#maverick responds

[vegalores]

❛  the holidays aren't so bad with you around.  ❜

@cmdrbee | mav + ice

❛ I couldn’t agree more, Tom. The holidays haven’t been the same for me for a long time, ❜ he admits, taking in a deep breath and huffing it back out again as he crosses the small space until he stands nearer to the fireplace.

The frost was beginning to creep in outside and the chill was in the air even with all of the windows and doors sealed shut, which he found unforgivable. His hands felt like ice in spite of the warm sweater he wore, which did include a merry looking reindeer, unfortunately.

His nose was pink and his cheeks were soon to follow, but he stood before the fire for a few minutes more to try and combat that overwhelming cold. Ideally, he would have crept closer to Tom for shared warmth, but they had been apart for so long he just didn’t know if that was still acceptable.

❛ You wanna join me on the sofa for a while or.. ❜ he broaches the subject gently, unsure and yet very hopeful that the other male will agree to the request. It would be easier to snuggle up discreetly if they were seated next to one another.

[echosong971]

Stormcaller

[batsplat]

I just read your post about the motogp community and I wanted to ask: what are the things that interests you more about the sport?

oof that's a big question... got hooked on the racing itself, stuck around for the fraught interpersonal relationships. I got into the sport in a slightly odd, roundabout way, but it was something fun and new and just 'for me' (again, not a mainstream sport around here) at a time when I was going through a major life change. a lot of what I enjoy about watching sports is the research that goes into fully understanding what I'm watching. motogp is slightly odd in that regard (as I suppose are motorsports I got into more recently in similar fashion), because my technical understanding of the sport will always remain fairly limited. plus, you just understand a sport differently if you've had the chance to compete in it yourself, and obviously I have never raced on a motorbike before. so, for the sport I grew up with that I play myself and have a coaching license for, when I watch a lot of my thoughts and notes concern quite precise details about techniques and tactics and all that stuff. in concrete terms, that is a sport I feel like I could be a commentator for with a little practise... but with motogp, I couldn't do that. it's always going to be a sport I consider myself an outsider to

which does make a difference to me! of course, there's also something fun to that... it's all a bit more new and exciting and less personal. I don't really mind as much if motogp ends up developing in ways I don't approve with, because it's not a sport I feel like is mine to lose. motogp doesn't quite have the capacity to hurt me in that way. I'm just passing through, taking what I can get, and I also accept there are a lot of people out there who understand a hell of a lot more than I do. I have to take experts and the riders themselves at their word more than I would for a sport where... not to sound arrogant, but I kinda believe I know more than a lot of the equivalent people there. but, the thing is, motogp has clearly been able to sustain my interest because it's given me so much that I enjoy researching - and here a lot of it isn't necessarily super technical (though obviously I always want to understand more about those aspects). at the end of the day, motogp provides a lot of the kind of drama I'd kill for in other sports. all of the aliens are absolute gifts in this regard... it's like you're being slapped in the face with one banger of a rivalry after the other, the kind of thing you really really need to dig for in other sports. it's the difference between me having to scrape together an athlete's 2003 blog posts on defunct websites to figure out how she's publicly managing perception of the rivalry with her erstwhile friend and... okay, I mean, essentially I do the same thing in motogp, but there's also the more recent stuff to enjoy. not all other sports can claim the same is all I'll say. plus it's just so bonkers like genuinely where else do you get this sort of thing

for me, sports is all about narrative, and narrative is all about conflict. the joy is in figuring out how the competition makes athletes express themselves - it's a sort of language, in a way, where competing is a kind of constant back-and-forth that's informed by the image of the self and the image of the other and the image of the other's image of the self and so on. it's something I'm a lot lot lot worse at interpreting in motogp... at the end of the day, when I'm talking about riding styles or ways of winning races or mind games or whatever, I'm essentially poking in the dark. I don't know what I'm talking about. which also impacts the level of psychological insight you can get, because having a detailed technical understanding makes it way easier to understand the mental calculus that underlies each action an athlete is taking. but! motogp gives me so much to work with because all the drama is so insane and over the top... it might be poking in the dark - but also they're constantly setting things on fire! so there's plenty that even the layperson can see. it means I follow motogp a bit more for the actual athletes themselves than I do in other sports, though I think it's still quite balanced

but yeah, for me following motogp is primarily about a) watching races and understand as well as possible what I'm watching, and b) going down research rabbit holes, which hopefully also helps (a). with anything I'm a fan of, I'm fairly wary of how I interact with fan spaces. which in motogp terms means there's a lot of things I am extremely disinterested in arguing about, especially if it's stuff I was already sick of seeing seven years ago. I enjoy my fair share of sports discourse, but I find goat debates quite possibly the most tedious thing in the universe in any sport. I love numbers, I have many many spreadsheets dedicated to sports stats for some of the most obscure shit under this sun, but if it's just a dick measuring contest over comparing athletes' achievements, then again, goot bye. mainly I just want to have fun and I'm not going to interact with this sport in a way that doesn't spark joy... I already have a sport I'll never escape from, one is quite enough for anyone. if there comes the point where a specific fan space or even the sport as a whole is no longer fun, I'm out

[reiverreturns]

right my darlings, im getting to the point where i need a kick up the ass to make any headway on getting my writing discipline back. since i keep flitting between three ideas and not progressing any, please tell me what i should write to break my funk. the pressure will mould me.

i am in no way shape or form gauging interest because these will all eventually get written, i just need some goddamn accountability to kickstart the engine again after [redacted] months off.

[darkhearthorns]

"Maverick." Gemina put her hand to his shoulder and leaned down as he was working, giving him a tight squeeze while watching the door that was cracked open. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her lately, but it was making her bolder. "I'm hungry.." She whispered in his ear while leaning in, uncaring that there were people outside the room going about their business. Her hand slid down the front of his clothes just enough to make the fabric move off his shoulder before suddenly burying her teeth in, humming at the taste while her palm sat above his heartbeat --- desperate to feel it race. When her teeth released, she dragged her cold tongue over the wound. "Shhh... You wouldn't want them to hear you.." Gemina muttered in direct reference to their first night together. (In case you wanted some spicy vampire content--<3)

Maverick couldn't help but groan in pleasure as Gemina's hand slid down his clothes, her touch sending shivers down his spine. Her boldness both surprised and excited him, causing his heartbeat to quicken in response. "Ah- sweet bliss," he grunted. The tight squeeze on his shoulder and the sensation of her teeth sinking into his flesh sent a rush of arousal through his body. He gulped the same time she did.

The combination of pain and pleasure made Maverick's breath hitch as he let out a low, guttural groan. He leaned into her touch, his body responding instinctively to her provocative actions. The taste of her lingering on his skin, coupled with the cold sensation of her tongue tracing the wound of his burning muscles and throbbing heart beat, intensified the sensations coursing through him.

His eyes locked with hers, desire and anticipation flickering in his gaze. Maverick's voice came out as a husky whisper, filled with both need and restraint, "Gemina... you're driving me crazy." He was fully aware of the risks they were taking, yet he was being playful due to him sporting an obvious erection. Two protrusions from the pantaloons, pointing up at Gemina in accusation. Despite the danger of being caught, the thrill of their secret encounters only added to the intensity of the moment.

"But Gemina, I'm hungry too," he tugged at the lace in front of her bodice, tempted to unravel and reveal her to him now. "And only these will give me the immediate satisfaction."

@merchantofwhispers

[writing-until-i-drop]

Hiya I have a request for God Complex Pt.4

The Reader had a very hard day at work (a kid came in with third degree burns or something) and it was very hard on the reader to see and operate on so Natasha comforts her.

(ps, I ADORE your writing xx)

Hey Babe!!

I wasn't going to do anything past pt.3 buuuuuuuut this is too good of an addition not to write 💖 I will add it to the to do list!!

And thank you 🥹 you have no idea what that means to me 😭 💖💕🩷💗 here is a forehead kiss for you 😘

[ilbound]

here's the skinny , brothers : i've been feeling a bit ... uncertain ... about my overall place here. not at all because of anything anyone has done , not to worry , but just generally i think it's wise - because this negative sense has impeded my ability to produce replies of late ( especially any i would deem good or up to par ) - i take a step away for a spell to recalibrate. the queue does have a few things in it still , but i do not know when i'll be able to restock it once it runs out. i'm hesitant to call a hiatus , but my activity will certainly take a hit. as always , thank you for understanding and , if you should like , feel free to request my discord ! i'm more frequently found there.

[streetsweepershenanigans]

While what I write may be inspired by things that happen to me in real life, as a first responder I will never, and I mean NEVER use the things I see at work as inspiration for my fics.

Privacy is privacy and as someone who is a proxy to what can be the worst day or lowest moment in someone's life, their experiences are to be respected.

[the-maverick-asian-restaurant]

MAVERICK! What choice do you have?! Your hands are tied behind you, Angel is also restrained! Fighting will get you nowhere! And I mean, it's worked on so many people, it will work on you. It's either you go with this plan with a very low success rate, or give up and have a 0% success rate

[THE MAVERICK, unable to say anything, just nods]

[vegaprose]

@cmdrbee | pete + tom

❛ I couldn’t agree more, Tom. The holidays haven’t been the same for me for a long time, ❜ he admits, taking in a deep breath and huffing it back out again as he crosses the small space until he stands nearer to the fireplace.

The frost was beginning to creep in outside and the chill was in the air even with all of the windows and doors sealed shut, which he found unforgivable. His hands felt like ice in spite of the warm sweater he wore, which did include a merry looking reindeer, unfortunately.

His nose was pink and his cheeks were soon to follow, but he stood before the fire for a few minutes more to try and combat that overwhelming cold. Ideally, he would have crept closer to Tom for shared warmth, but they had been apart for so long he just didn’t know if that was still acceptable.

❛ You wanna join me on the sofa for a while or.. ❜ he broaches the subject gently, unsure and yet very hopeful that the other male will agree to the request. It would be easier to snuggle up discreetly if they were seated next to one another.

[heavenlysphere]

[rootedinrevisions]

Through the Wreckage

SUMMARY: When a devastating tornado tears through town, Tyler Owens faces his worst nightmare: the woman he loves is missing. Tyler is thrust into a desperate search through the wreckage to find her. As the storm's aftermath unfolds, it forces him to confront his fears, regrets, and hopes for the future.

A/N: So got inspired for this after watching Twisters earlier today. Just the anguish that we saw from Tyler when he realized Kate was driving into the tornado made me wonder what would happen if the person he loved was missing or in danger. Hence where we ended up here.

WARNINGS: Destruction (ie: a tornado hit so damaged buildings, smoke, dust, sparks, etc.), Blood, Minor Injuries.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The tires screeched as Tyler pulled up to the scene, gravel crunching beneath his truck. He barely shifted into park before throwing the door open and jumping out. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and the first thing his eyes locked on was the building—partially collapsed, its front wall completely gone. The inside was exposed like a broken shell, with beams hanging at jagged angles and smoke or dust curling into the air from where drywall and bricks had crumbled. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. This wasn’t good.

Behind him, Boone’s truck came to a stop, followed by Dani, Dexter, and Lily piling out of their vehicles. Tyler barely registered the sound of their voices calling his name as they ran toward him. His world had narrowed to the destruction in front of him, and one thought pounded in his mind: She’s in there.

Pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, Tyler checked the last location pinged from your phone. His stomach twisted. It matched this address. He swallowed hard, the weight of dread pressing down on him as his eyes scanned the crowd of people that had been pulled from the building and huddled together on the other side of the street. His pulse quickened as he searched for you, desperate for even a glimpse of your face. But you weren’t there.

“Tyler, man, slow down,” Boone said, gripping his shoulder as he came up beside him. “Let’s figure out what’s going on—”

“She’s not out here,” Tyler cut him off, his voice tight and raw. “She’s not with them.” He gestured toward the crowd of people being tended to by paramedics. 

His chest heaved as the realization hit him like a freight train: You were still inside.

Without another word, he turned and made a beeline toward the first responders standing near the edge of the debris. His strides were long and determined, his jaw set in grim determination as he ignored Boone’s calls to slow down. 

The closer he got, the more chaos surrounded him. The air smelled of smoke and damp concrete, and the sound of crackling debris mixed with shouts from firefighters. But none of it mattered.

“Did everyone get out?” Tyler shouted, his voice hoarse as he reached the nearest firefighter. “Did you see a woman—about this tall, light hair?” He motioned frantically, his green eyes darting around. 

He already knew the answer from their hesitant expressions, but he refused to accept it.

“Sir,” one of them started, stepping forward, “it’s not safe—we weren’t able to get to everyone.”

“Where. Is. She?” Tyler growled, his frustration boiling over. His voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation. “Her phone’s still pinging from here! I need to know if she made it out!”

Another firefighter shook his head grimly. “We’re still doing sweeps, but the building’s unstable. Most of the front wall came down in the collapse. We can’t risk—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler snapped, cutting him off as he took a step toward the wreckage.

Boone and Dexter were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t,” Boone urged, his voice low and firm. “You can’t go in there, man. It’s not safe. They’ll handle it.”

“She’s in there!” Tyler shouted, wrenching free from their grip. His voice cracked as he pointed toward the ruined building. “I know she is, Boone! I’m not waiting around while they do their sweeps!” His voice was shaking now, and for a moment, the raw emotion broke through his resolve. His chest heaved, his shoulders trembling as he ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the fear clawing at his mind.

The building groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that warned of further collapse. Tyler’s eyes darted toward it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. 

If you were inside, he wasn’t about to stand by and let the clock run out.

“I’m going in,” he muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he broke into a sprint toward the wreckage.

“Sir! Stop! You can’t go in there!” a firefighter yelled, his voice sharp with authority.

Another called out, “It’s too dangerous! The structure’s not stable!”

But Tyler didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The sound of boots pounding behind him told him Boone or Dexter was probably trying to catch him, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the shattered entrance ahead, the gaping maw of destruction that had swallowed you whole.

As he crossed the threshold, the air inside hit him like a wall—thick with dust and smoke, making it hard to breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting to see through the haze. The floor was littered with debris—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, and jagged shards of glass. Wires hung loose from the ceiling, some sparking as they dangled.

The creak of shifting metal echoed through the space, and Tyler froze for a moment, his eyes darting upward. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to give way. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, stepping carefully over a fallen section of wall.

“Darlin’,” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where are you?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of debris to the next. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of sparks or the distant shouts of first responders outside.

“Come on, darlin’. Give me something,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He tried to focus, to ignore the dread clawing at the edges of his mind.

Tyler’s boot crunched on something, and he looked down to see a broken picture frame, the glass shattered across the floor. Around it were scattered papers, children’s drawings, and a few books covered in dust. He swallowed hard, the small remnants of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

Pushing forward, he weaved through the destruction, stepping over overturned chairs and avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture. The air grew hotter the deeper he went, the faint smell of something burning making his stomach churn.

And then he saw it.

A shoe.

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—your shoe, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as his shaking hands reached for it.

“Sweetheart?” he called, his voice breaking. He tossed aside chunks of drywall and splintered wood, the sharp edges cutting into his palms. Blood smeared across the debris as he worked, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to you.

Finally, he uncovered your leg, and his heart seized. You were pinned beneath the debris, your body motionless. Dust and grime streaked your face, and your hair was tangled with bits of plaster.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers were gentle, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, searching desperately for a pulse. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. And then he felt it—a faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief flooded him, and a choked sob escaped his lips. 

“Thank God,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred faintly, your head shifting against the debris that cradled it. The faintest groan escaped your lips, so quiet he almost missed it. Tyler froze, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes shot to your face.

“Darlin’?” He said, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. He cupped your face with one dirt-streaked hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, and your lips moved, though no sound came out at first. He leaned closer, his ear inches from your face.

“Ty...” The broken syllable fell from your lips like a lifeline, and his chest ached at the sound of it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered weakly, just barely cracking open, but it was enough. Enough to send relief crashing over him in a wave so powerful it left him dizzy.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He squeezed it gently, willing his strength into you. “Stay with me. Keep those eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

You tried to say something else, your voice a faint whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he crouched lower to meet your gaze.

“Don’t try to talk,” he urged softly. “Just save your strength, darlin’. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I need you to do. Stay with me.”

The faintest flicker of a nod came from you, but it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he’d been clinging to. His free hand pressed to his mouth as he choked back a sob, his chest heaving with the weight of his fear and relief.

The building groaned again, a deep, ominous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time. He slid his arms beneath you, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

With you in his arms, Tyler turned toward the exit, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. All that mattered was getting you out of here alive.

Tyler adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer as he stepped carefully over the uneven ground. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The air inside the building was suffocating. Smoke and dust hung thick like a heavy fog, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His throat burned, and each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper across raw skin. He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open again. He couldn’t lose focus—not now.

Sparks rained down from a severed electrical wire overhead, the sharp sting biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He flinched, gritting his teeth as the acrid smell of singed fabric filled the air. 

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate as he looked down at you. “We’re almost out of here.”

Your body shifted slightly in his arms, and a soft, raspy cough escaped your lips. Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound. Panic surged through him, as he saw how shallow your breathing was.

“You still with me?” He called, his voice cracking. “Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You coughed again, your eyelids fluttering briefly but not opening. A weak, almost inaudible groan escaped you.

“That’s it,” Tyler said, his tone urgent but soft like he was coaxing you back to him. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

He stumbled slightly as the ground beneath him shifted—a section of flooring sagging under the weight of the debris. Tyler’s knees buckled for a moment, and he tightened his grip on you, his heart racing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, steadying himself before pressing forward.

The building groaned around him, the sound of metal twisting and concrete cracking growing louder. He could feel time running out.

Another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air. Tyler ducked instinctively, shielding you as debris rained down. A sharp edge grazed the back of his neck, and he winced, but he didn’t stop moving.

The exit was just ahead—a faint sliver of light visible through the haze. Tyler pushed toward it, his legs trembling with exertion. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the lack of clean air began to take its toll.

His steps faltered, and he coughed violently, nearly doubling over. For a moment, he thought his legs might give out, but then he felt a small, trembling hand against his chest. Your hand gripped weakly at his shirt, your head lolling slightly against his shoulder.

“T-Tyler...” you rasped, your voice barely audible. 

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep moving. 

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just hang on.”

The exit grew closer, but the smoke thickened, clawing at his throat and lungs. Tyler stumbled again, his knees hitting the floor as his body screamed for oxygen.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head as he clutched you tighter. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his legs trembled beneath him.

The light from the exit grew brighter, and he could hear the distant shouts of first responders outside. They sounded muffled like he was underwater, but it gave him just enough hope to keep going.

Sparks rained down again, burning his exposed arms and neck, but Tyler turned his body to shield you, hunching over as he pushed through the final stretch. His back felt like it was on fire, the fabric of his shirt sticking to blistering skin, but he didn’t slow down.

Finally, he broke through the haze, stumbling out onto the pavement. The fresh air hit him like a punch to the chest, and he gasped, his knees giving out as he sank to the ground.

“Help! Somebody—” he coughed violently, his voice raw and barely audible. “Somebody help her!”

Paramedics rushed toward him, but Tyler’s focus was on you. Your face was pale, streaked with dust and sweat, but your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached up to brush a trembling hand against your cheek, his fingers stained with soot and blood.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes. 

Tyler cradled you in his arms, his knees rooted to the pavement as the chaos of the world around him blurred into background noise. His only focus was you.

Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and your breaths were growing more shallow and uneven by the minute. A fresh wave of panic crashed over him as your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice trembling. “No, no, darlin’, stay with me. Look at me.”

Your eyes opened slightly, your gaze unfocused as you struggled to lift your head.

“I… can’t,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his tone firm but full of emotion. “You’re not quittin’ on me now, you hear me?”

You coughed softly, your body trembling in his arms. Tyler adjusted his grip, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the pain and the fear.

“We have plans, remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Dinner tonight, just you and me. You told me you wanted to get dressed up, and said I needed to wear that tie you like. I’m not lettin’ you out of that, sweetheart. You still owe me a dance.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it quickly faded as your eyelids grew heavier.

“And the church,” he continued, desperation lacing his words. “The little church your parents got married in. We’ll get married there, just like you’ve always wanted. You can wear that lace dress you talked about, the one you saw at the boutique last spring.”

You made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and your fingers twitched weakly against his chest.

“And kids,” Tyler added, his voice breaking completely now. “Two–hell, however many you want. We’ll give ‘em the best damn life, I promise you that. Just… just stay with me, darlin’. Please.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, glassy but fixed on him.

“Three or four?” you rasped, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a flood. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from your cheek.

“Yeah, three or four is perfect, darlin’,,” he said, his forehead pressing against yours as his tears mingled with the soot on his face. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just tell me the names you’ve got picked out, and I’ll make it happen.”

You gave a weak, tired smile, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest against his. But your body still felt too limp, too fragile in his arms.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your gaze flickered once more, but before he could plead again, the paramedics swarmed around you.

“Sir, we need to take her now,” one of them said urgently, but Tyler’s arms tightened instinctively around you.

“I’m not leavin’ her,” he said fiercely, his eyes wild as he looked up at them.

“We need space to help her,” the paramedic insisted, their tone gentle but firm.

Tyler hesitated, his heart warring with his head as he realized he had no choice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You hang on, you hear me?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Reluctantly, he let them take you from his arms, his hands trembling as he watched them load you onto the stretcher. His heart clenched painfully as he saw your pale, dust-streaked face disappear behind the blur of paramedics working to save you.

* * * *

The waiting room of the hospital felt like a void. Time moved differently here, stretching out each second into an eternity. Tyler sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. Boone, Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat nearby, their voices low and subdued as they tried to offer support. But Tyler didn’t hear them. His mind was stuck in the chaos of the collapsed building, the sound of your ragged breaths, the weight of your fragile body in his arms.

He stared at the double doors down the hallway, willing someone to come through them with news. Good news. Any news. His burned skin throbbed beneath the bandages the ER nurses had wrapped around him, but he didn’t care. The only pain that mattered was the fear clawing at his chest. The fear of losing you.

“T,” Boone said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s gonna pull through.”

Tyler nodded absently, his throat too tight to respond. He wanted to believe Boone, but the image of you lying so still, your face pale and streaked with dust, was seared into his mind.

The doors finally swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Tyler shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Tyler Owens?” the doctor asked, glancing around the room.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled softly, and Tyler’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She inhaled a lot of smoke, and there’s some bruising from the debris, but no major injuries. She’s going to be okay.”

Tyler exhaled a shaky breath, his hands dragging down his face as the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I see her?” Tyler asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s awake, but she’s still weak. Try to keep it short for now.”

Tyler nodded, barely hearing the last part as he followed the doctor down the hallway. His boots echoed on the tile floor, the sound somehow both grounding and surreal.

When he stepped into your room, his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were propped up in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask resting lightly over your nose and mouth. The faint beeping of the monitors was a comforting reminder that you were still here, still breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him, and despite the exhaustion etched into your face, you managed a small smile.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the mask.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile, and he pulled a chair up to your bedside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“I’ll try,” you teased weakly, your fingers giving his hand the faintest squeeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Tyler’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as if to convince himself you were really okay.

“I meant what I said out there,” he finally murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

You frowned slightly in confusion. “What part?”

“All of it,” he said. “The church, the kids, everything. I want it all with you, darlin’. I want to marry you, and I’ll wear whatever you tell me to.”

You laughed softly, the sound raspy but real, and Tyler’s heart swelled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your smile softening as tears welled in your eyes. “I want it all too, Tyler. I always have.”

Tyler leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start with dinner,” he said. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m takin’ you to the nicest place in town. No storms, no distractions, just you and me.”

Your fingers tightened around his as you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Deal. Can we have Italian?”

For the first time in hours, Tyler let himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips as he whispered, “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's still goofy XD

WC: 1800+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You’re sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand, waiting for your friend to finish flirting with the bartender so you can pay your tab, when you hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

You glance over your shoulder wearily, instantly recognizing the tall aviator you met at the clinic earlier in the week. Bradshaw, was it? “Yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, giving him a polite smile before turning away.

Bradley doesn’t take the hint and plants himself on the barstool next to you. “So, are you gonna tell me your name? Or am I just gonna have to keep calling you Doc? Might get a bit awkward in bed.”

You snort into your drink as you’re taking a sip. Bradley grins, clearly pleased that he’s made you laugh. His slightly narrowed eyes sweep over your face with a quiet confidence, and you find yourself rather enjoying his attention. “Well, for the sake of making things less awkward,” you respond with a small smile, and then tell him your name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and then leans forward slightly to add, “again.”

You bite into your lip to suppress your widening grin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you, actually,” he comments, turning away to flag down the otherwise occupied bartender.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Yeah,” Bradley responds, tapping on his beer bottle and nodding at the bartender. He turns back to you and shrugs. “Saves me from having to fake an illness to come see you.”

You eye him somewhat reproachfully. “That would be extremely inappropriate.”

Bradley laughs. “If you think that’s inappropriate, I’m not gonna tell you what I planned on doing once I got there.”

Your eyes widen at the insinuation. “Lieutenant!” you exclaim.

Bradley continues chuckling. “Don’t worry, you’d have liked it.” He winks and then nods at the bartender who’s brought him his beer.

You stare at him because his boldness is mindboggling. “You shouldn’t be drinking with a head injury,” you point out.

He looks at you with amusement. “What head injury?”

“The one that brought you to my office?”

“You know what brought me to your office?” he says, and then points a thumb over his shoulder at a crowded table near the back of the bar. “Captain Maverick Mitchell. My self-appointed father figure,” he says in a tone that’s half-grudging, half-affectionate. “And possibly fate,” he adds as an afterthought.

You blink at him skeptically when he glances back at you. “Wow,” you say. “Pulling out the big guns.”

Bradley laughs again. “I have quite the arsenal.”

“Oh, I bet,” you say with a chuckle. “Aviator, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley responds proudly. Then he nods at the glass you bring to your lips. “Looks like you need a refill.”

You shake your head. “I was about to head out actually.”

Bradley purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “But then I arrived and changed your mind, right?”

You laugh slightly. “Not quite, Lieutenant,” you respond, rising from your stool and waving at the bartender. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Bradley gets out of his seat and pulls out his wallet. “Allow me, please,” he says.

“That’s not necessary,” you reply uncomfortably. You don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.

Bradley gives you a more serious look. “It’s the least I could do for nagging you this evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads of its own accord. You find Bradley reasonably attractive, sure. But it’s the way he carries himself that’s really got you hooked. You can hardly pull your gaze away. “Don’t forget about the part where you were the most obnoxious patient.”

Bradley lets out a hearty laugh. “That deserves a whole pint, Doc.”

You give him a smile. “Maybe another time,” you say politely. Despite his persistence, you can’t jeopardize your position at the clinic by consorting with a patient.

But before you turn to leave, Captain Mitchell approaches the bar and, upon perceiving you, he exclaims, “Oh! It’s the doctor!” He gestures in your direction while looking at Bradley.

Bradley gives him a flat look. “No shit,” he says.

Maverick glances between the two of you and then nods in realization. “You’ve spotted her already.”

You press your lips together to conceal a smile as Bradley brings a hand to his face like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his ‘self-appointed father figure’. “Hello again,” you say to the captain, extending your hand.

“Good to see you, Doctor,” Maverick replies with a knowing grin, shaking your hand. “Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

“Oh god,” Bradley groans. “That's embarrassing.”

Maverick looks over at him with a confused expression while you giggle. “I was actually planning on scheduling him in for a follow-up,” Maverick says. “Noticed some concerning behaviors.”

You raise your eyebrows while Bradley watches Maverick’s profile incredulously.

“New behaviors?” you ask, glancing back at Bradley.

“No, no.” Maverick waves a hand nonchalantly as he settles onto a barstool. “Not new.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Why are you such a shit disturber?”

Maverick laughs and claps him on the back. “You buy the lady a drink yet?”

You drop your head slightly to hide your growing smile.

“I was trying to,” Bradley declares. “Before your ass showed up.”

You look up apologetically at the two men who are now watching you expectantly. “I’m not…thirsty.”

Maverick winces while Bradley’s shoulders visibly fall. “It’s his fault, isn’t it?” Bradley says, gesturing at Maverick with his thumb again.

“How is it my fault?” Maverick exclaims.

“It’s not his fault,” you attest, glancing at the captain.

“You should talk some more about my concerning behaviors,” Bradley retorts.

Maverick snorts. “I was kidding!” he says. “She knows!” he gestures at you. “You know, right?”

You glance between the two men patiently, wondering if they realize just how much they have in common. “Neither of you is driving tonight, right?” you ask, feeling, for some strange reason, a sense of responsibility for them.

Maverick turns to face you with a jolt. “I’m sober,” he asserts.

Bradley’s eyebrows converge in a dubious expression before he looks back at you. “He’s not driving,” he confirms.

“And you?”

“This is only my second beer!” he exclaims.

You meet his gaze with a smile because you don’t want him to feel attacked. “Okay,” you respond gently. “Drive safe.”

You start to walk away when you hear Bradley say, “Can I walk you to your car, Doc?”

You turn to face him again, about halfway to the door. “You know my name now,” you say, and he grins at you.

“I do,” he agrees. “That was for old times’ sake.”

You sigh. “Sure, Lieutenant. You can walk me to my car.”

…

Out in the parking lot, Bradley muses, “I’m thinking of maybe dislocating my shoulder next week. That’s an easy fix, right?”

You look over at him sharply. “That’s not funny.”

Bradley grins. “Not even a little?”

You roll your eyes at him and continue walking.

“Come on, Doc!” he calls after you. “My sense of humor is a good thing, remember?”

You smile to yourself and slow your pace to let him catch up. “There are other ways of getting my attention besides injuring yourself,” you remark as he falls back in step with you.

“Such as?” he asks.

You approach your car and unlock the door. “I can’t give away all the answers, can I?”

Bradley presses his lips together and grins. “Does that mean I have a shot?”

You lower your gaze coyly. “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he points out.

You smile, glancing back up at him. “No,” you agree. “I suppose it’s not.”

Bradley’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he holds your gaze. “Can I take you to dinner?” he asks.

“No,” you reply almost immediately. Then, after a beat, you add, “Not yet.”

Bradley licks his lips, still grinning. “I’ll take it.”

You chuckle slightly, reaching for the door to your car.

“Can I stand here with you a little longer?” he asks, his voice a little more raspy when it isn’t bursting with confidence.

You pause, your hand still on the door, shocked at how desperately you want to oblige. How delightful it would be to just say yes on a whim. Without considering the repercussions or weighing the pros and cons. Without deliberation or apprehension. Impulsively. The word itself makes you flustered. “Okay,” you say, glancing up at him as he shifts a little closer.

Bradley smiles at you and leans his back to the car. He stands quietly for a few moments, just existing beside you, which you find both endearing and infuriating. You don’t have a lot of time on your hands and simply standing around is a colossal waste of it in your books. But something about the warm evening breeze paired with the smell of the ocean and Bradley’s crisp cologne makes the experience less harrowing, and maybe even possibly pleasant.

Still, you’re restless. “So, when you said you wanted to stand here, you actually meant stand here…” you comment.

Bradley glances down at you with an amused expression. “You got something else in mind, Doc?”

You half-snort, half-chuckle. “I just thought maybe you had something else to say. I didn’t realize we’d be standing in silence.”

Bradley grins at you. “It’s called being present.”

You study him with a slight grimace, genuinely trying to keep your cynicism at bay. Being present isn’t a kind of luxury you can often afford. Most days, you don’t even get a chance to eat sitting down. “What does that accomplish?” you ask.

Bradley, who’s still watching you with a smile, replies, “Does everything you do have a purpose?”

“Of course,” you say. “Why else would I do it?”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and puts his hands into his pockets. “That’s very practical of you.”

“It’s efficient,” you point out, trying to highlight the importance of productivity.

Bradley nods patiently. “Sounds like you need a night off, Doc.”

You laugh. “I just had a night off. But it had a purpose – my friend needed help wooing the bartender.”

Bradley chuckles. “Has the purpose ever been to just have a good time?”

You make a face and shrug. “That’s not really a priority of mine.”

“Wow, Doc, you’re a hoot,” Bradley replies facetiously.

“I warned you,” you remind him, opening your car door.

Bradley leans his arm over the frame of your car as you climb inside. “You know you leave me no choice, right?” he says, ducking his head slightly to peer into the vehicle.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“We’re going to have to rearrange your list of priorities,” he says.

You watch him for a moment, marveling at his persistence. His gaze drops briefly to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes again, and you wonder what it might feel like to be kissed by a guy like Bradley. It would probably be sexy and spontaneous. It would probably catch you off guard and possibly even offend you a little. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t mind being mildly offended if it meant kissing Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic goal,” you say. Your tone might be sarcastic, but the statement is fairly accurate.

Bradley grins. “I don’t mind a challenge.”

Rooster Tag List:

I'll be putting the rest of the list in the comments shortly! Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Rooster fics.

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[darkhearthorns]

"Do you think your teenage son Oberon is ready to take the throne? The prince looks like he has to learn to be patient."

(Giving you the opportunity to use older Mav fc 👀)

Maverick paused, a gentle smile gracing his lips, before he continued, his words carrying the weight of his own experience as a ruler.

"The path to becoming a wise and just ruler is not paved with haste. Oberon will face trials, make mistakes, and learn valuable lessons along the way. It is through these experiences that he will develop patience, resilience, and the compassion needed to govern with wisdom. I know I've learned so much through trial and error in my earlier years..."

He leaned forward, his expression conveying a blend of fatherly affection and regal authority.

"Rest assured, my dear friend, that our impatient prince's journey is guided not only by his own will but by the collective wisdom of our realm. He will receive counsel from me and his mother, Queen Sirena, as well as from trusted advisors, be immersed in the teachings of our history, and forge alliances with other noble fae. Together, we will ensure that Oberon is prepared to assume the throne when the time is right."

@oceansbride

[nerdygirlramblings]

a continuation of this

poly!141 x f!reader

The first time you meet Laswell, the boys aren't sure what to expect. They'd just gotten back from a mission that left Gaz on crutches and Soap with a concussion.

You're a prickly thing, but incredibly loyal, and you're pissed that your boys got hurt on one of her operations. So when she shows up on base demanding a meeting with Price to debrief, you catch wind and slip into the office before anyone else.

You're already seated on the leather couch in Price's office when the boys show up, trailed by Price and Laswell. One look at your face, and Ghost cuts his eyes to Price, murmurs, "Maybe we should wait this one."

Laswell's cagey. She didn't get where she is without being completely aware of what was going on around her. She clocked you on the couch, hackles raised, before she fully stepped foot through the door.

Instead of ceding to Ghost's suggestion, or trying to play off her appearance, she turns to you and says, "You must be Maverick. The guys have told me a lot about you."

You look her over, long and slow before responding. "Funny. They haven't said much about you. Laswell, is it?"

If she startled by your brusque nature, she doesn't show it. Instead, she merely replies in the affirmative.

"Your mission caused my boys to get hurt," you say, calm and deadly.

"Maybe if we'd had you on backup, it wouldn't have happened," Laswell says, cutting her eyes at Price, who drops his gaze. You notice the motion and frown slightly, a furrow between your brows. Laswell sees and raises her eyebrow at you. "What, Price didn't tell you I asked about you? Saw your record and thought you should be brought on?"

Now it's not just you looking over it Price, but the rest of the boys as well. "That true Captain?" Gaz asks.

Simon merely grunts and looks away.

"Look," Price says, "we haven't worked with Maverick in the field yet." Here he turns to you. "I didn't want to throw off our rhythm by-"

"Oi! 'at's shite!" Soap nearly shouts. He waves a hand in your direction. "She fits perfectly in our rhythm. Cap'n." He glares hard at Price, conveying all the ways you fit them. "'Avin' 'er on scope might-a kept Gaz off-a them crutches," he continues heatedly.

Laswell clears her throat and all eyes cut to her. "Soap's right, John." She says it with the same authority Price delivers orders in the field, and you begrudgingly respect her for it. Looking between you and the boys, she says, "I think I understand why you didn't want to ask Maverick last time, but I'm taking the decision out of your hands." She looks over at you critically, but as someone appraising a new tool to determine how best to wield it. "Maverick, as of today, you're officially part of the 141."

[amostexcellentblog]

Maverick: Dearest goosiest Nick, Carole, and Gosling...

Iceman: My dear father...

Maverick & Iceman: There's been some confusion over rooming on the carrier...

Iceman: But of course, I'll rise above it...

Maverick: But of course, I won't cause any collateral damage...

Maverick & Iceman: For I know that's how you'd want me to respond. Yes, there's been some confusion, for you see, my bunkmate is...

Iceman: ...Unusually and exceedingly peculiar, and altogether quite impossible to describe.

Maverick: ...Blonde.