#Ben-solos-smile

[violettathepiratequeen]

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[burningblake]

@ reylos how long were you grieving after tros? does it pass eventually? sincerely, it's been almost three months for me now and I still can't get over it

[brooklynislandgirl]

@kylo-wrecked {{xx}}

She might be a sea-sprite but let it not be forgotten all storms are born of her Mother's belly. A tiny tilt of her chin that exposes the tendons of her throat. "You hear me. I said wha' I said." She drinks of his rim, sipping with the dignity of a queen and searching the depths to see where his bemusement comes from. Or the way she's drawn to him the second his limbs settle beside her. Drunk of the sheer presence. Knee brushes thigh, her fingers flutter at the edge of his forearm. He grows in and through her. Which is why she wants him to come. Not to thumb a nose at the man who wishes her most destroyed, something he can point to as a source of his terrible grief on camera only to count the points on paper as the country flocks to him from empathy, but that there is someone she can genuinely admire. Converse with. Forget where she is when he flashes a smile and bears his teeth. She can relive what it feels like when they press in on her to the point of breaking flesh. There are probably specific words for Ben that Beth can't quite utter. He knows them just the same. It doesn't matter if he chafes in leather, he could be just as dangerous in a three piece Dior. Ben is her spine, and she will gladly be his snapped restraint. A shuddered utterance neither breath or vocalisation. Frail fingers bracelet his wrist. An inch either way brings release or relief. She keeps him exactly where he is in a flutter of lashes. "Sure you say dat to alla da folk." She doesn't distinguish between any of the genders, he's an aphotic angel in all of them. She nips at that thumb-tip and nearly takes flesh with it when she pulls back away from him. He asked for it. "Mister Snoke, this is Elizabeth Riley on behalf of Pearson, Spectre, Litt, and Morgan. Representing Ben Prestor Solo and any pseudonyms Mister Solo chooses to use in his arts, I am calling to let you know you'll be receiving a certified letter. It will hereby notify you to Cease and Desist any and all further unlawful acts of harassment in violation of 18 USCS section sign 2661A and all New York State statutes, including but not limited to harassing, stalking, and/or bullying, and any action which consist of physical, verbal, and/or non-verbal attacks, including but not limited to: harassment either in person or via written or electronic format; spying involving following or watching; causing distress through threat of violence, fear of violence and/or calling with the intent to harass. We will expect the documents enclosed in the certified letter to be signed and returned to our offices within ten business days. Should you fail to do so, we will provide you ample time to arrange your affairs and we will settle this matter in court." A pause. "Oh, and before I forget? Merry Christmas, sir." She reaches out and presses the big red disconnect. "Put up, or shut up, Ben." For one incandescent second, she looks gloriously and primordially alive.

[lordprettyflackotara]

video games || ben drowned

Ben bit his bottom lip, trying his hardest to concentrate. Usually Ben was a god at video games, the flashing colors and tiniest noises unfazing him. He was playing Valorant, his finger eagerly hovering over the mouse. His teammates were dying left and right, forcing Ben to take charge and carry the game. Usually this would’ve been a piece of cake, the blonde preferring to work solo anyways. However that ability to carry on like normal was obstructed, by your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

Ben should’ve known better. He should’ve known your offer to suck him off while playing was too good to be true. But now you had him trapped, forcing him to pay attention and play or you’d threaten to stop. You’d edged him for what felt like hours, his cheeks rosy red and cock aching for release. He glanced down at you, your big doe eyes meeting his desperate ones. “Cmon I needa cum,” Ben begged, his eyes full of a plea. You released his throbbing cock with a pop, smiling up at him mischievously. “What’s wrong Benny? Can’t handle a taste of your own medicine?” You mocked. It was true, a week prior he had your legs tied to his foot board, your body spread out like a starfish as he edged you for hours. Then just once you thought he was done he had overstimulated you into oblivion, leaving you unable to walk for days. You thought this pay back was pretty tame, the blonde lustful enough to take the bait. You licked up the side of his shaft, causing him to whimper. Considering Ben used a variety of vibrators and toys to make you squirm, you thought using your tongue was decent enough.

“Cmon babe quit the games, just let me cum already,” Ben panted. You continued to look up at him as he tried to focus on the round, killing off the other teams Sage. You bobbed your head up and down on his cock, forcing your jaw to go slack as you took him to the base. You allowed yourself to gag, knowing the sound would only bring him closer to the edge. You used one hand to jack off what you couldn’t suck, while the other fondled his balls just for a little extra stimulation. Ben whined as his tip hit the back of your throat, the sound of you gagging heavenly. He cringed as he got shot and killed, his headset long discarded so he could hear your sinful acts. As the loading screen ensued his hand flew to your hair, rolling his lip in between his teeth. “Fuck, that’s it, please don’t stop, oh my fuck-” He moaned, tilting his head back in his gaming chair. His eyes screwed shut, his hand attempting to make you suck his cock faster. Ben could feel his cock twitch, his orgasm so close.

That was until you abruptly pulled away. Moans and whines left Ben’s lips, his eyes meeting your devious ones. In a swift motion he reached down and grabbed you by your shirt collar, dragging you to your feet. “You really wanna play games? Let’s play my favorite,” Ben growled. He tossed you onto his bed, dragging you to position yourself on all fours, “Bend over bitch, it’s my turn now.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[pluto-on-mars]

“Its always been you”

I wrote this for a friend, but I decided to post so enjoy Rodrick Heffley fucking you in a bathroom folks. Also if anyone wants to commission anything HIT ME UP!

Rodrick Heffley x AFAB! reader (18+ Minors DNI)

Includes: Fingering (f! receiving), drunk sex, p in v

Word count: 2,567

The party was loud, the atmosphere thick with fun and desperation, which of the two you were was lost to you as you crept through the hallways, drunken bodies pressed against you and almost spilling what was left in your solo cup.

You were trying to find your friend, a common thing that seems to happen to you despite your attempts to get it to stop. But ever the lover boy, Rodrick always got swept up in the crowd once Heather Hills was spotted, leaving you in the shadow of her spotlight. You knew this was going to happen, and you didn’t even want to go to this stupid party!

Rodrick could be terribly convincing when he wanted to be, unfortunately, promises to stay with you this time spilling from his pretty lips, and you couldn’t do anything but say yes. It was stupid, you were stupid, having a crush on a boy who didn’t necessarily want nothing to do with you, but he certainly didn’t want you in that way.

Stepping into the kitchen, you found who you were looking for, and you downed the rest of your drink as a result. It was the same as always, Rodrick trying, and failing, to impress Heather, but it was still a sight you couldn’t bear to see.

“ ‘Scuse me.” You grumbled, trying to reach the liquor that resided behind the pair.

“ Oh sorr-heyyyyy whatsup?” Rodrick, clearly drunk, slurred out once he recognized it was you.

“ Same as always.” You couldn’t help but be a little snippy, already having talked about how you didn’t like how he just left your side at a party, especially one that he convinced you to go to.

“ Oh-Heather wait!” He scurried past you, flashing you a smile as he chased the “girl of his dreams”.

Arguably a little bit too pissed off at how he left you again, you poured yourself another drink after taking a shot. Maybe it was a bad decision, trying to put out the flames of your anger with alcohol, but your already tipsy brain didn’t have any care to give.

You left the kitchen, body instinctively going towards the vibrations of the bass, following the music to the living room where it was the loudest. You got lost in the sea of bodies, chugging your drink occasionally while your hips swayed as you let the music overtake you.

Eventually your cup ran dry, you frowned once you knocked your head back, and realized you were met with nothing. You were certainly feeling it though, and that fact compelled you to want to get another one. With the room spinning, and you definitely stumbling, you made your way back to the kitchen. Pouring yourself one more, you rested on the counter for a bit, cool tile pressing against your hot back feeling nice as you indulged, nursing your drink as a means to not feel out of place.

Unfortunately, your peace didn’t last long, some asshole tripping into you, spilling your drink down your shirt, and effectively ruining your night. Still drunk, you wandered to the bathroom that unfortunately had a line. Deciding to go upstairs to continue your search, you found Ben.

“ If you find Rodrick, tell him I’m leaving.” And that was all you hissed out before you slammed the bathroom door, not even caring to answer his questions.

Gripping the counter as you looked into the mirror, you glared back at yourself, bad decisions catching up to you as now all the emotions you were drowning out seemed to come to the surface. Roughly grabbing a wad of toilet paper, you started dabbing it against your shirt.

“ Stupid, stupid, stupid!” You chanted, getting more pissed as each word continued to leave your mouth.

Angry tears dotted your eyes, and that made you feel even worse.

“ I know I shouldn’t have gone to this fucking party oh my god.” You rambled, rubbing your shirt harshly as you started to realize it was going to stain.

Slam

“What the fuck!” The bathroom door swinging open was the last you expected as you yelled out.

“ What's wrong, why are you leaving?” His voice reached you before you realized it was him, and you hated how you couldn’t stop your heart fluttering at his presence.

“ Don’t you have something else to worry about?” You snarled out, alcohol making you much more confrontational than you would be.

“ What? No, why would I-” Rodrick stepped in more, closing the door behind him, and looking down at your soaked shirt.

“ Please I’m surprised you aren’t too busy with Heather right now.” Words spewed from your tongue, and you knew you were going to regret this later with the direction it’s going.

“ No, never, you know I care about you c’mon.” Normally these words coming from him would work, but you were just so over everything, you just couldn’t be bothered. You needed to shout, you needed to yell, you needed to express your pent up frustration, and Rodrick was sure as hell going to hear it.

“ Do you though?” Your question hung in the air, tone biting, and you continued before he got the chance to speak.

“ It’s always Heather with you, Heather this, Heather that, always Heather fucking Hills!” You exclaimed, shoving your hands in the air, wad of tissue dropping into a sad lump on the floor.

“ You care until she’s there, and suddenly you're nowhere to be seen, even though I’ve told you Rodrick.” You were close to him now, finger pressed to his chest as you glared at him, despite your wavering stance.

He fidgeted, looking down at your finger before sighing, clasping the hand pointed against him gently, he used his other hand to run a hand through his hair.

“ It was never Heather.” He muttered out, words slightly slurred as he looked down at your hand in his.

Your mind raced, waiting for the words that could come out of his mouth, trying to stop yourself from foolish hope at what that might entail.

“ I only ‘liked’ her for so long cus you were never into me.” He trailed off, eyes darting around the bathroom as you slowly processed his words.

“ Are you being forreal right now?” You stuttered dumbly, mind not being able to comprehend this wasn’t some stupid drunken delusion and that this was very much real.

A nod was all you needed before you made your next decision, fueled by liquid courage, you couldn't help but tease.

“ God Rodrick, you’re so stupid.” Was all you said before you tugged on the neckline of his shirt, his lips crashing into yours as you got the kiss you’ve longed for god knows how long.

His hands seemed to instinctively find your hips, and you hummed into the kiss, pulling his bottom lip into your mouth, you steadied yourself against him. His grip tightened, and you moved along with him as he placed you onto the bathroom counter.

He was between your legs now, and you hooked your legs around his waist. You gripped his shirt tighter as he bit your lip, pulling him into you as a means to deepen the kiss. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip and you obliged, parting your mouth to feel his tongue against yours.

Arms resting around his shoulders, and hands going to his surprisingly soft hair, you shuddered once you felt his once stationary hands trail up your thighs. He pulled away with uncharacteristic softness, and you could feel his breath fan across your lips as he looked into your eyes. Just as you were about to close the short distance, his head dipped into the crook of your neck, wet kisses left in his wake as your breath grew shaky.

Head spinning not just from the alcohol but also with how hot it was getting in the room. Feeling as though you were burning up under his touch, Rodrick lifted the hem of your shirt, and you helped him get the rest off.

“ Thank god, that thing was fucking soaked.” You sighed in relief, cold air feeling nice against your skin as you unclasped your bra.

“ Yeah I bet that's not the only thing.” You could feel the chuckle against your neck, and you laughed along despite how warm your face grew at how right he probably was.

His short nails managed to drag across your skin just right as you straightened up at the sensation, and you jolted at him pulling you closer to the edge of the counter so you could press against the bulge in his jeans.

His hands stilled as your hips bucked, a muffled groan coming from his throat as his head began to go lower to your chest. Rodrick’s presence was overwhelming, he was licking, sucking, and biting what he could get his mouth on, and occupied what he couldn’t with his surprisingly skilled hands.

Your mind was racing, your head was fuzzy, and you were growing more desperate by the second.

“ Rodrick I swear to god if you don’t get a move on I’m going to explode.” You practically begged, voice having a slight needy whine to it, and you figured you would kill him if he decided to tease you on it after the fact.

“ God calm down, hardly even done anything yet.” He teased, hands drifting down to your inner thigh.

“ That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” You groaned out, biting your lips in order to bite back the embarrassingly loud moan that would’ve left you as his hand grazed you through your underwear.

“ Jeez alright, alright.” Rodrick smirked down at you, maliciously complying as he pulled them to the side gathering your wetness with his fingers all before shoving them inside you.

“ God fuck- Rodrick!” You were grateful for the loud atmosphere of the party, shout lost in the rest of the noise.

You gripped his shoulders, legs trembling from the initial shock. Rodrick didn’t seem to want to give you a moment to breathe, setting a pace that could only be described as fast, and something made to make you loud. You couldn’t stay quiet even if you wanted to, moans spilling from your lips even though you tried to be mindful.

“ I was right by the way.” He teased, looking down at you while you stared back, face growing impossibly warmer at how he seemed to be entirely focused on you and your reactions.

“ Wha-huh?” Was all you could mewl out through the sensation of his fingers inside you.

“ You’re soaked.” He grinned wolfishly, making his pace harder, and you cried out as you clenched around him.

“ And you called me stupid, you can barely even speak right now.” His tone was downright sinful and his words only built up your continually arising arousal.

“ ‘S not fair, you’re not getting fucked right now-” you managed to get out between pants,” ‘S your fault!” You protested weakly, words falling from your lips before you could even process them.

“ My fault?” He scoffed, amused as he didn’t break his unrelenting rhythm.

“ Just like it's my fault for taking so long to realize you liked me?” He said, and you could pick up on the slight softness, like he was asking for confirmation, and you didn’t hesitate to give it to him.

Nodding profusely, you let the words you’ve always thought to say tumble from your mouth,” I’ve liked you for so-fuck-so so long!”

He hummed, smiling down at you as he picked up the pace,” Oh really? How long have you liked me, pretty?”

You could feel heat pool to your abdomen, and your legs tightened around his waist,” ‘M gonna cum fuck.”

“ No, answer first.” He said bluntly, however his fingers didn’t seem to slow.

“ Shit I don’t know.” You blurted, mind frazzled as you couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure.

“ Think for me baby you got it.” Rodrick cooed, his left hand tracing gentle circles into your thigh.

“ Okayyy- ever since-fuck- ever since the begining of this year.” You managed to whine out before your legs began to shake.

“ Wow this year? That’s a long time.” He smiled, at your words, fondness dripping from his tone.

You would’ve smiled back, but his left hand moved from your thigh to your clit, rubbing it much more intensely than where it once was.

“ Such a good girl, cum for me.” He purred knowing just how close you were.

Coming down and swallowing your moans with a kiss that turned frantic as you eagerly reciprocated; you felt your orgasm crash over you in one big wave, dissolving into pleasure as your grip around him tightened.

Pace slowing as he rode you through your orgasm, in your clarity you fumbled for his belt buckle, the metal cold in your grip as you tried to take it off. Not breaking the kiss, Rodrick’s hands came down to help you, his jeans falling to the ground as you both parted to gasp for air.

In one swift movement Rodrick’s hands guided your hips, sinking you down onto his dick. Your simultaneous moans filled the air as Rodrick seemed to still for a second, needing a moment to collect himself. The sudden moving of his hips caused any teasing to die on your tongue as your breath hitched.

“ Fuck you feel so good.” Rodrick babbled, various noises falling past his lips, failing to maintain his composure despite his demeanor earlier.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer, too lost in the rhythmic thrusts that had you seeing stars. Rodrick didn’t seem to mind though, filling in for your lack of responses with words of his own.

“ Can’t believe it took me so long to realize you liked me back.” Both of his hands were on your hips now, dragging them down to match his thrusts.

You were lost in the pleasure at this point, already sensitive from your last orgasm, your senses were overwhelmed, and you couldn’t do anything but take what Rodrick was giving you.

“ Glad you finally did.” You cried out, already feeling the buildup for a second climax approaching.

“ Fuck.” You breathed out, Rodrick’s hips beginning to slam into you harder.

Arms going up to drape across his shoulders, you clung to him, needing to ground yourself with everything going on. His pace grew erratic, getting lost in you as he began to approach his rapidly building high. The same could be said for yourself, voice growing in volume as various curses flew from your lips.

Nails digging into his back, you gripped him tighter, you could hear your name slip past his lips as you moaned his. Hips coming to a slow stop, the sound of you both trying to catch your breath filled the room.

“ Still gonna leave?” Rodrick huffed, slipping back into his jeans as he looked at you.

“ Shirts still soaked.” You said simply, and you were absolutely going home after that, you were getting tired.

“ Wanna come back to my place with me?” You asked, hopping off the counter and looking for the wet pile that was your shirt.

“ Hell yeah.”

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: We’re going deeper and darker on this one, with an ending you might not expect...

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. TW: attempted sexual assault (not successful), violence, character death, drug use, and a twist.

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 5: Eminence Front

Your last conversation with your mother was on a Sunday morning, in hospice.

You sat at her bedside and held her hand. Chris and your father were downstairs in the hospital food court, ordering sandwiches. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for three days.

“I had your father call the whole family so they could watch the music video with you and Soldier Boy,” your mom said. She wore a proud, if weak smile. “He even recorded a few tapes of it. He sent one to your aunt, another to your cousins, and another to our friends Leah and Stan.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal piracy, Mom,” you said with a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re my daughter, and you’ve worked incredibly hard to get here,” she said. Her eyes misted over a bit in memory. “We’ve all worked hard.”

You stilled at that. You didn’t know what memories she had filtering through her head, but you were sure your perspective behind the lens was…different.

In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself at twelve years old. Chris had been pestering you all day, as big brothers were wont to do sometimes. With a slap on his arm, you’d screamed at him to leave you alone.

He didn’t speak to you for a whole month. He didn’t go to your piano recital or your choir concert, where you had the best solo. He didn’t talk to you until you touched him again, grabbing his arm, pleading with him.

"Please, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just talk to me!"

He startled as if he’d woken up from a dream.

Your parents had shared a look, and they’d known then that their gamble had worked.

You remembered being sat down by your mother and told that they had spent their entire life’s savings to make you a hero. So you were going to spend the rest of your young life training to be one.

“We’re investing in your future, but we’re also investing in ours.”

You remembered sleepover invites rejected and summer plans canceled on your behalf. Your mother used her meager retirement fund to sign you up for vocal lessons from a former opera singer. Your high school football coach father drilled you to condition your body like an athlete.

You never had a moment that wasn’t scheduled. You were always exhausted, taking whatever “supplements” your parents gave you to keep you going. (Often it was Adderall, until it started giving you insomnia, among other delightful side effects.)

You were miserable. Then again, you’d be surprised by what you could get used to.

The end goal was always getting into Payback. It was where you’d garner the most fame and make the most money, and therefore, make the most returns on your parents’ investments.

So your father later took out a loan to get you some basic combat training from an ex-Vought employee. Your parents wanted you to be well-rounded and prepared for anything when you got onto the team—and it was always when.

If was not part of the story.

Any small commercials and modelling gigs you landed throughout middle school and high school helped pay for your family’s bills, and later for college, where you double majored in Vocal Performance and Marketing. You would learn how to become your own brand.

Through it all, you always remembered what your mom had said to you on the set of your first commercial. You were crying because the hours were long and you missed your friends, and even your brother.

“Come on, let’s wipe those tears. You don’t want to smudge your makeup,” she’d said. When you couldn’t be consoled, she guided you over to a quieter corner of the set. “Listen, sweetheart. Don’t let them see you upset. You'll get a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said, sniffling badly as you scrubbed at your eyes. Your mother sighed sharply.

“You’re just starting out. Of course there are going to be growing pains,” she said. “Showbusiness is a cutthroat world, and yes, you’re so young. Maybe too young.”

She wiped your face with gentler hands, then she laid them on your shoulders and made sure you met her eyes.

“But you’re going to be better prepared than most superheroes. You can literally read men. You know what’s in their hearts, and you can control them. As a woman in this world, do you know how damn powerful that is?” she said.

She squeezed your shoulders.

“That’s why you’ll be smarter than any of them, and you’ll only show the world what you want them to see.”

What you want them to see…

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” you said at last.

Your mom nodded and stroked your hand. Her eyes fell closed in rest. She looked so small and frail in her bed.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. “Always remember that.”

Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes stung. You couldn’t help but feel hollow. What was there to be proud of? You’d failed. All your hard work was meant to give your family a better life, not…this.

“You’re so beautiful and talented,” she continued. “And you’ll get your father out from under these medical bills I put on him, won’t you?”

Deep in your soul, a painful ache twinged.

You ignored it and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of Dad, don’t worry.”

Your mother died the next morning. You wrote a statement about her passing to explain your absence to your fans. It went through Madelyn Stillwell and Arthur before they released the press release and even had it covered in Vought News. Then you spent the next week entrenched in funeral arrangements with your father and brother.

When you eventually returned to Vought Tower after the funeral, it felt like another part of you had chipped off.

Your room was filled with flowers and gifts from your fans, which managed to make you wide-eyed, and even tearfully touched. So this was the power of fame, then?

But there was one vase filled with beautiful scarlet roses. Attatched was a handwritten note:

Welcome home.

You thought you recognized the scrawl. A small smile graced your lips.

You gave into the desire to venture up to the penthouse floor, and knock on Ben’s door. He opened it himself. He was dressed down for once in the afternoon, in a normal sweater rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks. Once he saw you, he was a little surprised.

You held up the note for his view. “Was this you?”

He smiled slightly, but he didn’t answer you. He just welcomed you inside. You followed him into the living room area and sat heavily on the couch. An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request.

While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

You accepted the glass he handed to you and took a generous sip, though you coughed at the burn on the way down. And you took a puff, the smoke irritating your throat even more. You practically coughed up half a lung, until he sat down beside you and reached out his hand. You passed the blunt back to him. You two traded off hits until it was more than halfway down to the roach, and he eventually put it out on the ashtray.

“My offer still stands, you know,” he said.

You turned to him. Even in your “enlightened” state, you could feel his intentions. The way he roamed your body with his eyes was unmistakable, but just then, you had a moment of clarity. You couldn’t be bothered to play this game, or hide your true thoughts for that matter. You smiled to yourself, and you stood.

Ben got up with you, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Thank you,” you said, “for finally showing me who you really are.”

His lips slowly pulled into a frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“My mom died,” you said. “I know you knew that, but you couldn’t even muster up a basic ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or whatever the fuck.”

You even laughed through the spark of tears. You wiped at your face. “This place is exactly what I thought it would be.”

The man was silent while you finished the drink in one long gulp. You slammed the glass on his counter, and you left his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Ben watched you walk away from him, but despite his outward stoicism, it was the first time he felt the sting of it.

You knew it would be difficult at Vought, but you were finding it more and more challenging to keep focused as the months went by.

On one mission, Ben threw a man out of a three-story apartment. He lived, by some miracle, but shattered almost every bone in his body.

On another, Black Noir choke-slammed an escaped convict so hard, her esophagus caved in. And it was a good day if the TNT Twins even zapped the right culprit.

You were increasingly wary of the collateral damage and violence you were being complicit in, just by being there. You had to keep reminding yourself of why you were here. You needed to take care of your father, who was still swimming in your mother’s medical bills and funeral costs. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do this, with or without Ben’s help.

Even so, a day you were called to a full team mission made you more anxious than excited.

It was a drug ring that the police had been trying to dismantle for nearly a decade: Los Reyes. They were the "kings of cocaine," and they were brutal in their retaliations, locked in a turf war with one of the Italian mafias. As Stan Edgar had explained, the police were grateful for any help that Payback could provide.

You guys were sent to a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. According to law enforcement intel, it was the base of the Reyes gang's operations.

Infiltrating it was the easy part. Countess blasted right through the front doors, revealing your entire team to the group of men huddled around entire tables and crates filled with product.

When a man aimed a gun at you, Ben threw his shield. It hit the man, who then crashed into a support beam and broke his back in half. Your eyes went wide in horror at seeing his lifeless ones. You gaped up at Ben.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked in alarm.

"Would you rather get shot?” he said coolly.

The others picked off a few men in the room, but the rest of the gang scattered into other rooms within the large building. Ben barked commands for who should go in which direction.

“Sirena, you’re with Swatto. Head east towards the alley and cut off any rats,” he commanded.

You wanted to take issue with being partnered with Swatto. You glanced over at him. After how you compelled him a few months ago, he still had a grudge against you as well. But you two knew better than to argue with Soldier Boy on a mission.

You and your partner ducked out the east side into the alley. Sure enough, you saw blood splatters on the wall from a handprint, and drips of blood leading down the concrete path. After sharing a nod, you and Swatto followed the line of blood.

You turned the corner into a dusty construction site, where a new skyscraper was only partially built. Some walls were up along with the foundation, but it was mostly dirt, bare concrete walls, and piles of brick.

When you turned a corner, you and Swatto stopped short as bullets rained your way.

“Oh, fuck!” Swatto shouted. He pulled out his gun and decided to fly above. You heard more shots and men screaming, and then, it was quiet. You cocked your own gun, though you hoped you didn’t have to use it. The problem with your powers was you needed to be close enough to touch someone to actually compel them, man or woman.

Your last resort was your actual siren song, a power you rarely used. Mainly because it was lethal to any man who heard it. For that reason, it had to be your in case of emergency break glass tactic.

So you crept around the corner to see what Swatto had done. You were surprised to find that he fought well. He managed to kill a few of them, but one large man was still alive. He was on his knees in the dirt with his hands folded behind his head.

“See? Ain’t so fuckin’ tough now, huh?” Swatto taunted. “Get ready to get fucked in the ass in jail, Paco.”

You grimaced in disgust. “All right, that’s enough. Just—”

Before you could realize what was happening, the man raised up from the ground and swept the gun from Swatto’s hands. It flew across the clearing and hit the wall, setting the gun off. A bullet ricocheted and grazed Swatto in the side. 

“Aw, fuck! I’m fucking hit!” he yelled in alarm. His wings expanded from his back, and he raised off the ground in flight. Your eyes widened.

“Where the hell are you going?” you shouted.

“I’m hit! I need a hospital!” His voice grew smaller as he flew away like a fucking coward.

It left you alone with a man twice your size. He seized you up with a smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re the new one, right?”

You raised your gun and fired, but you were too late. He evaded and grabbed the gun from your hands. You held your ground after the first punch, but the second and third made your legs shake. You were more durable than the average human, and you were well trained. Unfortunately, you didn’t have super strength like most of your teammates.

You blocked when you could and gave blows of your own, but this man was large enough that it didn’t slow him for long. He wore a sweatshirt with long sleeves, so you couldn’t easily compel him with a touch.

Okay, this warrants an emergency, you thought in alarm. When you opened your mouth to sing, he shot out a sharp blow to your throat. Maybe he thought you were going to scream for help, but it had its intended effect of choking you into silence.

He grabbed you and proceeded to beat you down, until you felt the sharp breaking of ribs and blood and dirt in your mouth. Every time you tried to slip away or get to your feet and escape, he knocked you back down. He was toying with you, and having fun with it too. You could sense his sick enjoyment.

But then, you felt his intentions shift. Darker, and more carnal. A more intense fear coiled in your stomach, rising up into your throat. A gasp got stuck there as you tried harder to crawl away.

He grabbed your ankle and dragged you back towards him. He took your wrists when you tried to claw at his eyes, or even just touch his face to try and enforce your power over his.

Just a scrap of skin. That’s all you need.

A whimper escaped you as you struggled, but you kneed him hard between the legs. That managed to stop him for a moment as he grunted and cursed. He got a hold of a meaty hand around your neck. Your eyes glowed in desperation.

Suddenly, the man’s weight lifted off you.

You panted for breath and raised yourself up on your elbow. You watched with wide eyes as Ben slammed your attacker’s face into the dirt until he couldn’t breathe. Ben glanced at you, taking in the sight of your bloody face and cut lip, your arm wrapped around your battered ribs.

His frown deepening in displeasure, he bent the man’s arm until it broke in at least two places. His howls of pain echoed into the night. Ben cut it off by twisting the man’s neck, until it released a loud crack.

He threw the body to the ground in disgust. He barely even wiped his gloves before he stood straighter. Then he went back to you.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

You stared up at him with tears shining in your eyes. You tried to answer, but it hurt your throat. It was also painful for you to move your body. You tasted blood in your mouth and knew it had dribbled down your chin.

With a rough exhale through his nose, Ben lowered down and slid his hands underneath your body. You cringed and cried out when he moved you, but you were grateful. You were embarrassed. And you were exhausted.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you folded your arms over your battered middle. You couldn't help but lay your head against his chest.

The rest of the team was waiting at the other end of the clearing, except for Swatto. Even Countess was quiet as she watched Ben carry you out of the construction site.

You spent a couple of days in the hospital. There you were surrounded by Vought security fielding off any journalists or tabloids, and you were accompanied by your dad and brother.

Chris especially was angry for you, not to mention worried, but you tried to hide your pain and reassure them that you would be okay. This was just par for the course when taking down the bad guys.

Yeah, that one sounded hollow, even to you.

You were grateful when you got out of the hospital and were sent back to the Tower. Even so, the doctor had you mostly on bedrest until your ribs healed up. You weren’t proud of it, but you wallowed in your embarrassment and a bit of self-pity while you watched a marathon of Cheers and ate from a box of assorted chocolates. You dug around for your favorites, but you kept getting the weird shitty filling ones.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came,” sang the TV show theme song. “You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name…” 

“Bullshit,” you muttered aloud. Such was your grouchiness that you had half a mind to change the channel. This godforsaken sitcom was too damn cheery, no matter how much you loved Ted Danson’s fine, rugged ass.

God. Maybe I do have a type.

That was when a knock at the door threatened to disrupt your solitude.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

You’d now recognize that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Sighing, you closed the box of chocolates and hid them under your pillow before you turned off the TV.

“Come in,” you said.

Ben stepped into your apartment and soon found you in your room. It was the first time he’d ever been in here, and he took a subtle look around. He wore his suit and tactical gear.

“Just come from a mission?” you asked.

He nodded and approached your bed. He smiled slightly.

“Eating your feelings in Whitman’s, huh?” he teased, tapping his nose. He could probably smell the chocolate.

You blushed and crossed your arms on reflex, but you grimaced when the motion made your ribs twinge sharply. You made a sound of discomfort and lowered your arms back to your sides. You shifted in the bed as slowly as you could. You’d been in this position for a while.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” you groused. When you looked up at him though, you realized that he hadn't needed to come visit you. He was here of his own free will…and there was something you had yet to say to him. You sighed and met him with sincerity.

“Look…thank you, for saving me,” you said.

Ben inclined his head. He lowered down and sat beside you on the edge of your bed.

“You may not like how I run things here, but this is the way of it,” he said, holding your gaze. “This is the real fucking world. If you’re going to stay here, you need to get with that program, or this place is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

That fell between you two for a moment. The more you turned his words over in your mind, the more you realized that he was right, to a point. If you stayed, this was your life. You couldn’t keep handwringing. You had to be smarter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking very camera ready,” you said eventually. You meant it to be joking, but your voice was heavy. “I wouldn’t blame you for averting your eyes.”

You half expected him to make a joke about your black eye and torn lip. But to your surprise, Ben picked up your hand with a kind of gentleness. He raised the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. He gave you a reserved smile.

“Rest up,” he said.

He got up and strode out of your apartment. Not for the first time, he left you feeling unbalanced…and this time warm.

It took a few weeks for you to fully heal. You agreed to do an interview with Jason Carver, the anchor of Vought News. It was a bit intimidating being in yet another studio, and this was live.

The cameras aren’t there. This is just a stage like any other. You’re just…having a conversation, you coached yourself. You sat in an uncomfortable leather chair across from Jason at his desk.

When he got the green light from the producer, he kicked off the show by introducing you as his special guest.

“Can I just say, Sirena, we’re all very glad to see you’re all right,” he said, with a very convincing note of sincerity. Your abilities allowed you to read the truth.

Only show them what you want them to see.

You gave him a grateful smile.  

“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate that. It’s just…hazards of the job description, you know?” you said. “But I’m doing much better, and I’m very thankful that my team was there to support me.”

“Yes, the rest of Payback really stepped up to not only apprehend your attacker, but round up the entire Reyes gang. Is that right?” he said.

You nodded, reading the teleprompter. You were meant to go on a mini monologue about how great your team was, and how grateful you were to be a part of it. It was a script approved by Madelyn, and even Stan Edgar.

You paused, glancing over to where Arthur and Madelyn stood in the dark with the rest of the crew. They were both looking at you encouragingly, but expectant.

You took a steadying breath, and you decided to go a bit off-script.

“Well, actually, it was Soldier Boy who saved me,” you said. Jason’s brows rose at your shift in direction, but he reacted with all due interest.

“Really?” he prodded.

“Yes, he did,” you said. The memories of that night filtered through your mind with harrowing detail, including the way Ben stepped in and brutally handled that man. “He didn’t even hesitate. He just threw himself into the fray…and when it was over, he carried me to the hospital himself.”

That part wasn’t exactly true. He’d carried you over to a Vought-owned SUV, and the director of the camera crew drove you over to the hospital. You decided to gloss over that detail, and many others.

“Wow,” Jason said. He shook his head in wonder. “He truly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he?”

You smiled. “He’s more than that. Believe it or not, Soldier Boy was the first one to take me under his wing. He knew I was new to the city, so he guided me all over New York to see the sights like a tourist. Stuff I’m sure he’s seen millions of times, like Top of the Rock and Times Square. Oh, and he was also very gracious when my nephew came to visit. Got me some major brownie points for ‘Best Aunt in the World.’”

That earned you a congenial smile from your host. Your expression faded with a kind of weight in your heart.

“Ever since I got here, he’s been the one to tell it like it is, with that deep, authoritative voice of his,” you said, laughing a little when you tried to imitate Ben’s voice. It got you a laugh, even from those in the studio. “In a way, he’s the one who’s looked out for me the most. I’m very grateful for Soldier Boy, and of course for the rest of my team.”

When you finished, Jason nodded and clapped along with everyone else in the studio.

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Well said,” he said, and he looked straight into the camera with two fingers poised at his temple. “Soldier Boy, if you’re watching, we all appreciate you. And we salute you.”

Ben watched the clip from his living room with a small, incredulous smile on his face.

He wiped the remnants of white powder from his nose and sneezed. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he refocused on the screen while you talked about him. He knew you had to be playing it up for Jason and the cameras, but you also seemed so sincere.

“He’s more than that.”

After the segment was over, he enjoyed the climax of his high while sitting back on his plush sofa. He tossed up an old baseball from his collection up towards the ceiling, this one signed by Babe Ruth. He caught it when gravity pulled it back down towards his face.

That was how Donna found him when she let herself into his apartment. She was out of her suit and wearing a little red dress, one of his old favorites. She graced him with a sultry smile.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Evidently,” he said.

She pouted, almost like a little girl. She went to him and curled herself under his arm and against his chest, draping a smooth thigh over his.

“I miss you,” she purred.

He smiled wryly and turned off the TV.

“Really now?” he drawled. “Because by my calculations it’s been…what, a few months since we’ve fucked?”

Donna paused, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I’m not counting that hand job a couple weeks back. That shit was pitiful, and a little chafing,” he said.

For the past few months, he’d been wracking his brain to remember what it was that had attracted him to this woman, besides the obvious outer packaging. He knew the difference now.

In the beginning, she idolized him. Worshipped him. Loved him. These days, she only came to him when she wanted something, and he had gotten bored. Bored of her.

As if sensing his shift, Donna moved her leg off his lap and sat up with a frown.

“Well, then let me fix it,” she said, as she slid a hand up his thigh. Suddenly she was all too willing to use those red-painted lips to service him. 

Ben couldn’t help but envision those lips as yours, a sinful red, while your mouth did sinful things. He’d gotten off more than once to the thought of it alone, ever since he shot that goddamn music video with you.

So he grabbed Donna’s wandering hand and looked at her coolly.

“Look, for whatever reason, I know you’re not happy,” he said, waving dismissively with his other hand. “Neither of us are. So let’s just stop wasting time.”

Her eyes widened. “What’re you saying?”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “Am I speaking fucking English? It’s time to call it quits, sweetheart.”

Donna’s jaw worked as she fought to keep herself under control. He had a feeling she’d be angry. She always was a little spitfire.

Her body was coiled like a spring when she withdrew her hand from his and got to her feet. She gave him an icy look.

“This isn’t going to last,” she claimed, with a prideful tilt of her chin. “In a month, a week, you’ll get tired of her. And you’ll remember that I’m the one who looks best by your side.”

Ben huffed in amusement before he laid back again. He continued to toss up his baseball.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said dismissively. 

Donna let loose an aggravated breath, but she kept most of her reaction inside. She turned on her heel, prideful as ever, and left his apartment.

When her fingers landed on the doorknob, however, she turned back for just a moment. Silence greeted her.

It wasn’t until then that her tears finally bubbled over.

Days later, a knock on your door drew your attention out of pulling on some jeans. You were intending to go on a walk through the city, take some time to get out of the Tower and just be you for a change.

That had better not be Madelyn at the door again. She had chastised you for going off-script at the studio twice already. She made the point that she and Stan had gone over those talking points for weeks, and agreed that framing your rescue as a team effort would cover Swatto as well.

He was still laid up with a broken leg, long after the scrape of the bullet had healed. He was tight-lipped about how he’d broken said leg, but you’d heard from Tommy that he’d shattered it…somehow.

Arthur had smoothed things over about your adlib though. He pointed out that talking positively about Soldier Boy helped the whole team. He was the leader, after all.

So yeah, you hoped this visit wasn’t another passive aggressive dress down from the head of PR. You sighed and went over to get the door. You were thoroughly surprised to see Ben.

And a Ben that was wearing a regular suit, for that matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, steeped in charcoal gray with a long black coat draped over his arm. Your mouth parted in soft shock, especially when he produced a single rose from behind his back.

You took it with tentative fingers and a blush rising hotly in your cheeks.

“Okay, what—”

“Let me take you out,” he said. “One night. You’ll get to see what it’s like to be with the most famous man in the world.”

What an opening line that was. You sensed he was in full Charm City mode, complete with a suave smile. Yours was more amused, even though you twisted the flower's soft petals lightly on your chin in contemplation.

After a few seconds to think, you gave him a patient look.

“Ben, nothing’s changed for me. I told you, I–”

“Countess and I are done, for real this time,” he said.

Once again, you were taken by surprise—mostly because he was telling the truth. You felt it.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he shrugged. “But like I said, it hasn’t been working for a while. It was a mutual thing.”

You weren’t so sure about that, but… 

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself. In fact, it had been half what you’d hoped for when you went off-script. You just couldn’t believe it had worked this well, so soon. As much as you probably shouldn’t, part of you began to feel bad for manipulating him. For lying to him.

But it’ll be good for my career.

“…Okay,” you agreed, glancing down at your plain shirt and jeans. “Just give me some time to change.”

He raised a brow. “How much time?”

You gave him a slightly cheeky smile. “An hour, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He sighed, but he agreed.

“Just don’t keep me waiting all fucking day,” he said.

“Come on. What’s a little delayed gratification?” you teased. Then you gave him a more sincere smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Ben nodded, with some added charm in the look he gave you in return.

You slipped back into your apartment and shut the door. You paused there when a thought struck you.

Shit, now what am I going to wear?

AN: Did you see that one coming?

A lot of darker angst and drama in this one, sorry for that. But I think you may like what's coming up...

Next Time:

You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 6

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[whirlybirbs]

About "Bruised Ego"

If I may ask how long has Toshinori been attracted to Derecho? Has it been one of those "for a villain, i'd tap that." Or more of a developed after the rehab? Has there been moments of where they go out to eat and Derecho or All Might get hit on leading to the other person to get a little jealous.

But honestly amazing writing as always, I've been following since the ben solo days and still go back to read them every now and then!!

it's complicated.

truthfully, pre-villain rehab derecho is dangerous.

you're some old money, long standing yakuza's prized guard dog, constantly amped up on quirk enhancers — a drug i personally consider the biggest, baddest stimulant crossed with an immediate performance enhancer. it's essentially like feeding you a live wire.

all might's agency has a task force dedicated to arresting derecho — or, well you. before you had a hero name. before you were anything short of a frenzied, violent enforcer on a short leash. back when you were a grinning mugshot and an extensive rap sheet.

you were different, then.

toshinori knows it's the drugs — he knows that's how you came close to nearly killing him that one night. it's how he learned not to go toe-to-toe with you in the rain. water is a conductor and all that.

you are beautiful — and you were back then, too. scarier. tougher. less of a light in your eyes and more of a blood thirst that earned you title of most wanted. it's almost like a knife's edge. get too close and you'll get cut.

toshinori likes strong women. strong men, too.

but back then, he hated you.

there was a sliver of him that knew you were a victim of your circumstances — but all the playful rivalry went out the window that night in april when your fists cracked across his face in the pouring rain and you swore you'd kill him and everyone he ever loved.

I LOVE MAKING YOU BLEED.

it's the night you almost flatlined back in that disgusting, cold yakuza safe-house. it's a wake-up call. you flew too close to the sun. one breath away from an overdose you wouldn't come back from.

he arrests you the next time you go head to head, after a botched robbery downtown. you... you just can't keep doing it anymore.

it's that image that winds up on the front page of every newspaper in japan — the one with your chest slammed down against the hood of a detectives car, your legs spread, and all might gripping the cuffs behind your back to tightly you had bruises for weeks.

they muzzle you.

it's... poetic, really.

truth be told, prison is the best thing that ever happens to you.

the villain rehab program is second.

it takes toshinori a long time to agree — with a lot of bargaining and parol restrictions placed on your head. but the hero commission are different sort of vile ilk. the kind you don't argue with.

it takes toshinori a long time to even loosen up around you, too. truth be told, he regrets to admit he was convinced you would end up back behind bars — this time in tartarus.

you're irritable, short-tempered, violent, and often times cruel.

but you're smart. and, despite your circumstances, you do have a good heart. slowly, toshinori can see the fear melt away and you're less like a cornered dog snapping its jaw.

you take praise well. you enjoy routine. you begin to attend those meetings gran torino recommended — after all, it's not just villains who struggle with quirk enhancer addiction. there are plenty of heroes who have wandered down that path, seeking greatness at the cost of their sobriety.

it's slow. a new sort of dangerous. over time, you become enmeshed in his life in a different way than years ago. now, it's through text typos and late night patrols. it's you letting toshinori hitch a ride on the back of your yamaha ninja. it's comfortable silence in the agency's infirmary after a long mission.

and when you smile. well, shit.

yea, he's always liked strong women.

and you're dangerous.

— a reference to this fic here ;

[saphronethaleph]

The Force is just done with you

“Long have I waited… for my grandchild to come home,” Palpatine said, with a smile. “I never wanted you dead-”

“Oh, shut up!” Rey snapped. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?”

Whatever Palpatine had been expecting from her, it apparently wasn’t that, and Rey glowered at the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“Well?” she asked. “Do you?”

“...I have only done what is necessary for my own success,” Palpatine said, with some hesitation. “What do I care what inconvenience I cause?”

“The Force cares!” Rey replied, little flecks of white light dancing around her fingertips for a moment before she shook them off. “I know technically not everything that happened was you, because some of it was Plagueis, but you’ve not exactly been making things better!”

“The Force is a tool!” Palpatine said. “It cannot care! The Dark Side-”

“Out of you and the Force I know which one is the tool,” Rey interrupted. “Just… this is the problem with the Sith, you know. It’s incredibly obvious now I’m able to pay attention.”

Palpatine shook his head.

“You are talking nonsense, girl,” he said. “But you have power. So much power! Take your rightful place as Empress Palpatine, take the throne, and…”

His voice trailed off a little, as he saw that Rey was just glaring at him.

“Let’s recap,” she said. “Your master, Darth Plagueis, worked out how to manipulate the midi-chlorians to create life, in a direct violation of how the Force works. All things have a beginning and all things have an end – it is the cycle that is eternal, not one individual. Darth Plagueis violated that, and to put the galaxy to rights came the Chosen One, to bring balance. That being Anakin Skywalker, who was born of the Force itself.”

Palpatine frowned slightly.

“You seem to consider yourself extremely well informed on topics you know absolutely nothing about,” he said.

“The Force is telling me this,” Rey replied. “Yes, I know, I haven’t got to how that works yet, I’m getting there. Because Anakin Skywalker was the one to bring balance to the Force, and this is where you enter the story because you turned him to the Dark Side, twisted him around over years and years for your own selfish gain. And what do you think happened then?”

The former Emperor glared at her.

“I can assure you, I remember my greatest triumph very well,” he said. “The Jedi were broken, scattered. They had failed.”

“Because of you,” Rey replied. “The Jedi, guardians of peace and justice, stewards of the Force, were broken and destroyed because of you, because you forced them into an impossible situation by hiding who you were and acting in direct defiance of the will of the Force. And the Force responded… by making Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa powerful and strong. Strong in the Force, strong of will, strong of character. The fusion of the best of the old and the new. Luke did what everyone told him was impossible, and his faith in his father did not waver. Not when his master, his sister, his father, and you told him it was impossible, he made the impossible possible.”

She made a gesture with the hand holding Leia’s lightsaber. “And Leia – she was just as strong, just as much of a shining presence in the Force – and she gave up the role of a Jedi to be something else. Leia rejected the Force as the guiding principle of her life, and that was all right as well.”

“I assume that at some point there will be a reason for this nauseating story?” Palpatine asked, somewhat waspishly. “I do not need to hear about the dead.”

“Luke and Leia defeated you,” Rey pointed out. “In different ways, and not alone, but they were the catalyst for your defeat and destruction and death in the exploding remains of your battle station… and the Force was in balance.”

She pointed at him. “Until you came back as a clone and turned Ben Solo to the Dark Side, broke Luke’s faith in himself and Leia’s marriage, destroyed the Jedi Order once more. How do you think the Force reacted to that?”

Palpatine just kind of stared at her.

“...the Force,” he said, slowly, “is not… alive.”

“It’s made of all life,” Rey replied. “It’s an energy field that surrounds and connects all living things. It is the gestalt combination of all life in the galaxy, in the universe. You seem awfully sure that such a thing couldn’t be alive… and besides, that’s how I know all this. Because the Force threw up its metaphorical hands and just plugged me directly into itself. The Force itself has had enough of the Sith.”

“The Sith are eternal!” Palpatine said. “I am eternal! If you have so much power, then you will give it to me!”

Little lightning bolts flickered around his hand, and he reached out towards her. Energy fizzed and crackled, then Palpatine splayed out his fingers to draw power out of her and into himself.

Absolutely nothing happened.

“...what?” Palpatine asked, with a frown. “Why didn’t that work? That’s impossible!”

He clenched his hand into a fist. “Nobody can deny me! Especially no… scavenger girl! There is no way you should be that powerful, it’s completely unjustified!”

Rey tilted her head to the side slightly.

“...you,” she said, patiently. “Came. Back. From. The. Dead. At this point you have no justification to complain.”

The white light that had been glowing faintly around her for the entire conversation lit up, gradually more brightly, until it was seething off her skin like smoke from a grass fire.

“Are you going to kill me, then?” Palpatine asked. “Do you think that will work? If you strike me down, you will inherit all the powers of the Sith!”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Rey replied, as the smoke-light grew brighter. “That would be a mercy. By the will and urging of the Force, I will do to you what was done in ages past to Ulic Quel-Droma and Exar Kun.”

Palpatine’s expression immediately changed.

“You couldn’t,” he said, unable to keep a hint of fear out of his voice.

As Rey promptly demonstrated, she could.

Then there was the sound of running feet at the entrance to the room, and Ben Solo came racing in with all of his former followers stampeding behind him.

“Please tell me you’ve got a lightsaber!” he said, then skidded to a halt as he spotted Palpatine. “Ew. What happened to him?”

Rey wasn’t actually sure, because Palpatine had compressed to roughly the size, shape and texture of a charcoalized raisin.

“...I cut him off from the Force,” she said. “Apparently that’s what happens.”

By the time she’d looked up again, the Knights of Ren had all run away.

[samicakes-exe]

Hi, I loved the hatefucking jtk fic and I was wondering if you could do a part 2 where maybe he is jealous about something happening between the reader and someone else and he "reminds" the reader who she belongs to; or maybe into a crazy discussion jeff throatfuck the reader ( I'm sorry for being a lewd bitch and my lack in fantasy but your writing is so well done and is my first time requesting someone so feel free to consider or not my request :3 ) take care <3

AHHH! I am so happy that I am ur first request! and I hope that I make you proud hun! Also Dont apologize for being a lewd bitch! Lewd bitches are welcomed here!!! am very excited to make the Jeff fic into a little series! so without further ado here is the fic! going to start these specific type of fics with the title!

OKAY SO I MAY HAVE STORED THIS IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY- um so imma just release it without editing it sooooo sorry to the jeff fuckers i’ll get better food to you soon pls 🧎‍♀️

words:

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? <3

(throat-fucking version!)

warning: Jealous toxic toxic Jeff. Roughness, dub-con???? probs dub-con im so sorry (maybe non-con i dunno i wanna make sure!!), a little bit of angst, tears, Public like you could get caught, throat-fucking, Jeff pushes your head. Afab reader, use of feminine pet names, only Jeff getting off. V toxic, Jeff is sweet at the end???, light aftercare, arguing/fighting, Barely edited rip

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕝𝕚𝕝 𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕒 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨:

Jeff is a man of many words (mostly insults) BUT my boy shuts up when his feelings are hurt.

You two's relationship is complicated.

Not quite boyfriend and girlfriend but also not only fuck buddies.

He feels entitled to you.

Sooo seeing you flirt with any other guy in the house sends him over the edge.

He wont confront you out right since he doesn't want anyone else in the house knowing he stands you.

So usually he grabs you when the others are busy- taking you off to a secret corner to have some fun

or HE WILL IGNORE YOU FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!

honestly it's a 50/50 chance

Tonight wasn't any different to the small hang outs the creeps occasionally do:

Tim and Brian managed to get their hands on some cases of beer.

BEN is playing music from his "perfected" party playlist

and everyone is having a good time!

except Jeff :(

He's watching you closely from across the living room, his grip on the red solo cup was tight.

You were in the corner with EJ, talking about whatever.

It didn't matter to him.

The lingering touches of Jack's arms.

How you stared up at him, batting your eyes.

How your giggles lasted a little while longer

You couldnt stop smiling

He hated it

He watched EJ slipped away and went over to grab another beer So Jeff made his way to you.

You weren't aware of him until he had his hand wrapped around your arm and roughly pulling you away.

★★★

𝕆𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕞𝕦𝕥!!!

The crowd was thinning out leaving red solo cups littering the floor. The music still pumped from a small speaker resting up on a bookshelf. There was BEN and LJ still hanging around near the drinks. A couple of other creeps spread out between you and Jeff.

He's kept an eye on you the entire night but now paying closer attention, You were curled up in the corner of the living room with Eyeless Jack close by chatting among yourselves with the same cheap beer in hand.

It put a sour taste in Jeff's mouth.

It was clockwork with every assumed joke, you giggled and playfully touched his arm and it lingered there before falling to your side. Jeff's jaw clenched, teeth pressing against teeth tightly.

Another joke and you were touching him again. This time on his upper arm, a smile stretched wide across your face as you nodded your excited agreement to whatever he said. Jeff couldn't hear over the music playing but the pit in his stomach grew with how long the touch was. He counted the seconds with how tense his jaw gotten by the time your hand dropped back to your side, it was clicking.

Jeff put the cup to his lips and swallowed the last bit of beer, swishing around in his mouth beforehand.

The solo cup ended up being tossed on the couch with a collection of others.

He couldn't pull his eyes away from you for long, watching how innocently you were batting your eyes up at EJ, leaning ever so closer when he spoke.

Whenever Eyeless Jack pulled away however, excusing himself to grab another lukewarm beer. A small pout pulled at the ends of your lips watching him now leave and talk with both LJ and BEN.

At the moment with the rest of the creeps distracted, Jeff strolled up to you and without a word he pulled you by the arm to the hallway.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, keeping his voice hushed.

"What do you mean what I'm doing?" You asked mimicking the same tone as he was.

"Trying to fuck Jack." He said pointedly.

"Trying to... fuck.. Jack" You repeated it slowly, blinking blankly each time. "I can't have friends now?"

"Y/N Fuck off with that friends bullshit."

"Jeff we're not together." You reminded him. He was slowly starting to get on your nerves now, he always worked you up like this no matter what.

Jeff's squeezed his jaw tight, you were right and how he fucking hated it.

"Knees."

"Excuse me?"

"On your knees now, Y/N"

"As if Jeff... You know you're a real piece of wor-" You were cut off by him shoving you down, your knees buried in the itchy carpet.

"Shut up." He ordered, he wound your hair in his fist pulling it back to force eye contact. "We might not be together but I'm the only one that fucks you, got it?"

"Fuck you." You spat.

"Already did doll, so has every other guy in the house apparently."

You rolled your eyes but stayed on your knees. The bickering starting a warmth between your thighs which made you stay put right where you were. You watched him look around over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before his free hand went to his dress pants and fumbled around with the zipper.

You couldnt help but to giggle under your breath which made him yank your hair back.

"Shut up." Despite being a whisper his tone was harsh. With enough effort he finally pulled his hardening cock out of his jeans. "And open that pretty little mouth for me."

You stared up at him with your mouth shut tight and a cocky smile that pulled on your lips. You innocently bat your eyelashes up at him, watching his eyes narrowed.

"I'll make you." He threatened, his grip on your hair got tighter, the nails of his ever so slightly digging into your scalp.

You stayed staring up at him with your mouth tightly shut.

"I warned you." He muttered, a hand of his going and plugging your nose tightly.

Your eyes flew opened and you tried to keep your mouth shut for the longest time but you felt a deep burn build up to your lungs. Holding it in was making the burn climb up your throat. Finally you gave in, opening your mouth and taking the first greedy breath in.

"Good girl." Jeff chimed, and he quickly pushed his cock into your open mouth, pushing about halfway in. "Was that so hard?"

You looked up at him with your eyes narrowed and he reqarded your mean stare with another shallow thrust of his hips. He leaned his head back and moaned softly, forcing your mouth deeper on his cock.

You placed both hands on his thighs while gagging around his cock, eyes watering up when he hit the back of your throat with one deep push of his hips.

He looked back down at you, seeing how red your face has gotten only spurred him on, He quickened his thrusts into your mouth leaving you sitting and drooling all over his cock.

"God Doll." He moaned, pushing your head to meet with his thrusts. "I forgive you~ I forgive you~" He whispered cocky sorrys while he filled your throat.

He watched you drool on his cock, face red and a couple of tears cutting a cold line in them. You dug your nails into his thighs while you held on.

He wasn't going to last long, not that he cared.

"Oh fuck!" He whined out softly, now struggling to keep his voice low. He fucked your mouth faster, holding onto your head with both hands as he was nearing his release. He whispered out many intelligible praises and curses. "Cumming!" He grunted out.

With one final thrust deep in your throat he finally came, letting out soft moans as he gently pumped your mouth to make sure you had every last drop. Soon he pulled out, looking down at you. A cocky smile against his carved one.

"Was i to rough on you doll?" He asked, shoving himself back into his pants and zipping up before leaning down and offering you a hand.

You took it and he pulled you up. "No.. Could warn me next time." You laughed.

"Where's the fun in that?"

[inklore]

garage rooftop

premise: the lines of friendship or something more grow more blurry the longer your eyes move from each mole, his cheek bones, his dark eyes, his lips. and you really don't understand why the two of you hadn't become something more ages ago.

pairing: ben solo x (f)reader

word count: 1k

contents: college au, fluff like this is nothing but fluff with one sexual innuendo and that's it, friends to lovers, quick mention of han being a lackluster dad sorry it's for the plot.

note: let's ignore that i actually wrote this back in april and just never got around to editing it but now that i'm in my driver era i had to come back to it. the title is from this song that i highly rec listening to while reading <3

The way his face morphs into something that was once joyful and silly—the blissed high that paints your cheeks red from laughing too hard over being overheated from how weightless it feels to be laying on the roof of your apartment building. The space decked out with rugs, blankets, and cushions from past and current tenants, mostly college kids like yourselves. 

Making it the perfect place to get high and look up at the sky at night. The city lights outshine the stars, but the clouds—and the strain of ganja Poe recently snagged from his dealer—give the same ethereal effect. 

“Why haven’t we ever...”

“Ever what, Solo? Dated?” There’s a pause between your words, and a slow, sly smirk moves across your lips as you look over at him. “Fucked?” 

The blush painting his cheeks quickly moves down to his neck as he shakes his head in laughter, biting his lower lip to hide whatever feelings are currently making him look like a shy schoolboy—something he was far from. 

It’s the “both. Why haven’t we done any of it?” That makes you both fall silent. That makes the joyfulness fade and something else fill the air the longer the silence spreads between the two of you. 

And it’s not the weirdest question or the wildest thing that’s come out of either of your mouths. 

It’s a question that makes you wonder, why? Seriously why? With the longer you stare at him, the more you take in the nervous tick of his chiseled jaw. The way his dark hair falls into his face each time he laughs and he has to continuously push it out of his eyes. How the crook of his nose looks oddly kissable and more attractive than you’ve noticed it before when it’s this close to your face. 

When the haze from the weed is making your body feel limitless and swoony. 

It’s a feeling that has you turning on your side. Putting a hand under your head shifts your body closer to Ben’s. Smiling when he doesn’t act phased in mirroring you, his body moving in the same motions and position as yours. Now putting the two of you so close that you can feel his breath hit your face, and the space between your legs barely exists without some part of him touching it. 

The two of you had been friends for forever, it seemed. Stuck in the woes of academia, making your parents proud does that to you. Makes you lose track of time and forget how the two of you became friends after getting into an argument over a Hamlet book in the library. 

A fight Finn quickly broke up, but Poe enthusiastically cheered on. 

The lot of you—Rose and Rey included—became inseparable after that day. Something that didn’t have a timestamp or expiration in your mind. It just happened. 

And now you have four best friends, and you’re coming to the conclusion that you’ve possibly liked one more than that. The lines of friendship or something more growing more and more blurry the longer your eyes moved from each mole, each scar, and each strand of hair. His cheek bones, his dark eyes, his lips. And you really don't understand why the two of you hadn’t become something more ages ago.

“Have you wanted to?” 

“The fact that you’re asking me tells me that you’ve never noticed. I’m not that subtle.” 

“Nose stuck in a book at all times, Ben, not subtle?” You make a sarcastic face, “yeah, who would ever think you’re subtle?” 

His knee nudges your thigh as his cheeks rise in that smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. “You think I’d let Poe or Rey borrow my stuff? Steal my takeout from the fridge—which I know you do—without consequence?”

“In their defense, Poe and Rey have three late library books from two years ago and only you and I like the takeout you get from the bodega on the corner, so…it’s not really a fair asses-”

The squeal that comes from his fingers digging into your sides, pinching the skin at your hip and rib bones, fills the air and knocks the wind out of you all at the same time as you realize the position the two of you have wrestled yourselves in. 

Strands of dark hair moving against your forehead, your fingers instinctively reach up to brush the strands from both of your faces. Ben’s lips so close to yours that all it would take is a heavy breath and you’d be kissing. The relaxing rhythm of your heart now feeling like a hammer in your chest. 

Ben’s fingers run along your jawline, resting at your chin. 

“What if we did?” He asks. Searches your face for any reaction or indication that the subject should be changed. That he should stop asking, and the two of you should move away and pretend like this never happened. Go back to how things were—which was clearly not subtle and most definitely screaming ‘I’m in love with my best friend’. 

“Why have you never asked until now?” You answer with a question. 

“Losing my best friend is not the traumatic life experience I’d like to put on my resume beside divorced parents and an absent father.” He jokes, his smile playful, as the pad of his thumb draws small circles against the skin of your jaw. 

“No wonder you’re unemployed.” The two of you laugh, breaths mingling in the joys of this moment. Of the jokes that come easy and the touches that seem to come even easier. But then there's silence, and you’re leaning closer to him, a feathering touch of your lips against his as you murmur, “maybe you should stop being so afraid, Ben Solo. And have me.” 

And if you’ve ever felt like there was something missing—some cataclysmic event in your life that could rewire your nervous system and make you feel like you’ve been barely making it, your heart barely beating and keeping you alive: Ben’s mouth is the puzzle piece as he brings your mouths together in a bruising kiss. 

[raihann1]

This is my first request so sorry if it's bad

But can you write hc's for Helen otis, candypop, e.j, Slenderman, Ben, and any others you want to add with a male s/o who has a hard time with emotions and just needs to take them out some way? Like fighting, killing, ect.?

Have a good day/night!!

BAD DAY?★

NOTES: Thanks for requesting and yeah of course! Im not very familiar with Candypop at the moment so I will not be writing for them sorry! :(

__________________________________

Theme: Creeps with an S/O that has a hard time with emotions. (Helen Otis, E/J, Slenderman, BEN)

MALE S/O

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

You felt a sudden urge of anger bubble up your chest, you felt like just stabbing the person nearest too you. You started by storming up your room and banging the door closed, you heard footsteps and looked up to see..

BLOODY PAINTER/ HELEN OTIS

He's.. annoyed

You almost slammed his paint off his table!

He's a bit arrogant and would try too comfort you but.. he doesn't ask whats going on and just stands there 🧍‍♂️

When you do explain whats going on he takes your coat/jacket and hands it too you and leads you out of your shared cabin.

Takes you on a walk around the forest

Claims he's just doing this so he has an idea of what to paint next (he's sorta lying)

He hates seeing you frown honestly, says it ruins your face like a messed up painting.

Will not fight or go killing with you, he's more of a solo act and he's kind of a jerk when he needs too say that.

Overall rating: 4/10 Cares mostly about himself but he's trying.

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

E/J EYELESS JACK

He immediantly knows your troubles, will bring you anything you want that he can obtain.

If you want to spare, sure he'll do that.

He might be occupied or busy. He'll try to be there for you

If you want to kill he'll take you at night so that he can find victims for you.

Will give you a kidney as a joke to try and make you smile.

He's unexperianced with comforting but he'll be there for you.

Pretty solid, he won't be rude about it or judge you. I mean you didn't when you found out he ate literal organs.

Overall rating: 7/10 unexperianced and may be distant but will comfort his S/O

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

BEN DROWNED

Little shit.

Will make fun of you, if he sees your actually upset he'll panic

do you need something? DO YOU?!

he'll literally sob if you don't talk with him

Will make you watch him beat little kids asses on games.

He's trying his best.

Will whine like a little brat if you ignore him

He'll eventually try to get you to laugh by jumpscaring kids who should be asleep on the internet.

Will provide you snacks except he gets the good ones. (He'll give you a few.)

Overall rating: 4/10 annoying asf but tries.

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

SLENDERMAN

🧍‍♂️

He understands everything, i mean they're slenderman

Can read your mind in case you ignore them.

He will legit make you sit in a chair while he reads and drinks tea 💀

Boring.

I mean they would be a bit annoyed if you did ignore him..

Will let you look around his office.

Will get you a blanket

Overall rating: 2/10 sorry he's not the comforting type.

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

Notes: Wooo one request done! Hope you enjoyed!! Sorry if they were boring :(

As always requests open x3

[brooklynislandgirl]

[ 𝐧𝐨 𝐚𝐢𝐫 ] : {music!ben} is holding {beth} by the throat. { affectionate, somewhat threatening }

Any higher and the tips of her toes would actually not touch the floor. Her nails half kiss and half gouge at his wrist. A desperate clutch. Even she does not know if she's encouraging him to squeeze that much tighter, to where the little sparkling motes in her eyes turn black and draw a curtain of void across them, or if she wants to taste the cool air of his apartment. They ~she, Ben, the ghosts between them~ are not so ephemeral as they might seem. And like a salmon in its spawning stream, she makes a little just forward which do invite his grasp to crush tighter but make it possible for her toes to glance against his calf. In return it buys her a little leverage and room to gasp out a plea. A command. Whatever he wants to be. "Hardah...or....leggo." Prurience clings to her gaze as she raises her eyes to meet his. Curiosity stitched together by wild abandonment of self-preservation. She runs her tongue along the edge of her teeth, an implication that she can extricate herself if he is also paralysed by alternatives.

[the-authoress-writes]

Up Where We Belong Part Three

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of family member deaths, cancer, some to-be-expected cursing, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: This was a pain to finish—you know the feeling when you know what you have to do, but you don’t know how to do it?

(Insert Ben Solo/Kylo Ren/Adam Driver gif here)

Yeah, that was this.

So many parts of this were so stubborn, even when I knew what the next story beat was; combine that with the inner critic being a bitch and the imposter syndrome impostoring, this was a labor of love.

Obviously, I pushed through, and here we have the final chapter of “Up Where We Belong”, which I am very proud of.

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs)

I can’t stop, apparently.

So here we go!

Even while her phone was telling her she was on the right path, she briefly wondered if she was, in fact, lost.

It couldn’t be more obvious that she was in the middle of nowhere, lonely desert stretching out before her for miles and miles, with nary another car in sight, much less a building that could conceivably be a hangar.

It comforted her to see a blue Bronco pass her by at a brisk pace as she continued down the route indicated by her phone, having not seen another car for the past fifteen or so minutes.

She eventually turned when her phone instructed her, the hills along the road she’d been driving next to giving way to an enormous desert plain, and the slightly heat-distorted sight of a building in the distance, probably a mile off.

A smile crossed her face, that had to be it.

As she drew closer, the nerves she’d been tamping down started to bubble up again, and she cursed herself. “Get a grip, woman, you’re here to review a scene, not to go on a date.”

Despite that, the fact that she’d spent nearly half an hour planning what she’d wear today felt like a Freudian slip—a loose orange tunic with small blue embroidered flowers on the hem and sleeves, dark wash skinny jeans and brown ankle boots—eventually deeming it not too much, but not like she didn’t care.

As she got closer, the building became more impressive, despite its rather homely outward appearance—from the white-painted wood panels worn down to their natural color here and there, the fading “United States Navy” emblazoned at the top, to the faint, sun-bleached squadron insignia on the open bay doors—it just felt beautiful in a wild way.

She parked about several yards away from the hangar doors and shut off the engine. “Okay, what’s going to happen will happen,” she muttered, “you’re going to survive it hook or by crook.

And besides, you don’t even know if he’s married or in a relationship.”

And with that rousing Crispin Crispianish speech, she picked up her messenger bag, slinging it onto her shoulder as she got out of the car.

The desert heat and silence washed over her as she moved towards the doors, calling out, “Hello?”

“In here,” came the reply.

She stepped inside the hangar, the shift to relative darkness briefly obscuring her vision, causing her to blink as her eyes adjusted, to see Pete standing by Bianca, looking somehow even better than she remembered, like something out of a movie.

His gaze was fixed intently on her, the slightest smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but match his expression, a “Hey there, sailor,” thoughtlessly slipping from her lips, which she immediately mentally kicked herself for saying; “Damn it, woman, how awkward can you be?” flashed through her mind like a neon sign.

Thankfully, he only brightly replied, “Hey, glad you could make it.”

Her smile widened. “Not going to miss it—for all I know, this is a one-time opportunity,” she truthfully replied, determined to make the most of this opportunity in regard to her novel—other… hypothetical motivations notwithstanding.

He shrugged, eyes sparkling, his movie star smile as devastating as a whole volume of honeyed poetry. “Who said it was?”

She chuckled, wrenching her gaze away from him before she said or did something stupid, settling for the sting of her teeth on her lip to knock her back to her senses.

Her eyes flit about the hangar, eventually landing on Bianca, the frontispiece of the whole room. “Great place you’ve got here, must’ve been hard to get, though, with it being Navy land.”

“Not that hard when you’ve got friends in high places,” he replied.

The sentence itself was vaguely humorous, something wry, an inside joke, but there was a weight to his tone, like the joke had lost its humor, and instead turned into something to grieve.

She tilted her head slightly, another enigma comprising Pete “Maverick” Mitchell revealing itself.

But before she could think too much, he broke the sudden silence. “Anyway, uh,” he clapped his hands, “you had a scene that needs checking?”

She blinked and raised the leather messenger bag on her shoulder. “I have my laptop right here.”

He gestured grandly to his couch, and as they moved towards it, she surreptitiously wiped her hands on her thighs, perspiration disappearing in the dark wash of her jeans, then busied herself with opening her laptop, finger fumbling on the start screen as she felt him settle in the seat next to her—realistically, she knew he’d likely sit next to her, but just because one knew something didn’t prepare one for experiencing it.

Again, the blinking cursor on her MacBook’s screen seemed to cackle at her, but she ignored it in favor of typing in her password, opening the laptop to the dreaded dogfight scene. “Here it is in all its misery,�� she half-joked.

“May I?” he gestured to the device.

“Go ahead,” she sighed.

Pete picked up the device, leaning back with it in his lap, eyes darting about the screen, mouth moving slightly as he read, and in a matter of moments, his hands came up, mimicking the movements she’d written, while his face alternately made skeptical, approving, and a few amused expressions.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she plaintively asked, bracing for the worst, when he carefully placed the MacBook on his coffee table what seemed like an eternity later.

“It’s not bad at all,” he shook his head, an earnest expression lighting his features. “There are some maneuvers there that are only plausible for the P-51 in a rare set of conditions, and a… couple that I’d say are more in line with the capabilities of the F-35–or the 18 in my hands—but overall, it’s pretty damn good for a self-professed newbie to writing a dogfight scene.”

Her jaw fell open. “You’re kidding me.”

“Swear on my wings,” he laughed, the sound so musical, it was almost annoying how perfect and beautiful this man was.

“How would you fix it?”

He pointed, “Do you have a pen and notebook?”

“Never go anywhere without one.”

That beautiful smile of his spread his lips. “Well, let’s turn and burn, then.”

They worked for a couple or so hours, Pete writing out more plausible maneuvers to replace the impossible ones, demonstrating them with some models he’d run off to another corner of the hangar to retrieve, both of them mutually deciding to leave most of the only slightly implausible ones in, save for the ones where the bounds of reality were a little too stretched for the aerial conditions she’d already committed to, while she elaborated on what he’d written, fitting it into the novel’s style.

Eventually, she released a breath of victory, and proffered the laptop to Pete again, now actually proud of the dogfight scene. “You want to read it again?”

“Alright,” he easily agreed.

He read it again, the scene before her the same as over two hours ago, but this time, the skeptical and amused looks were replaced with a captivated and admiring expression.

“Well?” she prompted.

He blew out a breath. “It reads even better than I thought it would, you’re really good at this.”

She leaned forward, needing to be sure she hadn’t imagined him saying that. “It’s good?”

Pete leaned forward, into her personal space, matching her, as he fervently said, “It’s amazing.”

Her breath caught as the moment stretched taut around them, the two of them close enough for her to see the light reflecting off the peridot and aquamarine flecks in the brilliant jade of his eyes.

She looked around the hangar again at his earnest gaze, the itch to do something stupid scratching at her skin once more—she had a feeling that that would be a pattern for her with Pete Mitchell. “So, tell me, what exactly is it you do for the Navy, Captain Mitchell?”

He froze minutely at the end of her sentence, swallowing thickly as he processed the question.

“If you’ll have to kill me, there’s no need to tell me,” she joked, as she literally saw his brain reboot.

He blinked and chuckled softly, coming back to himself. “No, no, nothing as secretive as all that; I’m an instructor at TOPGUN—basically, I teach the Navy’s best aviators how to be better.

That’s why I talked about students during our phone call.”

“We’ll have to compare notes sometime to see who got it worse—I used to be a high school English teacher.”

Pete winced. “Ooh, teenagers, I don’t envy you.

But imagine taking hotshot twenty-somethings who fly multi-million dollar weapons as a career, who think they’re the best and know everything, shoving them into one room, and having to show them quite vividly that they don’t know everything.”

She gave her own wince. “Ooh.

But come on, you can’t have it that bad—especially if you fly an F-18 anything like how you flew Bianca at Apple Valley.

You’re telling me they’d still act up after getting so thoroughly schooled?”

He tilted his head from side to side, amused. “You’d be surprised, but uh… well, let’s just say that most of the “old man” comments typically tend to lose their bite by the end of the first hop.”

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back, just imagining the reactions of those hotshot kids. “As they should—I’d pay to see their reactions, come to think of it.”

She looked back at him to see his gaze was intently focused on her, but it didn’t send a shiver down her spine—at least not in the unsettling way it usually did when men stared at her. “Maybe my next class cycle, you’d like to come down to North Island, sit in the control tower, listen in on the first hop or two,” he said.

“An opportunity to see an experienced naval aviator in his element; I must say that’s an appealing offer.”

“You just let me know if you want to take me up on it.”

It was sheer instinct to say, “You know, I just might.”

Lowly, he replied, “I’d like that.”

The honestly there was breathtaking.

A glance out the bay doors showed that the sun was starting to hang low in the sky, casting a yellow-orange glow on everything, and caution nipped at her heels. “It’s kind of getting late, and I don’t want to bother you into the evening, I should go.”

Pete’s face fell ever so slightly. “You’re no bother, but I understand if you need to go.”

The slight drop of his features felt like a fall from a high precipice, sinking like a stone in her stomach. “Thank you so much again for your help, I really can’t thank you enough for everything,” she reassured.

“It’s no problem,” he said, almost resignedly.

She felt an intense yearning in her soul to strip that lonely note from his voice, to lift the sadness from him which came in like a squall, so she said the first thing that came to mind, her heretofore carefully-maintained caution getting unceremoniously kicked to the curb. “Uh, this might be stupid, and I’m so sorry if I’m being a nuisance, so feel free to tell me off, but… would you mind if I called you again?

Honestly—I, I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this in much detail with, and—and I’d love to talk with someone who understands the perspective my granduncle might’ve had.”

To her happiness, he brightened. “Not at all, I’d li—it’d be ni—” he sighed, a little wry smile playing on his lips, “feel free to call.”

She resisted the urge to giggle at his fumbling for words. “Okay, I’ll do that.

Thank you.

I promise not to call at like, 2:00 in the morning, when you’re asleep.”

He laughed, but pulled a face that had her mentally frowning as they both stood; however, she didn’t mention it, and instead gathered her things before Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her. “I’ll uh, expect your call?”

If the former sadness in his tone tugged at her heart, the thinly veiled hope now there positively wrenched it, and caution was nowhere to be seen. “It might come sooner than you think.”

The boyish, excited expression on his face was enough to make her heart skip a beat. “I look forward to it.”

By the time she reached home, while eating some ramen on her couch for dinner, she found herself picking up her phone and going to Pete’s message thread.

She typed and retyped her message again and again, debating whether or not to send anything at all, but eventually settled on “Just thought I’d let you know that I survived the drive home to bug you another day 🤣”, and sent it off before she could think too much.

Her finger was on the verge of clicking her phone off, but then she caught sight of the typing bubble, and she absentmindedly chewed her lip as she waited for his reply.

Eventually, after about a minute of the typing bubble popping up and disappearing, a message finally came in. “I had every confidence that you would. 😉”

She leaned back, setting into her cushions as she figured out her next message.

The week passed by, and she didn’t pass a day without messaging Pete at least once—he was so easy to talk to about pretty much everything, and it was so comfortable, to just pick up her phone and ask a question or say something non sequitur, his reply coming within the hour, if not within the next ten minutes, starting a conversation by text or a subsequent call, either of which could last hours.

However, this had a drawback.

It meant she didn’t work on the novel nearly as much as she should, and she eventually found herself staring again at her cruel, blinking cursor as her mind stubbornly remained blank.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as her first block, or the block regarding the dogfight scene, but she was starting to get a little frustrated.

Deciding to take a little break from blinking at her laptop’s screen, she traded it for her phone, open, as usual, to Pete’s message thread. “Feeling a little frustrated right now…” she shot off.

Forty-five minutes or so later, she got his reply. “Sorry to hear that.

You want to talk?”

“You free?”

A beat later, her phone rang. “So—frustrated, huh?”

Just hearing his voice had some of the frustration draining from her. “Yes.

It’s absolutely infuriating; I know what happens next, it just doesn’t want to—” she gestured sharply even though he wouldn’t see it, “you know?”

He hummed, “I know the feeling, the same thing happened to me a couple of times when I was writing my paper for my Master’s.”

“You have a Master’s.” she restated, shocked.

“Two, actually—Aerospace Engineering and Physics.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that she simply blinked for several seconds, impressed. “Another layer to Pete Mitchell,” she said, once she found words again.

“Like an onion.”

His joke made her snort while he continued, “I’ll let you in on a little secret—you’d be surprised how many naval aviators are actually nerds.

Don’t let the flight suits and Ray-Bans fool you.”

She laughed, but soon grew serious. “Oh God, Pete, I don’t know what to do—I mean, the last time I productively wrote anything was last week, at your hangar.”

There was a long pause, so much so that she thought the call had dropped, but when she looked at her screen, the line was still connected. “Pete?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He sounded tentative. “Uh, if, if you wanted, you could—could come down to the hangar this weekend—you never know, being where you were last productive might shake something loose.”

“Sure, I’d love to—I mean—anything to make any progress, and—and the company’s pretty good too.”

She tried not to sound too eager to see him again, but she knew she probably failed at that.

“…Is there anything I can do to turn that ‘pretty good’ to good?” the now-familiar smile could be heard in his voice.

“We’ll see what happens this weekend, Captain.”

This time, when she stepped into the hangar, Pete was kneeling next to one of his numerous motorcycles, hands buried somewhere in its engine, dressed again in a white t-shirt and jeans. “You know, I’m starting to think you live in a white t-shirt and jeans,” she joked, though it was undeniable how good he looked in them.

He looked up, a warm chuckle escaping him, “That’s not true; once in a blue moon, the shirt’s black, and you’re forgetting my flight suit.”

She grinned, “Oh, we have a comedian here, yet another layer!”

“I’ll be here all weekend,” he bowed and swept his arm out to the side before standing and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable in the living area, can I get you any coffee or anything?”

“Uh, maybe a coffee?”

“Sure thing; how do you take it?”

“Two teaspoons of sugar, splash of cream if you have it.”

With a nod, he strode to the trailer further in the hangar, and soon emerged from the silver Airstream, steaming cup in hand, which he set on the small table beside the couch, where she had settled. “Just ignore me and do what you have to do.”

“Thank you for letting me intrude on your space.”

“No problem, you’re a very welcome change from my usual routine and company.”

She placed a hand on her heart, “Gee, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

A mischievous light entered those beautiful eyes of his, and he leaned down, placing a hand on the back of the couch, making her crane her head up to look at him. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She swallowed thickly, and he glanced down, tracking the movement, but her “Is that so, Captain?” had his eyes meeting hers in a flash.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s so.” The slight rasp in his voice could have been a trick of her imagination, but before she could think about it, he cleared his throat and stepped back. “I’ll let you get to work.

Like I said, just ignore me,” he said, tone light once more.

She wasn’t sure if ignoring him was completely possible, but she replied, “I’ll call you if I need your opinion on anything.”

He threw her an insouciant salute, before heading off into the depths of his hangar.

The blinking cursor of her laptop was just as evil as it always was, but it didn’t seem so daunting here, so she buckled down, beginning to shave out some progress with the soft sounds of tools in the background—it wasn’t as much as she’d like, but anything was better than what she’d been doing, or rather, not been doing the last few days.

After an hour of sitting and writing, she stretched and stood, looking for Pete, curious as to what he was up to.

“Pete?” she called out.

“I’m back here!”

She followed the sound of his voice to a workbench near a sink in the recesses of the hangar; he was looking through a jar of screws, placing the contents into several smaller jars. “You make any progress with the writing?”

“Mm-hmm—not as much as I’d like, but it’s something; I just wanted to stand and stretch for a bit, take a little break from my screen.

What are you doing?”

“I’m working on some upgrades to one of my bikes, but I, uh, got a little sidetracked and I am currently sorting my screw collection,” he sheepishly said.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I know the feeling, the side quest that you absolutely have to complete before you can do anything else.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “it’s crazy, isn’t it?”

She laughed, a frown soon creasing her brow as she happened to look off to the side.

Involuntarily, she stepped closer to the photo-covered cork board on the wall, gaze fixed on a photo of a young, flight suit-clad Pete, helmet in hand, standing in front of a jet, a tall, familiar-looking man next to him.

The other man was the spitting image of Pete’s son, the only difference perhaps being perhaps ever-so-slightly lighter and straighter hair.

“Bradley looks exactly like him, doesn’t he?” Pete’s voice intruded on her confusion.

She looked to her left to see him standing beside her, an old grief shining in his eyes.

“Yes, he does,” she breathed carefully, knowing somehow that she was in different waters. “Who was he?”

“Nick Bradshaw—Goose—my backseater, back in the eighties, when I flew F-14s.

My brother in all but blood… Bradley’s father.”

The story he proceeded to tell was tragic and heartbreaking; she didn’t even have to see the muted grief in his eyes as he spoke to imagine the anguish he must have endured that day, having to hold Nick’s lifeless body in his arms for what undoubtedly felt like an eternity.

“I became Bradley’s legal guardian after his mother died of cancer, and… while there were a lot of rough years where we didn’t talk to each other, we made up late last year; came out stronger for it, I think.”

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” she breathed.

He smiled ruefully. “Wasn’t all bad, though; got some pretty good brothers out of all that, though I can’t say they’re all still here.”

The dots connected in her head. “The friends in high places?”

He nodded sadly. “My best friend—he was my wingman for decades until he became an Admiral, ended up the highest ranking one this side of the country, in fact.

He died shortly before Bradley and I made up; cancer.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

His breath hitched, and he looked down at their linked hands, before turning glassy eyes to her.

She was caught in that piercing gaze, which seemed to look right into her soul, and something told her that she was incredibly lucky to be seeing this vulnerability.

The weight of that was almost enough to bring her to her knees, but she pushed that aside in favor trying to ease the sadness in his eyes. “Cancer really fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

He burst into a watery laugh. “Yes, it fucking does.”

She laughed along with him, squeezing his hand, making the callouses on his palm press against the soft skin of hers. “You want some help with your screw sorting?”

He sniffled, chuckling, “I feel like you’re using me as a distraction.”

“Yes, I absolutely am; are you complaining?”

Pete looked down at the floor, shaking his head with a soft smile. “Not at all, but I’m giving you five minutes before I make you write again, I’m not about to be blamed for any lack of progress.”

True to his word, after the five minutes were up, he shuffled her off to the couch, and she was glad that he wasn’t enabling her procrastination, thankfully able to make a fair bit of progress from there.

Some time later, while in the middle of spell checking what she’d written, she looked up to see Pete place a fresh cup of coffee next to her before sitting in a chair opposite her, picking up a small stack of paperwork and a pen from the coffee table. “Just pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

For a while, they worked together in silence, as the California sun set, but soon, curiosity began dogging her thoughts. “Doesn’t your wife mind that you’re here late?” she asked.

His gaze almost audibly snapped to hers, his jaw working as he seemed to carefully consider his answer. “…I’m not married.”

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Girlfriend?”

“Don’t have one of those either,” he casually replied. “How about you?

Anyone waiting for you back in San Bernardino?”

She took a deep breath. “Not unless you count my neighbor, Mrs. Moscovitz.

She gets worried when I don’t come home before ten.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Good neighbors are hard to come by.”

“That they are.”

They worked in silence for another half hour before she stood and stretched; it was beginning to get dark, and while she was a little more confident driving the desert roads, she wanted to hit the highway before the sun fully set.

“Going now?” Pete asked.

“I want to hit the highway before it gets really dark.”

He smiled ruefully, “I understand, we got to get you back safe, I don’t want Mrs. Moscovitz to kick my ass.”

“And she could, believe me,” she laughed, gathering her things, and exactly like last time, Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her.

It was when she turned to face him that a thought body-slammed her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been writing a lot here, and I’ve thought of some of the best moments here, actually.

Um… I guess what I’m trying to ask is… would you mind if we made this—me coming over to write—a regular thing?”

He blinked, seemingly taken aback.

“If I’ve overstepped, please pretend I never—”

“I’m here every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday morning,” he interrupted.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah, it’s a yes.”

“Okay,” she breathed, grinning. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

He matched her grin, “I look forward to it.”

Over the next three months, she made regular weekend visits to the hangar, the two of them learning each other, slowly growing closer as she told him about her life growing up in a family of pilots, her years as a teacher, leaving more and more of her heart behind in the desert each time.

Her heart panged remembering the day he told her why the P-51 was named Bianca.

“Uh, __?

I, er, kind of need some help,” Pete called.

Immediately rising from the couch, she walked over to where he was standing next to Bianca, hands deep in her engine. “What do you need?”

“Could you hand me that wrench there that’s out on the cart?”

After handing it off, a few turns of the wrench later, he stepped back, admiring the old girl while wiping his hands with a rag. “There we go, sweetheart, that’s more like it.”

“You spoil her, you know?” she shook her head.

“How can I not spoil her—look at her!” he replied, with a mock-affronted expression.

“Yeah, she is gorgeous, isn’t she?” she said, turning to look at the marvel of engineering Bianca was.

“She is,” he murmured, and something in his tone made her look back at him, only to see he also had turned to look at Bianca.

“Why’d you name her Bianca?” she asked, wanting to draw out the conversation before he would undoubtedly shoo her back to writing.

He sighed wistfully, “I named her after my mother.

Her name was Bianca Rivelli; Mitchell after she married my dad, of course.

She was from South Philadelphia—Little Italy in that part of town—and she met my dad when she was visiting friends in New York City during Fleet Week; it was love at first sight, she always said.” He hesitated, and a pit sank in her stomach. “She uh, passed from a heart attack when I was seven, but I know that it was heartbreak that really took her, after my dad was shot down and killed in Vietnam and branded a traitor, all because he died during an off-the-books mission.

She tried so hard to hang on for me, I know, and I don’t blame her for leaving—not anymore, not for decades—and when I got the P-51, I wanted to commemorate her somehow.

So I named her Bianca.”

She didn’t even think twice before lunging and pulling Pete into a hug.

He stood stiffly for a moment, and she was just about to pull away, but then he positively sank into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” she sniffled after a long while.

“I can still be an asshole sometimes, you know?” he said, voice wavering.

“Maybe, but you’re still unbelievably kind.”

Now, as she was once again driving to the hangar, trepidation settled at the forefront of her mind; she was nearing the end of the novel, and in fact, she was sure she’d finish it today; but what would happen without a reason to visit Pete?

This was the twenty-first century, a woman had the right to tell a man if she was interested in him, but if he didn’t feel the same, she might just torpedo the best friendship she’d had in a long time; she loved to talk to him, spending time with him was the easiest thing in the world, and not having that anymore seemed incomprehensible.

The hangar drew closer and closer, but she was getting more and more confused, and so decided to engage in the oldest, most revered of writerly traditions: procrastination.

She’d just hope that she’d find the opportunity, the thoughts, and more importantly, the courage, to say something to him.

Fear and nervousness dominated her emotions as she walked into the quiet hangar—much too quiet for a space inhabited by someone like Pete Mitchell.

“Pete?”

“You’re right on time,” he breezily said, coming out of the Airstream, cup of coffee in hand, “something told me to make your coffee already, and here you are!”

“Seems like you’re getting ESP,” she lightly replied, trying to belie the mess of emotions she was feeling.

“I don’t know about all that—maybe just for you,” he softly laughed, his eyes endearingly crinkling at the corners like they always did when he was genuinely happy.

And if that didn’t make her heart absolutely melt—truly, how this man was not married or in a relationship at this point, she didn’t know.

She settled into what she had dared to start thinking of as her “spot” on the couch, the coffee cup he was holding clinking onto the table beside her the next second.

“I’ll let you get to it,” he nodded, squirreling off to a corner of the hangar before she could get a word in edgewise.

With nothing else for it, she reluctantly began writing, and in a sick twist of fate, the words came easily, when she most wanted them not to come, in hopes of drawing this status quo out for just one more week.

One more week of driving to this lonely desert hangar, one more week of seeing those ubiquitous white t-shirts and Levi’s, one more week of hearing his voice, seeing his smile when he caught sight of her.

But fate was cold and cruel, and after roughly two hours, the draft was finished.

Tears welled in her eyes, but for completely different reasons than she would have said when she first began rewriting her Uncle Joe’s story.

“Hey, what’s wrong?

What happened?”

She looked up into Pete’s warm, concerned gaze, and didn’t that just make things worse? “I—I finished the draft.

It’s done,” she croaked.

“Hey, congratulations!

That’s great!” he encouraged, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.

I… I can’t believe it’s over… and I’m really feeling sad right now,” she numbly breathed, deciding for a little honesty.

He moved to sit beside her, his leg pressed against hers, and her breath caught at the proximity.

“Well, that’s understandable, you’ve devoted a lot of time to this, and it’s something very important to you,” he softly replied. “But hey, I have every confidence that this is going to be a bestseller—every publisher is going to want you, and won’t that make everything you went through to get to this point worth it?”

His words made her remember her PopPop, when he encouraged her to write about Uncle Joe and Céline, shortly before he died, and it made her smile despite herself. “It will.”

“That’s the spirit.” He reached up, cupping her cheek, thumb delicately brushing away a tear she didn’t even know had fallen, and almost subconsciously, she leaned into his touch.

He seemed to swallow reflexively, eyes quickly darting down before he met her gaze again and lowered his hand from her cheek, leaving her feeling bereft. “Uh, since it’s not every day one finishes a first draft and all,” Pete gestured, “how—how would you feel about taking a little celebratory flight?”

Her eyes widened. “In—in the—in Bianca?”

A smile she would venture to call sad inexplicably crossed his face. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’d love that.”

What better way to celebrate finishing her granduncle’s story than a flight in the same plane he flew?

At the very least, if she crashed and burned her friendship with Pete because she happened to find some heretofore unknown reservoir of courage, she’d have something shining and beautiful to remember him by.

It felt absolutely surreal to sit in Bianca’s backseat, and it didn’t feel any less surreal as they cruised through the air.

Sitting up here, over two thousand feet above the ground, while she was happy with the direction she’d taken in her life, she felt she now truly understood why the better part of her family had dedicated themselves to the skies.

It was breathtaking and awe inspiring; with the mountainous desert vista out below, the clear blue sky above, she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

To get to see this every day, and to have the controls of a marvel of engineering beneath your hands as a pilot… the feeling was surely beyond exhilarating.

“How you doing back there?” Pete asked, voice tinny through the headphones.

“Just perfect—I can really understand now why you and my family do this for a living, it’s amazing up here.”

“I know, right?

There’s nothing like it,” he breathed, and she could almost feel the joy in his voice.

They flew on in easy silence for a while before he broke it again. “So, I have a question for you; we can keep flying nice and easy like this until you want to land or until we have to, or… we can have some fun—nothing like what I did at Apple Valley, but uh, it’ll definitely be a little bit more exciting than nice and easy.”

As much as she wanted to immediately say yes, she was still a little apprehensive. “You promise not to make me throw up?”

“Swear on my wings,” he solemnly promised, “and if you feel uncomfortable during anything, all you have to do is let me know, and I’ll immediately level off.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “…Alright, go for it.”

“Okay, here we go!” Gently, he brought Bianca into a sweeping banked descent, and from there, while she was sure it was nothing for Pete, who’d done far more daring things in Bianca, and surely in his career as a naval aviator, this was the most thrilling thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

Before she knew it, Pete said, “We’ll have to land in fifteen minutes, so I’ll bring us back around, okay?”

Her heart sank. “So soon?”

He laughed, “We’ve been up here for almost an hour and a half.”

It felt like they just got up here. “What?!”

“Time flies when you’re having fun!”

“You’re corny, Pete Mitchell,” she chuckled.

“Guilty as charged!”

But the joyful mood didn’t last long—soon, the hangar and runway were in sight, and sadness suddenly overwhelmed her; she breathed mournfully, “How can I ever thank you for everything?”

“No need to thank me,” he replied, seemingly overtaken by the same sadness she was, though it didn’t have any bearing on how smoothly he brought Bianca onto the tarmac, and how he brought her back into the hangar.

The leaden pit in her heart and stomach seemed to grow even heavier; she’d been waiting the whole day for the time and courage to tell him how she felt, but she wasn’t able to find a moment or the courage to speak, and now her chances were slipping away, the sudden sound of silence as the engine cut and the canopy slid back feeling like the first handful of earth dropped on a casket.

“You need any help?” Pete’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

“No, I got it.” It wasn’t completely the truth, but anything to draw out the moments she had left.

With a nod, Pete eased himself up out of the cockpit and slid down the wing.

Finally, she was able to unclip herself from her harness and stand up, easing herself onto the wing—

“Ahhh!” she yelped, having lost her foothold on the wing, abruptly sliding down the warm metal, and then—

She suddenly stopped, toes just touching the ground, pressed against a firm chest, her hands fisting in white cotton, warm arms wrapped around her waist.

It was almost a replay of the day she met Pete, and it felt like fate was giving her one final chance.

She looked up into his eyes, knowing that if she didn’t say anything now, she never would. “Pete, I—”

The words died in her throat as he moved his hand to cup her cheek like he had two hours ago, and just like two hours ago, she leaned into the warmth of his touch, her breath hitching as she felt the gentleness with which his rough, calloused palm caressed her cheek.

He scanned her face, searching for something, and seemingly finding it, his viridescent gaze lighted on her lips, which had her heart stuttering in her chest and the air shuddering from her lungs.

“Don’t think, just do,” he muttered, leaning in, and like lightning, her mind sharpened; she leaned forward, pulling him the minuscule distance to her with a hand on his neck.

Suddenly, she found herself taking flight in a completely different way from five minutes ago.

Pete kissed her like he flew; with complete dedication, and like this was the last moment of pure, unrivaled, unfettered joy he’d ever have again, and her knees went weak, an entirely different thrill rushing through her, as she felt him push her up against Bianca’s fuselage.

She was breathless, she was taking the first breath of air she’d ever had—it was fire, it was light, it was incandescent.

She only realized the burn in her lungs when he drew back, both of them gasping for breath.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, voice deep and rough, eyes dark.

An actual whimper fell from her lips, and she replied, “Holy shit, I don’t care if it’s done, that’s definitely going in the book.”

He huffed a low chuckle, that devastating smirk on his face. “In that case, you want a little more inspiration?”

“Oh hell, yes,” she breathed, and pulled him back into her.

The End

Previous Part

I very much had an inner debate as to whether the ending of this story was too similar to that of TG:M, but after a lot of soul searching, I decided that this was the only conceivable way to end this.

It starts with the P-51, and it ends with her.

You could call her Mav’s wingwoman, I suppose.

The Hangar, as I learned from an interview I will not be able to dig up from my YouTube history, is actually owned by Tom himself.

He said it in the aforementioned interview, and I honestly should have seen it coming.

The hangar was even featured in the background of the iconic video where Tom took James Corden flying in the P-51, and I am somewhat ashamed to say that I recognized it from shots where you only saw the corner of the building.

Yeah, do me a favor and please don’t bring that up.

“Crispin Crispianish” is a reference to the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Shakespeare’s “Henry V”, from which the title of the WWII book and series “Band of Brothers” is taken.

“Turn and burn” is a colloquial aviation saying which describes being cleared to takeoff from the runway generally without having to hold short of it for any duration of time, which leads to the aircraft immediately turning onto the runway from the taxiway shortly before the pilots push the engine thrust levers to Take Off/Go Around, which produces maximum thrust, and presto change-o, you have a generally expedited takeoff.

“You’d be surprised,” is absolutely a reference to Bradley almost punching Jake’s lights out in TG:M.

Yes, I am aware of the amount of art imitating life here; my writer and myself were very much twinning in our frustration with what we were writing.

You can pry ADHD/Neurodivergent/Genius IQ Mav from my cold, dead hands.

Here we have the answer to why the P-51 is named “Bianca” in my story.

I headcanon Mav has Italian heritage, and I thought this would be a nice way to put it in here.

I also made his mom from Philadelphia, because there’s a Top Gun ‘86 costume test shot of Tom wearing an Eagles sweatshirt, and as a Philly-adjacent girl, I had to somehow reference that even obliquely.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” is an adaptation of a line from “Doctor Who”, which I thought perfectly describes Mav.

Taglist

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@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

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

[vee-nyx]

ben solo is really such a masterpiece of a character…the only child of the skywalker lineage, raised by the greatest heroes in the galaxy, but still so lonely in his childhood because of his parents’ fame and their disapproval of his strong emotions. he feels isolated from his family because they’re all so good and he can’t live up to them. he’s so angry and passionate and human in the face of his larger-than-life role models.

then he finds out from a newsreel that the most angry, passionate, powerful Force-user in history is his grandfather, and it all makes sense. his parents were afraid he’d realize where those traits came from and justify them via connection to his grandfather, and he does. he clings to every bit of information he can find because he does have a family member like him, he’s not a lone hurricane in an ocean of peaceful warriors, but his family made him feel that way for years. so palpatine seizes his opportunity: he speaks as “vader”, playing into ben’s perception of his grandfather’s darkness and manipulating him into following the same path, and it works (for a while).

but goddamn if anakin skywalker is going to let his only grandchild’s life be destroyed like his was. he saved his son for a reason, dammit! so he fights right back against palpatine’s “vader” and relentlessly pulls his stubborn idiot of a grandson who is so much like him back towards the light. but he can’t do it alone and the Force knows this, so it does a favor for the Chosen One and creates the first dyad in generations between ben and rey. between a boy whose family ostracized him and a girl whose family abandoned her.

ben feels it the first time he meets her: the power, the connection, and he thinks he’s finally found his own apprentice. so he tries and fights and kills his own master to protect her, but he’s skywalker stubborn and can’t just let go of everything he’s done as kylo ren. can’t go back to being ben, the unwanted nuisance who felt too much and knew too little. but then she rejects his hand as kylo and says she wants ben. she wants the lonely, angry, passionate boy who laughed and cried, smiled and scowled, loved and hated, and that boy wants her too. but that boy is still guilty and haunted and has spent so much of his life (as kylo and ben) being told he’s not good enough, but she makes him want to believe that he is.

but then she dies, and the Force goes so quiet that ben wonders if he’s lost his connection to it altogether. he holds her and spirals because she was good enough and he couldn’t save her but then he realizes she’s not gone yet and he can save her, he can finish what his grandfather truly started and save the woman he loves, but it can’t be for himself. he saves her selflessly and smiles even as he feels the Force leave him because he did it. ben solo’s first and last act without palpatine swaying his mind is to sacrifice himself for rey because he knows she’s better than him, that she’ll do more good in the galaxy to undo all the bad he did as kylo.

just. something about a boy who didn’t even know the full skywalker lineage fulfilling the wish that started it all. something about a boy who never lived up to expectations independently performing the greatest act of powerful selflessness in generations.

[chloe-skywalker]

Expecting Twins - Poe Dameron (Part#2)

Poe x Fem!reader Solo

Warnings: none

Word count: 780

Summary: Y/n’s got to Poe about the doctor’s visit. But how to reveal it?

Authors Note: Last Part

Masterlist

STARWARS Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I’m pregnant.” Y/n spoke slowly in shock. She hadn’t said anything since they left the medbay.

“With twins.” Leia smiled at her daughter, excited to be a grandma.

“Guess it runs in the family.” Y/n laughed at her mom, her mom and uncle Luke were twins. Y/n and Ben were twins, it must run in the family. Y/n let out a stressed breath. “I’m gonna have to tell Poe.”

“I think he’ll be very excited.” Leia rubbed Y/n’s arm’s comfortingly as they sat next to each other on Y/n and Poe’s bed. They had gone back to the young couples room after they left the doctor. Leia was sure Poe would be very excited when he heard the news.

“He will be. We’ve talked about kids before.” Y/n nodded, she knew Poe would be excited but how to tell him is the question on her mind.

“That's good.” Leia was happy for them. During this time they could use a happy thing to happen. Something to also remind them what they’re all fighting for.

“I’ll need help mom.” She looked to her mom with some nerves in her eyes. Y/n’s never had a child before obviously but her mom has.

“Telling him?” Leia asked with a raised brow in question.

“Telling him and with the babies when they come.” Y/n nodded with a smile.

“I can do both hunny.” She was very excited to be a grandma, but Y/n wanting her to help? That she’d gladly be there for.

“Thanks mom.” Y/n smiled at her gratefully.

“I’m glad he was sent on a short mission.” She laughed a little, Leia was amused at how things worked out.

“Me to. I can’t wait to tell him.” Y/n was getting more excited by the minute to tell him.

“Now how to tell him.”

“Let’s plan.” Y/n smirked michevoulsy at her mom.

^     ^     ^

“Hey!” Poe greeted running over to Y/n and sweeping her up into a hug.

“Your back.” Y/n laughed, hugging him back. He’d been gone for most of the day. It was dark out now, well almost the sun was starting to set.

“I am.” Poe smiled as he set her back down on her feet.

“Hi BB.” Y/n greeted the little orange and white droid with a bright smile, before looking back at Poe. “How was the mission?”

“Good. Easy. How was the visit to the medbay?” He really wanted to know if she was okay. He really hoped she was. He didn’t want to live without her.

“It went good.” She nodded trying not to smile and give anything away.

“Well, what’d they say? What’d the doctor say?” Poe pressed, he’d been concerned the whole trip.

“Come out here for a second.” Y/n bit her lip as she dragged out of the hanger and into the opening.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me?” he furrowed his eyebrows, getting more worried. Why wasn’t she telling him?

“It’s part of it.” She told him trying to cover her excitement so she wouldn’t blow the surprise.

“Okay?” Now he was just confused.

“Good to have you back Poe.” Leia greeted the pilot as they came to stand by her outside.

“Good to be back, General.” Poe nodded, but now more confused than ever.

“Ready?” Leia asked her daughter.

“Yes” Y/n confirmed

“What's going on?” Poe asked, looking between both women in complete confusion.

“Just watch.” Y/n smiled up at her pilot before turning his head to look in the sky where a few of Poe’s fellow pilots had manipulated their X-Wing’s to let out clouds of smoke behind them to spell words in the sky.

It took Poe a moment to read the words but once he did he turned to Y/n with wide eyes and mouth open. “What?! Are you serious?!”

“Yes.” Y/n nodded with the biggest smile on her face. “I’m pregnant!”

“That's not all.” Leia nodded happily watching the scene before her with adoration. Her heart swelled for her daughter, to have someone to love her like Poe does.

“What do you mean?” Poe snapped his head in the General's direction.

“Keep Watching.” Y/n giggled pointing back to the sky.

Poe watched as they spelt out more words and once they were done Poe turned back to Y/n with an even bigger smile and wider eyes. “Twins?! We’re having twins?!”

“Yeah.” Y/n confirmed before he pulled her into a kiss.

Breaking the kiss Poe leaned his forehead against Y/n’s and smiled at his wife, his jedi, and now the mother of his children. “I can’t wait.”

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