#Phoenix Song Echo

[xmencovered]

Phoenix Song: Echo Vol 1 5 / Published: April 2022 / Artist: Maria Wolf

[comicsgallery-marvel]

Phoenix Song: Echo (2021) #1

[phoenixyfriend]

Barriss about Anakin (Ahsoka is so tired)

Or Anakin about Cody (Rex is so tired)

Or Ahsoka about Rex (Fives and Echo are not tired, they think this is hilarious)

(The song, not the video. I mean, maybe the video. But mostly the song.)

[nocticola]

Maya Lopez +deafness in Phoenix Song: Echo #1-#4 (2021)

[echosdevil]

New released stills of 'Echo'

[fairy-ganj-mother]

I listen to so much music by french artists already that spotify was able to make *3* playlists for me and not even include songs that I had thought of... now remembering that I had a belief that french producers were the best like 4 years ago lol

[artificial-hope]

Going to the thrift store tomorrow to see if I can find anything with this beautiful woman in it

[pierre-reads-comics]

Phoenix Song: Echo (2021) #5 — Rebecca Roanhorse, Luca Maresca & Kyle Charles

What a letdown of a miniseries that was setting itself up as a time travel romp of Echo learning about her ancestors and then...just not doing that.

It wasn't helped that many of the characters' voices blended together too much, with Echo truly not sounding like herself at multiple points. Wasn't helped by this last-minute attempt at a romance...sort of?

Also, hehe, Wolverine didn't show up at all. Man, deceptive covers just to sell issues stink.

[snapbookreviews]

Phoenix Song: Echo, written by Rebecca Roanhorse

The Phoenix has a new host, a deaf indigenous superhero named Echo. Here's why you should read "Phoenix Song: Echo," written by @RoanhorseBex for @Marvel

When the Phoenix Force is given a host that isn’t a mutant you tend to get a lot of unhappy X-Men fans. Being wildly unfamiliar with the Daredevil comics, I picked up two random middle issues of “Phoenix Song: Echo” thinking that she might be a new X-character. I saw that Echo, aka Maya Lopez, was deaf and indigenous and said “Yes, please!” without really investigating further. It wasn’t until I…

[imthebadguyyy]

guilty as sin?

pairing : bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader

fandom : top gun

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

warnings : smut

a/n : on a major rooster kick right now so all his fics are coming out first!! happy reading! plus this is my FAVOURITE song on the album.

my boredom's bone deep...

The familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the Hard Deck as you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink. Your squadron mates were engaged in a spirited game of pool, their laughter and banter echoing through the room. Despite the lively atmosphere, you found yourself detached, your mind wandering to more tantalizing thoughts.

Your gaze drifted to Bradley, who was standing across the room, effortlessly charismatic as always. His aviator sunglasses perched on his nose even indoors, a casual grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He was engrossed in a conversation with Phoenix, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

You imagined running your hands through his tousled hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. The way his muscles would flex under your touch, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. Your breath hitched at the thought, a flush rising to your cheeks.

Bradley's eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could read your mind. He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in your drink, but the image of him lingered in your mind.

The thought of his hands roaming your body sent a shiver down your spine. You imagined the roughness of his calloused palms against your skin, the heat of his breath on your neck. Your heart raced as you pictured the two of you in a secluded corner of the bar, his lips trailing a line of fire down your throat, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

You could almost hear his low, husky voice whispering in your ear, saying things that made your knees weak. The thought of him murmuring your name in that deep, commanding tone sent a thrill through you, making your pulse quicken.

"Hey, you okay?" Phoenix's voice snapped you back to reality. You turned to see her looking at you with a curious expression.

"Yeah, just... lost in thought," you replied, forcing a smile.

Before she could probe further, Bradley approached, his presence commanding your attention. "Need another drink?" he asked, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You nodded, handing him your empty glass. As he took it from you, his fingers brushed yours, a simple touch that felt electric. "Thanks," you managed to say, your voice sounding a little breathless even to your own ears.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Anytime," he said, his voice low and smooth. He turned to head back to the bar, and you watched him go, unable to stop the explicit thoughts that continued to dance in your mind.

As the night wore on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bradley, each look intensifying your desire. You wondered if he could feel the same pull, if he was just as affected by the charged atmosphere between you. The thought that he might be daydreaming about you in the same way sent a rush of heat through your body.

The Hard Deck was buzzing with energy, but all you could think about was Bradley and the way he made you feel. You knew that tonight, your dreams would be filled with him, and you couldn't wait for the day those fantasies might become reality.

what if he's written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?

The hum of the aircraft engines had long since faded, replaced by the soft rustling of sheets and the gentle sound of your breathing. You lay in your bunk, exhausted from a day of flying, quickly slipping into a deep sleep.

The world around you was soft and warm, the room dimly lit by the golden glow of a bedside lamp. You found yourself in a spacious bed, surrounded by soft, crisp sheets that smelled faintly of Bradley's cologne. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your quiet laughter and the low, melodious chuckles coming from Bradley beside you.

He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, gazing at you with those mesmerizing eyes. His hair was tousled, his face relaxed, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, a thrill of anticipation as he leaned in closer.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and warm, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You giggled against his mouth, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more intense, until you were both breathless and laughing.

Bradley's hand trailed down your side, his touch gentle and teasing. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and possessive, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt his fingers on your skin, tracing delicate patterns on your upper thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he spelled out the word "mine" with his fingertip, the sensation making your skin tingle and your breath hitch. Each letter was a promise, a declaration that made your heart swell with desire and longing.

You laughed softly, the sound filled with happiness and contentment. Bradley's eyes sparkled with amusement and something deeper, something that made you feel cherished and adored. He leaned in again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a kiss that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

His hands slowly moved lower, spreading your thighs apart, lips slowly trailing down your body in a heated trail, kissing your chest, your tummy, your belly button, one hand wrapping softly around your throat, all the way to your hips...

Just as the he was reaching the juncture between your thighs, you jolted awake. The abruptness of reality hit you like a cold splash of water. Your heart was pounding, your skin flushed and warm. The darkness of your bunk contrasted sharply with the golden glow of the dream, the laughter and intimacy replaced by the quiet hum of the sleeping quarters.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, that you could almost still feel Bradley's touch on your thigh, his lips on yours. The memory of his whispered words echoed in your mind, making your skin tingle with the aftershocks of the dream.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying every moment of the dream. The feelings it had stirred within you were undeniable, and you knew that the next time you saw Bradley, it would be impossible to look at him without remembering the way his touch had made you feel.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, hoping that sleep would take you back to that dream, back to Bradley's arms, back to the warmth and laughter that had felt so right.

messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts...

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach as you and the rest of the squad gathered for a spirited game of volleyball. The laughter and competitive banter filled the air, mingling with the sound of crashing waves and the calls of seagulls. Maverick was in top form, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the game, while everyone else was enjoying the carefree atmosphere.

Bradley stood out among the group, his shirt discarded, revealing a toned, sun-kissed torso that glistened with sweat. He moved with a grace and power that drew your eyes to him, unable to look away. His aviator sunglasses reflected the bright sunlight, giving him an air of effortless coolness.

As the game progressed, you found it harder and harder to focus on the ball. You had opted to just lay on the same after playing for a while, settling on the blue blanket phoenix had got for you, sipping on a glass of fresh watermelon juice, lounging with Omaha on the beach. Instead, your eyes followed Bradley, admiring the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the way he ran across the sand with such confidence and ease. Every time he jumped to spike the ball, you felt a flutter in your chest, your breath catching in your throat.

His abs glistened with sweat as he chest bumped Payback, muscles rippling in his back like waves, denim shorts slung low on his hips, so tight fitting they looked like they were painted onto his legs.

At one point, Bradley looked your way and flashed you a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Your jaw dropped slightly, mesmerized by the sight. His tanned skin, the way the sun highlighted every defined line of his body, left you feeling flustered and warm.

Bob sidled up to you, noticing your slack-jawed stare. "Cherry, stop drooling over him. You'll catch flies in your mouth," he teased, a playful smirk on his face.

You snapped your mouth shut, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I wasn't—" you started to protest, but Bob's knowing look silenced you. He chuckled and jogged back to his position, leaving you to your thoughts.

Your mind wandered, slipping into a daydream where the volleyball game faded away, and it was just you and Bradley on the beach. The sound of the waves became a soothing backdrop as he walked toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

He reached out, his hand warm as it cupped your cheek. "I've been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. You felt a shiver of anticipation run through you as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

It was a messy top lip kiss, the kind that left you breathless and craving more. His lips were soft and demanding, moving against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak. You felt his hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were lost in the sensation of him.

The kiss led to more, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you. You imagined the two of you tangled in each other's arms, exploring and discovering every inch of skin. His fingers tracing patterns along your spine, his lips traveling from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses.

It left you flushed and yearning, the volleyball game and your surroundings forgotten. All you could think about was Bradley, and the way he made you feel with just a look, a touch, a kiss.

A sudden cheer from your teammates brought you back to reality, and you realized you had missed the last few plays of the game. Bradley was laughing with Maverick, his eyes bright with triumph. He glanced your way again, catching your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like he could see the daydreams playing out in your mind.

He licked his pink lips, thumb running over his moustache. You clenched your thighs, instantly thinking about how good it would feel, his face nestled between your legs, lips trailing kisses all over your throbbing core...

You quickly looked away, hoping your flushed cheeks didn't give you away. But even as the game continued, your thoughts kept drifting back to those imagined moments with Bradley, the feel of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the undeniable connection that left you longing for more.

these fatal fantasies, giving way to laboured breath.. 

All you could think about was his warm wet tongue sliding up your folds and then his long fingers curling inside you. You imagined his lips on your clit, sucking so harshly it made filthy noises. Your heart was racing as your slid your finger up your folds and began rubbing your clit as your other hand and cupped your breasts, and then pinching and twisting your hard nipples.

Quickly, you slide your finger into your dripping hole and then adding in another one to feel full. You pictured Bradley's cock ramming in and out of you so rough and so fast. You imagined his warm cum filling up your walls. 

Your fingers sped up against your clit, moaning as the image of Bradley licking your pussy flooded your vision. "Fuck! Rooster!" You groaned, hips rising and falling as you chased your high.

"Oh fuck! Shit!" You moaned, hips arching high as you rubbed the sensitive nub faster, head slamming back against your pillow, hips stuttering as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

Your chest heaved, thighs glistening and breath coming laboured as you panted, eyes shut as you inhaled deep breaths of air.

"Fuck me..." You muttered as you slowly sat up. Looking at the time, you cursed when you realised you had to meet the other at the hard deck in half an hour.

someone told me, theres no such thing as bad thoughts ..

How could you face Bradley now, knowing the explicit fantasies that had consumed your mind? Shaking off the feeling, you decided to head to the Hard Deck, hoping the lively atmosphere would distract you and help you regain your composure.

The bar was already bustling with your squadron mates when you arrived. Maverick, Phoenix, Bob, and Bradley were gathered around, engaged in animated conversations and laughter. You could see Hangman, Coyote, Payback and Fanboy playing a game of cards again. You approached the group, trying to appear casual, but you felt as guilty as sin, unable to meet Bradley's eyes.

You slid onto a stool at the bar, your gaze fixed on your drink. Phoenix noticed your uncharacteristic quietness and sidled up to you, concern etched on her face. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, just tired."

Phoenix studied you for a moment before a knowing look crossed her face. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's perfectly fine to have feelings, you know. There's no such thing as bad thoughts"

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, embarrassed at how transparent you seemed. Phoenix gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Seriously, just talk to him."

You glanced up, following Phoenix's gaze to where Bradley stood, laughing with Maverick. He looked over, his eyes locking onto yours, a hint of concern in his expression. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, the intensity of your earlier fantasies making it hard to think straight.

"Go on," Phoenix encouraged softly. "He cares about you. Just talk to him."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. You knew she was right. Avoiding Bradley wouldn't solve anything, and the guilt and embarrassment would only fester if you didn't confront your feelings.

Mustering your courage, you stood up and made your way over to Bradley. He turned to you, his smile softening as you approached. "Hey," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

"Hey," you replied, trying to steady your racing heart. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Bradley's expression grew serious, and he nodded, leading you to a quieter corner of the bar. "What's on your mind?" he asked, his concern evident.

You hesitated, the words tangled in your throat. But the supportive look in his eyes gave you the strength to continue. "I... I've been thinking a lot about you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And it's been driving me a little crazy."

Bradley's eyebrows raised in surprise, but a slow smile spread across his face. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I've been thinking about you, too."

The weight of your earlier guilt began to lift, replaced by a sense of relief and excitement. "Really?" you asked, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice.

"Really," he confirmed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "How about we get out of here and talk somewhere quieter?"

You nodded, your heart soaring as you followed him out of the bar. As you walked side by side, the tension and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the thrill of new possibilities and the promise of something real and meaningful.

my bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name...

"rooster!fuck!” You screamed out, your toes curling beneath you as bradley continued to flick his tongue over your folds at a ridiculously fast pace.

The room was hot, both your bodies sweating in a tangled mess. Bradley pressed your body firmly down, whilst he kept your legs around his head - trapping him to the spot he desired so much. He kept your hips pressed down with one arm and the other was being used to pump his fingers, unforgivingly, into you. You weren’t able to focus on anything apart from the endless, relentless pleasure he was giving you.

Your fingers tugged against the soft waves of his hair, which made him moan and send vibrations all over your pussy and through your heat. The sounds that filled the room were unholy and wet and downright filthy.

His tongue persistently lapped at your folds, using his fingers to reach the spots inside of you that had you seeing heaven on earth. His tongue felt so good and his fingers even better.

But goddamn that moustache.

All you could feel was the tickle of prickly hair rubbing against your oh so sensitive clit, stroking  it as he moved his face. His movements were so wild and quick that each time he moved let you feel his moustache. Each time he moved a different direction your pussy caught against the hairs and dragged against your skin, causing you to moan out in pleasure. Bradley knew exactly what he was doing. He was filthy and you absolutely loved it.

His fingers pumped harder, curling to reach your favourite and most sensitive spots and his tongue moved faster as you began to reach your high. It didn’t take much for him, with the moustache, to bring you to your release and rooster definitely got off on that. He loved when his moustache got coated in your juices and he could taste it hours later, where he hadn’t quite cleaned himself properly. It was tormenting in a way though, because one taste of you had him on his knees begging for more - he wouldn’t even care if you were beyond spent.

He pulled away to look up at you with endless adoration, and you felt his hot breath fan against your even hotter pussy. . He looked so lustful, eyes blown wide and dark. He was a different man right now - one on a mission to make you scream his name. 

He kept straight eye contact with you as his moustache glistened with a coating of your juices, his eyes remained locked to yours as he ran his tongue over his lips and upper moustache hairs, tasting you without being face deep in you. You groaned at the sight, before deciding you wanted in on the action too.

Leaning up and forwards you smashed your lips on to his, moaning as you tasted  yourself on his lips.  It was divine.  His bristly hairs tickled your upper lips and you hummed at the sensual sensation. He pulled away when he realised you were enjoying this too much, not wanting to distract himself, or you, from giving you the release you so deserved.

"You can kiss me senseless after i’ve devoured you, baby.” He kissed your lips once more and then pushed you back down and reattached himself to your soaking pussy. You cried out at the contact, not believing you ever thought you’d be able to go without the feeling. Nothing would ever compare to this. To him.

“Roo!" You moaned his name in pleasure and returned your hands to his hair, pushing him further into you.

His tongue moved inside of your folds in angles you never knew existed, making your toes curl and your tummy flutter with excitement. You felt your release so close. His fingers entered - one, two, three - and found the right pace to have you completely defenceless below him. You were his to toy and play with, that much Bradley knew. Like this, you were a bowl of jello in his arms, allowing him to tease and pleasure you how he’d like to - with the trust that you’d stop him if he went too far.

“You gonna come for me baby angel?” He rhetorically asked, knowing you were only a few more pumps away from your release.

“Yes, yes just for you.” You gasped as he quickened the pace of his fingers and designated his attention to your pulsing clit.

“Come on then. I won’t tell you twice.” The way the hairs of his moustache moved from his words against yourclit sent you over the edge.

The fucking moustache.

You arched your back and screamed out as he kept pumping his fingers through your release. You grasped onto your breast, needing something to release your frustration into. God you felt unholy and dirty. You felt fucking amazing. Your breathing was laboured and Bradley spent the rest of your high lapping your folds and around your cunt, drinking up every last drop of your release. He couldn’t get enough of you. He would never.

“Can you kiss me now?” You quietly asked and you felt his presence suddenly hover above you, his moustache absolutely covered with your juices. He wore them with pride. He raised his eyebrows at you, hovering just above your lips. “Please?” You stressed and who was he to deny that pouting face of yours. Who was he to deny you his moustache?

I choose you and me, religiously...

The restaurant was bathed in soft, ambient light, creating an atmosphere of elegance and romance. The clink of fine china and the murmur of quiet conversation provided a soothing backdrop as you sat across from Bradley at a candlelit table. The upscale, intimate setting was perfect, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement and anticipation.

You were wearing a silky satin red dress that clung to your curves and shimmered in the candlelight. Bradley looked dashing in his tailored suit, his eyes never leaving you as he smiled warmly across the table. The evening had been a whirlwind of the finest food and wine, each course more exquisite than the last.

As the waiter poured another glass of rich, velvety wine, Bradley reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, sending a thrill through you.

"You look stunning tonight," he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. "I can't take my eyes off you."

You blushed, the heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled at him. "Thank you. You look pretty amazing yourself."

The dinner continued with laughter and light conversation, but you could sense that Bradley had something on his mind. As the dessert was served—an indulgent chocolate fondant that melted in your mouth—he took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "About how much you've come to mean to me."

Your heart raced, and you held your breath, waiting for him to continue.

"I never expected to fall this hard, this fast," he admitted, his voice filled with raw emotion. "But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you listened, your heart swelling with happiness.

"I choose you and me religiously," he said, his voice unwavering. "Every day, in every way, I choose us. Because with you, I've found something real, something worth holding on to."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Bradley reached out, gently wiping it away with his thumb. His eyes were filled with love and sincerity, and you knew that this moment, this man, was everything you had ever dreamed of.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much."

Bradley stood up, moving around the table to kneel beside you. He took both your hands in his, looking up at you with a smile that made your heart melt. "Then let's make a promise," he said, his voice steady and sure. "To always choose each other, no matter what."

You nodded, unable to find the words as your emotions overwhelmed you. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and a future filled with love.

As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same love and commitment reflected back at you. "I promise," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction.

Bradley smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. "Then let's toast to us," he said, raising his glass. "To love, to promises, and to choosing each other, always."

You clinked your glass against his, the sound a beautiful reminder of the bond you shared. As you sipped your wine, you felt a sense of peace and contentment settle over you. With Bradley by your side, you knew that you had found your perfect match, and you were ready to face whatever the future held, together.

what if i roll the stone away?

The squad had gathered at the hangar for a relaxed evening, the familiar scent of jet fuel and the hum of aircraft providing a comforting backdrop. Hangman, Bob, Coyote, Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy were all there, sharing stories and laughter after a long day of training. You and Bradley were part of the group, but your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the secret you were carrying.

You and Bradley had been secretly dating for a while now. The relationship was a source of joy and excitement, but the thought of revealing it to the squad filled you with nervous anticipation. You worried about how it might change the dynamics within your tight-knit group. Yet, tonight felt different. A sense of determination had been building within you, and you knew it was time to share your happiness with your friends.

As the evening progressed, you laughed and chatted with the others, but your mind kept drifting to Bradley. He caught your eye several times, his reassuring smile giving you the strength you needed. You knew he was ready to support you, no matter what.

Finally, you decided it was time. You excused yourself, mentioning you needed to check something by your jet. The squad continued their conversation, but Bradley's eyes followed you, filled with a mix of curiosity and encouragement.

You walked towards the edge of the hangar, the cool night air calming your nerves. Before you disappeared, you turned back to face the group. Bradley stood up, sensing that something significant was about to happen.

With your heart pounding, you walked back to him, your determination solidifying with each step. The squad’s chatter quieted as they noticed your serious expression. You stopped in front of Bradley, taking a deep breath. Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him, a tender yet passionate kiss that conveyed all the love and connection you felt.

When you pulled back, you were met with a chorus of surprised exclamations.

"Whaaas?" Hangman exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.

"No way!" Fanboy said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, I'll be damned," Coyote muttered, shaking his head with a smile.

Phoenix looked at you, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly turning into a warm, approving smile. Bob's mouth hung open, but he quickly composed himself, giving you a thumbs-up.

Payback just laughed, slapping Bradley on the back. "About time!"

Feeling a rush of relief and exhilaration, you looked around at your friends, their reactions a mixture of shock, amusement, and support. Bradley wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his smile beaming with pride.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," he said, his voice filled with affection.

Phoenix stepped forward, giving you a hug. "I’m happy for you guys. Seriously, it’s about time you both found some happiness."

Hangman chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this explains a lot. Congrats, you two."

As the initial surprise faded, the group quickly accepted the new dynamic. The conversation shifted to teasing and light-hearted jokes, but there was an undercurrent of genuine happiness and support for you and Bradley.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety of keeping your relationship a secret melting away. With Bradley by your side and the unwavering support of your friends, you knew that everything would be okay.

Later, as you headed to check on your jet one last time, you glanced back at Bradley, who was watching you with a proud, loving expression. You blew him a kiss, feeling lighter and happier than you had in a long time.

a/n : i adored writing this!! i hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!! as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

the tortured poets department: @ateezseonghwanot @khaylin27 @imgondeletedis @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @stylestastic

general : @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird-blog

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM SPECIFYING WHICH FANDOM 🤍

[raekensluver]

shadows of the past (2)

part one, part three

description: during the midst of the war, you and theo come in contact again and try to figure out what your future holds.

pairing: ex boyfriend!death eater!theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: angst, the war of hogwarts, theo being a death eater

song rec: void by: the nbhd- "i need you to feel alive, i need you to fill the void"

w.c: 1.3k

an: again...i tried. this is a part two. i appreciate feedback! let me know what you thought! (original title was broken promises)

theodore nott walked the deserted halls of hogwarts, his heart feeling heavier with each step. the stone corridors echoed with whispers of his past, taunting him with the memories of laughter and joy that now felt like a distant echo. the castle had become a prison, not just for those who opposed the new regime, but for him as well. every portrait's gaze seemed to judge him, and each and every corner held a reminder of the girl he had lost.

years had passed since that pivotal night. the war had devastated the wizarding world, leaving scars that even time itself struggled to heal. the order of the phoenix had been dispersed, and the death eaters have emerged as the ruling force. theo had been made a death eater, not out of loyalty, but out of fear for his survival. it was a choice he had made with an aching heart, one that had cost him everything he held dear.

one evening, as theo was patrolling the corridors, he heard a faint sound—a whisper of a name that seemed to dance in the shadows. he froze, his wand at the ready, his senses heightened. the name grew louder, more insistent, and as he approached the source, he felt his heart stutter in his chest. it was her—you, his ex-girlfriend—the one he had pushed away to protect.

your eyes met his, wide with shock and fear, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. the war had not been kind to you; there were scars etched into your face that displayed hardship and pain, but you were alive, and that was all that mattered.

theo's hand fell from his wand, his body momentarily paralyzed by the sight of you. the rain outside had soaked your hair, plastering it against your face, and your clothes were tattered and worn. yet, you were the most beautiful thing he had seen in years.

"what are you doing here?" he whispered, his voice strained with a mix of relief and terror. "you should be hiding, away from all of this."

your eyes searched his, a silent plea for understanding. "i couldn't," you replied, your voice trembling. "i had to find you, to…"

the words caught in your throat, and theo could see the fear and hope brewing within you. he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to you, but you flinched at his touch. the reality of his situation hit him like a physical blow—his love, his soulmate, standing before him, yet worlds apart.

"you shouldn't have come," he said gently, his voice filled with regret. "it's not safe for you here."

you took a step closer, the rainwater dripping from you to form a small puddle on the floor between you two at your feet. "i know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "but I had to know if you were okay."

theo felt a twinge of guilt. he had pushed you away to keep her from the danger of his new life, yet here you were, in the heart of it. "i'm alive," he murmured, his hand still hovering between you. "but I'm not okay."

your eyes searched his, seeking for the truth. "what have they done to you?" you asked, your voice cracking.

theo sighed heavily, his eyes dropping to the floor. "i've made choices," he said, his voice tight. "choices that i never wanted to make. i'm not the person you knew."

your gaze never wavered from his. "I don't care about the choices you've made," you said fiercely. "I care about you."

theo's chest tightened at her words. the love he saw in your eyes was unchanged, despite the darkness that had consumed him. he knew he didn't deserve it, not anymore. "you should," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "you should care about your own safety."

"but i do," you insisted, taking his hand in yours. your touch was electric, sending a jolt of warmth through his cold, numb fingers. "i care about you, and if you're fighting, then i'll fight too."

theo's grip tightened around you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. "you don't understand," he said, his voice strained. "this isn't a fight you can win. it's too dangerous."

"i understand more than you think," you replied, your grip firm. "i've seen the world outside these walls, the pain, the fear. i know what we're up against."

theo's throat constricted. he didn't want you to know this world, didn't want you to be a part of his torment. "i can't protect you here," he said, his voice ragged. "if they find out you're with me…"

your eyes never left his. "then let's not be found," you said, your voice strong despite the quiver in your lip. "we can hide, we can run."

theo felt a spark of hope, a flicker of the life he thought he had lost. but it was quickly doused by the cold reality of the situation. "you don't know what you're asking," he said, his grip on your hand tightening. "this isn't a game, it's a war. and in this war, love is a liability."

your eyes searched his, filled with determination. "i've made my choice," you said firmly. "i choose you, theodore. i've always chosen you."

theo felt a pang of agony at the sound of his name on your lips. he had hoped that by pushing you away, he could save you from the darkness that was now his reality. but here you were, standing before him, willing to risk it all.

"we can't," he said, his voice hoarse. "if you're caught with me, it will only make things worse for both of us. you have to go, now."

your grip tightened. "no," you said, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. "i won't leave you."

theo's heart clenched. he knew he had to be the strong one, to make the choice that would keep you safe. "you have to," he insisted, his voice firm despite the turmoil within. "for both our sakes."

tears spilled down your cheeks, but you nodded, your eyes never leaving his. "i'll go," you whispered, "but I'll wait for you. i'll always wait for you."

theo felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of his decision crushing him. he knew he could never ask you to wait in a world like this, but the hope in your eyes was too much to extinguish. "you can't," he said, his voice thick. "you have to go live your life, be happy without me."

tears welled in your eyes, but you didn't protest. instead, you reached into the pocket of your robe and pulled out a small, worn object. "take this," you whispered, pressing it into his hand. it was a small chain necklace theo had given you in your sixth year, with a small charm of a swan hanging from it. "keep it close. It's a reminder that no matter what happens, i'll always be with you."

theo closed his hand around the necklace, feeling its warmth seep into his skin. he knew he couldn't keep you here, couldn't risk your life for his own sake. he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, and whispered the words that would break his heart all over again. "i'm sorry," he murmured. "i'm so sorry."

with a trembling hand, he pushed you gently towards the door. "go," he said, his voice cracking. "find a way to live without me. forget me if you have to."

your eyes searched his, filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "i can't," you whispered. "but I'll survive. i promise."

[katsu28]

🍭 jesus you're hot." "what?" with rooster maybe?? CONGRATS ON 1K 💕💕

thank you sweet anon baby i love u!!! here's rooster being the most helpful boyfriend but still a little shit <3

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, much fluff, 1.1k

Rooster was happy when he got home tonight, still buzzing with excitement from spending some well needed time with his friends after a grueling few weeks of training. He whistled the tune to the song that was on the radio last as he made his way up the walk and let himself inside, locking the door behind him before he did anything else.

Your voice echoed from somewhere in the house the moment the door closed. “That you, Roos?” 

“No, I’m a house burglar.” 

“You’re hilarious. How was squad night?” Rooster could tell you were rolling your eyes playfully at his words. 

“Good. Missed you though. The guys wanna know if you're still doing happy hour with us next week, and Phoenix says you better come so you can be her wingwoman.” He called back, pulling open the fridge to grab a bottle of water before wandering down the hall in search of the love of his life (aka you).

When he found you in the bedroom, you were sitting at the vanity clad in one of his faded Navy t-shirts with your back towards him, but he could see you in the mirror with a shiny looking sheet mask over your face, your hair held up and away from it by the fluffy headband thing you always used whenever you did your makeup.

You caught his eye in the mirror, beaming at him happily. “Thanks for reminding me, I’ll text Nat later.”

Rooster ambled into the room, tossing his jacket on the bed, unloading his pockets on the nightstand, taking a sip of his water. All the while, you were brushing your hair, brow creased in concentration at the task at hand and not at all at him watching you do your thing. 

“Jesus you’re hot.” He mumbled, leaning against the doorway with one shoulder. 

You tore your eyes away from your moving hands, turning around in your chair to face him. “What?” 

“You heard me, sweetheart.” 

“I’ve got stuff all over my face, Bradley, I really doubt I’m anything close to eye candy right now.” You chuckled, setting down the brush. Rooster shot you a pointed look. 

“Uh, no. Total eye candy, all the time. You could be wearing a trash bag covered in bird shit and I’d still think you’re the hottest, prettiest girl in the whole world, baby.” 

“That’s…disgusting.” 

“I’m trying to be romantic here, woman!” 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” You laughed, finally rising from your seat and making your way across the room to him. He was rosy cheeked, warm to the touch when your hands linked around the back of his neck, a hint of beer on his breath as he slid in closer to you. You kissed his cheek, lingering in his embrace for a few more seconds before attempting to wriggle away. “I gotta wash this mask off, Roos.” Rooster let out a groan, sagging back against the doorframe dramatically. “You can come with me if you're gonna be all sad and mopey about it.”

He perked up at that, following you to the bathroom like a lost puppy, and when you grabbed a small washcloth from the drawer, he cocked his head, meeting your eye in the mirror yet again. “Can I take it off for you?” 

You arched an eyebrow at him, shooting him a ‘really?’ look.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant the mask.” He tsked, giving your side a light pinch. “Dirty, dirty mind you’ve got there, sweetheart. I gotta watch out for you.” 

“Knock yourself out.” 

Grinning, he lifted you onto the counter, peeling off the sticky mask delicately so as to make sure it all came off in one piece, and tossing it in the trash before grabbing the towel and wetting it with warm water. Your eyes fluttered shut as Rooster wiped all over your face gently, one of his hands cupping your face to hold your head still while he got all the excess mask off. The stroke of his hand was careful yet deliberate, like everything he did. 

He reached for your headband next, letting the elastic of it snap against your eyes and snickering when you huffed and swatted blindly at him. As soon as he’d gotten it off though, he grinned, immediately bringing his other hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“There’s my girl.” He hummed, tilting his head. There was a glint in his eye that he only got when he was gearing up to kiss you, but you clamped a hand over his mouth before he could, tilting your chin up at him. 

“Nuh uh. What do I need to do before you do that?” 

Rooster’s eyebrows creased in thought, frowning for a second before straightening up suddenly, snapping his fingers in realization. “Moisturizer!” 

“Good.” His hand hovered above the collection of tiny bottles on the counter, fingers wiggling until he found the right one. He popped the cap, squirting a decent sized amount into his palm and spreading it around before promptly planting both hands on your face, squishing your cheeks as he rubbed in the moisturizer playfully rough. 

“Oh, you asshole!” You spluttered, trying to bat his hands away from your face. He busted up at your indignance, going in again a lot softer this time and making sure he’d gotten every part of your face. Now came the time to kiss you and he did, pressing his lips against yours briefly but earnestly. 

“Done and doner. Who’s the best boyfriend in the world?” He nodded proudly when he pulled away, pointing at himself with his thumbs. “I’m gonna save you the headache, because the answer is this guy!”

“I mean, I guess so,” You sighed mock defeatedly, giggling at the way his features instantly warmed into offense. “The best boyfriend in the world would come to bed and cuddle with me until I fall asleep.” 

Rooster nodded quickly. “Lemme shower real quick, then I’ll be right there,” He insisted, punctuating his promise with another peck to your lips. 

“I dunno, I might fall asleep before you’re done.” You never went to bed without him when he was home, but you loved to mess with him every so often. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” He glared at you. “I’ll wake you up again, I swear to god.” 

“Hurry up and shower then, drama queen.” 

“Ten minutes, tops!” 

He was true to his word, squeaky clean and climbing into bed and wrapping you in his arms not even ten minutes later. His hair was still a little damp and curling at the ends, but he smelled delicious, like soap and—

“Did you use my shampoo?” 

“...no?” 

You squinted up at him, to which he averted his gaze guiltily. "Sure smells like you did."

“Baby, if you didn’t want me to use it, stop buying such good smelling shower shit.” 

“You’re the reason I keep running out of shampoo so fast! Oh my god, I knew it wasn’t me!” 

“I’ll run to the drugstore in the morning.” 

“You better.”

[tacobellabeanburrito]

Hey, I wanted to know if you had any angst phoenix wright centered fics that you could recommend me

ANON YOU HAVE COME TO THE ABSOLUTE RIGHT PLACE BBG.

(I HEAVILY imprint on Phoenix Wright, so I have a lot of angst fics in my arsenal that center around him)

(Also, I highly recommend looking at my bookmarks, cause there’s ALOT more that I most likely don’t mention here. So uh, yeah)

(ALSO ALSO, idk if you have already but look at my other rec fic lists because a lot of the Phoenix Wright angst fics that I love are on there as well and I don’t wanna double up)

ANYWAY! Here we go! (Some of them don’t have blurbs, others will)

-

“I Might’ve Been A Good Man, Who Loved Someone With All He Had” by SapphireWire: I don’t mind this one too much. It just doesn’t have the headcannons that I personally like. A lot of the times I bookmark fics just so I can go back to them if my mind is ever like “Oh shit, do you remember this fucking baller moment from this fanfic?” And I’m like “Oh shit yeah”. Worth a read, though. There’s also a sequel.

“Turnabout Forgotten” by Nali_li: Alright Anon, so a lot of these fics I don’t really remember much about (cause I have a shit memory) and am just kinda looking through my bookmarks and seeing which ones have definite Phoenix angst in them. This one is about Phoenix who gets amnesia and doesn’t remember anything past the Will Powers case.

“Pressure (Pushing Down On Me)” by ApprenticeofDoyle: A long ass Ace Attorney that is actually really good. It’s not so much my cup of tea because it does ALOT with the Ace Attorney canon and shakes it until some of the plots points are different but it is good.

“These Ties That Bind” by The HomestuckWhovian: OMG I LOVE THIS ONE. An all time favorite. Holds all of my headcannons for Phoenix, I don’t wanna spoil it, you just gotta read it, buddy. It’s very good. It’s a soulmate type fix but also centered around Phoenix’s other relationships (Not just him and Miles). Fully recommend.

“Chains Of The Heart” by NarshTaters: Don’t really remember much about it since I read it a while back, but it goes into detail about Phoenix and his whole complexes while Miles uses the magatama on him. A great fic nonetheless.

“They’ll Never Love You Like I Can” by Josdalynn: Ahhh! I was looking for this one. Glad I found it. It’s about a younger Phoenix (Feenie) going forward in time and showing up at Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office. I like this one a lot.

“Behind Closed Doors” by Stressedtoimpress: I really like this one a lot but I can never go back to it because it has an unhappy ending. But definitely has a lot of Phoenix angst. A lot of Miles angst too. Contains Krisnix.

“To Whom Do I Owe The Pleasure?” by Loreley: OH BABY THERE IS SOMETHING SOOOO GOOD WHEN PEOPLE PUT IN A FANFIC “Phoenix Wright Chooses Death” during his disbarment era as an echo to Miles’ letter. Girlypop this one is good.

“The Best Revenge” by pantswarrior: Ok this one is, mature and for good reason. I’ll let you figure out what happens cause I don’t wanna spoil cause it’s really good but also very dark but also good.

“Hold Me In Your Arms” by AnonymousChicken: A very cute fic. Not too angsty but pretty angsty on the first chapter. It’s narumitsu centered, and features a traumatized Maya.

“Imminent Danger” by ValueTurtle: Ok, so, I don’t really like this one too much. It’s good, but not my thing. But definitely very angsty in the Phoenix department. I won’t spoil it but check it out if you wanna.

“I’m Getting So Tired Of Coughing Out My Lungs” by heiisklchen: Oh, oh this one is good. This one is about Phoenix dealing with an eating disorder.

“Like Glass” by Machina (XMachina): A good Phoenix fic. Short, but good. It’s about Phoenix and his relationships with Miles, Dahlia/Iris and Kristoph. Mostly Miles, though.

“And I’m Mr. Loverman” by LicoriceLovingLoser: We love Ricky Montgomery songs and Phoenix Wright disbarment fics.

“The Eye Of The Beholder” by 3musketears: A nice hurt/comfort fic regarding Phoenix and his body post disbarment.

“Sharp” by silvered: AHHH loved this one. I just reread it when looking for fics for you Anon and I really liked it. Has some Krisnix in it.

“Despite Everything, It’s Still You” by orphan_account (lmao, just search up the name and if you can’t find it tell me)

“So Shut Your Eyes” by pessu (kittiv): Not a Phoenix centric one but I found it while I was looking and I really, really like it.

“I Make Sense Of The Madness (When I Listen To Your Voice) by pychelocs: I like this one a lot.

“Hurt Me, Why Won’t You?” By daiicraa: A really angsty but sweet one.

“Appreciate All Parts Of Me” by Booloodle: SLAY FIC.

“When The Chips Are Down” by rib14

“Avoidance” by JJamescat

“Perpetual Motion” by PhantomWriter

“Goodbye, My Dearests” by tunaricebowl

“Gold, Marble and Burgers” by tunaricebowl

“Hold Onto Me (Cause I’m A Little Unsteady) by samiolioli (Samioli)

“Better Light A Candle Than Curse The Darkness” by daydreamn019

-

Ok anon, that’s about it for Phoenix Wright angst fics. BUTTTT ALSO. Here’s one just for funnzies that I just remembered. It isn’t angst but I come back to it a lot.

“Honey, Honey” by chcolayecoveredkashews: HILARIOUS. We love accidental Sugar Daddy Miles.

UGH AND OKAY. ANOTHER CALL TO ACTION. Doing this just reminded me of the fic but there’s a fic mentioned during the other fic rec list I posted AND I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT BECAUSE IT’S DRIVING ME BONKERS.

Ok so, plot is that through mystical Magatama fuckery, Miles and Phoenix get trapped in a mindpalace like world where they are married. Their family is trying to get them out of their own heads and ITS ANGSTY AND SOOO GOOD. Has “Perfect” by SideBlog vibes. So if anyone knows this fic. PLEASE SEND IT MY WAY.

Anyway, getting that out of the way, thank you Anon for your question about fics, and good luck reading! (Also, still check out my other fic rec list cause those have ALOT of Phoenix angst and also check out my bookmark list PLEASE I haven’t done justice to all the fics I have in there that I like and that I have forgotten about)

[call-sign-shark]

I love your stories! Could you please write some more father figure mav and platonic dagger squad? Xx

awwww thank you so much anon, this one is for you! Me love cute platonic fluff, it's just so heartwarming ;w;

✨ Ohana Means Family ✨

Summary: During a movie night, the Dagger Squad fights over which movie to watch. While observing them, you realize that you, who never had a family, finally found one.

Words: 1k

Tags: PURE FLUFF, Platonic love, family fluff, DadMav and his Dagger kids // reader super close to Hangman

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“But I don’t want to watch a horror movie!” Hangman complains, crossing his arms on his muscular chest. Bob lowers his head, disappointed. 

“You never listen to any of my suggestions anyway.” He says with a little voice, readjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Bob, you ALWAYS suggest horror movies. Last month we did a Saw marathon. And you were the only one enjoying it. Payback almost fainted.”  

“That’s not true! I was just… Just tired!” Payback retorts from below. He is sitting on the floor, holding the bowl of popcorn between his legs. He has already eaten half of it, even if the movie had not started yet.

“What about a Disney?” Phoenix suggests.

“To hell with Disney, it’s been two weeks we only watch Disney movies.” 

“Come on, everyone likes them.”

“The problem is not the movies themselves. It’s Rooster constantly singing the songs during and after the movies.”  Hangman rolls his eyes,    laying on the sofa with his head on your lap and his legs on Coyote's.

“Fuck you, Jake. At least I don’t choose spaghetti westerns.” Rooster growls, also sitting on the floor. He is braiding Shark’s long blonde mane with surprising patience. 

At one point you stop listening to the argument. When a dagger suggests a movie, another one immediately complains. This is a vicious circle. Yet, your Y/EC eyes carefully observe everyone while your hand absentmindedly pets Hangman’s blonde hair. He had just closed his eyes, almost purring at your touch. Sometimes he winces when he hears a movie title he does not like. 

“Star Trek?”

A pillow flies across the room and hits Fanboy right in the face. The WSO shakes his head, looks dagger at Shark, and throws it back. You don't need to listen to the conversation: you know he probably suggested the old Stark Trek movies. After all, that is why you all call him Fanboy. The pillow flies again yet Rooster and Shark slightly tilt on the same side simultaneously, avoiding the pillow. 

“And what about a musical?” 

Judging by the storm of protests, Coyote understands that his tastes in movies are far from winning unanimous support.  You cannot help but smile, your fingers still massaging Hangman’s head. A faint and amused smirk appears on your beautiful lips: It is the same hilarious struggle each night. The Daggers would reunite in the living room and fight over the movie to watch, while Maverick would prepare snacks in the kitchen. Popcorn, nachos with guacamole and cheese, and fresh beers.

You suddenly feel a cold and wet muzzle sniffing your free hand. You take a quick look at your left side, only to see Crashtest’s big face looking at you with his shining beady eyes. His large mouth is open, tongue hanging. You chuckle when looking at the dog and finally run your free hand through the pale fur of his neck. Here you are, forced to pet both Hangman and Crashtest.

Crashtest is a big beige American Pitbull whose owner is Shark, but he quickly becomes the family’s dog. She called him so because, when he was a puppy, he would run everywhere and bump against the walls.

A soft sigh escapes from your lips as you realize that you have found a family.  A broken, small, and weird family… But a true one.

“So, what are we watching tonight?” Mav’s voice echoes in the living room and snatches you from your thoughts. He obviously knows that no one managed to reach agreement. He lays the plates on the table and raises an eyebrow while looking at the young pilots scattered in the room, “Are you serious? Alright. Since you can’t decide…” He pauses and his emerald eyes fall on you, “Y/CS? What do you want to watch? You have the last word.” 

Surprised, you look at Mav, then at the Dagger Squad, and then at Mav again. To be true he had caught you off guard. 

“So?” Hangman asks. He had just reopened his eyes and is now looking at you with an adorable yet slightly cocky grin, his head still comfortably resting on your lap. 

“Lilo and Stitch.” You say out of nowhere, suggesting the first movie that had crossed your mind at this moment. “I want to watch Lilo and Stich.”   You repeat, and this time you are delighted with your choice. It seems like a perfect movie for your adoptive family.

“YESSS!” Phoenix and Rooster exclaim. The dog barks happily, wanting to join the party. Surprisingly enough, everyone kind of agrees with you. Even Hangman, who has complained about Disney movies twenty minutes ago.

“Lilo and Stich.” Mav concludes, visibly satisfied with your decision, before letting his body fall on the huge L-shapes sofa he had bought to welcome all his kids at home. Doing so, he forces Hangman to move in order to avoid getting crushed by him. The blonde pilot growls and, sitting next to you, wraps his muscular arm around your shoulders. The feeling of his warm skin against yours is soothing. With butterflies in your stomach, you snuggle against him. You and Hangman have been closer these past few weeks since you saved his life during a mission. 

As Maverick grabs the remote and scrolls to find the movie, all the daggers join him, Hangman, and you on the couch no matter if they have to snuggle against each other to all fit. Lilo and Stitch’ s intro starts and fills the room with the sweet melody of He Mele No Lilo. Before focusing on the movie, you take a quick look across the room.

Phoenix’s head rests on Bob’s shoulder.

Payback, Coyote, and Fanboy are nudging each other, trying to hold their laugh.

Rooster keeps playing with one of Shark’s braids while her hand gently strokes Mav’s thigh. 

As for you, Hangman keeps you in his arms. Hugging you as if his own life depends on it. His sweet and masculine fragrance tingles your nostrils. 

Another bark: Crashtest climbs on the couch and the gentle brute rests his head on your lap. 

A soft smile stretches your lips. 

They are your Ohana.

[wannabehockeygf]

State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right. 

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

[fandomnerd9602]

That Lovin' Feeling

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace x Reader

The desert sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Mojave sky in fiery hues of orange and gold. You leaned against a gleaming Super Hornet, the crisp twilight air humming with the gentle drone of cooling engines. The echo of celebrations from the Top Gun graduation ceremony had faded, leaving behind a pleasant bit of silence in the legendary Maverick hangar.

Across the expanse of concrete, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace stood bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Her flight suit seemed to melt onto her lean frame, highlighting the confident set of her shoulders and the subtle curve of her hips. A stray lock of raven hair escaped her loose braid, catching the light like a feather on the wind. You watched her, mesmerized, as she ran her hand along the sleek fuselage of a decommissioned F-14 Tomcat, her gaze distant, tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia.

The urge to join her was irresistible. You pushed away from the Super Hornet and strode across the hangar, the silence stretching taut between you. As you drew closer, she turned, her emerald eyes snapping to yours. A playful smile curved her lips, the faintest blush warming her cheeks.

"Admiring the view, Rebel?" she teased, her voice laced with an undercurrent of warmth. Phoenix loved calling you by your call sign.

You chuckled, the tension easing. "Which view you talking about? The sunset, the Super Hornet or you?"

Her smile broadened. A small blush made its way across her face, "I can't believe your father's letting you look after this place"

"It was my home away from home" you shrug

"Did he say when he was coming back?" she asks, a little sway in her hips.

"Out sailing with Penny, I don't think we have an exact time but I think we have plenty of it"

The playful banter sparked a comfortable fire between you. You traded stories, anecdotes from your training, memories of Goose and your father, the infamous Maverick.

Her laughter, crisp and bright, filled the hangar, bouncing off the polished steel and leather.

As the shadows deepened, she led you further inside, away from the fading light. You found yourselves bathed in the soft illumination of a vintage lamp, spotlighting a corner tucked away amidst the planes. A worn leather couch sat near a dusty record player, the air thick with the scent of engine oil and old paperbacks.

She gestured to the couch, her smile inviting. You hesitated for a moment, then sank down beside her, the leather creaking softly. The silence returned, but this time, it felt charged, expectant.

She reached over, plucking a record from a nearby shelf. It was the Righteous Brothers, the familiar notes of "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" filling the air. Her fingers skimmed across the dusty record sleeve, then met yours in a fleeting touch. The electricity that sparked sent a shiver down your spine.

Without a word, she stood up, pulling you along with her. You stumbled to your feet, your hands still tingling from the contact. She took your hand, her grip firm, yet somehow delicate.

And then, she was dancing with you.

It wasn't a slow, romantic waltz. It was a whirlwind of playful spins and dips, feet tapping to the rhythmic beat. You laughed, surprised and delighted, her laughter blending with yours in a joyous harmony. Her steps were precise, yet strangely loose, mirroring the way she flew: fearless, controlled, yet undeniably graceful.

You held her close, the heat of her body burning through your flight suit. Her scent, a mix of aviation fuel and her own intoxicating perfume, filled your senses. Her eyes met yours, sparkling with unfiltered joy. The hangar, the planes, the world outside – everything faded away, leaving only you and her, caught in this whirlwind of music and laughter.

The final notes of the song faded away, leaving a breathless silence in its wake. You stood still, chests heaving, foreheads almost touching. Her eyes searched yours, a question unspoken yet hanging heavy in the air.

You leaned in, drawn by an invisible force. Her lips were soft and warm. The kiss was so brief, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you, a flicker of something real and raw that promised more.

As you pulled away, her gaze held yours, hesitant yet hopeful. You mirrored her expression, unsure of what this newfound connection meant, yet unwilling to let it go. The question hung in the air, echoing the song's final lyrics: "Bring back that lovin' feeling"

In that moment, bathed in the shadows of the Maverick family hangar, amidst the ghosts of a legendary plane, you felt a different kind of burn. A spark of hope, of possibility, of something that soared far beyond the confines of Top Gun, an echo of a future with Natasha "Phoenix" Trace by your side, dancing in the twilight between danger and desire.

for @deafeningsharkslimeempath