nyree2712

[nyree2712]

morning - drarry - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 500

cw: nsfw

They'd never had a morning before.

Nights, of course, steaming hot hookups in club toilets or grimy piss-stained alleyways, always fuelled by too much liquor and too many bad decisions. Desperate clashings that could only end in a fight or in, well, the alternative. When they collided, always close to last orders, always after hours of silent observations across a bustling crowd, it was always fast and bruising and glorious.

He remembered the first time vividly. Draco had him pinned against the wall in the corridor that led to the men's loos in some Muggle club in Soho, convinced that he'd been followed. He hadn't been - Harry was there for the same reason Draco was. Anonymity, freedom, peace.

In his attempt to free himself, Harry had launched himself forwards at the waist, bringing their clothed erections into contact. A brief moment of eye contact came before the crash of Draco's lips on his, and the rest was history. Countless alcohol-tainted meetings under the cover of night, both left to stumble home afterwards sated and filled with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that could only come from the explosion that followed after their hours of restraint in the lead up.

Their trysts were always violent, burning and desperate, and last night had been no exception. They were rutting against each other, ensconced in a toilet cubicle and panting heavy breaths into each other's mouths under the flickering of an ultraviolet light. A booming knock had sounded at the door, other patrons of the seedy club demanding entry pulling them out of the haze that they had fallen into, so lost they were in the touch and taste and smell of each other. Usually, they would have ignored the intrusion and continued on, heedless of the inconvenience they were causing to the queue that was surely forming outside the door.

But last night - and Harry didn’t know why, but he’d be sure to ask - Draco had grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and yanked him out of the room into the swirling tug of apparition and deposited him onto the plush softness of Draco’s own bed. 

The presence of the soft mattress and pretentious silk sheets did nothing to quell the ferocity of their coming together - if anything Draco was hungrier for the violence and by the time it was over he’d left Harry completely boneless, shattered, laid out and wrung dry, barely able to control his own limbs.

So, for the first time, Draco had tucked Harry into his arms and they had fallen asleep together. And for the first time, Harry awoke tangled up in familiar limbs and unfamiliar sheets. His muscles sore, body aching so deep that he could imagine he still felt Draco inside him.

They’d never had a morning before, but as he admired the view of the rising sun filtering through Draco's drawn curtains, highlighting his silver hair a bright gleaming gold, he found himself questioning why. He could - wanted to - get used to mornings like this.

[nyree2712]

evidence - jegulus - platonic prongsfoot - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 618 - (might expand this, what do you guys think?)

“Prongs, I think…I think we need to talk.” 

Sirius’s sad, slightly-betrayed voice made James’s heart break even before he sat up to look at his friend. But once he caught the confused, horrified, devastated look in those familiar gray eyes?

Merlin, he felt awful.

Because finally, Sirius knew.

“Pads,” he said softly, moving to sit cross-legged on his bed and face the other boy, thankful that the room was empty, save for the two of them. “Pads, I–”

“I didn’t want to think it was true, you know?” Sirius said sadly, face still twisted into a grimace. “All the times you snuck out with the Map, the little marks on your neck…it was obvious, you know? But I thought maybe you and Evans’d finally started something up and you wanted to keep it secret? Even from me? Dunno…” Sirius shook his head, looking away. “And then I realized you smelled like cologne, and I thought, ‘Oh, I guess that makes a little sense. I don’t know why he wouldn’t trust me to share that with, I’m always snogging Moony and we’re best friends, but–’”

“Pads,” James whispered, lip quivering, broken. “It’s not that sim–”

“Obviously, it’s not that simple! Because it’s not just any bloke is it?” Sirius asked a little angrily. “I followed you, James! I know you’ve been meeting in the Potions practice rooms! It’s not like many students have keys there! Did you not think I’d figure it out?”

Torn between being angry at Sirius for following him and guilty for his own betrayal, James looked down. “I was going to tell you..” he murmured.

“Were you? Or were you going to wait until you couldn’t deny it? Until I had so much evidence you had to admit it?” Sirius demanded.

James stayed quiet, tears prickling at his eyes. 

“The sad thing is, mate, if you’d just said something, I would’ve at least heard you out. I care, and I want you to be happy. But Godric, he’s such a prick to all of us, even you! I don’t understand why you’re interested in him,” the shorter boy sighed, face confused, now. 

He bit at his lip, trying not to get defensive. It was true, he was a bit of a prick sometimes, but he wasn’t awful–

“I mean, he hexed me just the other day! He insulted Lily and made her cry! What d’you–” Sirius continued to rant.

But this took James off-guard. “He what?” he asked, shaken.

“C’mon, don’t play dumb. You know what he’s done. Who he is. Who he wants to be. And don’t deny it either,” Sirius snapped, throwing a Slytherin tie towards him. “I found this. I know you’re hooking up with Snape.”

The resulting silence was deafening. James had to take several long moments to process what had just happened, who they were both talking about, before a completely hysterical laugh bubbled through his lips. “No, I’m not,” he said truthfully.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Potter, we’re supposed to be best friends, don’t lie–”

“I’m dating Regulus.”

Sirius’s face twisted and turned into so many different emotions that James was a bit convinced he’d been hit by some sort of spell. Shock, denial, defeat, relief, more shock, disgust… “Regulus.” he repeated flatly, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Yeah,” James nodded, smiling nervously. 

“Not Snape.”

“No.”

“I…can’t decide whether to hug you or hex you,” Sirius said stiffly, hands clenched at his sides. 

“That’s…that's fair, mate,” James laughed, wincing. 

But in the end, Sirius sighed, threw himself onto his own bed, and ironed his hand over his face. “Thank Merlin I don’t have to be your best man when you marry Snape. I would’ve died.”

James let out another chuckle. “Same here, Pads.”

[nyree2712]

Okay, this isn't the Mav/Nick thing I was talking about, but imagine - Tom Kazansky who used to be Nick Rivers. The Iceman who spent the seventies being a teenage popstar dancing on tables and draping himself over fake train tracks and making girls scream and pass out.

Insert some family tragedy or some shit, either way, he goes straight. Hides it. Doesn't tell a soul, not even Slider. Changes the station every time they play a Nick Rivers song on a Throwback Thursday and claims it's because he hates "that sugary poppy bullshit."

No one figures it out for years. He goes to Top Gun, he falls in love with Maverick, he starts spending the weekends and holidays and any time they want with him and the Bradshaws, and then comes Bradley. Little baby Bradley, who wasn't even fucking alive yet when Nick Rivers quit, is the first one to figure it out and it's all because the kid interrupts Ice's poor attempt at a good night story one too many times, so he gives up and tries to sing him a lullaby instead.

And instead of finally closing his eyes, Bradley gasps and sits up and says, "You sound like the guy on the radio!"

Internally, Ice freaks the fuck out. Outwardly, he smiles and winks and makes Bradley promise to keep it their little secret, in exchange for no more terrible good night stories.

And in the end, that's how Mav figures it out too. He overhears one day, pauses in the doorway to watch Ice stroking Bradley's hair and swaying to his own rhythm and leaves again before either of them can notice him.

In the morning, he hands Ice his coffee and asks him if he's ever been shopping at Macy's.

[nyree2712]

conversations overheard on the batkid com lines pt 11

Jason: -like i was definitely the nicest kid B had to deal with, like compared to you three freaks-

Dick: you were kinda, yeah. you were very competitive though.

Jason: competitive in the good way though.

Tim: the fuck is the good way?

Jason: like i was- i was competitive about schoolwork and being a good Robin. i just wanted to be a better son than Dick so i pretty much acted like an angel

Dick: it also served to piss me off a lot-,

Jason: -that too, that was also a big motivator, you were annoying and i wanted you to stop coming back home,

Tim: *laughing*

Dick: B 100% used that against us by the way.

Jason: the competitiveness?

Dick: yeah, like, do you remember the cold case competitions?

Jason: *gasp* oh my god yes,

Tim: the what?

Jason: holy shit, so whenever me and Dick argued over something Bruce would bring out an unsolvable cold case and tell us whoever figured out who did it would win whatever argument we were having. just to get us to shut up and go away.

Dick: i was like, twenty years old man. it should not have worked on me as much as it did.

Jason: yeah, no- like i was fully convinced i was gonna solve the JFK assassination at thirteen years old just because you wouldn't let me be player one on the WII.

Tim, still laughing: *incredulous* seriously?!?

Damian: hold on- wait. the JFK assassination? what's that?

Jason: oh my god, again? Damian we have to give you a terrorist attack rundown, this is ridiculous.

Tim: first 9/11, now you don't know about JFK-

Damian: no no, i just... you aren't talking about John Fitzgerald Kennedy, are you?

Tim: well yeah, obviously-,

Dick: so you do know this one-

Damian: that's not a cold case? it was just my uncle

-silence-

Jason, voice shaky: sorry???

Damian: the American leader, John Fitzgerald Kennedy? my Uncle Dusan assassinated him on my grandfather's orders. he used to regale me with the story of his victory when he'd put me to bed.

Dick: *screeching* EXCUSE ME?!

Tim: Dusan Al Ghul used to put you to bed?

Dick: THAT'S what you're taking from that?!

Damian: yes, on occasions when mother wasn't available but he was.

Jason, faintly: holy fucking shit-

Tim: Talia used to put you to bed...?

Damian: well somebody had to? i don't understand how this is hard for you to grasp Drake, how could i be locked in if there was nobody to take me to my cell at the end of the day?

Tim: OH ok-

Dick, still freaking out: what the actual fuck-

Jason: i'm crashing out, i swear to god i'm crashing out-

Tim: -no see THAT makes sense, i thought for a second Talia was actually acting motherly but it's fine it was just a miscommunication-

Damian: is Dusan's kill not publicly known, then?

Dick: PUBLICALLY- no, Damian, literally nobody-

*a pause* *intake of breath*

Dick, whispering: holy shit i solved the cold case.

Jason, incredulous: excuse me?

Dick: I SOLVED IT FIRST-

Jason: WOAH WOAH- NO YOU FUCKING DIDN'T, HOLD ON-

Dick: I'M TELLING BRUCE-!

Jason: I'M TELLING BRUCE, THIS IS MY WIN-

Dick: NOT IF I GET TO HIM FIRST-

Jason: DICK FUCK OFF THIS IS MINE-

Dick: FUCK YOU-

*two pings*

*silence*

Damian: ...they're not coming back are they?

Tim: *sigh* nope. wanna go get cinnamon rolls? i've not got much going on through my route.

Damian: i'll meet you at the usual bakery.

Tim: sick.

[nyree2712]

"Give me your Batman brain."

Bruce, who has been tracking criminals at the batcomputer for hours, stares at Dick. "What?"

Dick, only about twelve years old, is looking up at Bruce with ominous sincerity. He makes grabby hands. "Give me. Your Batman brain. Give it."

Bruce raises a brow, but figures this must be a strange thing children do. Perhaps Dick has brain damage from training, who knows. He hesitantly mimes grabbing his brain from the top of his head and putting it in Dick's hand. Dick sets the pretend-brain off to the side, placing a pretend-glass case over it for later.

Dick seems satisfied. "Okay. I threw a block of legos at my classmate Tarence. He was giving our teacher a panic attack and had to be dealt with."

Bruce raises a brow and opens his mouth to speak, but Dick cuts him off. "Wait wait wait, your Batman brain is over there. Now you only have Dad brain. Gimme Dad."

Bruce, unfortunately, cannot argue with that logic, so he pats Dick's head and asks for a step-by-step reenactment of the event so he knows how to best defend his son at the meeting with the principal.

As with many things Dick randomly invented as a child, the metaphorical exchange of brains stays in the family forever. Bruce will often catch Damian being grumpy and go, "Hey, give me your Robin brain. You've been using it for too long, it's getting overcooked." And Damian, relunctantly, will suction cup his head with his fingers and deposit his Robin brain in Bruce's hands, who will hold it very carefully while Damian, using only his 10-year-old Damian brain, grabs his largest stuffed-animal and squeezes it to self-soothe.

[nyree2712]

regulus asked the house elves to make james’ favorite food on his birthday every year and never told a soul. james just thought he was lucky or part of the magic of hogwarts

[nyree2712]

Mav gets Bradley very young, shy of his seventh birthday. And he’s scared to react negatively in any way towards the kid. Doesn't matter when Bradley screams he doesn’t want to go to bed, or when he throws his baseball bat and breaks the window, or when he deliberately elbows Mav’s nose so he can escape through the back door. Mav never raises his voice because that's not how he wants to raise Bradley, doesn’t want to add more trauma to the grieving boy. But really, it just means Bradley grows up never being told no, never scolded for his misbehaving.

Over the years, Bradley turns a little entitled, sensitive and quick to anger, always self-righteous and never wanting to admit he's wrong. He demands things and stomps his feet when rejected. Throughout it all, Ice is there, but he doesn't dare to comment about Mav's parenting style, doesn’t feel it is his right to do so.

Teenage Bradley is this lanky, sweaty guy with anger issues, slamming doors and punching walls, angry at the world. Mostly Mav. He's grieving, sure, grieving this void he can never ignore, the lack of a mom or dad, or even a parental figure that’s present for him in real life and not through a thirty-minute call every week. The fact that he never quite fits anywhere fuels that anger further. No one understands, nor do they try to.

After his sixteenth birthday, Mav becomes distant. He rarely calls when he's on deployment. When he's home, it's like his mind is somewhere else. Every time Bradley's in the room, Mav tenses up, awkward, as if he sees a stranger instead of his godson. His words are stilted, performed. When Bradley asks him what’s going on, Mav lies and tells him, I’m fine, everything’s fine.

Bradley sits with this silence, stays in the quietness of the house, devoid of Mav or Ice running around, cooking, listening to music and dancing, or arguing about who the best pilot is. By the time he’s almost seventeen, he spends months alone. God knows where Ice and Mav is. Bradley’s left behind, again. 

So, he makes a decision. He’ll get straight As in school, apply to every Ivy League college to show them he’s smart and capable, get into USNA and chase them into the skies instead of waiting for them to land. He’s prepared, he can do this! Months and months of staying up late, bleary-eyed and chugging more coffee than it is healthy, results in him getting accepted to most schools, but most importantly, more than qualified enough for USNA. When Mav comes home, Bradley proudly shows his application letter. 

“Just you wait, Mav,” Bradley says, bright-eyed and happy for once, “I’m going to be on your tail soon. Just you wait!”

Mav pats him on the back, throws a pizza party, and lets Bradley doze into his chest like he used to when he was younger. Come morning, Mav is gone. Bradley doesn’t think much of it. Mav disappears into nowhere for hours at a time; he’s probably at the garage. Bradley’s going into the academy! He’s winning his dad’s affection back!

Then…

Well. Everything ends, anyway.

And so Bradley becomes Rooster, his anger sharpens. It used to be loud and swung around like a hammer, but once he gets his wings four years late, it becomes a spear, wielded with precision. He guards himself with it, stabbing everyone who comes too close. He’s aloof but extroverted enough that people like him, but no one knows who he is behind the hawaiian shirts. 

In the uranium mission, after Phoenix and Bob went down, Rooster finally screams at Mav’s face, all the hurt spilling out. Behind it is a small child who only wants to be loved, looked at him and not the ghosts hovering over his shoulders. Mav, horrible, cowardly Maverick Mitchell, never addresses the innate core of their problems, keeps trying to run away to the sky without ever thinking he can bring Bradley along.

As Bradley stands there, he starts to come to a realization. All his life he thought Mav might’ve loved him too much to raise his voice. But maybe, it’s because Mav never loved him enough to care. 

[nyree2712]

hangman finds himself outside of roosters room the night after the mission, hands trembling and chest heaving, he doesn't want to be here but he just can't... he doesn't know, he should knock on the door he should go back to his room he should he should he should....

but rooster opens the door before hangman can decide what he wants and his breath is just gone because he's in front of him, he's alive, by his doing, and he wants to say something stupid but any joke or insult dies on his tongue and his mouth is just left stupidly agape as he just, stares at rooster, how relaxed he looks, how alive he looks, and honestly that's all he needed to see and he wants to leave but rooster pulls him in to the warmth of his body, arms heavy on hangman's shoulders, breathing steadily against him and hangman would never admit it but he almost cries, feels his eyes get hot and feels like he can't breathe bcs he was able to save rooster, he saved him, he's alive because of him, and he doesn't ever want to let go

[nyree2712]

house - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 354

“Reggie, you’re here!” Sirius was standing atop his chair at the back of the crowded pub, wildly waving him over. He had an envelope in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other, covered in writing. “You want in on the action?

Smoothly sitting down next to his husband, dropping a kiss on his head as he went, Regulus raised a sharp brow. “What action?”

“Hogwarts Express arrives at the school in an hour. We’re taking bets on your Harry’s house.” Sirius rattled the envelope. “5 galleons in. Winners split the pot. So, you in?”

James chimed in. “You should, I have.”

“Oh really?” Regulus chuckled softly. “Let me guess, you’ve put your money on Gryffindor, like you.”

“No, actually.” James shook his head amused. “He might look the spit of me, but he’s every inch you. He’s a Slytherin.”

“What’s everyone else said?” Regulus reached up to grab the paper from Sirius’ hand, but Sirius snatched it away before he made contact.

“No cheating!” Sirius held the paper high above his head as he carefully climbed down, claiming the seat opposite. “Give us your guess first.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Fine, I say Gryffindor.”

“Really?” Remus questioned from Sirius’ side. “I thought so too, but I’d be interested in your reasoning.”

From along the table, Lily interjected. “Me too, I wouldn’t have thought you’d have gone for that. I think our boy will be a Hufflepuff, he’s too sweet to be anything else.”

“Darling, you only think that because he’s sweet to you. That boy has had you figured out for years.” Mary leaned over to join in the conversation. “He’ll be a hatstall but will come out Ravenclaw in the end. He’s sharper than any of you give him credit for.”

“Go on then, baby.” James nudged Regulus’ shoulder playfully. “Why Gryffindor?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Regulus glanced around the group, all gesturing for him to continue. “Malfoys are sorted alphabetically before Potters. The hat will barely touch Draco’s head before sorting him into Slytherin.” He smirked. “Harry will demand for it to put him in Gryffindor out of sheer spite.”

[nyree2712]

Imagine Trans!Reg chooses to get pregnant w James’ child (their first child is Harry- obviously Lily and James conceived him and didnt get married). James is like “omg! I hope they get ur eyes” “oh maybe they’ll get our curls” BUT THEN THE CHILD COMES OUT AS A CLONE OF SIRIUS. And they’re all looking at him like omg no. A child that looks like Sirius with Regulus’ intellect and James’ personality.

Harry’s so excited to have a brother and he starts teaching the child all sorts of stuff. This Sirius clone gets into Gryffindor and he tries to outprank the twins.

[nyree2712]

bamboozled - jegulus and drarry - server microprompt challenge - word count: 338

Draco had been raised to be proper. To wow a crowd, to navigate social situations with all the grace and politeness of a proper gentleman. To handle things smoothly.

Which is why, now, he was internally screaming at himself.

Because he’d never felt so bloody bamboozled.

Because...weren't old people supposed to be ugly?

Pinching his own leg as he missed his mouth with his fork for the ninth time, he cursed under his breath, earning a confused look from Harry, who was sitting next to him, immersed in conversation with James and Regulus.

Miserably, Draco just shook his head slightly. No. He could get himself together.

It was just…

He looked up again, trying to be subtle. 

He now understood why people talked about it all the time. Harry Potter looked so like his father. Gods, they were both unfairly handsome. Their smiles were bright, their eyes warm and welcoming. And James…

Well, age had been very kind to James Potter.

He was graying, sure. But the slight wrinkles and lighter hair only made him more handsome. More rugged. More…

Draco gulped. Certainly, he should not be thinking this way about his potential father-in-law, and he wasn’t, not really. He was very, very happy with what he had. But his very unhelpful brain reminded him: If Harry and James look so much alike…Harry will look like this when he gets older. Harry will look exactly like this when he gets older.

He squirmed in his seat. Fuck. 

“...going to grab the next course!” James Potter announced, throwing Draco a smile and sweeping into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” Harry offered, standing and squeezing Draco’s knee. 

But as soon as both men disappeared into the other room, Regulus turned to him with a look like an x-ray. Draco’s stomach churned. Was he in trouble? Did Regulus know? Fuck, he’d heard things about Regulus Black from his mother and he didn’t want to get on his bad side. Shit, shit, sh–

“Just wait until you see Fleamont Potter,” Regulus murmured, his face breaking into a smirk.

Draco gaped. 

[nyree2712]

house - jegulus - jegulus raising harry - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 265

“IT’S HERE!”

Regulus looked up to see his husband scrambling to the armchair, a wild look in his eyes, a crumpled-up parchment in his hand. “Have you tried breathing?” he asked snidely, sending the taller man a smirk.

“No!” James retorted with a small, slightly insane smile, bodily lifting Regulus up off the overstuffed chair to move him knot his lap. 

“James!” Regulus pretended to protest, though he really preferred this seat of all places.

“Hush! Listen!” the taller man demanded, flapping the paper at his husband and pulling it open.

Both of them stared at the messy scrawl as James read aloud:

“‘Dear Dad and Pa. The ride on Hogwarts Express was cool, I met some friends-’ blah, blah, blah, ‘miss you already’ blah, blah,” James rolled his eyes, a good-natured smile on his face. “But what house?”

“James, that is our son!” Regulus admonished him, swatting at his shoulder. Secretly, though, he wanted to skip to the good part, too. Ignoring James’s knowing grin, he hissed, “Keep going!”

“Blah, blah, oh! The Sorting Ceremony! ‘please don’t kill each other when I say that I was sorted into…GRYFFINDOR!’” 

At this, James leapt out of the armchair, causing Regulus to fall onto the floor in a huff as he watched his husband run around the room, fist-pumping and hooting with glee. 

“Potter!” Regulus shouted, crossing his arms and giving his husband a frown.

James, realizing what he’d done, stopped. “Oh,” he murmured, immediately running forward and offering Regulus a hand. “I…would’ve been happy no matter what, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Regulus repeated, rolling his eyes and grinning. 

[nyree2712]

🔥 The Glasses Maneuver 🔥

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and Tom "Iceman" Kazansky have always been close. Ever since the famous "you can be my wingman anytime" and the boisterous answer of "bullshit, you can be mine" it was established that where you found one, the other was closer behind.

For the world, they were legends. Wingmen. Brothers-in-arms. The Navy’s finest, forged in adrenaline and danger, polished by time and trust.

But for each other?

They were the secret that never really was.

From 1986 to the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, they danced the careful ballet of hidden glances and midnight rendezvous. Everyone knew—of course they did. But no one said a word. Not when Top Gun's golden boys locked eyes a little too long. Not when “best friends” took all their leave time together, year after year. Not even when they bought a beach house “as an investment.”

By the time they married—on the deck of a decommissioned carrier with the sun setting behind them like it was part of the ceremony, they had already been through hell and back.

Now, Ice was a Rear Admiral. Strategic, calm, as precise as ever, his edges as clean as his pressed whites. Maverick? A Captain who still flew like rules were just strong suggestions. Together, they were unstoppable.

But power and medals aside, nothing, nothing, could prepare Pete "Maverick" Mitchell for the war crime that happened one Tuesday evening.

He came home from base late—sunburnt, windblown, sand in his boots and cocky smirk still intact—only to freeze in the doorway.

There, sprawled on the couch like a sin in a Calvin Klein ad, was Tom "Iceman" Kazansky. Shirtless. Sweats riding scandalously low, revealing the promise of a V-line that seemed hand-sculpted by the gods of flight themselves. His hair, no longer regulation-tight, tumbled lazily over his forehead, kissed by silver. And on his face…

The glasses.

Slim, elegant, steel-rimmed traitors to Maverick’s sanity.

Iceman looked up from the book in his hand—The Art of War, of course—and offered a smirk that could’ve melted steel.

“Hey, baby. You’re late. Made you dinner,” he said, voice warm, casual, utterly composed. Then, with the cruel flick of a wrist and a glint of the lenses catching the light, he asked:

“Do you like them?”

Oh no.

Maverick’s brain went blank. Static. Full tunnel vision. All systems offline except one: the one that said jump your gorgeous husband right now.

“I want to sit in your lap and kiss your face forever,” he blurted, words tumbling over themselves in sheer desperation, “and let you bang me while you wear your glasses.”

Iceman blinked, bemused. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Maverick, already halfway out of his uniform, straddled his husband with zero shame. “Yes.”

The laughter that followed was low and intimate, a hum against his throat. And then, the glasses stayed on.

Their kisses were molten, slow, reverent. Maverick’s fingers tangled in hair gone soft with age and freedom, his mouth finding the curve of Ice’s collarbone, his pulse, his jaw.

Iceman’s hands roamed with knowing intent, his control ironclad but tender. He whispered things only Maverick was meant to hear, things about belonging, about time, about always.

They didn’t rush. They savored. On that worn leather couch, in the dim of their home, with the faint scent of garlic from the untouched dinner and the sound of waves crashing through the open balcony doors, they made love like men who had waited decades to be seen.

And Ice wore the glasses the whole time.

After that? Maverick was wrecked. Completely, irreversibly undone.

Every time Iceman reached for those glasses, whether to read, to sign papers, or once (bless him) to fix the thermostat—Maverick would visibly short-circuit. He’d stutter. He’d blush like a teenager. He’d practically mount him in the hallway.

“You’re wearing them again,” Maverick once whispered, cornering him in the kitchen.

Ice, slicing a tomato like a man who didn’t just cause a five-alarm lust emergency, merely raised a brow. “They help me see.”

“They help me see the light,” Maverick groaned, pressing up against him, hands already snaking under the admiral’s shirt.

It became a pattern. A very dangerous pattern.

Iceman started wearing them more often. Meetings. Mornings. Once to Maverick’s promotion ceremony, fully knowing what that would do.

Let’s just say they had to explain a few bruises the next day.

But this was their love story: not loud, not flamboyant, but burning bright and steady, like the afterglow of afterburners lighting up the sky.

Still wingmen. Still best friends. Still in love.

But now?

Everyone knew.

And neither of them gave a damn.

[nyree2712]

Some details I was thinking abt the make the seizure au even more heartbreaking

So at this point in time, Dick is Bruce’s only child.

Jason is dead. Tim still has parents he lives with. Barbara lives with her dad. Stephanie lives with her mom.

Bruce is their mentor, and they’re his protégés, but he’s not really their family. Tim, Barbara, and Stephanie have families to go home to when they take off the mask.

Bruce is Dick’s only family. Alfred is maybe a lot older, and has been retired for a few years. He visits a couple times a year, but he lives in England now. He’s not involved in raising Dick (he’s more like a grandparent who dotes on him when he visits, which isn’t often).

So when Bruce was going to Rimbor, maybe he specifically asked people like Oliver to watch out for his kid. He didn’t want to make Dick go live somewhere else, because he was still in high school, and he was worried it would stress him out. That’s why Dick stayed at the manor.

But Bruce thought when he asked people to look out for his kid, that they’d be checking in on him regularly. That they’d be taking care of him. That they’d understand that Bruce meant, “Please take care of my son while I’m on trial on a different planet.”

Instead, everyone assumes he means, “Watch out for my protégés while I’m away.”

Which is why they end up focusing on Tim, Stephanie, and Barbara. They assume because Dick has been doing this the longest, because he has the most experience, that they don’t need to worry about him.

They don’t think about how he’s entirely alone once Bruce goes off-planet. They don’t think about how despite being the most experienced of the younger heroes, he’s still only fifteen.

And that’s why Bruce is so furious with everyone else. Because he left expecting his friends to be there for his child while he couldn’t be. And he came back to find out they’d kicked him aside and left him to fend for himself.

[nyree2712]

Batman animation yayy 🙌👍

[nyree2712]

Thinking about Mav living in his father’s shadow, his failure looming over him, closing doors, losing friends, flying alone, halting his career. And then Ice comes along, and climbs the ranks and suddenly he’s not ‘Duke Mitchell’s kid’, he’s ‘Admiral Kazansky’s pet project’, he’s ’under the Iceman’s protection’, he’s still living under a legacy, but this time, it’s Ice’s

[nyree2712]

People I forget that I used to write Incorrect quotes 😭😭😭 sorry