav spoke, barely intelligible around the food he had in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak whatever language that was, because it definitely wasn’t English.” Tom deadpanned, looking up from his forkful of the fairly-decent facsimile of scrambled eggs from the famed Officer’s Mess Hall of NAS Miramar.

Mav rolled his eyes and hastily swallowed his own forkful of eggs. “I said, are you looking forward to teaching the next generation of pilots like us, Ice?”

“Like me?

Yes.

Like you?

No.”

With Slider’s approval, he had taken the instructor assignment after it was offered to him shortly after the Layton, he and Slider wanting a little stability for two or three years—maybe even four—the Layton mission having shaved off what felt like a whole decade from their lifespan.

The fact that he was going to be able to fly and show off—sorry—instruct, was a nice bonus.

And the fact that his wingman, the only other pilot who could hold a candle to him, was also an instructor, was another plus.

They’d kick the asses of the hotshots they were going to teach, no problem.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m the best,” Mav grinned, nearly maniacally.

Tom put his scrambled eggs in his mouth, and made a show of chewing and swallowing, before replying, “Second best,” gesturing with his fork.

“I’m the best and you know it,” Mav practically vibrated.

Tom squinted at his wingman. “How much sugar did you put in your coffee?”

The other pilot froze guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed—hyper Mav was even more of a chaotic gremlin than normal Mav.

The younger man had an incredibly high, almost unnatural, tolerance for sugar, but put enough of it in his system, and you got one Pete Mitchell who could fly without a jet.

Tom had personally seen the other man put what seemed like half a sugar bottle in one cup of coffee. “Why?”

Mav pouted, looking like a child, and not the twenty-four year-old naval aviator he was. “I just wanted to indulge myself a little, Ice, ‘cause, you know, we’re instructors—together—we’re gonna kick ass—it’s gonna be great!”

“I know we’re gonna kick ass, but you’re not going to be able to instruct if you’re vibrating so much they can’t even see you,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head, trying to figure out how he could burn off Mav’s extra energy before they, along with Viper and Jester, had to head to the classroom to greet their new students later that morning.

“I know—but I just wanted something a little sweet as a treat,” Mav murmured, green eyes cast down and glazed with shame, and he got a glimpse of the child his wingman must have been over fifteen years ago.

He softened on the younger pilot, and reached out to ruffle the raven hair with a soft smile. “‘m not mad at you, Mav, it’s okay.”

Mav pulled away with a grimace and a slap at Tom’s hand, before fussing with his dark hair, but the familiar light returned to the other man’s eyes, though with considerably less mania than two minutes ago.

They continued eating, but Tom’s devious side reared its head. “You do know what this means, though, right?”

“Wha’?”

Tom nearly laughed right there.

Mav had half a forkful of eggs balanced on his lower lip.

“You and I are going to go for a little run around the south hangars, to burn off that energy.”

An intense green stare fixed on him, clearly considering. “Okay, fine—I might… might have overdone it a little bit with the sugar packets.”

“A ‘little’, huh?

Good for you, bud, getting more self-aware.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” Mav smirked.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom grinned. “Come on, finish up, so we can get a decent shower after our run.”

“You okay there, old man?” came the smug voice not far above his head.

“Two—two years, that’s all you have on me, Mav,” Tom muttered, massaging the ankle and knee of his right leg, stretched out on the bench of the instructor’s locker room, mentally cursing the old injuries he’d sustained there from a bad ejection he and Sli endured during one of their first deployments, on the Constellation, when the arresting gear failed because a new crewman didn’t check the weight on the valve of the wire.

It was why he had to wear a wrap on his knee and ankle whenever he and Slider played volleyball.

Mav continued, “You know I was gonna kick your ass running even if I wasn’t amped up on sugar, right?

Tall people wear out faster—that’s what you get for being freakishly tall.”

Tom frowned. “If I’m freakishly tall, what’s Merlin?”

Long pause.

Smirk.

“No,” Mav accusingly pointed, “I refuse to fall for that—I will not speak ill of my RIO, even though I’m his teacher.”

Tom chuckled.

Merlin had been lucky to be selected for TOPGUN again, though it was with the caveat that he wouldn’t be able to win the trophy in his session, as his pilot was going to be an instructor.

Merls had taken it well in stride, glad to be at TOPGUN, even if it meant he’d only graduate, as a reserve RIO for his session.

“Hey, did you hear?

History’s being made this session—we’re teaching the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN,” Tom remarked, once he’d eased the ache in his knee and ankle.

“Yeah, I know—and I know her; hell of a pilot,” Mav nodded. “Hell of a woman too.”

“Oh?” a blond brow rose wryly.

“Yeah, I met her two or so years ago, when the Black Aces chopped in on the Big E.

Callsign’s Thorn.

And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Mav’s voice was slightly muffled as he dug through his locker for a stick of deodorant. “Like you think I know her… carnally.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt with any woman with a pulse.”

“Only most,” Tom nodded sagely, a smirk tugging his lips, even though his wingman couldn’t see it.

A finger was flipped in his direction over a shoulder. “Get in your khakis already, Icy-Hot-Man.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fuck you, Mav.”

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Mav threw back, and the shit-eating grin was audible in his voice, which made Tom secretly smile, to know his wingman and brother was happy.

After the two of them managed to get into their khakis in record time, they came up to the building with their classroom right with Jester and Viper, who spotted them and waved off their salutes. “Kazansky, Mitchell.

It’s good to see you both.

You ready.”

It was more statement than question, but despite the stoicism on the Vietnam veteran’s face, Tom could see the pride in his CO’s eyes, and the added glint of paternal pride, when he looked at Mav.

Though it made him sad to see that, reminding him of what he used to have, Tom was glad that the other aviator had a paternal influence in his adult life.

He’d had one before—Mav, on the other hand, hadn’t.

He really missed his Dedushka.

He pushed the thought away in time to see Viper gesture to follow him and Jester inside.

They all slipped their garrison caps off once they were under the fluorescent lights of the building, and the classroom door was in sight after a short walk.

“Alright,” Viper sighed, gaze running across all of them, a smile reminiscent of his callsign on his face, “time to school another batch of hotshots.

Let’s begin.”

The two wingmen exchanged a little grin, before squaring their shoulders and following Jester inside as Viper trailed behind.

“ATTENTION!!” Jester barked, striding to the front, Tom and Mav moving to the right side of the classroom, opposite the TV, following the order like everyone else in the room.

“At ease.”

At this, they all moved to parade rest, Tom and Mav having the luxury of clasping their hands before them, while Jester picked up a clipboard. “I will be calling out the driver and RIO teams.

After I call both your names, make yourselves known.

Lieutenant Solomon Bates, callsign “Warlock”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Kenneth Han, callsign “Shogun”.”

“Present, sir!” an Asian man about Tom’s height, and a tall African-American man enthusiastically chorused.

“Lieutenant Stephen Ruth, callsign “Babe”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Timothy Martin, callsign “Priest”.”

“Here, sir!”

“Lieutenant Edward Arellano, callsign “Belter”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Gabriel Presleigh, callsign “Elvis”.”

“Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant Henry Baker, callsign “Snackbar”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Matthias Novak, callsign “Links”.”

“Sir!”

“Lieutenant Julian Howell, callsign “Ash”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Randall Simmons, callsign “Igor”.”

“Up and ready, sir!”

The pilot, Howell, it was plain to see, had an arrogant, smug look on his face, almost like he felt it was inevitable he’d be at TOPGUN, and Tom sent Mav a sideways glance, which the other man returned.

Any hop with that particular pair was going to be interesting, and it was clear from the look on his wingman’s face, that his immediate dislike of the pilot was shared by Mav.

Tom looked forward to him and Mav educating Howell as to who were the best pilots, in the final hops.

“And finally, Lieutenant __ __, callsign “Thorn”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Emmett Kinford, callsign “Romeo.””

“Yes, sir!” came a resonant alto and an even, low baritone, the call jarring insofar as it was to hear a woman’s voice mixed with that of a man’s in this room, heretofore the demesne of men.

Both had even expressions on their faces, pilot and RIO gazing straight ahead, while the OCD part of Tom’s mind registered that their khakis were in better form than even his own, ribbons not the slightest bit out of place, with creases you could cut yourself on, and that was saying something.

Her hair was carefully pulled into the regulation tight bun, not a single strand out of place, and her RIO’s dark waves were also the picture of military perfection.

“You may be seated.” Jester said after a beat, casting his gaze shrewdly around the room. “I am Commander Rick Heatherly—callsign Jester.

I am the Executive Officer of Fighter Weapons School, known to all naval aviators as TOPGUN, and your Lead Opposing.

Each one of you have been selected for a very specific reason; to become the best of the best’s best.

Blinds.”

The room went dark as the blinds were shut, and the familiar video began playing, the familiar speech being recited.

Soon, Jester finished his speech, calling for the blinds to be opened.

Light flooded into the room, and Tom fought to look dignified, not squinty, even as the sun assaulted his eyes.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your Junior Instructors, and this school’s Secondary Opposing; Lieutenant Tom Kazansky, callsign “Iceman”, and Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, callsign “Maverick”, last year’s Top Gun, and second place finisher respectively—”

Both he and Mav somehow straightened further, nodding professionally at their class.

“—and finally, our Commanding Officer here at TOPGUN, the very first man to win the Top Gun Trophy; and there is not a finer naval aviator in the world.

Captain Mike Metcalf—callsign “Viper”.”

Viper strode in and told the first class of ‘87 much the same things he did the flyboys of ‘86, and they all turned to get a good look at the Top Gun Trophy, whose newest brass plaque bore the engraving “LT T. Kazansky & LTJG R. Kerner — 1986”.

“You think your names are going to be up there?” Viper gazed speculatively at the class.

However, this time, no one filled the silence with an affirmative response—unlike Mav the year before—though Ash and Igor had hungry and yet self-assured looks in their eyes.

“Well, regardless of whose name ends up in brass at the end of these five weeks, at the end of the day, you—we—are all on the same team.

Gentlemen—and lady,” Viper nodded towards Thorn, “this school is about combat—there are no points for second place.

Dismissed.”

“Report to the quartermaster for your housing assignments, you’ll have today to get settled.” Jester called out to the room at large, “and remember, tomorrow’s first class starts at 0800.”

Most of the class quickly shuffled out of the room, but not before a few of them shot Thorn and Romeo, both of whom were still seated, skeptical—and in Ash and Igor’s case, outright dirty—looks, looks which she ignored, though one would have to be blind not to notice the protective menace emanating from her RIO despite the similar expression of indifference on his features.

But once her classmates had filed out, Thorn looked towards him and Mav, her indifference giving way to a radiant smile.

“Mav,” she exclaimed, striding over.

“Acey!” his wingman laughed, pulling her into a hug, briefly lifting her a slight distance off the floor.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you!”

“You too—it’s been too long.”

“Yeah—” here her expression sobered, “and I’m so sorry—I heard about Nick—Ro and I couldn’t believe it.”

“Nick was a great guy, it was such a shock—damn canopy of all things,” Romeo said, having walked over to give Mav a warm pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Mav breathed evenly, a bit too evenly for Tom’s liking. “Oh, uh, Thorn, Romeo, this is my f-friend and wingman, Tom Kazansky.”

All too glad to take the spotlight to give Mav time to breathe, he stepped forward, extending his hand. “You can call me Ice, it’s good to meet you.

Mav’s told me about you, Thorn.”

“Oh?

Only good things, I hope,” she said, shaking his hand.

Her hand had the same callouses he and most fighter pilots had—which gave him a bit of cognitive dissonance, because he was used to only feeling those callouses on other men—with a strong grip, and a confident posture as she looked up at him.

“Practically praised you to the stars and back,” he smiled, letting go of her hand.

“Hello, I’m chopped liver,” Romeo wryly stated as he shook Tom’s hand. “Call me Ro.”

“You’re hardly chopped liver, Ro, you’re the sixth best RIO I know,” Mav interjected, his voice and breathing seeming more like baseline.

“Thank you, I guess?” Romeo frowned.

Thorn broke in, “I gotta admit, for a second, I was kind of worried that you’d suddenly become too good for the likes of me and Ro, Mr. TOPGUN-Instructor and Three-Confirmed-Kills, I swear, Mav, that was the stillest I’ve ever seen you.”

The aforementioned man shrugged. “That’s Ice’s influence.

Got to stand still so you hotshots have a chance to admire us.”

Thorn huffed a light-hearted laugh, but Mav continued, “And I only got those kills thanks to this guy.

I had to lead some of the MiGs away so that he could have one all to himself,” Mav beamed, waggling his eyebrows.

Thorn blinked, “Oh yeah, you’ve got one too.”

Before he could reply, Mav proudly cut in, “Yes, he does—and this guy held out against five MiGs.”

“Sli and I’d have burned in if you didn’t get there in time, Mav,” Tom said, determined that his wingman would get the praise he deserved.

Said wingman turned, eyes narrowed hopefully. “Is this you admitting I’m the better pilot?”

He scoffed lightly, “Any pilot would have trouble against five adversaries, the best or not.”

“I’ll get you to admit it one day,” the diminutive pilot muttered.

Tom clapped Mav on the shoulder. “Today is not that day, buddy.”

Another huffed laugh had the two wingmen remembering that their students were still in the room.

Romeo was shaking his head in the way of those who have fondly dealt with the inimitable Pete Mitchell, and Thorn had a small smile on her face, but it was no less bright than the one she had when she greeted Mav. “You look good, Mav.”

“Uhh… thanks?

But I always do.”

Thorn scoffed, and Romeo rolled his eyes so hard, Tom was surprised the RIO didn’t pull something.

She turned to him, a look in her eyes that spoke as if he had passed some test he didn’t know about, turning the tables on him, her instructor, and they weren’t even in the air yet. “You keep taking care of this Firebird for me, huh?”

Something about receiving her unsought approval shot a bolt of feeling through him, searing through his being, like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. “Of course.”

“Good,” she breathed, her small smile turning to a grin. “I guess—I guess Ro and I better go, because I’m sure our classmates got the good housing already.”

“We’ll accompany you to your housing, once you get your assignment—the uh—” he cleared his throat and sniffed, “the housing here is laid out pretty weird.”

Tom could feel Mav’s gaze snap to him at a practically supersonic speed, but he ignored it, in favor of shooting Thorn a charming, if not slightly awkward, smile.

Her head tilted at a slight angle, keen gaze analyzing him like he was some sort of problem she couldn’t quite solve. “If that’s what you want to do with your time, sure thing, sir.”

His brain shut down on him for a split second, for some odd reason, but he managed to evenly reply, “We’re the same rank.”

“That shiny Junior Instructor title of yours begs to differ, but whatever you say… sir.”

A nudge at his side snapped him out of whatever strange fugue his brain was trying to drag him into.

He’d have to get more sleep, he figured.

“What’d I tell you, Ice?

Sometimes I wonder if Acey here should have been the Firebird instead of me—because I’m well on my way to becoming an ace, as you all know,” Mav declared.

“Imagine being deployed with this for months,” Thorn sighed, but with a teasing glimmer in her eyes.

“Imagine agreeing to get stationed with him, and being his wingman,” Tom reparteed.

“Oh, I can,” she nodded knowingly. “I have stories, by the way.”

“Oh?

Do tell,” he grinned, playfully ignoring the groan from his wingman.

She blinked, her expression frozen for a split second, before she gestured to the aisle, “Mind if we walk and talk?”

“At your leave, Lieutenant.”

She shook her head slightly, but strode onwards, their strides matching in less than half a beat. “So there was this one incident with some shaving cream…”

When the four of them arrived at the quartermaster, as Thorn predicted, her and Romeo’s classmates were long gone.

“Hello, shitty housing,” she muttered, as she and Romeo approached the quartermaster, while he and Mav stood a ways behind.

“You’re being weird.”

“What?” Tom turned to see Mav staring at him like he was an F-14 requiring diagnostics and a shit-ton of maintenance.

“I said you’re being weird—”

“Yeah,” he slowly began, “I heard you the first time, Mav, what do you mean?”

“You—you’re being… nice,” was the other aviator’s perplexed reply, accompanied by an equally consterned gesture.

It was his turn to stare. “I am nice.”

“Uh-huh, but you’re not usually this—this, to people you don’t know.

Who are you, and what have you done to my wingman?”

If Tom were to be honest, he himself knew that he wasn’t exactly acting in character, but there was just something that tugged him to… be warmer towards Thorn and Romeo.

He put it down to wanting to repay the TOPGUN students for being kind to his brother, when not many others were.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Mav,” he said, sounding somewhat lame to even his own ears, truthful as it was.

“Okay, sure,” the other man nodded, in an extremely distrustful tone.

“Got it!” Thorn declared, she and Romeo marching up. “Let’s see what Government Issued shanty we’ll be put up in, shall we?

Looks like we’re at… 315 Vraciu.”

Tom spoke up. “That’s not bad, I think; a couple of our classmates last year were put up in that same housing—Charles Piper and Marcus Williams—and I don’t think they had any problems.”

Romeo clicked his tongue, “Well, that’s a first—less-than half-decent housing’s usually par for the course for me and Thorn.

This’ll be a refreshing change.”

Tom would never understand why good pilots were blamed for things they couldn’t change, Mav for his father’s “betrayal” and his own unconventional flying style, and Thorn for her gender, through relentless hazing and/or poor treatment.

If he ever rose high enough to change things, he swore he would.

The housing was a basic, cookie cutter home a little over a five minute drive from the main TOPGUN building, and on the way there, Thorn and Mav were seated in the back of Tom’s truck, catching up, while Romeo sat shotgun.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Tom saw that both pilots were animatedly discussing things that had happened since the last time they saw each other, including the infamous inverted-over-a-MiG situation.

“Are they always like this?” he said in sotto voce to the RIO beside him.

Romeo flicked his dark gaze to the backseat, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah.

It’s nice to see her happy.

Not a lot of people think much of her, since she’s a woman, you know.

But Mav, he and Goose, they never saw that, they just saw a good pilot, and I’m grateful.

They were the only ones who wanted to fly with us.”

Tom frowned in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

If Mav was singing her praises, she must be a phenomenon in the sky—who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

“Nope.

They were the only ones who volunteered, so they kind of got stuck with us that whole deployment.”

At this point, they arrived at 315 Vraciu, and they all hopped out, the two students carrying their seabags to the door.

Thorn unlocked the door, she and Romeo tossing their bags in the entrance. “Well, thanks for the ride,” she nodded, Romeo doing likewise behind her.

“No problem, my pleasure,” Tom replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’ll see you both around, I guess.”

He imagined that her eyes lingered longer on him than they did on Mav, and… he didn’t exactly know how he felt about that.

Mav threw off a nonchalant salute while he sent a respectful nod, before they moved to go back to his truck.

They were halfway there when they heard, “Hey Mav!”

The two of them halted, turning to see the fire of challenge in Thorn’s brilliant eyes. “You gonna take it easy on me?”

Mav scoffed, “You think I’m an idiot?”

She carefully maintained a blank look, and Mav flipped her off with a grin.

Her expression sharpened, gaze landing on him, callsign all too accurate, as the edge of defiance in her voice rang through the air. “And how about you—are you going to take it easy on me?”

He had to admire her for that already.

“If you’re as good as Mav says, that’d be a damn injustice.”

Her answering smile was dagger-keen. “Looking forward to seeing you up there, then.”

Something in him thrilled to the thought of having another worthy opponent in the sky. “It’ll be a highlight of my day, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see.”

Though not unkindly, the door shut in their faces soon after.

Tom stared at the door a moment longer, before again turning to see Mav frowning.

“You’re really being weird.”

“…Shut up, Mav.”

“Alright boys—just to remind you, we have the classes in the morning, and we’re going up in the afternoon.

For the first hop, it’s going to be Jester against Thorn and Romeo, Mitchell against Warlock and Shogun, then Ash and Igor.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over Tom as he realized Viper’s hop arrangement meant he wouldn’t get to fly against Thorn the first day, but he managed to keep most of the expression off his face, especially with Mav treating him like a problem to solve the whole rest of last night.

Indeed, the shorter man was and had been surreptitiously studying him.

“Which leaves me with Belter and Elvis, and you, Kazansky, with Snackbar and Links, then Babe and Priest, for the second hop.”

Just a banner day for Thomas Kazansky, wasn’t it?

Couldn’t fly against Thorn, and didn’t even get to school Ash and Igor.

“Everyone understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!”s rang through the room, and Viper nodded, pleased.

“Dismissed, then.

To your classes, gentlemen.”

Viper knocked a fist against the table twice before he and Jester departed the briefing room.

Tom gathered his folders and looked at his wingman, who was neatening a very short stack of papers. “I was hoping to have first crack at Ash and Igor,” he muttered.

“I know,” Mav smirked.

Resigned, he sighed, “Well, kick their ass extra hard for me, will ya?”

The smaller man’s smirk took on a devilish quality. “I’ll draw first blood, then you wipe the floor with them, and us together, it’ll be game over,” he stated, as he extended a fist.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom nodded, sealing the agreement with a fist bump.

As he bent to pick up his attaché case, Tom’s eyes were again drawn to the minuscule stack of papers the other man had. “You got the material for your class today, right?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sort of,” Mav shrugged.

“‘Sort of’.

What exactly do ‘sort of’ class materials look like?”

Mav spread his hands, and he knew. “In all honesty, I was gonna just kind of wing it.”

Tom honestly should have seen it coming—but Maverick mavericking was what made Maverick, Maverick.

“Okay,” he replied, trying to hide his grin. “Sounds good.

Good—good, good.”

He managed to hold his laughter in until he reached the hall, but even then, an “Up yours, Ice!” followed him around the corner.

Tom’s class went smoothly, and after a lunch that he eagerly finished, he eventually found himself in his flight gear, fidgeting in the instructor’s ready room.

Having completed his preflight, he decided to chalk his restlessness down to the novelty of flying an A-4, a single-seater, with no Slider in his ear or backseat, as he listened intently to the comms for the first hop, Viper doing the same across the room.

Mav and Jester engaged Warlock and Shogun, and Thorn and Romeo, respectively, once the Commander called “Fight’s on!”, and Mav made short work of Warlock and Shogun, getting tone on the other pilot and RIO in a little over two minutes.

Commendable, in his opinion, for their students.

Mav called for them to knock it off and return to base, before moving on to Ash and Igor.

It was then that he realized that Jester was still engaged with Thorn and Romeo.

Romeo was evenly calling out altitudes, positions, and break directions, while Thorn composedly called maneuvers out, interrupted only by the sound of the two aviators g-straining, the F-14’s engines in the background.

He briefly turned his attention to Mav, who had engaged Ash and Igor; the two were, as he predicted, scrambling wildly for their “lives” (and based on what he was hearing, would get tone locked in a matter of seconds), in radical contrast to Thorn, who was calmly holding her own.

In his head, he could see a vague picture of what was going on up there with Jester, Thorn, and Romeo, and Tom realized that he wasn’t sure how it was going to end, the sound of Mav getting tone on Ash and Igor fading into the background.

Tom could hear the strain in Thorn and Romeo’s voices as they fought more g-forces while calling movement and other things out—they had to be at or near corner speed to make them sound like that.

Tom could hear the faint, steady beeping which warned of imminent tone lock, and he hoped she would win this, if only to prove his wingman’s faith in her skill correct.

Just as the beeping grew faster, Thorn muttered, “Just a little… come on, come on…”

He leaned forward in his seat, and realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to inhale.

Then suddenly, the blare of confirmed tone.

Disappointment for her sake sank in his stomach, but only for the briefest moment, because the voice which triumphantly called out “Good lock!” was distinctly female. “That’s a kill, Commander!”

And Tom could breathe again.

Holy shit, Mav was right—she was a hell of a pilot.

Thorn managed to keep too much of the gloating out of her tone, but it was a fairly narrow thing, and in his opinion, it was justified.

A faint sound caught his attention—if he didn’t know any better, Tom could have sworn that that was a… fond chuckle that came from Jester.

“Copy kill.

Well, knock it off, Lieutenant, and RTB.”

“Yes, sir!”

Without really thinking about it, he went to the flight line, in time to see the three F-14s and two A-4s land.

His eyes were drawn to her jet as she pulled in to the flight line, and he was faintly aware of Mav’s A-4 pulling up beside his.

She’d done the impossible; Thorn, a female naval aviator, got chosen for TOPGUN, and got tone on her instructor the first day.

Technically, that wasn’t anything new—Mav had done similar—but in a sense, it was.

Women were just starting to be seen as capable of being in the military, in combat roles, to be exact, and to see a woman do something that had been the domain of men for decades, centuries, and do it just as well as a man—better even; as evidenced by the fact that in her hop, she was the only one to get tone on her instructor…

He really had to admire that—admire her.

“That good enough of an ass kicking for ya, Ice?”

Tom was snapped out of his introspection from the sudden appearance of his wingman at his side, running a hand through his hair, helmet under his arm.

“What?”

Mav grinned, “I got tone on Ash and Igor in roughly a minute or so.

How the fuck those two got picked for TOPGUN eludes me.”

Tom scoffed and shook his head in agreement. “Bet I can get tone on them faster, though.”

Mav slapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll see, Ice.”

A sudden whoop of jubilant laughter drew his gaze, and he could see Thorn about thirty paces away, coming ever closer, and his breath caught in his throat—her mouth was split in a beaming smile, wild and passionate, illuminating her from within with effervescent joy, her shining eyes endlessly reflecting her exhilaration.

Her bun was coming slightly loose, tendrils of hair framing her face and swaying in the breeze, while her flight suit clung to her figure, helmet dangling insouciantly from her fingers; it was decorated with a briar all over, red roses among thorns made of black aces, and it had her callsign across its brow.

Her eyes landed on him, and her smile took on a mischievous quality. “We got Jester, nailed him on the first day.

You gonna be ready for us?” Then, as if she only noticed Mav next to him at that moment, she amended, “Both of you?”

He grinned, just shy of showing too many teeth, nonchalantly stepping closer, shifting his weight to lean towards her, hip slightly cocked to keep his balance, barely paying any mind to the tension in Romeo’s stance behind his pilot. “We’ll see who gets tone on whom first.”

Thorn smirked as she looked him up and down, teeth tugging her bottom lip for the briefest moment before she clicked her tongue, “Good thing I’ve got front row seats for that show, then.” She pivoted on her heel, walking backwards as she sent him a casual salute, before turning to stride back to the locker room, Romeo following her with a minutely narrowed glance over his shoulder at him.

“Huh.”

He turned from watching the pilot and RIO, to see Mav again at his side, glancing back and forth between him and Thorn and Romeo.

Tom frowned, “What ‘huh’?”

“Nothing, nothing,” came the too-quick answer. “Just huh.”

“…Now who’s being weird?”

Tom’s hop with Viper was not quite as interesting as Mav with Jester’s, though he did have to commend all three pilots for holding out for a few minutes, which was more than Ash and Igor could say.

The debrief was a thing of beauty—going in reverse order from lowest to highest hop score, meant that he got to witness Mav positively eviscerate Ash and Igor as the first order of business, and the sheer stupidity that Ash displayed in the air, made Tom wonder what guardian angel or deity sent this idiot to TOPGUN.

He mentally saw a dozen different maneuvers that Ash could have done, that, while they might not have gotten him tone on Mav, they would have helped him last longer against the other pilot.

The debrief drew on, Tom stepping forward when it was his turn, not sparing the other pilots their vivisections, though theirs were not quite as harsh, by sheer dint of them not being as idiotic as Ash and Igor, and finally, it was the debrief he was waiting for; Thorn and Romeo’s.

He had an idea of what happened in the air, but he wanted to know what exactly she had done.

It was textbook and yet genius.

He was right; once they hit the merge, flying at corner speed through a series of turns, Thorn had maneuvered to force Jester to increase his turn rate, bleeding his airspeed, playing the Skyhawk’s weakness against it, before before placing him in her sights.

“…all in all, great work, Lieutenant,” Jester complimented, writing her hop score of 5 on the board, the highest number of all the teams that day, sending her a nod.

Her face was impassive as she replied, “Thank you, sir,” but Tom could see the vindication in her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all learned something from your classes and most especially, your hops today,” Viper declared, pacing the front of the classroom. “This is only the first day, and to borrow a saying from our SEAL cousins, ‘The only easy day was yesterday’.”

The Captain stared the students down, pair by pair, searching for something in each of them.

Finally, he stated, “You’re all dismissed.”

After Jester and Viper left, leaving him and Mav, as the junior instructors, to neaten things, Ash and Igor were predictably the first out the door—just shy of storming out, while most of the others looked at Thorn with less suspicion than the day before, a few actually lingering.

While he was fixing the markers, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Warlock step forward first, a light smile on his face. “Hey, uh, that was great, what you pulled today—I’m Solomon, but you can call me Sol or Warlock, whichever you prefer.

This is my RIO, Ken, but he prefers Shogun.”

The Asian man genially lifted a hand in greeting, “Really wish I could have seen that.”

Babe chuckled, “Yeah, that was good, wish I’d have thought of what you did, maybe I’d have had a chance against Kazansky—I’m Stephen.”

Priest, his RIO, cooed, “Aw, you embarrassed by your callsign, Babe?”

“Shut up, Tim,” Babe glared.

Priest raised both hands in surrender. “Not my fault your last name’s Ruth—I’m this stick in the mud’s RIO, Tim—call me Priest, that there’s Belter and Elvis.”

Tom almost laughed at the expression Thorn made; the momentary shock on her face was palpable, but it was swiftly concealed—the only reason it registered for him was because he was so used to reading Mav’s microexpressions.

“Thanks—nice to meet you all.

I’m Thorn, this’ Romeo, my RIO.”

Romeo shook hands with them all, a pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

“You weren’t too bad up there yourselves, from what I heard,” she continued.

“Yeahhh, but who got tone on their instructor first day?

Not this guy,” Priest waggled his eyebrows, jerking both thumbs at his pilot, “and not any of these guys,” making the others groan or laugh.

Tom ducked his head, hiding his smile; he was glad that the others seemed to be warming up to her, he wanted her to have the same experience as he did at TOPGUN—establishing a brotherhood with his classmates.

“—Tom!”

He pivoted to see Mav snapping his fingers close to his face, and he reflexively flinched back from his wingman’s hand in his face. “What?”

He belatedly realized that he’d been saying that a little too much recently.

As if he were speaking to a particularly dull child, Mav spoke slowly. “Do you think I can erase the board now?”

“Yeah, uh, but not the scores.”

“Of course not.

You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah—fine, it’s just a… long day.”

The suspicion in Mav’s eyes didn’t fade as he sighed and nodded. “Feel up to The O Club tonight?

Maybe decompress a bit, have a drink?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Maybe a drink was what he needed, his mind seemed to be all over the place.

“‘Kay—meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

Once he finished with the room, he followed Mav out, sending a look to where Thorn was still talking with her classmates, to see that her gaze was already on him.

Her eyes immediately went back to her classmates, but nevertheless, he felt branded by her stare, like it was a tangible thing, searing through his veins, sending a paradoxical shiver down his spine.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he could admit it; he didn’t know what it was, but he felt drawn to her.

To what end… he didn’t know.

And that…

That scared him.

Tom eased his precious Chevelle into a parking spot near the door of The O Club; a rarity, but one very welcomed, given how busy the bar seemed.

(The fact that it was within sight of Mav’s highly recognizable Ninja was a perk—he and Slider had stopped one too many parking lot beatdowns.)

He reached for his Shooters, narrowly stopping himself from putting them on (Mav hated it when he did that at night; “It makes you look like a dick”, according to his wingman), instead tucking them into the pocket of his whites, carefully opening the driver’s door, squeezing himself out of the narrow gap he afforded himself.

The black metal flake paint was pristine, and he intended to keep it that way, it didn’t matter how ridiculous he may look.

The O Club was, as the parking lot showed, busy, full of people in service whites, throwing him back to last year, that first night for the flyboys of ‘86.

He cast his gaze around the bar, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke and the people, searching for his wingman’s squirrelly figure, before a call of “Ice; over here!” pierced through the sound of numerous conversations and the jukebox, before a hand flailed wildly, becoming visible over the heads of the crowd.

Mav had claimed seats at the bar; prime real estate with the place this hectic—he didn’t want to know how the other man had kept the seat next to him free when every Tom (hah), Dick, and Harry were clamoring for a seat at the bar.

He made his way through the crowd, gratefully settling onto the barstool next to Mav, also dressed in his service whites. “Hey Mav,” he greeted.

“Hey; I ordered already, I assumed you’d want your usual vodka on the rocks.”

“Thanks; you know me too well.”

“Kind of hard to miss when it’s literally what you order every single time,” Mav smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes—he was a creature of habit, sue him.

(And if vodka on the rocks reminded him of his Dedushka, what was wrong with that?)

“Seems like all of Fightertown is here tonight,” he muttered to Mav.

“You’re not too far off on that, I saw basically all of our students here,” the other man replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Only ones I haven’t seen are Thorn and Romeo, actually,” he finished casually.

Rather against Tom’s will, something in him lurched forward, his thought process halting, making him feel like he’d just snagged the third wire on the carrier deck.

Despite that, he managed a calm—at least in his opinion—“Oh.”

“Mmm.” Another calm sip of beer from his wingman—too calm.

He narrowed his eyes and sighed at Mav. “What the fuck is that ‘Mmm’ for?”

The dark-haired aviator pulled an expression like he just sucked on a lemon. “What, can’t a guy just ‘Mmm’ anymore?”

“Not when you’ve been fucking weird for the past two days,” he replied, sending the harried bartender a grateful nod as they slid his vodka on the rocks over to him.

“I’m not weird, you’re weird,” was Mav’s reply, and he narrowed his eyes at the muted shimmer of something in the other pilot’s eyes.

He was about to retort when his eyes were drawn to the door, and the bulk of Romeo walked in, his head and whites-clad shoulders peeking above quite a few people’s.

It was mere curiosity, he told himself, that led him to lean to see if his pilot was also with him.

It took a beat, but then, several people in the crowd moved, and he saw her—her hair cascaded down her shoulders, as sharp eyes surveyed The O like it was the skies, dressed, unlike everyone else in the Navy who occupied this space, in civvies; a loose, white blouse tucked into jeans, cinched with a thick brown leather belt at her waist.

And everything seemed to fade into the background, the sight of her drowning out the sound of the bar, and Mav’s howling laughter.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

Faceclaims

Russian glossary

Disclaimer: translations are from the interwebs.

Please don’t kill me.

Dedushka: Grandfather

Two years is the real-life age gap between Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer.

The story behind Ice and Slider’s bad ejection actually did happen to a pilot-RIO pair, then-Commander William Switzer and then-Lieutenant (junior grade) David “Bio” Baranek on December 19, 1981, aboard the very same aircraft carrier that I mentioned.

You can read the detailed description of the incident here, retold by Commander Baranek, for the Ejection Tie Club of the Martin-Baker company, who specialize in making ejection seats—including those of the F-14 Tomcat—for pilots and backseaters who have ejected using a Martin-Baker ejection seat.

VFA-41, the “Black Aces”, based out of NAS Lemoore, were featured in Top Gun: Maverick as the squadron of Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, and I thought that would be nice to include that, in this universe at least, Phoenix is a member of the squadron with the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN.

Icy-Hot is a liniment that has been on the market since before 1931.

The name of LTJG Kenneth “Shogun” Han is a reference to this scene in the now-ABC hit series, 9-1-1, where paramedic/firefighter Howard “Chimney” Han, played by actor Kenneth Choi, replies that if he weren’t a paramedic/firefigher, he’d have liked to be a Navy TOPGUN graduate, with the callsign “Shogun”.

The names of Henry “Snackbar” Baker, Stephen “Babe” Ruth, and Timothy “Priest” Martin are a reference to both the original name of Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe—Henry Ruth—and the Martin-Baker company.

The speeches that Jester and Viper give are nearly word for word the same as the speeches that they gave in TG86, with some authorly variation because I didn’t want to rehash the same speeches that we heard in the movie word for word.

Again, VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation, instead bearing the insignia of VAW-110, the “Firebirds”, who flew the E-2 Hawkeye, which was shown as Comanche in TG:M.

Alexander Vraciu was a WWII Navy ace who downed 12 Japanese aircraft and sank a Japanese merchant ship with a direct hit to her stern.

The merge is a concept used in air combat, where aerial warfighters engage with enemy aircraft by steering their plane toward the adversary—this maneuver is referred to as “going to the merge.”

Corner Speed

Did anyone catch the TG:M line reference?

Special thanks to @valmare for the Ice has a Chevelle headcanon!

Service Whites

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

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

#top gun rocktober #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #val kilmer

[kitto-paint]

I played in a Wrath and Glory oneshot rpg this weekend, and our skitarius instantly pack bonded with an augmented dog we "found" on a forgeworld. Thanks to your lovely art making me appreciate the little guys, my hotshot inquisitorial agent was already quite protective of the skitarius. Whatever our skit wanted, he got. For the rest of the game, he ran around with a pet dog. They barked/shot at one of the Emperor's Children together and were generally very sweet.

aw :3 Good Skit

[kyber-crystal]

it was only a kiss || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: it’s tradition for you and rooster to do absurd dares. too much tequila later, you bet that you can kiss him without either of you feeling anything. spoiler alert: you both feel something. 

words: ~1.5k

warnings: brief alcohol mentions, drunk rooster (but it’s funny i promise), a bit of angst. happy ending

a/n: this was originally a poe oneshot that i posted on ao3, but i made some changes as i thought this would fit our boy rooster better :) enjoyyy

The Hard Deck is alive tonight.

You had your fair share of victories—plenty of them over the past few months, in fact. But this mission in particular had everyone in sky-high spirits, so much so that a celebration seemed to be in order.

Despite how exhausted you were at the moment, you couldn’t help but smile. With Rooster’s Hawaiian shirt around your shoulders and a bottle of tequila in hand, you felt like you could conquer the universe. It was most likely only the alcohol talking, but regardless, you were ready for everything.

“You’re staring at me.”

“You’re drunk, Lieutenant,” you pointed out.

“And you’re not?” He shot you a smile. “I don’t believe you’re in the place to call me out for that.”

“I can drink anything I want, any time I want,” you slurred slightly, taking a long swig of your drink. “It’s my world and you’re living in it.”

“I can feel your eyes on me, you know. You’re staring at me.”

“You’re imagining things. I’m not staring.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sounds to me like someone’s in love with me,” he teased, nudging you in the shoulder. “I’m very flattered. I’m glad you think about me so often, it’s an honor to be so highly regarded.”

“Dream about it, hotshot, I’m not.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you testing me, Bradshaw?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Fine, then.” Sliding his jacket off, you straightened yourself out. “I’ll kiss you right now to prove I don’t feel anything for you. And to make sure you don’t feel anything for me.”

“No need to worry, sweetheart. That’s not happening for as long as I let it.”

Grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt, you pulled him towards you and kissed him without a moment’s hesitation, without caring if everyone saw. The very first thing your brain is able to process is the feeling of his lips on yours. You were drunk, that much was true, but sober enough to realize how soft his lips were and how gentle he was being despite the roughness of the situation. It was almost impossible to stop yourself. Neither of you could stop yourselves. His hands were burning into your skin into as he held you tight against him and it was electrifying. Your hands gripped his forearms so you could keep standing upright. You suppressed a small groan.

You broke apart after what felt like an eternity, breathing hard.

“I didn’t feel anything,” you declared in a confident tone.

“Good,” Rooster exhaled, dusting himself off. “Me neither.”

He turned around and walked away, leaving you standing there, and wondering why the hell do my lips still feel like they’re on fire?

You brought a finger up to your lips. If you didn’t feel anything for him, then why did you like what he had done? Why did you enjoy it?

The next few days passed by in a blur and you moved place to place on autopilot. You weren’t one to be easily distracted but it seemed like this time seemed to make an exception. You could hardly focus on anything you were doing. When Payback threw a cardboard box at your head, you didn’t flinch at all.

“Hey, Y/N! I was asking you if I should fix up my helmet or not,” Payback repeated. His head tilted to the side as he watched you stand there, eyes empty. He waved a hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N. Are you okay?”

“What?” You blinked. “Y-yeah. What’s up?”

He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Something. is. wrong.”

“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep last night.”

“You never sleep at night and yet you don’t act like this,” your best friend fired back. “What’s gotten into you? Is it because of what happened between you and Bradshaw last night—:

At this, you shot him a glare. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, so that was what’s bothering you!” he laughed. “And you said you didn’t feel anything?’

“I don’t feel anything, you moron,” you rolled your eyes. “It was only a kiss.”

“Only a kiss, and yet I saw you stumble away last night like you were drunk.”

“I was drunk, Fitch.” you tried defending yourself.

“Not blackout drunk. You were awake enough to know what you were doing. And feeling.”

“Get to the point.”

“What I’m saying here is,” Payback crossed his arms, “you need to set things straight. Kiss him again.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” you questioned, grimacing as you recalled the memory. “I…”

“You don’t want to, or you can’t bring yourself to because you realized you’re actually in love with him?”

“...What?”

“I think,” he cleared his throat, “you need to tell him. If you’re not going to drop everything and kiss him again, at least tell him. ‘Cause he’s starting to get suspicious of you avoiding him every day. He asked Mav why you out-of-the-blue switched your flight schedule. And looked for you in the cafeteria at every meal. And went to your quarters once or twice while you were out. Rooster cares about you, you know. No matter how many times you mess up, it’s not gonna change how much he cares about you and your well-being.”

“I—well—what if he pushes me away?” you spluttered. “Then that would be embarrassing.”

“That day last week. He was holding you like there was no tomorrow, and you’re telling me you think he’ll turn you down? Crazy. Just do it.”

“You owe me big time, then. After your next mission, you’re paying for my dinner. At that one Mexican place down the street.”

Payback let out a sigh. “Fine. We’re at a deal, then. Talk to him and I’ll get you your burritos.”

It was raining bullets outside, and you couldn’t sleep.

You tossed and turned dozens of times in your bed, but fatigue seemed to keep its distance. The longer you waited, the louder the storm became. You couldn’t stand it.

San Diego was amazing. But at this moment you questioned why the temperatures had to be some of the most bipolar you’d ever experienced. The weather was only nice when it wanted to be. And right now, it chose to be anything but peaceful. It was hot, humid, and sticky, and your sheets stuck to your skin. The air conditioning wasn’t working, either, which made everything worse.

As you were about to drift off, a knock sounded on your door. Seconds later, a dark figure slipped into your room.

You sat up to switch on your light, eyes narrowing. “Bradley…it’s two in the morning. What do you want?”

“It’s raining.”

“Duh.”

“It’s raining, and I can’t sleep.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

Rooster came closer, and that was when you saw his reddened eyes and dark circles. Guess you hadn’t been the only victim of insomnia.

“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Your heart constricted. “Roos…not right now. I’m trying to sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Please.”

You sighed, and moved over in bed to make room for him. “Fine, come here.”

He climbed in right next to you and immediately leaned against you. His body pressed up right next to yours, and he was warm.

“I lied, you know.”

“About…?”

“When I said I didn’t feel anything. I lied about that,” he said quietly. “I did feel something. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Sounds stupid, I know, but I really couldn’t. I don’t know what kind of chokehold you have on me…but whatever it was, it made me feel something.”

You stayed quiet as he continued talking. “I forgot everything else that happened that night, because I was so drunk. But that was one thing I didn’t forget. You kissed me and I’ll remember that exact moment for the rest of my life. I still remember the way you tasted and the way you smelled. That wasn’t how I imagined our first kiss to be, but it was still more than I could’ve asked for. Tequila and honey.”

“Come again?”

“I think I might be falling in love with you,” Rooster admitted. “Each and every part of you.”

Smiling softly, you placed a hand against his cheek. He leaned into you and touched his lips to the inside of your palm. The gesture sent a spark through your body and for a moment, the world stopped.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“What if I kissed you right now?”

“I…wouldn’t mind that.”

He kisses you then, and the world comes to a standstill. Suddenly, the heat and high winds don’t faze you anymore; neither do the ones brewing in the pit of your stomach. In the midst of a ferocious monsoon, he was your safe haven and your home and everything else under the stormy sky.

tags, including those who may be interested: @walkonthewiidside @sarcastic-sourwolf​ @totomoshi​ @sebastianstangirl01 @altheadarling @hay-9105 @purelyfiction @93joons @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @lyn-lc @azari-anna @thelifeofthelifeofme @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @kodzuvia @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @purelyfiction @marrianena​ @t-stark35​ @thesunsetphantoms​ @danirose-0420​ @callalily2000​ @3ddiemyl0ve​ @the-untamed-soul​ @callsignsmaverick​ @sashayazie​ @shizzybarnaclee​ @bananaa​ @luvfurdogs​ @shalaniela​​ @walkonthewiidside​​ @unordinare​ 

#top gun: maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #miles teller imagine #top gun fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun maverick

[oathkeeperoxas]

danger zone please? For the WIP thing?

wip game ask meme

The original Danger Zone fic was supposed to be a one off as a sort of steam release, "What if" to my other, longer omega Ice fic. This one has Ice and Mav fucking straight after the Layton rescue (which does not happen in the other fic), and the danger zone sequel is a little bit of an exploration of what the new dynamic looks like between Ice and Mav since they've had sex, but they're still straddling the line between friends and some sort of intimate relationship. It's just going to be another oneshot, but with revelations of all kinds within <3

That’s the plan: keep being the best, keep proving that he’s the best, keep racking up awards and gaining allies and favours along the way. And he does do that, and continues to do it, except then he’s deciding that the best next career move might be going back to TOP GUN and making the next generation of hotshots and high ranking officers respect him when they’re still lowly Lieutenants, and then the plan is on fucking shaky ground because Maverick is there. Of course. Ice had known that, going back. He’d tried not to think about it, but now Maverick is standing on his porch, having knocked – as if Ice hadn’t heard his motorbike and known exactly who was coming down the street. The thing is, he’s respected. Everyone knows that he’s hot shit, that he knows what he’s talking about, that the air-to-air kill over the Pacific Ocean wasn’t a fluke. This promotion was because of his hard work. So he doesn’t react to Maverick’s cocky grin, the way he has his hip cocked out at an angle, the leather jacket or the smell of his sweat in the air. “Hey Ice,” Maverick says, and he’s already annoying, already getting Ice’s hackles up, already has him on edge. The last time they spoke Ice told him to call him by his callsign; and that’s what he wants. They’re – well, not friends. But they’re definitely allies, and they understand each other. That has nothing to do with the fact that they fucked on the Enterprise. That’s something else. That belongs in the past, where Ice left it.

Send me a title from my wip list, and I'll tell you about it!

#icemav #cocky maverick my beloved <3 #my writing

[transformers-bold-bright-brisk]

Tap GIF for better quality…

My name is Sphny, and this blog is for my TFFC: Bold Bright Brisk; specifically a Rescue Bots Academy Fan Continuity that draws a majority of inspiration from the Aligned Continuity in general. Including Transformers Prime, Transformers Rescue Bots, and Transformer Robots In Disguise 2015.

Of course, I won’t only be drawing inspiration from the Aligned Continuity series, but also including elements from other TF media; for example: Transformers Cyberverse, Transformers Animated, and Transformers More Than Meets The Eye.

Going from LEFT to RIGHT, Rescue Team #1, we have:

Whirl Jr., Hotshot, Wedge, Medix, and Hoist

Then we have these guys for Rescue Team #2:

Scorch, Brushfire, Laserbeak, Prince, and Slash

Rules down below

RULES:

* NO racial slurs

* NO homophobic slurs

* NO spamming in the ask box

* Swearing is allowed, only if it’s funny; not if it hurts people

* Proshippers DNI

* Homophobes DNI

* Transphobes DNI

* Racists DNI

* I will not write smut for characters who are depicted as MINORS; only fluff(hand-holding, kisses, and cuddles)

* If I see ANY HATERS being mean; it’s an on-sight automatic block

ASKS:

* Don’t ask about my personal stuff(family, love-life, or life drama in general)

* Asks about lore and humble beginnings are accepted

* Asks about world-building and cultural aspects of the continuity are absolutely allowed

* Asks about a character’s character analysis, traits, and romantic type are allowed, but don’t be creepy

TAGS:

* Art) #artsy fartsy #my art

* Writing) #drabble babble #oneshot mayhem

* Reblogs) #rebloggeded

* Posts) #an astute observation #eye candy #crackhead rant #asks

* Characters) #hotshot #wedge #whirl jr #medix #hoist #brushfire #laserbeak #slash #prince #scorch

* Extra) #transformers bold bright brisk #rescue bot recruits #rescue bot seniors

#tf fan continuity #transformers #maccadam #maccadams #rescue bots academy #masterpost #blog rules #I couldn’t decide which font to go with so I made a gif #I’ll most likely work on this as I go but just be polite and follow the following rules #byyyyyye #transformers bold bright brisk

[ymaohoh]

Chrissy Cunningham is a Brat - Fic - Oneshot

Munson suddenly gripped hold of her ass so tightly she hissed. “If you’re going to behave like a brat, I’m going to have to punish you.” Jason sees Chrissy and Eddie in the woods. Jason POV. Hellcheer Oneshot.

Word Count: 1,904

No plot. Just smut.

Also on Archive of Our Own.

---

Well, your love is worse

Worse than cigarettes

Even if I had twenty in my hands

**

Jason Carver thought he knew his girlfriend. 

Thought Chrissy Cunningham was just like him. They were from the same backgrounds - nice homes, rich parents, good traditional morals and ethics. They’d been boyfriend and girlfriend since junior year when he tied his letterman jacket around her shoulders and told her thought it was time they made it official.  Over the course of that year they moved through the ranks and became really popular - he the hotshot athlete, she the pretty cheerleader - and when Chrissy made cheer captain in senior year he knew they were a cinch to be the King and Queen of Hawkins High. It was a cliche for a reason. His parents had met in a similar way. 

And yeah that popularity came with side-benefits. And yeah he often abused those benefits because some kids needed a healthy dose of ass-whooping, you know? Needed to know which rung of the social ladder they belonged on. It stopped them from getting too big for their boots. He never did anything illegal but he sure bent some rules. 

Chrissy didn’t know about any of that though and his team mates were sworn to secrecy. It was the same bro-code for their girlfriends. None of the teachers would dare make trouble either. His father was good friends with the school governors and would see they were fired if they dared try. 

Chrissy was a good girl. She had the right attitude and ideals as him. She went to church and played at cheerleading and looked good and neat in her little uniform. 

He would marry her after graduation. His parents would buy them a house nearby and she would give him a couple of kids and no talkback. She’d keep the house real nice while he went to college and in a few years he’d be fucking govenor. The wheels were already in motion. This has all been arranged before middle school. 

So when Patrick told him he’d seen Chrissy talking to Eddie Munson of all people Jason told him he was tripping. Why would anyone want to speak to him? 

Eddie Munson was a piece of shit trouble maker. Third generation trailer trash. A juvenile delinquent. 

“I know what I saw, man. They were whispering together in the library just before first period. Chrissy near jumped into the air when she saw me.” 

“Chrissy wouldn’t talk to that freak.”

“Want help finding him, Jase? Give him a reminder of what a creep he is?”

“Nah man. I need to talk to Chrissy first. Maybe he was just bugging her.”

What the hell?

But when he reached the cafeteria at lunch Chrissy wasn’t sitting at their usual table. She didn’t have one of her private tutoring sessions either. He glanced over at the freak table and his eyes narrowed when he saw Eddie wasn’t there either. 

He stormed over and clapped one of the freshmen on the shoulder. Hard. 

“Where’s your asshole leader?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t he be here making a jackass out of himself like usual?”

The kid with floppy black hair said, “Look man, he’s not here. I don’t know where he is. We don’t want any trouble.” 

He asked around his table some more and eventually got wind of a clue. People wanted to help Jason (even if they needed a little encouragement sometimes).  A passing cheerleader overheard (Stacey something) and said they thought they saw Chrissy out by the football fields just a few minutes ago. She’d been heading out towards the forest. There was a meeting spot down that way, she added, and Eddie Munson sold weed there. 

Jason waved away Patrick’s offer of help and stormed over. He didn’t need back up to take on Eddie Munson. 

He’d beat the shit out of that creep if he was selling weed to Chrissy. Or even if he wasn’t. What if he’d lured Chrissy out here on some made up pretence and was now bothering her? Chrissy was sometimes way too trusting for her own good. 

I’ll save you, Chrissy.

He followed Stacey’s directions and crept through the woods. He’d never been out here before. He couldn’t see any damn bench. 

But then he heard voices. He heard Chrissy’s voice! She sounded weird. Breathless almost. 

He drew closer and peered through the trees. The scene before him made him pause. His insides turned to raging fire. 

Jason had told her once that “ Good girls like you don’t go near creeps like Eddie Munson .” She hadn’t asked him why. 

Chrissy was with Munson, alright. 

** 

Oh, this body high

Gives me sleepless nights

It's a million times what any drug could give

And my red eyes

They go twice as wide

It might look like pain but to me it's bliss

They were sitting at the old picnic bench. Or rather, Chrissy was sitting on the top of the picnic bench with her bare knees splayed wide. Her short green and white cheerleading skirt was hiked up so high that he could just about see the creamy skin of her ass. 

And Eddie the Freak was standing right in between her legs. 

Chrissy had her back to Jason so he could make out Munson’s arms wrapped around her waist. He was holding her so tightly the line of his leather jacket was pressed against Chrissy’s cheer sweater. At least she wasn’t wearing Jason’s God-damn letterman jacket today. He stared at the entwined couple in horror. 

Jason didn’t know why he remained hidden. Maybe he just wanted to hear for himself what the hell was going on. 

“Eddie…” she sighed in a voice he had never heard before. She never said his name like that. “We have to be more careful. Patrick almost saw us this morning.”

“Fuck Patrick. Fuck your boyfriend.” Munson’s voice was unrecognisable too. Low and raspy. 

“If they find out what we’re doing, they’ll hurt you. You know they will. We have to keep this a secret.”

“It’s hard, Chriss. You know how riled up I get when I see you. Especially when you’re in that cheerleading uniform. How’s a man supposed to focus in class when those lips of yours look so fucking delictable. Makes me just want to taste them.”

Jason watched as they began to kiss but it wasn’t anything like how he kissed Chrissy. Chrissy usually held still when they made out, but this Chrissy was kissing Munson like she couldn’t get enough of him. He could see the way she opened her mouth wide for him so he could slip in his tongue. 

Munson nipped at her neck and she giggled. “Eddie! You’re not listening to me.” 

Munson’s hands were roaming across her back and down to her hips. Chrissy reached down and took his hand, stilling it. 

“I’m listening, baby. We have to be more careful. No more little looks. No more notes. No way the school can find out that goodie two-shoes Chrissy Cunningham likes being fucked by the freak Eddie Munson.”

He rocked his hips up against her and she gasped at the impact. 

“Like that, baby?”

“Mmm. You know I do.”

“Say it then. Tell me how much you like it.”

Jason couldn’t see but he could guess from the look on Munson’s face she was pulling one of her cute little pouts. She raised her chin defiantly. “Or what? You’ll walk away? I know you like this too. I can feel how much you like it. You’re fucking rock hard for me.”

Munson suddenly gripped hold of her ass so tightly she hissed. 

“If you’re going to behave like a brat, I’m going to have to punish you.”

“What are you going to do? Spank me? Pull my hair?”

Munson ceased his movements and though he kept hold of her, he drew his hips back a little to put some distance between them. 

Jason hated how Chrissy seemed to groan at that. 

“You love it when I spank you, Chriss. You always get so fucking wet from it. Remember a month ago at Reefer Rick’s where you came so beautifully on my cock? I couldn’t believe how wet you were. You made the most pretty noises, baby.”

“I remember Eddie.”

“Then what did we do?”

“I put your cock in my mouth and you went down on me at the same time.”

“You tasted so good, Chriss. Like strawberries and cream. You were gagging ‘round my cock, babe. You got it so far down that little throat.” 

Munson began tracing circles down her thighs. Chrissy was leaning into him brazenly, reaching again for contact with his body. 

Jason didn’t recognise this Chrissy at all. It was like she was one of those girls on porn tapes. He heard the gentle clink of metal as Chrissy began undoing the heavy belt. The noise of a zip being dragged down was almost obscene. 

“Oh Eddie, please. I want you now.”

“What? One look at my cock and you fall in line? Tell me what I want to hear.”

They kissed again and it was passionate and needy. Chrissy was almost shaking from want. 

“I love being fucked by Eddie Munson.”

“You missed this cock didn’t you, princess? Tell me how much you missed it,” Eddie said, his voice low and quiet. He traced her face with his fingers and tipped her chin up

“I missed it so much. I couldn’t even pay attention in class. All I could think about is how much I want you.”

“Good girl.”

Munson dragged down Chrissy’s underwear and shoved it in his back pocket. He once again wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close to him. His other arm snaked under her knee, pushing it back so he could get as deep as possible. 

Jason heard Chrissy hiss as Munson’s cock slid inside her. 

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re so big. You feel so big inside me.”

“That’s it, baby. Take every inch in.”

“It feels so good.”

Munson began rutting up into her and Chrissy dug her nails into his shoulders. She then twisted a hand up into his long curls which made Munson groan. 

“I know. It’s why you keep coming back. Fucking Carver won’t do this, will he? Wants to wait until he’s got that ring on your finger.”

“ Eddie …”

“But Carver won’t be able to do this, Chriss. It won’t feel like this.”

“No,” she moaned. “You’re so fucking perfect, Eddie. You fit inside me so good.”

“That’s it, Chriss.”

“Make me come Eddie. Make me scream.”

“Hold onto me, baby…I’ve got you.” 

 **

Jason couldn’t watch anymore. 

Fuck this. 

A big part of him wanted to charge over there and knock that disgusting smug look off Munson’s face. Wanted to wipe away that look of utter need from Chrissy’s. But he didn’t. He turned away and stormed off back towards the school. 

Fuck that freak. Fuck that slut. They were welcome to each other. 

He didn’t see Eddie’s gaze on his back. Or the winning smirk that played on his lips. 

Well, if it's unhealthy then I don't give a damn

'Cause even if it kills me, I'll always take your hand

--------------

A/N: A/N: You know, writing for Jason ain't fun. He's an asshole but the actor who plays him is so nice in interviews. Ah well. Enjoy some Hellcheer fucking. Lyrics are from Unhealthy by Anne-Marie and Shania.

#chrissy x eddie #edssy #hellcheer #eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer headcanons #chrissy cunningham #eddissy #pure smut #no plot #Jason Carver POV #brat kink

[reotacchii]

( • ̀ω•́ ) : Jiro x F!Reader | After School Distraction

Pairing : Jiro Yamada x F!Reader

Genre : Fluff, Fanfics, (to be fair, I can't tell if is a oneshot or a scenario)

Synopsis : A studious girl from a wealthy and privileged family, escaping the education regimen she faces at home which lead her to a bond with a certain boy through an arcade game.

Author Note : I definitely were inspired by an anime called Hi-Score Girl, please any fans of this series do interact 💗. And due to how long this post is, I might make a second part for this- 😭💕

“ Because, to me, it was a small revolution. An after school distraction... Through after school destruction. ” — Houkago Di(e)stra(u)ction

₍ᐢᵕ ༝ ᵕᐢ₎ Jiro’s POV : ⌟

An after school activities, huh? That's quite an odd question especially for someone as active like him! Playing and train his soccer skill for his club is a daily routine at this point, oh lord should know that his life are dependable on his soccer skill by now (partially true if we excluding his brother).

Though he may followed his brother path as a delinquent, he appeared to be very likable and infact the most popular guy at school! His life couldn't be possibly more better than this, right?

" Nice game today, Jiro-kun! See ya tomorrow and let's put our best to the match this month, ay? " his fellow club said.

" Ya got it, mate! Then, see you by tomorrow too, " Jiro exclaimed with his hand wave a goodbye toward his friend leaving. Certainly, he need to catch a breath first before he went back home. Man, he really puts a lot of effort and work on today training.

The sun's was on top of his head, but now it lowered down without him noticing during his practice — giving off a tropical drinks mood. It yellowy and orange-y gradation mixed up onto each other turned into a new set of sky colors. Perhaps, this is the time people refers as an afternoon.

Walking passes through the IKB streets, as his eyes darted to any directions to find things that interest him. A couple shops also turned on their lights which made their shops appear more enticing to be visit on. The lights itself began to decorate the whole street and it looked pretty altogether.

But one place will always be the most tempting. None other than the arcade that peak his interest the most. His love for video games are surely unrivaled, but the mechanism of arcades are pretty much authentic to express each individual gaming skills!

And a certain odd thing occurs on place, it never been this crowdy before. Especially when people began to surrounding one specific arcade games, as if their whole attention is pointed to one subject.

" Man, this one a hotshot!" "It's unbelieavable, what a beast!" "This chick on a roll! It's their 18th wins and no defeats!" the whole crowd basically cheering for the one behind the arcade game.

" Heh- now this is interesting, " Jiro thought to himself. He figuring out, he could try to give it a shot on attempting to defeat this enemy behind the arcade. As soon as the other person got defeated, he'll fill up the next slot with his coin and there goes popped up a 'A Challenger Appears' on screen.

₍ᐢ. ֑ .ᐢ₎ Y/N POV : ⌟

Quite surprising. Another win for you which remarked as your 19th wins streak on this game. You swear to yourself, it's been like 3 hours ever since you are in this game — possibly more. First hour to defeat the main boss of this game, second and third clock spent on defeating some different challengers on screen. It seemed you began to receive some respect amongst the gamer community with how skilled you are in fighting game.

To be fair, arcade is the only place you go to waste your time instead of studying with your tutor at home. If you could take any lessons in this world, you would prefer to memorizing movement sets instead of memorizing some lessons that might not be used again in daily lives.

Well, quite a hassle to be born on wealthy family. Especially if you are selected to be their next heir, you would felt more obligated to be the family pride.

'New Challenger Appears' would soon popped up on your screen, leaving you to do nothing but to defeat whoever your enemies is. Ever since you are on your 19th streak, you can't help but to feel pride and victorious even a bigger expectations that you might get a 20th wins streak!

"Hey, isn't that MC M. B. the one from Buster Bros?" "Wait, you are right... Can he defeat her?" "Nahh, that girl is a beast!" "Let's bet then! (definitely this npc not a Dice's kinnie)"

Those whispers would soon send you into a wave of curiousity. There's no way you'll be competing against the one of the IKB best rapper on this game... Or can you?

Though speaking of MC M. B., you believe that this person named Jiro Yamada. In which, you happened to know a couple things about him through your friend at school and the most shocking part is that he also happened to be your... Well, classmate. You just haven't got the chance to talks or get to know about him, and to be fair — you barely spoke at school or to anyone there.

₍ᐢ• ̀ω•́ ᐢ₎ Author POV : ⌟

As the curiousity taking over yourself, you proceed to take a little peek of your opponent behind the screen. In which, Jiro himself also seemed to be curious of his own opponent which caused both of you to stare at each other.

A hint of surprised and shock face drawn onto Jiro face, knowing the exact fact that the opponent he would face with is a girl. He swear to himself, isn't that y/n? He haven't heard so much of her, despite knowing the fact that she's her classmate, but for God sake he knows that y/n is a straight A's student and also very wealthy. Truly, a polar opposite of him. And what most importantly is that, what y/n doing in this arcade? Though a studious girl as her would stay at home and go study, but no — she literally here in the arcade to play games for the following 19th match!

But soon, his utter shock face would turn into a smile against his opponent while you only able to give a normal face at him (people may refer it as a bored expression which half true, because that's the face you gave to people dailies).

₍ᐢ. ֑ .ᐢ₎ Y/N POV : ⌟

Choosing your fighter, you definitely always refer to the speed-type character. It gives you a lot of movement as they move faster than the other and other than that, is the only character you happen to mastered the movement sets. The screen also showed Jiro pick a leg-based character, which potentially give him an advantage to hit more damage by clicking on kick button. As soon both of you choose the fighter, the game's started.

Alright, quick analysis time. Jiro fighter will definitely hit more damage to your character if they uses their leg, however they lacks of speed like your character does. So one of the options to do is to uses their disadvantages to your own. Within a couple of frames, your fighter would rush onto their opponent which Jiro would anticipated with a block. You'll predict that Jiro fighter would be followed with a kick after the block, which you'll reply with either a jump or sending a flying kick.

Well in this case, you won't do any of these. According to your plan, soon after Jiro released a high kick, you'll make your fighter evade the kick by lowering down their body then released a low kick to Jiro fighter feet. It's a simple move, yet very effective to make your opponent fell on the ground which give you a couple of seconds to set another plan.

Jiro won't take that first hit defeat easily, his fighter would soon rise up and Jiro rush onto his opponent to hit you. Which you were thought it might be another unmeaningful punch from his fighter, but instead your fighter getting beaten with a special moves —which made your fighter being sent off flying. And ofcourse, draining your HP bar quite a lot more than your first hit. You should admit, his hand is so agile. You could hear how he move his joystick and his fast movement on clicking the button. This will be... An interesting match.

The match would held for a moment, the viewer also began to cheer up for their favorite as holding onto their nervous feeling. A couple of special movement we're being relesed by both fighters. Even you and Jiro starts to sweat at how tough the match gonna be while the HP bar drained slowly but surely. Now, each other HP bar reached at their limit and one meaningful hits would end it once and for all . . .

Both of the fighters would stay quiet, making the crowd a bit confused of what they are doing. But you and Jiro felt like has a quick connection where you both knows that you both gonna end it with a special moves. As you began to click on the button quickly to set a movement, Jiro would also does the same too. This one last movement would set the true winner of this match.

Much to your clumsiness, you forgot to move on the joystick, making all of your hits misses as Jiro fighter began to knocking out your fighter. Leaving a screen of Jiro fighter exclaiming their winning quotes as you felt so... Angry and bitter.

You haven't lost not even once, why does losing feel like a hassle? Even it torns up your ego. It's just a game, unlike the real life... But it truly crush your pride for your defeat. Ever since then, you despise losing and hates the feeling of it.

"Well, it seems I broke your winning streak today, L/N-san! It was a good match tho, you are an awesome player," Jiro said as he pack up his things. It would be mean he's about to leave this place. And without you realizing, you unconciously standing with your hand formed a fist. The crowd began to worry if you going to start a fight with Jiro.

"YA-MA-DA." you said in a grumpy voice, oh clearly you are mad by one losing. Even if you can't speak up a lot about your thoughts, Jiro could take a hint from your angry expression. To be honest, Jiro never see your other faces out of the usual one. Finding you express a lot of emotions, it surely make his gaze softens a bit. In other words, his perspective on you changed a little — maybe you aren't exactly emotionless and a nerd like other said. And... He does find it slightly cute?

While in the other hand, you really want to tell Jiro that you want a rematch. You have this urges to defeat someone stronger and skilled than you, to bring back your pride! But... Your lacks of social skill would only let you closed your mouth, being not able to say anything. Only your expressions can tell.

"Ermm... L/N-san, isn't it? If you want to have a rematch, how about you wait for me until I finish my soccer match tomorrow? It's pretty late and i'm sure we both should go home," Jiro suggested. Well, you thought it was a good suggestion. You have another chance to have a rematch with him! Soon, you'll reply to his suggestion by nodding profusively.

"Then, it settled for both of us! Let's meet again tomorrow," Jiro exclaimed with a smile as his hand waved a goodbye. His genuine kindness would soon affect you, made you felt less angry as you replied with a little bow to him. Maybe, tomorrow will be a good day afterall.

PART TWO IS OUT !

#fanfic #hypmic #hypmic x reader #jiro yamada #jiro yamada x reader #hypmic imagines #🍰reo do write

[mushroomly]

Can you maybe write and romantic hotshot with Akaza with Koyuki in the middle of the night while they sitting in field with lot's of flowers to watch the moon~?

If I understand that correctly with the requesting, excause me when not. :c English is not my mother language.

A/n: Ofc you can! *internally screaming of happiness bc someone requested a oneshot* Tws: fluff

The silvery white glow from the full moon illuminated a small clearing within the woods. Moonlight shimmered on the surface of the small brook running through it, and the trees gently waved in the night breeze. Flowers in muted colors covered much of the open field. During the day, it would certainly have been a rainbow of colors. Two figures emerged on the far side of the clearing. Their hands were intertwined together, fingers loosely woven, showing the bond between the two. Quietly, as if not to disturb the perfect serenity of the clearing, the smaller of the two figures asked, “Akaza, how did you find this place? It’s so beautiful!” ”Oh, some time ago. I’ve wanted to bring you here with me for a while. I’d been planning to do it at the full moon, because I know how much you adore it.” The light from the moon reflected off of the water, and the details on the pair’s faces became visible, awash with light. Koyuki slowly turned three hundred sixty degrees around, arms outstretched, admiring the view. ”This place…it’s so pretty! Look at the moon, the stars, the flowers! Everything, so very beautiful! Thank you for bringing me here!” Koyuki gave Akaza a closed eyes smile.

“Come, sit with me.” Akaza sat down and patted the spot next to him. Koyuki lowered herself to the ground as Akaza wrapped an arm around her.

Akaza picked a flower that had a pinkish hue and tucked it behind Koyuki’s ear.

“This place is beautiful…but not as beautiful as you.”

#akaza x koyuki #kny koyuki #kny fanfic #akaza #kny fluff #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #akaza fluff #kny akaza #akaza kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu akaza

[mateidontevenknow]

ONESHOT ALERT

Fandom: WWE

Ship: Roman Reigns x OC (Fem)

Ice cream makes everything better

Raina sat on a bench in Central Park. Like she usually did in her free time. It was enjoyable, sitting still and watching the people in New York going about their daily lives. Sometimes she'd see something interesting, other times she was merely there to think. To reflect on her life so far. She was only 32 after all.

It was 16:34 on a Tuesday. Her favorite day of the week. On Tuesdays, she had the entire day to herself. It became routine for her to sit in the park and do absolutely nothing.

She sat quietly, watching as people passed her. Until her eyes landed on someone specific. A large man sat on another bench, about 40 feet across from her. He sat with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly. Immediately upon seeing him, her heart broke for him.

She saw herself on that bench, feeling alone despite being surrounded by people. She saw herself all those years ago when her life was crumbling. She saw herself wishing for someone, anyone to talk to. She knew exactly how this man felt. And she knew exactly how to help him.

This was definitely the first time that she's walked into an ice cream shop, with urgency. After buying two vanilla ice cream cones, each with flake, she made her way over to the man on the bench. She sat down next to him silently, waiting for him to notice her. Careful not to overwhelm him.

After a few seconds, he slowly looked up at her. She held out an ice cream offering it to him wordlessly. He took it, taking a bite of the flake, before shooting her a questioning look.

"Why?"

"You looked like you needed it."

He just nodded before continuing to eat his ice cream. They sat there for the next few minutes, silently eating their ice cream. When he finished he looked at her.

"Thank you for this. You were right, I needed it."

"No problem."

"I got to run, but I owe you an ice cream, same time next week?"

"Sure."

And just like that, he was gone.

Raina smiled, knowing he left in a better mood than he arrived. She checked her watch, at 16:39. It only took five minutes out of her life to make a difference in his. And she knew, she'd do the same next week and, if it came to it, the week after that and the week after that.

~

Her week passed quickly. And here she found herself again on the same bench as last week, at 16:34. She sat waiting for him.

And sure enough, he arrived with two ice cream cones in hand. He smiled when he saw her. He sat down next to her, offering her an ice cream just as she had done last week. She took it, just like he did.

"Hey, you look like you're doing better."

"I am, primarily because of you."

"I'm glad I could help. You know, you helped me as well."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No, you gave something. You gave me something to look forward to and I appreciate that. Also, you never gave me your name. I've been calling you Benchman in my head."

He snorted.

"That sounds like some kind of lame superhero. I wonder what superpower Benchman would have."

"I don't know, but I do know that his costume would look goofy as hell."

He laughed at the image.

"Well, my name is Roman. Yours?"

"Raina. Nice to meet you."

"You too. So what do you do?"

"You're gonna laugh, but it's fine. I work in a circus as a trapeze artist. I have a law degree but I'm ignoring it to do what I love. It's real cheesy."

"Wow, not what I was expecting. Do you travel a lot, for work?"

"I did but, the circus is staying in New York for now, so I settled down a bit."

"That's good to hear."

"What do you do?"

"Wrestling, I work in the WWE. I was pretty surprised when you didn't recognize me."

"Alright, Hotshot." Raina turned to look at him with a playful smirk on her face, "Sorry, I don't watch wrestling."

"Oh, don't start now. I've been on a bit of a losing streak recently."

"Shame, is that why you were so down last week?"

"Yeah, although I felt a little more than just 'down'. I hate to admit it, but I'm struggling at the moment to deal with the competition. Especially when I know I can do better."

"I get that, it's more of a mental game, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I got the physical part down, but the rest has taken quite a toll on me."

"I get that, it's all about confidence. I'm a performer and in my experience, the ups are amazing and the downs can kill you. My advice is to fix your ego before you try to fix anything else. You'll only win if you believe you can."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean if I don't believe, who else will?"

"Exactly. I don't watch wrestling and I know literally nothing about you or your skill level but, I believe in you, alright? Even if you don't."

Roman didn't respond as he slung his arm over Raina's shoulders, pulling her in for a side hug. A silent thanks.

"Raina, I don't why, but you are very easy to talk to."

"I know why."

"Uh-huh, care to share?"

"I'm a stranger. In other words, you can choose whether you care about my opinion and you can talk to me knowing that I'm not going to expose you to someone. It's not like I can."

"You're a stranger? Well, I'd like to change that. Same time next week?"

"Of course. I'll buy ice cream."

"Nice, see you then."

Roman gave her another side hug, before standing up and walking away.

Raina smiled just as she did last time, knowing that she, again, made a difference, just as she will next week and the week after. This week it took her six minutes. A little more than last week.

~

After the next couple of weeks, they became friends, speaking as if they'd known each other for decades. Their chats became longer and longer, the last one lasting for over two hours. Roman loved it and Raina refused to miss their appointments.

Raina still refused to watch WWE or anything wrestling-related. She claimed it would ruin the open air between them. Roman tried to pushed her to do it, but she shut him up with a quick remark.

"Are you trying to impress me, Mr. Popular?"

He hated that the answer was yes. But he stopped pushing, accepting that it would happen eventually and not wanting to expose himself.

The 18th week rolled around and the duo met up as usual, on the same bench in Central Park. After a few casual conversations, Roman opened up about a problem he had.

"I need a new apartment."

"What? Why?"

"The landlord decided to sell the building to a business, they are looking to turn it into office space, so I have to be out in three days."

"You know what's funny? My roommate just moved out, a few days ago, and I need a new one. You can come live with me if you want."

"You know, that would be fantastic. I'll stop by tomorrow if you give me an address."

"Of course, you can stop by any time, tomorrow's show was canceled."

And just like that the duo had slipped into the casual conversation again.

~

After Roman moved in, things changed. He learned very quickly how to fall into Raina's routine. They had figured out each other's love language and both of them used it to their advantage. She adored physical touch and he loved humor. Most mornings started with a hug and a laugh.

For the time being, their relationship status stayed at roommates, although they acted like an old married couple. Roman held back a lot, not wanting to ruin their friendship. He adored Raina and he wanted her as his own. He loved her and he was determined to make her feel the same. He started attending some of the shows she performed at and he loved every second of it.

After a particular show, Raina realized that the arena she performed at was hosting a WWE match after the show. Monday Night Raw. Her friend, Lee, ended up convincing her to go, especially after their director had gotten them front-row seats, as a reward after the show. Raina was more excited than she should have been.

~

After a brief explanation of the rules, Raina was ready. She enjoyed the first few matches, it was the women's division. She did a quick Google search on the women as they entered and she came to the conclusion that her favorite was Rhea Ripley. After they were finished, the men's division rocked up.

The first few matches were pretty exciting, but the fans only seemed to care about the last match of the night. It was the Grand Finale and she was ready. She was ready until she saw Roman enter the ring.

She gasped as she turned to Lee, "Lee, you know my new roommate, the one I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, Benchman."

"That's him. The guy with the long hair."

"Oh shit."

He was up against a giant, Brock Lesnar, and Raina was worried. The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. The two wrestlers ran at each other, starting the fight. After a few punches and shoves, Roman landed a German suplex on Brock, but Lesnar returned the favor almost immediately. The two traded a few hits before Brock had Roman in a corner.

Raina watched as Brock landed a big right hook. Roman kicked him in the stomach before climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and landing a beautiful missile dropkick. The match seemed to be going in Roman's favor, but Brock Lesnar had other things planned. After a few minutes, Brock was in control.

Roman was in trouble as he lay in the middle of the ring, on his back. His chest was raising and falling rapidly, as he tried to catch his breath. Lesnar did not allow that as he stepped on Roman's stomach. Roman swept his feet out from under him, making him fall to the ground. Roman quickly trapped him in a roll-up. The referee slammed his hand on the canvas.

One. Two. Three.

The crowd roared as Roman stole the win. But Brock wasn't taking it well as he attacked Roman. Roman refrained from fighting back as it would land him in trouble. Brock didn't seem to care about that.

Brock kicked Roman in the ribs, and a sickening crack echoed through the arena. Brock took Roman's arm, bending it in impossible positions. Damn near breaking it. Officials rushed out from backstage, but Raina knew they wouldn't be there in time.

Roman was trapped against the corner closest to Raina. Brock delivered a punch to his stomach.

Raina snapped.

She jumped over the barricade and hopped onto the apron. She launched herself from the top rope, aiming for Brock. She nailed him right in the head with a dropkick, both of her boots, hitting him in the side of the head. Brock landed hard, his head hitting the canvas with a thud.

The silence in the arena was deafening.

Brock was out cold. Raina wasted no time in getting Roman out of the ring. He was limping, clutching his ribs while blood dripped from his nose.

"A mystery woman from the crowd just saved Reigns!"

"With a fantastic dropkick as well, Brock Lesnar looks to be unconscious."

Raina could barely hear the commentators as she supported Roman, leading him through the crowd. The crowd understood, making an opening for them to pass.

By the time they made it to Raina's car, she was supporting most of Roman's weight. She lowered him into the front seat, before racing off toward the hospital.

~

Roman's injuries justified Raina's actions completely. He had two broken ribs, a broken nose, and a mild concussion. Raina was livid and ready to kill Brock Lesnar, who received a concussion from her dropkick. But she knew, now wasn't the time. At the moment, Roman needed her.

And at the moment the doctors needed someone to give instructions to. A female doctor pulled Raina aside.

"Hello, I am Dr. Manning and I have been assigned to the treatment of Mr. Reigns. Are you family?"

"No, I'm his roommate, but his family is not in the States. So if you need someone to discuss his health with, I'm your best bet."

"Alright, can I get your name?"

"Raina, Raina Lessing."

She scribbled it down on her clipboard.

"Well, Mr. Reigns has two broken ribs, a broken nose, a sprained wrist, and a mild concussion. You made the right call bringing him here. His broken ribs were very close to puncturing his lungs, so we fixed that in emergency surgery. His ribs and nose will have to heal on their own, there's not much we can do about that. I'll give you the necessary treatment plan shortly. His concussion should be resolved in 10 to 14 days, come back if he still has problems with that. I just need to know, what does his exercise routine look like?"

"He is very active, he goes to the gym every morning for both cardio and strength training. He works as a professional wrestler so he spends most of his time training."

"Ok. Well, that will need to stop for a few weeks. He needs rest and a lot of it. Don't allow him to put stress on his injuries. Especially not while his concussion is healing. If you would follow me to my office, I can give you that treatment plan."

Raina followed her, nodding at the information.

"Thank you, Dr. Manning. Will his Health Insurance cover everything?"

"Yes, that has been handled already."

"Thank you, when can I see him?"

She stopped to hand Raina some papers, the treatment plans, before answering her.

"You can go now if you'd like, he is in room 167, second floor. He was awake earlier, but his body needs rest. If he is asleep, please don't wake him."

"Thanks again, Dr. Manning."

She was off toward the elevator, with an urgency in her step. Once she made it to Room 167, she stood in the doorway. There she saw Roman, in a hospital bed with a bruised face. Something tugged at her heartstrings as she watched him.

Her phone vibrated against her leg, purring softly. Raina looked at the caller ID, it was Lee. She decided to answer.

"Hey, Lee, what's up?"

"What's up with you? The last time I saw you, you gave Brock Lesnar a concussion and disappeared with your roommate. What's going on?"

"Well, I took him to the hospital, that's where I am now. He was injured pretty bad, I'm talking like broken ribs and a broken nose. I'm sorry I didn't call again but the doctors kept me busy."

"You love him, don't you?"

"What?"

"Oh come on, even I can see it. You wouldn't jump into a wrestling ring and kick a guy twice your size in the head for anyone, would you? You love Benchman. You wouldn't be meeting him every week if you didn't. And you sure as shit wouldn't have asked him to be your roommate. You hate roommates."

"You know I hate it when you're right."

"I know, so I'm gonna hang up now so you can take care of your man."

The call ended, leaving Raina alone in the room with Roman. She sat down in the chair next to him, still watching him closely. She sat there for hours, staring at him. A nurse came in once or twice to check up on him, but she stayed, sitting there stoically.

She felt her heart breaking as the hours passed. She hated seeing him like this, so vulnerable. Seemingly helpless. He was one of the strongest people she knew and to see him like this, made her want to cry.

After a while Dr. Manning returned.

"Ms. Lessing, you've been in the hospital for 21 hours now. I am going to have to ask you to leave, for your own health."

"I can't just leave him here alone."

"He is not alone, two nurses have been assigned to his care and at the moment, we are more worried about you. You need to eat, you've been sitting there for way too long. Your body needs rest."

"I'm not leaving him here."

"Ms. Lessing, I understand your worry, but you are my priority at the moment. At least go buy yourself some food at the kiosk downstairs."

Raina sighed before standing up.

"Alright, but I'm coming right back."

Raina looked at Roman one last time before walking out the door.

Raina practically sprinted down the hall and stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. She bought a sandwich and a bottle of water. She ate as quickly as she could, not wanting to waste a second. She decided to drive back to the apartment to fetch Roman some clothes. And in 20 minutes she was back in Room 167, sitting in the same plastic chair.

After another few hours, Roman stirred. Raina perked up. He opened his eyes slowly, still getting used to the bright lights in the room. He smiled when he sat her next to the bed.

"Hey, Ray."

"Hi."

"What time is it?"

"It's one in the morning, oh and it's Wednesday."

"Oh shit, how long have you been sitting here?"

"Too long."

"Raina. How long?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll go get the doctor."

Raina went to find Dr. Manning, fleeing for Roman's questions. Dr. Manning was already on her way to Roman as Raina found her in the hallway.

"Dr. Manning, he is awake."

"Good, I need to have a private conversation with him and then he will be discharged. You can sit in the kiosk while you wait."

Raina nodded before heading towards the elevator.

Roman waited patiently for Dr. Manning. And she arrived soon after Raina's departure.

"Hello, Mr. Reigns. I'm glad you are awake. How are you feeling?"

"Alright. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How long was Raina sitting here? She wouldn't tell me."

"About 25 hours. We tried to get her to go home, but she refused. She didn't want to leave you alone. I convinced her to go downstairs to buy herself food and get you some clothes but after 20 minutes, she was back. You are very lucky to have a friend like her."

"I know. Did she tell you what happened? Why I'm here?"

"No, she did mention your profession though. Wrestling is quite an interesting one."

"Well, Monday night I won a championship title, but my opponent was not happy. He attacked me after the match and I was just too tired to fight back. Raina, I didn't even know she was there, but she jumped into the ring and kicked the guy in the head to protect me. He was twice her size, but she didn't care, she knocked him out. Then she drove me here. I'm very lucky to have her."

"I am glad you are aware. I gave her your treatment plans for when you get home. And I can tell you, that you have been discharged. You are free to go. Ms. Lessing is waiting for you in the kiosk downstairs."

"Thank you, Dr. Manning."

A nurse pulled the IV out of his arm, applying a band-aid to the spot. Roman was a little shaky as he stood up. He grabbed the backpack that Raina left on the chair and looked inside. There was a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, and his favorite black hoodie.

"There is a bathroom down the hall to your right. The elevator is just a little further."

"Thank you."

~

Roman stepped out of the elevator to find Raina sitting at a table near the kiosk. He walked towards her, paying attention to her state.

She looked tired, with dark circles around her eyes. Her eyes threatened to fall shut any second. Her head was being supported by her arms, too heavy to sit upright. Her mouth was slightly open as she stared ahead of her. She looked like she was about to fall asleep in her chair.

Roman walked up behind her before snatching the car keys of the table.

"I'm driving, you look like you are about to fall asleep."

She stood up out of her chair and wrapped him up in a hug, careful not to press on his ribs.

"Thanks."

Raina picked up her phone and bag before making her way out of the building, Roman following close behind. She led him toward the car, helping him into the driver's seat, before ducking in next to him. Roman started the car.

"Sorry, your car is still at the arena."

"Don't apologize. At this moment you have literally nothing to apologize for."

"There is one thing."

"And what is that?"

"I'm sorry for not kicking him harder."

Roman laughed, his hand landed on Raina's thigh.

"Well, you knocked him out so I'd say it was hard enough. Thank you for that. It was pretty impressive."

Her hand sat on top of his as he drove them to their apartment. Raina nearly fell asleep. Roman parked in their garage, handing the keys to Raina afterwards.

Raina opened to door to their apartment and just as she was about to walk away from him, Roman wrapped her up in a hug. The tightest hug he could manage.

"Thank you."

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Raina hummed in acknowledgement before breaking away from the hug.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

"You're acting like I'm the one who stayed awake for more than 41 hours."

"You're the one with the broken ribs though."

Roman sighed before allowing Raina to lead him to his bedroom. She helped him take off his hoodie before letting him lie down. She moved to switch off the light, headed for her own room.

"Ray, will you do me a favor?"

"Yeah."

"Will you sleep here tonight, with me?"

Raina hesitated.

"Alright."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I know, but I want to. I'm just going to go change."

Roman was left in the dark as she went to her room. He curled himself up in the covers as he waited for her. He didn't know why he asked her that, but he was glad he did. He was even more glad that she agreed. After the hospital trip, he knew she loved him. And he loved her.

She climbed into his bed, next to him. She was in a sports bra and some shorts. He pulled her cold body closer to him, her back against his chest. He gently took her hand, draping his arm over her in the process. He whispered to her as she drifted off, not expecting the faint response he got.

"I love you."

"Love you too..."

#roman reigns #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe oneshot #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns fluff #why am i like this

[whirltherescuebot]

Hotfries angst

what if i wrote a oneshot where Hotshot and Wedge get into a fight after a mission and Hotshot ends the argument by screaming "Your just a stupid decepticon!" (totally don't have a sketch for this on ibispaint...)

#wedge randoms #rba hotshot #rba wedge #wedgeshot #hotfries #angst grrrr

[kiramarien]

So...

I was gonna write a Transformers Armada Christmas oneshot with my OCs, where Evelyn really wants to share Christmas with the Mini-Cons and her Autobot friends. So she decides to bring in a Christmas tree in the base and, getting some help from Hotshot, she gets a saplings from a forest somewhere. But it's tiny. And then she feels really bad that it wasn't big enough.

That's when Hotshot and Blurr (maybe Smokescreen) disappear and she timidly tries to decorate it with Headlight and the other Mini-Cons. And suddenly, they reappear with the BIGGEST tree Evelyn had ever seen in her life. She's overjoyed! And they get to share Christmas with the Autobots. :)

But I haven't written it.

[First off, it's Christmas day and there's no way I'm getting it done today. 😞]

But secondly, I suddenly realized that Rad who is VERY environmentally aware would be pretty upset if the Autobots sawed down an entire gosh-darn Pine tree just for the holidays...

So yeah.

#transformers #transformers armada #transformers unicron trilogy #rad white #christmas #oc: evelyn #oc: headlight #hotshot #blurr #transformers blurr #transformers smokescreen

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Potential New Johnny Series??

If you any of you remember this oneshot you might remember that I said I had a series idea that I wanted to do, and I fully planned on doing but then Firefighter!Chris entered my heart and took my away from my favourite hot shot (sorry Johnny!)

BUT I have finished writing Burnin’ Up (so expect those updates soon!) so I now have a bit more time to write other projects and I’m considering going back to my OG hotshot!

It will be a opposite attract, friends to lovers kinda series that will also follow the events of The Silver Surfer!

Of course I’m a human and Court of Public Opinion is going to be my main series priority and I also want to get somewhere with my Rugby AU, so I’ll probably won’t get started on a new Johnny series for a few months (I’m kinda thinking of dropping the first part around Christmas since that’s when it all started!)

But is this a series that you guys like the sound of because I know I can do whatever the hell I want but I do also like having your thoughts too!

#niamhwrites #johnny storm

[fuckyeahskzfics]

Pocketful of Sunshine

Title: Pocketful of Sunshine Author: Orphan_account Pairing: Changbin/Felix Length: Oneshot Rating: Not Rated Genre: Hogwarts!AU, Fluff Warnings: None

Summary: As gryffindor’s hotshot seeker, felix is used to receiving stacks of fan mail every week. however, one persistent secret admirer always catches his attention.

#skz #skz fics #skz fic recs #changlix #changbin: felix #oneshot #rating: nr #hogwarts!AU #fluff #secret admirer