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hauntedhokage · 3 days ago

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A Helping Hand

Caleb/F!Reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k (my bad)

warnings: spoilers for Homecoming Wings story and Caleb’s Painful Signal memory, grief, sexual content

part two to Handsy

ao3 | masterlist | ko-fi

You hadn’t paid attention to any of the specifics that were provided to you, you simply didn’t care about any of the details besides the fact that your friend was dead. He was supposed to show up on his first day back at Skyhaven from his trip to Linkon for a follow up appointment, you needed to make sure his concussion had actually healed so he could be cleared to fly, only to be told by one of the Captains that you weren’t going to see him again.

You’d wanted it to be a joke, his horrible attempt at gauging how much you missed him while he was gone, but you know better than to challenge a superior over it.

That explained why he hadn’t texted back, aside from your other explanation being that he was spending time with his family and not checking his phone. But for him to be dead? It didn’t feel real.

Not him. Not Caleb.

He was always confident in his strength and ability to perform (in every scenario), for him to have been killed was just…wrong.

But a week goes by without someone saying “sike”, nobody jumps out to tease you for being gullible, and you’re dressed for the funeral held in Linkon City for the fallen pilot. You stand in your only appropriate funeral attire - one of hundreds on base who showed up but the only one who received eye contact from two of his close friends.

After the funeral one of those two friends approaches you, letting you know that there were a couple things with your name on them in Caleb’s room of the apartment they shared, and that you were welcome at any time to come collect them. Stuff he’d want you to have, they’d said, and that wasn’t something that was easy to comprehend.

The idea of Caleb having things for you in his apartment felt off, given your lack of a real relationship between you. Sure you were friends who had sex and he teased you relentlessly, but there hadn’t been anything more concrete established for him to have things for you in the apartment you’d never seen. There were feelings on your side of the relationship, sexual attraction blooming into so much more with every moment you spent with the pilot fertilizing that seed, but you kept that to yourself out of risk of him laughing you out the door. Without knowing his intentions, you wanted to keep your feelings safe from potential garden shears ready to cut the stem from the root, only now that flower would be left to wilt without his care and attention to keep it alive.

You leave the gift bag sitting on your coffee table for longer than you’d like to admit. Two weeks of staring at it after long shifts in the med bay, your eyes constantly sore and puffy from how much you rubbed at them to keep the tears from staining your cheeks. It felt wrong to open a gift when the person who gave it to you wasn’t there to see your reaction to it. But you know you need to do it, because he would’ve wanted you to be strong for him.

Inside the bag is a bear, one of the souvenir bears dressed like a pilot that was sold in the gift shop of the aviation museum. You told him once that there wasn’t a replacement for him unless those silly bears were an option, and he’d told you that it could count even if he was cuter.

The card is opened next, your eyes taking in the only thing of him that you had left in his handwriting. The script was neat compared to other pilots, legible and carefully printed to ensure you could read it instead of the squiggles and shapes others had put in front of you to attempt at reading.

Happy birthday, doc!

Cheers to another year of keeping each other healthy. Little Caleb is your new friend for when I’m gone - he’ll keep you company until I get back to bug you some more.

Confession time:

I can say a lot to your face, but not this for some reason. Maybe we can get dinner for real as a date and it’ll be my turn to be flustered as I talk about feelings while you tease me?

Have a wonderful birthday, and let me know if anyone gives you crap so I can straighten them out.

-your favorite pilot, Caleb

“Yeah,” you whisper, reading over his handwriting once more in hopes that it relaxes the vice around your heart. “We should’ve talked feelings before you left, idiot.”

But that opportunity had long passed; and now you’re curled up on your couch with the bear in your arms, crying over your deceased lover.

If he was alive, you’d kill him again for making you so upset - but he’d kick himself for it enough which would unfortunately deter you from wanting to hurt him. He was great at looking like a kicked puppy, you didn’t want to deal with that.

The next day you resign from your position at the DAA. You felt sick to your stomach every time you saw a pilot walk by after Caleb’s funeral, and after the bear you just couldn’t take it anymore. A month later you’ve moved into a new apartment across Skyhaven in a month after accepting a position at Willow Medical Center. It doesn’t fix everything, but it certainly helped to live somewhere that you didn’t have a memory of Caleb - no meals cooked in that kitchen or singing in the shower to haunt your memory. In the hospital you don’t see him in every patient you come across, you don’t have to do any double takes when you see a uniform pass on a man with dark hair. You don’t sit and wait for him to slide into whatever room you’re in to ask you to hang out or get him out of some cleaning duty he’s been tasked with because he was a smartass.

It was easier to breathe when you weren’t being suffocated by the memories of him and what could’ve been between you.��

But if you were to say you were handling your grief well, you’d be lying if you said you had it under control. You pay bills for a house you rarely live in, only there to sleep in a bed rather than half awake in your office at the hospital. It was more likely to see you reading a research paper in the hospital cafeteria than out getting lunch with colleagues, and you hadn’t had a home cooked meal since you left the DAA. You’d never bothered with truly going grocery shopping since moving in, so there was nothing to cook and you could keep your body alive by ordering takeout.

It wasn’t healthy, but it kept you alive - or, at least, whatever this version of “alive” could be called. You weren’t even present in your own life anymore, holding an absence in your own life to keep yourself from truly processing those feelings.

This was supposed to be any other Tuesday. You’d been in the hospital since Monday morning, moving about with maybe one or two naps in your office to keep you moving between appointments and the random request for a second opinion on a diagnosis. There had been a bustling on the floor when you were leaving your last patient for the day, which had you mentally planning to delay your return home about an hour or so to ensure you could avoid whatever commotion had arisen.

But then the door to your office opens as you’re packing up your bag, and you bite your lip in irritation when the door is softly shut behind whoever had come to see you.

“Can I help you?”

“I missed my follow up appointment.”

That voice… it was impossible. Caleb was- he’d been killed by an explosion. This visitor was just a victim of a similar voice, that was all. That, or you’d been at the hospital for far too long.

“I’m sorry, but I haven't had any follow-ups scheduled that have been missed, so…” You trail off as you turn around, realizing immediately that you were standing face-to-face with the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet that everyone was talking about. Tall and imposing in the long black coat over the uniform, but he’s not looking at you so you can’t see his face clearly. But why was he here? They had their own doctors in the Fleet.

“I’m a couple months late, doc.” He states, keeping his service cap tucked in his arm as he turns to face you properly.

Those eyes, that stupid little smile - there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the mad you’d been grieving for months.

The crack! that rings through the room freezes everything that might’ve been happening around you. Caleb holds his jaw with a gloved hand, staring at you open mouthed in shock as you stare back at him. You’d slapped him hard enough that you felt a crack in your own hand in addition to the sting from the impact, and yet you were the one who was now crying over it.

“Okay, ow!” He finally speaks, and you stand your ground with hands on your hips despite the tears that trail down your cheeks. Any eye makeup you might’ve worn is now ruined if your long hours at the hospital already hadn’t, but you can’t care about that when you’re standing in front of a ghost. “I’m sorry, doc.”

“You’d want to be more than that.”

He doesn’t stop you when you hit him again, your left fist colliding with his chest and followed by your right. It’s like he didn’t feel the blows at all, his hand coming to rest on your hip as you continue to pound on his chest and gradually pulling you in closer until you’re sobbing into his uniform. A gentle hand rubs your back as the other cradles the back of your head, keeping you close as you cry.

“I’m back, doc, I’m okay.”

“Y-you’re such a dick.” Your voice wobbles more than you’d wanted it to, as if your tears didn’t already alert him to how deeply upset you’d been. “Why’d you come here?”

“You weren’t at home.” It’s like he’d never died, as if never left you, his tone light and easy as he steps back to look at you. He always could find you anywhere, it was an annoying talent of his. “Can I take you home? Your colleagues say you’ve been here for over a day, you need to rest-“

“To be able to take care of others,” you finish for him, stepping away from his gentle hold and turning towards your desk. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t have any appointments, the ward and emergency room were staffed, so there was no reason for you to stay. But did you want to go anywhere with a man you believed to be dead? Could you?

You supposed that you didn’t really have a choice; he already knew where you lived and worked, so he could show up whenever he wanted. This was a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, noncompliance could land you in their military jail for whatever reason he deemed fit. It didn’t feel like something Caleb would do, but you weren’t sure that this was even the man you’d had such strong feelings for - how could this possibly be your friend?

When you wake up the following morning, you believe that you’d dreamt it all. You’d gone home, probably had a drink, then fell into bed to sleep off the long days at the hospital. It was a believable story, considering your history, and you’d almost convinced yourself of that truth - until you looked at your hand.

Bandaged neatly, the dull throb telling you that you had actually injured yourself slapping Ca-

It couldn’t have been Caleb. Just some Farspace Fleet suit that riled you up, it couldn’t have been him. He was still very much dead in a box in a cemetery in Linkon City.

Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed to take some flowers to his grave - telling you to come to terms and get the fuck over it. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable like this - that much you knew. If you didn’t get arrested for assaulting a Farspace official then maybe you’d take some days off to go to Linkon, or maybe go to the DAA and see the little shrine Patrick and Gideon had set up in his old locker.

“Caleb,” you whisper, your head dropping into your hands as the too-familiar burn of tears in your eyes builds up. “You bastard.”

“Rude.”

The new voice in your bedroom has you screaming, throwing the first thing you could get your hands on at the figure in the doorway. He catches the bear easily, looking at it with a smile before looking back to where you sit on the bed. He’d never seen you so upset, and for it to be over him was a twist of the knife that had planted itself in his heart every time he went to check on you.

“Hey, you’re okay, doc. It’s me.”

“That's the problem.” Your counter makes him scoff, and you scoot away from him as he steps closer to your bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” His sigh is heavy, and he sits on the edge of the bed with Little Caleb in his hands. “You’re not hallucinating, and you can hit me some more if you want.”

Fuck, did you want to. But if you hurt him you’d then have to patch him up and that wasn’t something you were particularly interested in. Not when your hands couldn’t stop shaking and your vision was blurred courtesy of the tears you'd been trying to blink away. You didn’t sign off on sloppy work, nor would you perform sloppy work - not even on him.

You watch as he scoots closer to you, slow and with his hands in your sight as if trying to calm a scared animal. He’d always been so dramatic, and you hate that his antics have your cheek twitching as he dances Little Caleb towards you as he moves. He was now a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and he was using a teddy bear to try and calm you down.

“You shouldn’t cry over me anymore,” he says when you’re finally within reach, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. It’s warm, skin softer than you remember it being, and you can’t help but put your bandaged hand over his. “I’m back, and I’m okay.”

Was he? The Caleb you knew would rather die than have to wear a suit and tie - uniform or not. He’d shed the tie and coats, sitting beside you in a button down and slacks with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, more like the man you had come to love but still foreign to you

“So you just stalked me for two months?”

“Only two weeks. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Your diagnosis?”

“You’re not okay,” he whispers, his arms hesitant to pull you into him but still succeeding in their task. “I can’t apologize enough for what’s happened, but I can take care of you moving forward. Whatever you want or need, I’ll make sure you have it and that’s a promise.”

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Your murmured request has him moving you so you straddle him, forcing the eye contact he needed to try and get through to you.

“I’m not.”

The kiss happens before you’ve registered that he’d moved, but your fingers move to undo more of his buttons so you could get so your hands could feel his skin and trust that he was real. Your bandaged hand rests over his heart, and you’re not sure if it was his heartbeat or the throbbing in your hand that you’re feeling but you were choosing to believe that it was his.

“No zero gravity acrobatics,” you request when you feel yourself get lighter, earning a laugh from him against your lips as he moves below you.

“Trying to get these pants off.”

That was a good idea, and you swing your legs back as you’d learned how to do so you can get your own pants off while he did. There were some things you supposed you’d never forget how to do, you just hadn’t expected moving in the evol created gravity fluctuations to be one of those things but it clearly came in handy.

“So talented,” he praises, bringing your legs back around him as the gravity returns and his hands pull your shirt over your head. “Missed you so much, baby. Your teasin’ and your smile, this pretty body, and the way you tell me ‘m stupid.”

“Caleb.” It’s all you can say, eyes closing when you feel his fingers slide through your folds. You couldn’t help that his gravity manipulation turned you on, or the way your body would always react to his touch.

“Already so wet, that’s my girl.”

His. You’d been his since the second time you’d slept with him, nobody could ever come close to what Caleb made you feel. Both literally and figuratively weightless, with an infectious warmth that radiated from his heart and easily made your own that much warmer. His hands are still so familiar with your body, touching you with an uncertain gentleness but still knowing exactly how you needed to be touched to pull that first orgasm from you.

“Come home with me, doc.” He whispers into your mouth, hands holding you hips tight as you hover over his length. His tip just barely poking into your prepped hole drives you crazy, but you know he won’t let you move until you answer him. Those dual-toned eyes have that pleading look to them, like a puppy begging for a treat but the looming darkness in them makes you wonder if this puppy would bite.

“We can talk about it later,” you suggest, your arm moving to wrap around his neck as you get the clearance to lower yourself onto him.

It’d been too long since you’d had any kind of penetration, the fire of your desire snuffed out by your grief, and Caleb had always been difficult for you to take. It had been long enough that this felt like a new experience again, your eyes staying open as his forehead presses to yours while he talks you through the slow descent with soft praise until you’re fully seated. You missed the feeling of his length, the position that made you feel like he was deepen enough that he was pushed against your cervix - and in this moment you think he actually might be.

“Always take me so well,” he praises, his hands guiding you to move. “You could have me every day if you wanted. All the time, take you with me on tours just so you can be close.”

The drag of his length against your still adjusting walls prompts an ache that was familiar and comforting despite the pain it brought, and you find yourself clinging to him in hopes that it would keep him there with you forever. You couldn’t bear to let him leave you again, you’d keep him inside you like this if it meant he wouldn’t leave you alone, leave you to feel that emptiness he’d left when he’d “died”. The offer to go with him actually sounded enticing, being taken care of rather than taking care of others - taking care of yourself again.

“No more crying, baby.” It’s a soft spoken order, but an order nonetheless, his hands coming to cup your cheeks so he could wipe the offending tears away. You still have the assistance of his evol to ride him, the fluctuations in gravity keeping you moving despite both of you being otherwise occupied with each other.

“I don’t want you to leave again.” If you hadn’t been so close, he likely wouldn’t have heard your whisper. Being exposed like this, even in front of Caleb, wasn’t something you were good at. You were already calm and collected, the black cat to his golden retriever in terms of energy which carried into your work. You couldn’t hold it together after he’d died, but you put up a good front in the hospital for your patients and colleagues. Even the most artisan of masks had their cracks and you were seeing yours crumble to dust in his hands, likely never to be repaired.

“I’m not leaving you, baby,” he murmurs, placing the gentles of kisses to your lips as he holds your head in place. “Never again. I can’t be without you again. But let me make you feel good, alright? Let me take care of you.”

And he does, pulling multiple orgasms from you before he finally releases into your spent body. You’re held tightly in his arms, chest to heaving chest as you both fight to catch your breath.

His stamina was insane now, making you wonder just what they’d done to him in his recovery as your brain finally caught up to the activities of the last hour. How had he been alerted, was it the Fleet’s doing or someone else’s? Did it hurt? Was he-

“Thinking way too hard after all of that.”

“Is it okay if I’m thinking about you?”

“Only if it’s about my offer to come home with me. But I’ll also accept compliments about how handsome and good in bed I am.”

In all your grieving you’d forgotten how fucking cocky he was, an annoyed huff leaving you as you try to pull away. The reaction in his right hand is delayed compared to the left, which was odd considering he was right handed. His reaction time should’ve been better, and it was suspicious how perfect his skin was despite him being in an explosion. There were some imperfections created by your grip on him, but nothing related to the explosion. You’d expected maybe some grafts, scarring from burns at the very least - but he was perfect.

“Let’s go shower, honey. Maybe that’ll help you relax some more.”

It doesn’t, but you do your best to put up a front as your hands carefully examine his body. He spends the shower reassuring you that he was real and standing in front of you, trying to wash your body down as you used washing his as an excuse to really look at him. Medical at the Fleet must really be something, and you’re tempted to take him up on his offer just so you could investigate closer. Something truly wasn’t right here, and for his sake you needed to know what it was.

His hands are careful as they dry you off, paying special attention to your hair and leaning in to kiss you as you look up at him. His lips are dry, and you remind him to stay hydrated which earns a nervous laugh at him being caught.

“You really notice everything, doc.” It’s unfortunate that he’s right, because you wanted to just enjoy that he was here but couldn’t.

You’re barely dressed when he gets a call, and you excuse yourself to get your own glass of water so he could have that privacy. It’s when you start to head back to the bedroom that you frown at seeing him fully dressed and heading your way while draping his tie around his neck.

“I gotta handle some business. But I’ll be back tonight.” His fingers nimbly tie the black fabric around his neck, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you as he transforms into The Colonel.

He leans in to kiss you, indulging himself in your taste with a satisfied hum that reverberates through your mouth and causing your heart to flutter.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, doc, I promise.” The promise is sealed with another kiss, only he’s pulling you along with him to the door to maintain that physical contact to anchor him to the moment despite the tides working to pull him away. “I ordered some groceries for you that should be here soon, make sure you eat.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The use of his title pulls a wink from him, a request for you to call him that in bed at least once met with your door closing in his face. You could hear him laugh on the other side, the sound more comforting than you think he’d ever realize. He was back, alive, and with you once again. You couldn’t look past the mystery that was lingering under his surface and return, but you were going to enjoy your time with him nonetheless.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lads fic #lads x reader #lads x you #lnds smut #lnds fic #lnds angst #l&ds caleb #lnds x reader #lnds fanfic #l&ds x reader #l&ds fanfiction

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topgun-imagines · 1 year ago

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Day 12: Take It All Back

Pairings: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bradley says something he comes to regret in the heat of the moment.

Warnings: Arguments, insults, age-gaps, insecurities & drinking

Word count: 1.5k

A night out with Bradley’s friends was what started this argument in the first place. Normally, you tried to stay away from his friends. They were lovely people, you just found that whenever you and your boyfriend went out with them, he became an entirely different person. You weren’t sure what got into the pilot, but you figured it was best to remove yourself from the situation entirely. Sometimes, it seemed like he was embarrassed to just be in your presence. While you didn't want to admit it, you were fairly certain you knew why.

Bradley was over ten years older than you. Even though he had assured you that the age gap was no problem for him, you found it hard to believe him in times like this. While you knew that his friends were lovely people, you occasionally got the feeling that a few of them were weirded out by the large age difference. That wasn’t what bothered you, however. It was the fact that your own boyfriend would act as if you didn’t exist whenever you went out with his friends. It was as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience to him; nothing more than someone that he got stuck with taking care of rather than his loving girlfriend.

So, you did your best to avoid situations where you would have to hide in the corner, charring with Bob while Rooster entertained anything other than you. You didn’t mind chatting with Bob. Quite the opposite, in fact. You just wished that Bradley would spend a little more time with you when he was out with his friends.

However, even though you felt like this, you would never tell Bradley. You didn’t want to be seen as the clingy and insecure girlfriend. So, you suffered in silence and watched your Boyfriend mingle about the bar. It wasn’t all that bad. After all, you had Bob to keep you company.

This particular night, it was Bob’s birthday. Normally, you would have come up with some excuse to get out of going to the celebration at the Hard Deck. However, you had Bob had grown exceptionally close over the past few months in Miramar. Regardless of how badly you wanted to be curled up at home with your boyfriend and some music, you sucked it up to wish your friend a happy birthday.

The second you walked into the Hard Deck, you could tell how much love and effort had gone into making the bar look wonderful for the festivities. You could practically feel the pride radiating off Jake and Natasha for the entire night. Penny had insisted on making the cake from scratch and you could safely say that you had never seen a more beautiful-looking dessert. The few gifts that people brought were stacked on the bar top and most of the aviators were gathered around the pool table.

Once again, Bradley left your side the second you stepped into the bar, leaving you to go track down one of your other friends. Bob, as usual, was sitting just outside the rowdy group, nursing a root beer. You joined the shy WSO and watched the game of pool between Phoenix and Coyote unfold.

After a few hours, the group was well past the point of being drunk. Given the fact that no one had work in the morning, they were all loving the thought of not showing up on base with a hangover. Being someone who never drank that often, you found yourself stepping away from the group when they all started drinking heavily. Bob was the same. That was how you found him hiding out on the deck, watching the waves crash against the shore. “Why aren’t you inside? Enjoying your party.” You chuckled quietly, taking a seat next to him and sticking your feet in the sand. You tipped your head back to stare up at the stars above you. Everything was silent for the next few seconds. Just as you were about to stand up and leave, giving Bob some time to himself, the WSO spoke.

“Just needed a bit of a break,” You instantly understood what he meant. Especially when you heard the loud, intoxicated laughs coming from inside the bar. With a hum, the two of you descended into silence once more. A comfortable silence that was only broken by Bob’s next question. “How are things between you and Bradley?”

You had gone to Bob when you first started avoiding group outings. The man had been exactly what you needed. He simply let you vent, providing his opinion on the situation only after he knew that you were finished. For that, you were incredibly thankful. “Still the same.” You breathed with a heavy sigh. Bob offered you a look of sympathy, knowing the toll that this was taking on you.

It was when Bob laid a comforting hand on your shoulder that something clicked. The only reason you were here was to celebrate Bob’s birthday. Sure, you didn’t mind sitting out in the calm with the WSO, but Bradley had promised you that things wouldn’t be the same as they usually were. From where you were sitting, it sure looked like nothing had changed.

Before Bob could stop you, you were standing up off the deck and heading for the bar. With a sigh, Bob followed you into the brightly lit building. He watched with a slight grimace on his face as you hurried up to your boyfriend and tugged on his arm. Bradley followed you away from the group with a small pout on his face. Watching you silently from the corner, Bob saw the way Bradley’s face fell.

And then the man was storming out of the bar. You were hot on his heels, trying to keep your voice down but failing miserably. Despite what was most likely your best wishes, the majority of the Dagger Squad followed the two of you outside. Including Bob. Their jaws dropped at the sight in front of them.

Bradley was towering over you, his face flushed in our anger. The shy WSO was the only one to notice the terrified look on your face. You were good at hiding it. “Oh, could you grow up?” Your boyfriend snapped at you. Your jaw dropped, but he wasn’t done yet. “God, sometimes you act like such a child.” Gasps could be heard from the aviators only a few feet away.

In that moment, your heart dropped into your stomach. Bradley knew that the age gap between the two of you was something that you were most insecure about. He had just used that against you. Ever so slowly, you took a step away from him. The second there was more than a foot of distance between you two, his face changed entirely. It was as if he just realized what he had said; how he had hurt you.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. Wordlessly, you shook your head slightly and stepped away from your boyfriend. When he tried to stop you, you merely pulled your wrist from his hold. “I’m going home,” You whispered. Your attempts at keeping your tears at bay failed and you sniffled as they trailed down your face. The members of the Dagger Squad that were still standing outside offered you sympathetic looks as you walked back into the bar to collect your things.

Bradley didn’t even try to follow you in. After a few seconds and multiple attempts at wiping your eyes, you stepped back outside. Instantly, Bob was by your side. Jake had hauled Bradley off around the corner of the bar and you could distantly hear him tearing into him for his comment. “Let me drive you home.” Bob left no room for argument as he ushered you to his truck.

However, you still tried to protest. “Bobby, it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to drive me home.” With one look, he silenced any of your arguments. So, you climbed into his truck wordlessly. Bob pulled out of the parking lot and began the drive back to his house rather than yours. Silently, you thanked him. You couldn’t handle returning to your shared home with Bradley, without your boyfriend being there. Instead, he was at the bar, having both Phoenix and Jake rip his head off about how insensitive he was.

You had no idea what was going to happen in the next few days, but you knew that it was going to take you a long time to get over what Bradley said. Your head knocked against the window and your eyes closed. The soft sound of Bob singing along with the radio was the last thing you heard before you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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Batting Practice Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love how excited Bradley and Everett are for the Tiny Eagles' final game, and you can't wait to show Bradley the surprise you have planned for him. With an undefeated season and the title of Coaches of the Year on the line, you and Molly cheer for the boys with everything you have.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

On Saturday morning, before the sun was even up, Bradley was kissing your forehead and whispering, "I'll see you at the game, Kitten." He had been spending more nights at your house than his own apartment, and every time he had to go back to his place to get fresh clothes or do laundry, he kind of hated it.

As he climbed out of your bed and put on yesterday's clothing, you reached for him, and he gave you a proper kiss. "See you in a few hours," you mumbled before rolling over and going back to sleep. Ten weeks. He had only known you and Everett for ten weeks, but he was so in love with you and your son and your little house and everything about you.

With a sigh, he grabbed his hat and his wallet and headed outside, locking up behind himself as he went. He had been doing the sneaking in late and sneaking back out early routine on occasion, not wanting Everett to feel like Bradley was taking over his house. But every time he was there, he felt like he belonged with the two of you.

The school year was wrapping up for Everett, but Bradley had enjoyed working on math and reading homework at the kitchen island. He enjoyed tossing a baseball around your front yard. Every time he left, he wanted to go back.

He ran a load of his laundry while he ate breakfast in his sparse kitchen. Today was the last tee ball game, and he couldn't believe it was less than three months ago that Bob had been practically begging Bradley to help him with the Tiny Eagles in the first place. What if he had said no? He didn't even want to think about that. And as of right now, his team was undefeated, thanks in large part to you and Everett and how much fun Bradley had been having.

As he pulled on his coach's jersey and grabbed his blue hat and whistle, he silently hoped his team would win their last game, because he knew how happy that would make Everett. And if he and Bob won coaches of the year, he'd give his trophy to Everett to add to the collection of baseball items in his bedroom.

When Bradley parked at the field a little bit early, nobody else was there yet, not even Bob. He had noticed that Bob had been cutting it a little close the past few games and practices, showing up barely on time, looking a little disheveled with a smiling Molly in tow. It took all of Bradley's willpower not to rib Bob too hard about it, because his fellow aviator turned crimson every time. But Molly could take the trash talk like a pro, which Bradley already appreciated about your sister.

And ever since Bradley had gotten a glimpse of the diamond rings that the jeweler had on display, he couldn't help but think that things with you were moving too fast and still too slow at the same time. So he fought the urge to max out his credit card, but he was still thinking about what kind of ring you would like.

"Coach Bradley!"

He looked up to see Sandra and Henry rushing toward him with two gigantic gift baskets. She was wearing practically no clothing, and he was agitated that she had been able to corner him. "Hey, Henry! Sandra." He patted Henry on his shoulder, and then Sandra was in his personal space, handing him one of the baskets that was filled with so much random shit. "Thanks," he mumbled, trying to sidestep her hand as it found his arm.

"You're so welcome. This season has been fantastic, all thanks to you and Bob," she purred. "I'm just hoping I can get Henry on your team for the fall league. And I'm hoping you'll choose me to be Team Mom next time."

Bradley rubbed his mustache. He'd been thinking about coaching again, even going so far as to considering becoming a head coach. He and Bob could have teams that went against each other, and Bradley thought that might be a lot of fun. "Thanks, Sandra. And you know what, that's a great idea. Since I'm dating our Team Mom now, it would probably be a conflict of interest if I chose her again in the fall."

The sour look on her face as Bradley noticed Bob's truck pull into the parking lot followed by your car had him smiling a little bit as he waved back to Everett who was waving wildly through the open window. "Excuse me," he mumbled as he headed for your car. Hadn't he just seen you a few hours ago? Been in your bed with your arms around his neck, felt your soft breaths on his cheek?

"Fuck," he gasped, jogging up the hill with his gift basket, antsy to get to you. When you climbed out of your car, he set the basket on your roof and kissed you hard.

"Ew!" Molly gasped as she climbed out of Bob's truck.

But you just smiled and said, "I like it when you wear your hat backwards."

"Why do you think I keep doing it?" he asked softly, and you bit your lip as you glanced back at the gift basket.

"Something to remember Sandra by?" you asked with an eye roll. "I'll give you a better thank you gift later, Coach."

"Oh, I can't wait," he mumbled, kissing your forehead as Ev climbed out of your backseat. "Hey, Kiddo! Last game. Are you excited?"

"Yes!" he said, jumping up to high five Bradley before running over to Bob as well. "If we win today, then that means our team is the best one!" Bradley watched Everett bounce around between Bob and Molly as you chucked the gift from Sandra onto your passenger seat.

"Hey, careful, Kitten. There might be something good in there."

You rolled your eyes and closed your door, and Bradley laced his fingers through yours. "Yeah, I saw a Starbucks gift card. It's mine now."

"Whatever you want," he whispered, running his thumb along your ring finger. The kids were starting to warm up with Bob, and Molly had secured a good spot on the bleachers. "I'll see you after the Tiny Eagles go undefeated for a perfect season."

You kissed him hard and then, when Bradley turned toward the other coaches, he felt you slap his ass. "You can do it, Coach Bradley! You're the best!" Then you turned innocently toward the bleachers and brightly said, "Hello, Sandra!" before continuing toward your sister.

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

"It's the tight, white pants that made me do it," you whispered to Molly as she shook with laughter. "I was helpless to control myself."

"God, you're right," Molly sighed. "It's like... I never knew how badly I needed a man in a uniform. And I'm talking the flight suit, the khakis, and the tee ball getup."

You looked at Bob for a beat. "It's the glasses, Mo."

"The fucking glasses," she whined softly. She was going to move in with Bob next weekend after Everett's birthday baseball game.

You wanted to warn your sister that she was moving really quickly, especially for her, but you just couldn't. You thought she and Bob made a lot of sense, and you were happy for her. Bob was the perfect departure from the bad boys she usually went for. He kept turning to look at Molly as the game started, just like Bradley did with you.

"How did this happen?" she asked.

"I honestly don't know," you replied.

"I'm fully addicted to the pizza nights now, I hope you know that," she told you with a grin. "We can win any argument when Natasha is with us. It's literally perfect."

You loved the pizza nights, too. You loved the way Everett was always welcome on someone's lap. You loved how Bradley cut the pizza slices smaller for him. You loved how comfortable you felt. "It is perfect."

Molly cleared her throat just as Everett went up to bat. "Not to dampen the mood, but what did your lawyer say?"

You took a deep breath, but you found that it actually wasn't so hard to talk about. "I'm going to meet with them in person, but getting Danny's name off of Everett's birth certificate is going to be challenging. Would be easier if I were remarried and looking to have my spouse adopt him. But they are going to do some research about child support based on Danny's shitty income which I'm sure will make him rage at me again."

Molly hugged you tight. "I'm sorry this is happening."

You nodded, but you found that you didn't want to cry about it anymore. "Me too. But we'll continue to be better off without him, even if they can't make him pay."

Then you both jumped to your feet. "Go Ev!" Molly cheered as he hit the ball ridiculously far. He ran the bases as Bradley and Bob cheered him on. And the look of pure elation on Bradley's face as Everett crossed home plate and ran into his arms was going to stay with you forever.

"We're leading by one run now!" Molly was bouncing up and down.

Then it really hit you. "They're going to be undefeated, aren't they?" You felt kind of silly. It was just tee ball. But it had actually become really important to you and everyone around you.

"I think so!" Molly gushed as you both sat down and held hands through the final inning. And when the Tiny Condors were not able to tie the game, you felt tears in your eyes for a different reason as you smiled and ran down the bleachers toward Everett.

You scooped him up into your arms and squeezed him tight. "You're so good, Ev! I'm so proud of you!"

"Mommy! Aunt Molly! We won every game!"

"You sure did!" Molly told him, kissing his cheek before heading toward Bob. She made no secret of them being together as a moment later, you saw her hand slide up the front of his jersey as she kissed him.

Bradley was left to converse with the umpires, but his smile was huge when he finally turned your way. He high fived and hugged all of the Tiny Eagles, but he knelt in front of Everett and hugged him for a long time. And when they started to have a quiet conversation, you gave them a little space.

You hoped this meant that Bradley and Bob would both win awards at the league picnic tomorrow afternoon. You already had a treat planned for your boyfriend just in case, but you thought you could use it either way.

After Bradley kissed Everett's forehead, he stood and kissed yours as well. "Thanks for not pulling Ev from the team after I fucked up, Kitten."

You smiled up at him. "I didn't have the heart to do it. I'm glad I didn't."

"I love you. Let me buy you both some ice cream."

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

After Bradley offered to buy you and Everett a treat from the snack bar, you told him to take Everett to the bench and wait. You insisted you wanted to buy it. So Bradley gave him a piggyback ride over to the same bench where you and he had flirted relentlessly on your 'first date'. Bradley smiled just thinking about how he had answered your phone when Frank kept calling you nonstop.

Everett jumped down onto the bench, and Bradley sat next to him while you waved from the line. "Hey, kiddo?" he asked Everett after you blew him a kiss.

"Yeah, Coach?"

Bradley chuckled and looked at his excited face. "You can call me Bradley now. All the time. Tee ball is over."

"Okay," he replied, still all smiles from winning the final game.

Bradley cleared his throat and made sure you weren't on your way over yet. "Can you keep a secret from your mom? It's nothing bad or scary, I promise."

"Okay," he said again, nodding this time.

"What kind of ring did your mom used to wear? When she was married to your dad?"

Everett's little brow scrunched up as he gave Bradley a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Her wedding ring," Bradley told him quietly. "What did it look like?"

"Oh," he said, plopping down next to Bradley now. "She didn't have one."

Bradley cocked his head to the side. "She never wore one?"

"Nope."

"Huh." Surely you must have had a wedding ring? Did Danny really not buy you a ring? "Ev, she never wore any rings? Not even a plain one?"

"Nope."

Bradley settled back against the bench, and stared off into space. He'd been thinking about it a bit, and he really wanted to make sure he didn't get you a ring that was similar to something you had worn from Danny. But if you never had one at all...

"Take it before it melts!" you said, laughing as you jolted Bradley from his thoughts. He grabbed one of the ice creams from your hands and quickly licked the sides before he helped Everett with his.

"Thanks, Kitten," Bradley told you as you went to sit on the other side of your son. "Are you excited for the picnic tomorrow?" he asked Everett.

"Yep! I'm going to get a trophy!"

"I think Bradley might be getting a trophy, too!" you added, licking your ice cream and winking at Bradley. He watched you eat with narrowed eyes as his own snack melted.

Bradley grunted. "Well, the most important thing is that I'm going to get you ready for real baseball in the fall. And the fact that San Diego has nice weather year round means that you'll probably get so good from practicing all the time that you'll be able to get a scholarship someday."

"What's a scholarship?" Everett asked as his ice cream dripped on Bradley's shoe.

"Ev," you mumbled and went to clean it up. But Bradley took your hand and guided you back to the bench with a shake of his head.

"It's fine, Kitten. It's just my shoe," he told you. And then he turned Everett's ice cream so it wouldn't keep dripping everywhere. "A scholarship is money that colleges sometimes give to athletes so they will come play sports for the school. Your mom would probably be delighted if you got one."

You laughed as you bit into your cone. "Would be nice. Lawyers are expensive," you muttered, leaning in to kiss Everett's cheek.

"You need to keep me in the loop when you do things like that," he told you, shooting you a no nonsense look.

"Okay," you whispered.

Once Everett had finished his ice cream and washed his hands, Bradley walked both of you back to your car. "Want me to pick you both up for the picnic tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Everett cheered. "Your car is fun!"

But once he was buckled in his booster seat, you pulled Bradley close and whispered, "I have something special for you, Coach." And Bradley audibly groaned as your hand came to rest on his cock, stroking him through his snug baseball pants. "Stay over tomorrow night?"

"Of course," he grunted next to your ear as you squeezed him gently. "Fuck."

You just giggled and said, "I think you'll love your surprise."

Then you backed out of the parking spot while Bradley stood next to his Bronco with a semi and waved like an idiot. He wasn't sure what kind of surprise you had in store for him, but he loved everything you did. And then he drove off in the opposite direction, back to the jewelry shop to pick up your necklace which the jeweler had needed to keep longer than anticipated. And he could also look at the rings some more.

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

"Where's Aunt Molly?" Everett whined as you sat with him on your lap on the crowded bleachers. All of the tee ball teams had been invited today, and there were so many people at the picnic.

"She's on her way from work, Ev. She should be here soon."

"What if she misses my trophy?"

"Then we'll have to show it to her when she gets here."

"What if she misses Coach Bob's trophy?"

You kissed his cheek and held him tighter. He was beyond excited that his coaches had been nominated for awards. "Then she can see Coach Bob's trophy later."

You laughed at the inadvertent dirty joke you just told, and then you saw your sister walking down from her car right as the ceremony started. She found a spot to stand off the side and waved at you. "Look, Aunt Molly's here. You feel better now?"

"Yep!" Everett told you as he waved to her as well.

You watched the third and second place teams get their medals, and when they called the Tiny Eagles up to collect their trophies, Everett ran up alongside Bradley and Bob. You took some pictures while you cheered. You were struck with a pang of sadness over the fact that Danny didn't want to be part of this. But then you saw Bradley pull Everett into a big hug as soon as he had his trophy in his hand.

Your son was happy all the time when he was around Bradley. He always seemed to provide Everett with love, attention, and comfort. And that was in addition to all of the fun they seemed to have together. You took another picture of them hugging, and then it was Bradley's turn for his award.

Bob looked so shy and hesitant as he thanked everyone for a great season, but when it was Bradley's turn, you couldn't stop smiling.

He gave all of the kids on the team a special shout out, and then he thanked the league for trusting that he and Bob could handle a team like this on their first try. And then you had to suppress your giggles as Bradley found where you were sitting on the bleachers and said, "And a big thank you to our Team Mom. None of this would have happened without her."

You waved down to them, and Everett, Bradley and Bob all waved back. Then Bradley was awarded his trophy and promptly handed it to Everett. "Seriously," Molly called out to you. "He's so much better than Danny."

"I know," you agreed, taking in the enormous smile on Everett's face as he ran to Molly. And then you were heading down the bleachers and into Bradley's arms.

"Hey, Kitten," he whispered, kissing your cheek as you laughed.

"Remember that day when you silently bullied me into agreeing to be the Team Mom?" you asked, looking up at him.

His grin and his backward hat looked exactly like they had that day as he said, "I sure do. God, I was so into you. I thought you must have been married though."

You buried your face against his chest and laughed. "The hot coach wanted me to be Team Mom? No way I wasn't raising my hand."

He kissed the top of your head and led you over to the picnic area where Everett was sitting with Molly, his grip on both trophies unrelenting. "Thanks for letting him hold that," you told Bradley.

But he just shrugged. "He can have it. I think he was more excited about me winning it than I was," he said with a laugh. "And I think I'm going to coach another tee ball team in the fall. I loved this."

Your heart swelled with love for him. "You should. You're good at it."

"Deployments will be hard to get around though," he whispered, kissing you on the head again. "Gonna be hard for us, too."

"Ev and I aren't going anywhere."

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

After the picnic, Bradley drove you both back to your house and helped a very sleepy Everett get a quick shower and get ready for bed. "Go relax, Kitten. I got this," he promised as Everett changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth.

You bit your lip and kissed Everett goodnight. Then you whispered, "Come find me when you're done," before you walked into your bedroom and closed the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He grunted, wondering if he was going to get the surprise you promised him. His mind was filled with dirty blowjobs and kitten costumes, and he had to take a deep breath as Everett crossed the hallway back to his bedroom in his baseball pajamas and climbed up into his bed.

"Have you thought about moving into the extra bedroom?" he asked with a yawn, and Bradley smiled as he pulled the covers up over him.

"Honestly, Kiddo? I think about it all the time."

"We should talk to my mom about it," Everett muttered as he rolled onto his side, already half asleep.

"Yeah," Bradley whispered, "we should." Then he straightened both trophies on Everett's dresser and turned off the lamp before leaving the room. But he thought that another level of commitment was definitely going to be necessary before he could move in here. He'd been thinking about it though.

But all thoughts simply vanished from his brain as he opened your bedroom door and saw you standing there next to your bed. A strangled sound escaped from the back of his throat as his jaw dropped open.

"You okay, Coach?" you asked teasingly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, hands planted on your hips.

"Kitten," he gasped, eyes going wider. "Baby."

You were wearing a tiny, skimpy red and white cheerleading uniform and holding red pom poms at your hips. The little pleated skirt barely hid anything from his view, and he could see your peaked nipples poking against the top.

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "I heard you won Coach of the year. I'm so proud of you." You took a step closer to him, and he wasn't sure if his cock could actually get any harder than it was. You'd put on some red lipstick and some extra eye makeup, and you looked fucking hot. He was having a hard time speaking as he reached for you.

"This is for me?" he managed to ask as he pulled you against him and ran his hands along the little skirt. But you spun in his arms, and he felt all of the blood in his body rush to his groin as you rubbed your ass against him.

"For you." You looked back at him over your shoulder as he ran his hands down along your bare thighs.

"You look like one of the Phillies cheerleaders," he whispered in your ear.

"That's what I was going for," you gasped with a smile.

"My first crush was on the entire 1995 Phillies cheerleading roster."

"Why am I not surprised?" Your soft laughter had him bucking against your backside. He was completely ready to go.

"You like dressing up for me," he muttered as you spun to face him again.

You nodded and shook your pom poms as you shimmied for him. "Yeah, I do. I think you like it, too."

"That would be an understatement," he growled as your tits nearly bounced out of that tiny top. When he pulled you closer by your hips, you dropped the pom poms to the floor and reached for the fly of his pants, and Bradley leaned down to kiss you softly. "I love this."

You kissed him all over his lips and mustache and cheeks, and he was sure he had your lipstick everywhere, and he was so fucking turned on. And then you were in front of him on your knees, and his baseball pants and underwear were around his thighs. He quickly pulled his jersey and undershirt off as you wrapped your pretty lips around his cock and looked up at him as you took him inch by inch until he met the back of your throat.

"Yeah," he groaned. "Just like this. I'd jerk off thinking about those cheerleaders sucking my cock."

You moaned so loudly with him against the back of your throat that he had to bite his tongue against the urge to blow his load already.

"But you're so much better. My god." He was already panting as you withdrew him from your mouth. Your lipstick was on his cock now, but he barely had time to process anything before you were sucking on him again. He watched you, his actual fantasy come to life, as you gave him excellent head. When he ran his thumb along your cheek, he could feel his cock inside your mouth. He needed to stop you, because he desperately wanted to fuck you, but this felt too perfect.

But when you started running your fingernails along his balls, he pulled you up to your feet. You let out a startled laugh before he pressed his lips to yours. "I wanna fuck you," he managed between sloppy kisses as he grabbed at your bare backside with both hands.

You were moaning against his lips as his dick was poking into your belly. "Anything you want," you gasped, running your hands along his shoulders and pecs.

"Don't tell me that," he growled, picking you up as you squealed and getting you on your knees at the edge of the bed. "God damn. I want everything." You looked too good on your hands and knees, glancing back at him while your glistening pussy and ass were bare for him. He ran his fingers through your slick until you were moaning his name, and then he knelt and put his mouth on you as he used his hand to coat himself with your wetness.

"Coach!" you cried out as Bradley licked your pussy and kissed the backs of your thigh.

"You gotta be quiet, Kitten," he grunted, pushing your knees a little further apart as he lapped at you until you were bouncing back to meet his tongue. But you just got louder and louder, and when Bradley stood behind you and slid his cock inside, you nearly screamed.

"Bradley!"

"Shh." He tried his best to coax you to be quiet, but it didn't work until he clamped his left hand over your lips. "Baby, you can be as loud as you want when we're actually alone," he rasped, fucking you a little harder now. That little pleated red and white skirt brushed along your ass with each thrust, and Bradley wrapped his right hand around your waist, fucking you with deeper strokes.

Your muffled cries had him close now as he moved his hand to palm your ass. He'd have to consider buying you a gag of some sort, and that had him actually cumming inside your tight pussy.

"Fuck!" he grunted, letting go of your mouth and squeezing both of your ass cheeks as he fucked you until he was seeing stars. You just whimpered pathetically as you clenched around his softening cock. When Bradley pulled you up so your back was pressed against his chest, he ran his hands up under your skirt and teased your clit, really making sure you felt good.

"Coach!" you gasped, still fluttering around his cock as he pressed his lips to your neck. When you moved his fingers from your pussy up to your lips, he nibbled along your bare shoulder. You sucked on each of his fingers before you asked, "Did you like this as much as the kitten costume?"

He groaned so loudly, you giggled. "Yes, this was just as good as the kitten. Don't make me choose one."

"You can have both," you promised, turning to kiss him as he withdrew his cock from your pussy and helped you to your feet.

He watched his cum drip down and coat your thighs as he whimpered for you. And then he remembered what was tucked inside his pants pocket. Carefully he pulled out your repaired necklace and held it out to you.

"Oh!" you gasped, reaching for it right away. "You fixed it!"

"Yeah," he whispered, kissing your parted lips. "Of course I did."

Once you had further examined it, you stared up at him with a look of awe. "It's better now," you told him, turning it over in your hand to inspect the engraving. One side of the paw print said Bradley and the other said Everett. He carefully clasped it around your neck before you wrapped your arms around his waist, and he just couldn't stop thinking about being here with you forever.

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

On Thursday, you were desperately trying to finish up for the day when another project got dumped on your desk. It was Everett's birthday, and you were hoping you'd be able to sneak out early and stop home to change before the Padres game. You started working on the new project before you decided to just say fuck it.

You turned your computer off an hour early and locked up your desk. You'd have time to change and meet everyone else at the ballpark since Everett was spending the day at the zoo with Molly. So you strolled to the elevator and then out to your car without a care in the world.

And that's when your phone rang. It was your lawyer. You stumbled to a stop in the parking lot as you accepted the call.

"A judge is not going to allow Daniel to sign away his rights. Not unless adoption becomes an option for your son. However, even when you acquire sole custody, which is basically a done deal, he'd still be required to pay you the child support he owes you, plus continue to pay in the future. Your ex husband would have one hundred and twenty days to try to dispute it. Would you like us to serve him with papers?"

Your heart was pounding as you played with the charm on your chain. You were beginning to feel like you had on your bathroom floor, short of breath and nauseous. "Can I think about it?" you asked softly. You didn't want to have to chase Danny for money. He would just make this as difficult for you as he could, and you didn't want to have to deal with him anymore at all.

"Of course. Take your time."

You ended the call and climbed in your car. Bradley had implored you to keep him updated with the information your lawyer was giving you. But there was just no way you'd be able to tell him all of this. It would be mortifying, admitting to your boyfriend that more than anything, you wanted to know if he'd ever marry you and adopt your child.

A pathetic sounding laugh bubbled out of you. No. You would just keep that information to yourself and decide if it was worth going after Danny at all. Because all you really wanted at the moment was your own name solely attached to Everett as his legal guardian. But that wasn't something you could have yet if at all.

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

Undefeated! Everett's birthday party is up next! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

Time to check out The Curveball for more of Molly and Bob!

PART 23

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dragonflylady77 · 11 days ago

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Terminally Straight

Harringrove | 7k | Rating: M | best friend's brother, fluff

I wrote this fic almost 2 years ago now... All 10 chapters are now up on Ao3.

@passivenovember needed some fluff today so I decided it was time to post it.

Gift for @passivenovember, @heck-in-a-handbasket, @fizzigigsimmer @ihni and @shieldofiron

Summary:

Robin's mom married Steve's dad at the end of Robin's senior year and Robin is not happy about it. Thankfully her new stepbrother is off to university. Robin's best friend Billy wouldn't have minded getting to know the famed King of Hawkins High. Eight years later, they meet again and it goes better than Billy had anticipated.

read on Ao3

Hawkins, Indiana

July 2015

Billy’s crush had started at the end of senior year. He’d recently turned eighteen and landed himself a summer job with his bestest friend in the world before they started their graphic design studies.

Robin was throwing a pool party to celebrate the end of high school. Billy and Robin had clicked the moment they’d met, on Billy’s first day as a transfer from Cali, halfway through the previous school year. Their respective gaydars had pinged hard and they’d become instant best friends.

All the popular kids had decided to show up to the party because no one passed up on free booze at a pool party, even one thrown by the band geek, especially when it afforded them a look at the former residence of Hawkins High School legend, the famed Steve Harrington, Robin’s new stepbrother. To Robin’s neverending dismay, her mother had recently married Steve’s father and they were conveniently away on their Christmas honeymoon in Florida.

The sun was shining high that day in Hawkins, Indiana, and Billy was working on a decent buzz, red solo cup resting on the pool chair between his legs as he rolled a joint for him and Robin when someone angrily called out his friend’s name.

Robin flinched on the end of the lounger and Billy looked up from his task to find the prettiest boy he’d ever seen stalking towards them. Thick brown hair, huge brown eyes that sparked with anger, gangly arms dotted with moles peeking out of a sage green polo shirt, long legs hidden by jeans and white trainers.

“Robin, what the hell is this?”

“Hello to you too, Steven. What does it look like? It’s a pool party. Surely you remember what a party is?”

“Yes, thank you, I know what a party is. I’m also willing to bet that a bunch of people here are under age.”

“What’s your point, pretty boy?” Billy couldn’t help himself, the words slipped out and he could have sworn Steve’s cheeks turned pink but it was hard to tell from behind his aviators.

A second later, Steve bristled. “What do you mean, what’s my point? And don’t call me that.”

“Steve,” Robin interrupted, her hand landing on Billy’s forearm in warning, because she knew he wouldn’t leave it at that if given half a chance, “I know you went to parties all the time when you were in high school, so you can get off that fucking high horse of yours for a minute and let us enjoy the fact that we made it through senior year.”

“There’s still stories around school about the party the year you graduated, princess,” Billy added, just to see the pink on Steve’s cheeks again, and boy, was it a pretty sight. Totally worth Robin digging her nails into his arms.

Steve Harrington’s name was whispered at school like he was royalty; there wasn’t anything he hadn’t done or got away with. Billy had always taken the rumors he’d heard with a grain of salt but seeing Steve in person, he wanted them all to be true.

Steve glared at them, his lips pressed in a thin line, then he turned around and stalked off. They heard a door slam inside then the roar of an engine. Billy and Robin looked at each other, trying not to laugh, before Billy went back to finish rolling that joint. He lit it and took a long drag, leaning back in his sun lounger.

“So that’s your new brother, Rob?”

“Uh huh, aren’t I lucky?” Robin said, the sarcasm thick in her voice. “So glad he got into U of Illinois and moved to Chicago. He’s a ray of freaking sunshine.”

“He is hot as fuck is what he is,” Billy said, wondering how far down Steve’s blush went.

“He’s also terminally straight, so don’t waste your time, Billy.”

Billy let out a huge sigh. “Why does this keep happening to me? I’m telling you, Rob, I’m cursed!”

Robin cackled, taking the joint off him. “Poor, poor baby.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #dragonflylady77 #terminally straight #billy and robin are gay besties #steve chest hair agenda #pining #fluff #yearning #some smut

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

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Goose's Little Girl - The Danger Zone

Pairing: Goose / Carole

Length: 0.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Family Reunions, Fluff, Crying, Soldier Meeting the Baby whose Birth He Missed

Summary: Goose meets his daughter for the first time.

A.N. Just a little story that popped up while I was writing the next few chapters. Enjoy!

Series Master List

Master List

“I mean, what if she doesn’t recognize me, Mav? Carole said that she’s been showing her photos of me all the time and she swaddled her in some of my shirts a few times, but what if it didn’t work? What if she thinks you’re her dad? Or some random guy!?”

“Goose,” Maverick told his backseater, smiling despite Goose’s frazzled state, “you’re going to be fine. She’s going to know you’re her dad.”

“I know, I know,” Goose sighed, holding his head in his hands. “Carole’s been saying that over and over again, but it’s just, she’s my little girl, Mav. I can’t mess this up. I mean, I already missed her birth and four months of her life. I . . . I can’t mess this up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up. She’s a baby. And I’m sure that she can be easily persuaded.”

“She looks just like Carole, I swear,” Goose stated, staring down at the photo of his baby daughter. “Carole says that she looks like a mix of us, but you know, she already has Bradley, who’s looking more like me. I think it’s only fair that we have a daughter who has her beauty, don’t you think, Mav?”

“I think you’re going to pass out if you keep talking without breathing,” Maverick told Goose, who ignored his comment.

“She’s such a beautiful baby, Mav. I mean, she’s got the biggest, beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. And the roundest cheeks that you just want to kiss and smush together. She’s just perfect, Mav. I swear she’s going to look like her mom. She’s going to be just as beautiful. Maybe even more, if that’s possible.”

“You think that she’s going to be more like Carole?”

“I hope so.”

“Should we keep naval aviators away from her as a precaution then? Just in case?” Maverick mused, earning a sharp kick under the table from Goose.

“That’s not funny, Mav.”

“It’s a little funny, Goose.”

The announcement echoed around the small airport and Goose and Maverick immediately got to their feet. Goose gathered his gifts for his family and Maverick assured him that he would catch up. Pushing the door open, Goose hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time, before running towards the group of passengers disembarking from the plane.

“Daddy!” Bradley yelled out to Goose.

Maverick stood on the stairs, smiling as he watched Goose scoop Bradley up and into his arms. Pressing a kiss to his son’s cheek as he swung him around, Goose looked up as Carole approached them with a little girl in her arms. His breath left his lungs when he looked at his daughter for the first time.

Goose gently set Bradley back on the ground, ruffling his hair and handing him his toy, before turning to Carole again. Walking a few steps over to his wife, Goose pressed a loving kiss to her lips before turning to his daughter.

“Meet your little girl, Goosie,” Carole stated, handing the baby over to Goose.

Carefully taking his daughter into his arms, Goose held his daughter to his chest for the first time. He settled her, and felt himself start to tear up. She blinked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes that he had seen in the photos that Carole sent him. But seeing them in person made him start to cry even harder than before.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he sniffled, brushing his finger through her short hair. Carole rubbed his back as he pulled his daughter closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he struggled to not break down. He held his hand to the back of her little head, rocking her gently back and forth. “Sorry I was late in meeting you. But I’m here now.”

Sniffling again, Goose looked down at his daughter, who stared up at him for a moment. And then a gummy smile scrunched her chubby cheeks and she let out a baby giggle that made Goose’s heart swell and shatter in his chest. She reached out and patted his mustache, causing Carole to laugh and hold a hand to her mouth.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Goose asked his daughter, ruffling Bradley’s hair as his son grabbed onto his leg. “What about this?”

The baby girl in Goose’s arms squealed loudly as he rubbed his mustache over cheek, tickling her, and making her laugh. Goose pulled away, pressing a kiss to her cheek again. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” Goose told his daughter softly.

Not bothering to wipe his tears away, Goose bent down and scooped Bradley up, holding both his kids to his chest.

“I love you both with everything I have.”

Carole smiled and wiped Goose’s tears away before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. They shared a look that only people who had ever experienced true love would know before sharing another kiss.

“Smile for the camera,” Maverick called, causing the Bradshaws to turn around. He stood a few steps away, holding up Goose’s camera. “Have to have a family picture for the mantle.”

Carole took Bradley into her arms and posed with a beaming smile next to Goose, who gently turned his daughter around so that she faced the camera. Maverick lined up the shot and hovered his finger over the button.

“Say, ‘Bradshaw!’”

“Bradshaw!”

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #goose bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #carole bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #bradley bradshaw #the danger zone

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stfrancisprayer · 7 months ago

Text

Last Winter, This Spring

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader —when bucky thinks about the past, you're there.

word count: 4.2k notes: female reader, but no physical descriptions and no use of y/n. friends to lovers + postwar. reader is implied to be an aviation machinist. a smidge of angst at the beginning and then a giant helping of fluff for the rest. ❀ warnings: brief description of stalag

HO HO HO! @bandagesandloveletters, i was your secret summer santa! it was a such pleasure getting to know you through your asks and i loved all of the room for creativity you gave me...and your music recs!!! "moonlight serenade" and "a nightingale sang in berkeley square" were big inspirations for this fic. thank you for trusting me with your gift-- and i hope you have an amazing summer <3

ⓘ This is a work of fiction based off of the AppleTV series Masters of the Air and strictly intended to be understood as factitious. Any named mention of an individual is based solely on their dramatic portrayals, NOT their real life counterparts.

In that cold German night, you’re there.

Inside that cabin, frozen to the touch, with his cheek pressed to his pillow– his bent left arm.

Above John Egan is the corrugated wood of the top bunk, its pattern his personal constellation. In the middle bunk, there’s barely enough room to raise his head and ask Buck if he’s still awake. The spotlight on the eastern side of the grounds makes a wide revolution, sending a scanning light through the window before plunging the room back into the darkness of winter.

It comes again. In that cold German night, Rita Hayworth's there, too; Grace Kelly right below her. Posted on the wall below them is the lead hitter for a hometown baseball team, on the wall opposite is the other team’s pitcher. But John can turn to face his wall, and you're there.

He didn’t expect you to write, but the way he’d nervously paced around the bunk betrayed the fact that he was hoping you would. So when a letter comes on a gray winter morning, your familiar handwriting penned on the front, John’s numb hands fumble open the letter tellingly eager. He reads it in your voice, once, twice, enough times to memorize. But most importantly, you send him a sprig of the wild cherry tree.

When the light comes again, he can see it on his shelf. Its once-white petals are shriveled and missing now, it’s a different color than when you’d first sent it to him. But it’s still you, the brightness in your eyes and that smile– the smile he’d always loved coaxing out of you.

John switches arms so he’s lying on his right.

There’s a scratching at the base of his throat now, the sound of your name fighting to release itself. The weight that sits on his waterline is the type that he thinks won’t spill over if he pretends it isn’t there. When he breathes, his chest only expands so far, suffocating in the space between the two bunks. It’s the layers, it has to be. You’d never do that to him.

He takes the twig into his hands just to feel the thin wood between his cold fingertips.

I'll be back, he thinks. I'll be back.

In the Norfolk spring, the trees blossom at the turn of March like clockwork. Where the English sky has been gray since the beginning of September, the bloom is a welcome sight in Thorpe Abbotts. Their petals are the same color as the overcast: a delicate white. Bucky first notices them by chance from the window of the cockpit, glancing to the right as the landing gear touches down on the runway.

By mid-April, the blooms are dense enough to see from the air. When Bucky's circling above the airfield after another near-death mission, he spots the spattering of trees on the ground below and allows himself an exhale. Repetition has turned the sight of them into his own personal air marshall, congratulating him on surviving and beckoning him down onto the runway. He wipes the soot and blood from his face and tips the nose down until they’re clear from the windshield.

He’s barely pushed himself through the escape hatch, but Bucky's already making a beeline toward the aircraft hangar. His legs are still getting used to the ground; wracked with pins and needles and clumsy with each step, but he wears a smile he can’t seem to wipe off. He knows you’re behind those open metal doors, and he likes to think you’ve been waiting for him to return.

You’re there, so focused on tinkering with the uncapped propeller of a plane that you don’t notice him limp in. He could tell it was you from a mile away, all unruly hair and oil-streaked slacks, standing on a platform and putting the brunt of your weight on your wrench. Bucky calls your name, and it's familiar on his tongue.

You flash him a grin– his favorite kind, the one with teeth and the crinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you weren’t expecting his return, but like this he can’t help but believe it.

“Major Egan!” You wipe your hands on your pants. “How was it?”

Terrible; missions like those never go well. He still returns your grin. “Good. I'm here, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “And since you’re here, hand me those pliers, will you?”

He notices your toolbox underneath the propeller and retrieves the pliers obediently. As he inches onto his toes, you reach down, tongue darting out past your lips as you grasp the handles. He stifles a laugh, remembering how you’ve sworn up and down it’s not a tic of yours.

“She took flak to the engine,” you call out over the sound of mechanics. “Pierced right through the skin. Lucky she didn’t get it from the underside, otherwise we’d be out a plane.”

“Can’t have that,” Bucky muses half-sarcastically.

Smirking, you use the pliers to point at him accusingly. “You’d like that, Egan.”

He scoffs. “What, like I'd prefer to be on the ground?”

“Maybe you should.”

You’d be on the ground with him, he considers. Maybe he should.

“Hey, you see those– flower things?” he pivots.

Your voice is muffled by the machinery. “What things?”

“The trees with the flowers.”

“Oh, the wild cherries,” you realize, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Yeah. Real pretty, right?”

“Stunning,” he stuffs his hands inside his flight jacket. “You can see ‘em all the way up there.”

“Is that right?” When you pull away from the propeller, your expression is impressed. “Seen them from the ground?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it sometime,” you offer, like it’s advice. “They’re better up close.”

You dip back down to fiddle with the mechanics. This might be your way of dismissing him, Bucky realizes, but he can’t seem to leave the hangar. So he stands there, content to share a space with you, the noise of engines, and the heartbeat he catches resounding between his ears.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way he lingers. You’re too proud to tell him you enjoy the company.

The upcoming mission gets canceled later that week– bad weather or faulty intel or a miscalculation; some reason Bucky didn’t feel the need to triple-check. He'd have the weekend on the ground and that alone was enough cause for celebration.

Tonight, the pub is hazy with the smoke of cigarettes and fanned with the heat of alcohol. Glasses of warm beer exchange hands as easily as money. Buck sits at Bucky’s left, and there’s an empty chair to his right he’s hoping to fill. He can pick out the rest of his friends from the sound of their laughter alone. Bucky’s eyes scan over the room, the corners of his mouth urged upwards in a lazy smile: this is how things should be, he thinks, without the threat of a mission come morning.

And if tonight couldn’t get any better, he notices the way you creep in through the pub’s door.

Your eyes scan over the crowd until your gaze magnetizes to his. He's hard to miss, the only head turned in your direction, unabashedly waiting for you to notice.

Bucky’s eyes scan up and down your figure as you approach the table. You’re dressed in your Class A’s, hair styled into regulation curls, the cheeks that once sported oil smears now complimenting a ruby-red smile. It spurs him to remember what you’d told him earlier: something-something better up close.

“Good evening,” you grin.

“There she is,” he greets you. “Come here often, stranger?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “When I can.”

The two of you pause to smile at each other.

“...Mind if I take a seat?”

Bucky looks down and realizes the way his hand is smoothing over the chair seat might seem like he’s saving it for someone else. He draws his palm back, stumbling out of his chair to pull yours out for you. “Ma’am.

You smooth your skirt under your thighs as you sit. “Thank you.”

“Crosby,” Bucky chides Harry across the table, “What are you doing? get her a drink!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” you raise a hand to motion for Crosby to sit back down. “I'm up early tomorrow.”

Crosby's not so quick to take a seat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tease, “Egan’ll drink for me.”

When the table laughs at your remark, something like pride swells in Bucky’s chest. That's my girl.

Both of you lean back into your chairs in sync, settling in to observe the conversation. Bucky’s look of adoration is unabashed, trailing along the curve of your eyelashes with lidded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this– effortless; with the relaxed slump in your shoulders and the poised way you’ve crossed your legs. He’s keen on the way you’re resting your weight on the armrest closest to him, and he’ll still be pleased if he’s only here as your accessory for the night.

You could practically feel the way Bucky’s gaze swept over you, passing up and down your figure with a slight hesitation. He was holding back his affections, undoubtedly, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was smoothing his hand over the back of your chair but stopping short of draping an arm atop it.

When you lean into him, you’re sure to have your shoulder bump gently against his. Go ahead.

Bucky seems to take the hint. He rests his arm atop your chair, fingers brushing against your opposite shoulder like he’s waiting for further instruction. You hum with laughter at the feeling.

“Is this okay?”

When you turn to face him, he’s already pulling away, afraid you’ll bite.

You settle into his side. “It's perfect.”

That's all he needed to hear.

He brings his chair closer until your seats are touching, melding both of your spaces into one for you to share. Your gaze is still fixed in your lap, half-afraid of ruining the moment with a misplaced word, your breath in your throat even as Bucky inches closer. At the table surrounded by pilots and airmen, this space feels intimate– isolating yourselves amidst the haze of the pub until it’s the two of you alone.

When he leans in to whisper, Bucky’s lips brush feather-light against the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

A shiver runs up and down your spine at his words. When you turn to look at him, he’s close, impossibly close, so close you’re afraid he’ll see the way your irises tremble with misplaced confidence. But he’s patient, content in the moment you’ve stolen together.

Before you can speak, your hand’s pulling the sprig from your lapel.

“Now, what’s this?” Bucky asks curiously, taking the plant between his fingers. It’s so fresh its wood is still damp with afternoon rain, the flowers adorning it still retain their shape. Spinning it between his pinched fingers, he studies it in wonder.

“Those are those flower things, John,” you grin, pausing to nervously retreat to the opposite armrest. “Wild cherry blossoms.”

Bucky tucks the sprig into his lapel gingerly. You slump a little further into your seat.

Air service command decides that a sunny Thursday morning is the perfect time to reschedule the mission lost. Aside from the immediate threat of warfare, the day couldn’t have been any more picturesque.

The tail end of April brings warm breezes meant as a preview of the upcoming summer; and when Bucky looks up at the sky through his aviators, he wonders if the troposphere is any less colder. The B-17s creep slowly out of their hangars like waking giants– in the meantime, he slings his bag over his shoulder and counts the altocumulus clouds peppering the sky.

They’re just like the white petals strewn across the Thorpe Abbotts’ lawns. The wild cherries are beginning to fruit upon the branches; he wonders if you’d tell him you’d miss the sight of them adorning the trees if it’s worth the smell of cherries after.

He hears someone call his name, and you’re there, bounding on the tarmac towards him.

The streak of oil on your nose matches nicely with your stained coveralls. When you skid to a halt in front of him, Bucky lets you find your breath, tugging your hefty gloves from your hands to stick into your back pocket. His mouth opens and shuts as he scans over you, unsure if he should be the first to break the silence and ask if you’re alright.

“Are you heading out?”

He takes off his aviators and meets your gaze with his. “I guess I am.”

“Okay,” you cough, nodding your head. “Okay.”

Your hands smooth hastily over the woolen lapels of his flight jacket, your lip caught behind your teeth. Bucky watches you before he can think to flinch away, looking down to notice the way your eyebrows furrow in the middle as you brush off nonexistent dirt. His tie’s loose, and you take the liberty of tugging it further up his neck– strangely enough, Bucky finds himself looking upwards, amused. This is a ritual for you, he realizes, a way to make him tangible while you find the words to say.

Finally, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling in defeat. “...You’ll be fine.”

The words are spoken like they’re for you to hear and Bucky to understand.

“Course I’ll be fine,” he laughs, cradling your waist with his arm. “I don't go down that easily. Besides–”

Somehow, you understand to pull away from his shoulder. Although you keep your hands on his jacket, there’s enough space for him to pull his lapel to the side and reveal the uniform underneath. There, tucked in his breast pocket, is the outline of a sprig from the wild cherry tree, as close to his heart as it can possibly be.

He winks. “I’m takin’ you with me.”

“John, don’t–” your fingers trace across the shape sadly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand envelops yours, stilling your trembling fingers with a squeeze and calming them with a smile. He doesn’t seem worried; nowhere as worried as you find yourself, and somehow it makes it a little better.

“For your peace of mind,” his voice is low, the words only for you. “Can’t have my pretty girl worrying, right?”

Buck strides behind the two of you, nudging John as he passes by. “Load up, Bucky.”

Bucky nods at his friend in acknowledgment. “Be there in a second.”

Now, your features are sullen, gently tugging his lapel to cover the outline of the twig in his pocket again.

“I should let you go. I'll miss you,” you admit. “I always do.”

Bucky brings a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing a rhythm across your cheekbone.

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“...I just wanted to let you know how I felt before you left.”

The sudden heat coursing through Bucky’s chest almost makes him want to abandon the mission. In his hands, the looming threat of burning engines and inevitable loss seems so much more real. His jacket stays between your fingers, digging into the plush material like you’re hesitant to release him to the sky.

“I'll be fine,” Bucky whispers, leaning to bring himself closer to you.

Somewhere in your haze, you can feel his lips brush against yours in permission. You respond with a soft nod, a shy please– and relief seeps through your veins when he presses his lips to yours to dull the ache.

He begins slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling of contact, relish the moment into your hands. His arms hold you flush against each other– somehow, the pressure takes the edge off, and you respond with your own like it’ll convince him to stay. Though his time is drawing near, your lips part a little wider, and he responds with a sweep of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You push off of him right as someone behind you calls his name. Heavy, ragged breaths exit you as you try to fight tears and the undeniable feelings you have for the pilot doomed. A noise betrays you when it spills from your lips; a quiet sob that he’s already leaning down to kiss better.

“I’ll be back for you, gorgeous. I promise.” Bucky presses his lips to yours, feather-light. "We’ll be okay.”

And when he says it like that, you can’t help but believe it.

The taste of you is still buzzing atop his lips by the time Bucky pulls up the yoke. Thorpe Abbotts shrinks into the distance, further and further away until the cherry trees on the ground are dancing underneath the shadows the clouds cast onto the earth. In his mind, you’re still there, standing beneath a thousand petals falling like confetti, waiting for him to land.

His words to you are lost among the roar of the twin engines– I'll be back.

“...John.”

“John.”

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Hmm?”

Your hand is rubbing up and down his arm before he can startle himself awake. When his vision unblurs, his first sight of the morning is one of you backlit by the sun, an orange glow around your face like a halo. You’re the angel standing in your shared bedroom, coaxing him awake, and Bucky decides this must be heaven.

“G’morning, beautiful.” A sleepy grin stretches across his face.

“Good afternoon,” you giggle.

“Afternoon? Already?”

“John, it’s half past twelve,” you tell him as he rubs his eyes. “You said you’d help me get after the living room.”

“It's too early,” he murmurs. “Lay with me.”

“John–!”

You barely have a moment to protest when he’s surging forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you back onto your mattress. Unfairly, his advantage is that you’re weak with laughter, yelping when he pulls you down to his chest and rolls on top of you for good measure. Your hand swats weakly at his back as you giggle, the morning scruff on his face tickling your cheeks when he peppers your face in kisses. Your fingers card through the messy brown curls atop his head– maybe you can be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.

Later that afternoon, the windows of the living room are pushed open as far as they go and the curtains are fluttering in the spring breeze. It’s the end of March, and the nascent Wisconsin spring ushers itself in through the door. Outside, patches of grass poke through the melting snow and the overcast clears– the perfect time to start fresh with some spring cleaning.

Bucky pushes the couches against the wall so you can drape the rug over the railing of the front porch. He throws paper, and you throw scissors, and he pretends to be a sore loser about it when you hand him the mop. By the time you’ve halfway finished sweeping the floor, Bucky finally decides what radio station he wants to listen to.

He perks up the moment he recognizes the tune. “Oh, I love this one!”

A smile spreads across your face. You know this one, too. “Here we go.”

Bucky’s already gliding across the living room floor in time to the music, never mind the fact that the mop is dripping water while he uses it as a microphone stand. You playfully roll your eyes, pausing your sweeping to tap your foot in time. He swings his arms, pointing at you in dedication when he begins to sing.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright– never saw things going so right,”

You offer him your palm when he approaches and he takes it gingerly, spinning you around.

“Watching the days hurrying by– when you’re in love, my, how they fly!”

Bucky gestures grandly in your direction, leaning down to speak into the end of the mop handle like an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen…MY WIFE!”

“My turn?” you prop your broom handle up. “Blue days, all of them gone…nothing but blue skies…”

“FROM NOW ON–!”

Both of you complete the verse as a duet, holding the note as a shout rather than the dulcet way that Ella Fitzgerald had intended it. If you’d stayed focused, the living room would have been spotless an hour ago, but here you are, dancing arm-in-arm with your husband as he revels in your newfound singing career. You take a joint bow when the song ends, a reverent kiss from Bucky your encore.

“My girl's a superstar,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you again. “My superstar.”

“That reminds me,” you grin. “There's something in the garden you should see.”

Your fingers lace with his as you lead him through your home, nudging open the screen door to the backyard. Slowly waking from its winter slumber, sprouts emerge from the thawing dirt and the remnants of snow piles melt into the ground. Bucky raises your conjoined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air between your palms to warm them. “You’re gonna catch a cold, baby.”

“We'll only be out here a second,” you say. “Look!”

Sprouting along the fenceline are the reams of begonias you’d forgotten to uproot before the winter frost came. Lo and behold, they’d survived, now unfolding under the light of the spring sun. Their petals are delicate white along the stalk, bending slightly in the spring breeze. You kneel before them to get a closer look, beaming proudly– Bucky’s eyes light up when he sees how happy you are, crouching down next to you.

“Would you look at that,” he whistles, running a hand along the flowering buds.

“I can't believe they survived,” you lean forward, scanning over the flowerbed. “I really thought the cold would kill them.”

The realization hits him; he’s seen this shape of flower before. “These look exactly like–”

Your smile is practically ear-to-ear. “The wild cherries in Thorpe Abbotts, right?”

He nods, studying the flower between his fingers. They even feel the same.

“I think they’ll be in full bloom by May,” you lean into his chest as he drapes an arm atop your shoulders.

“You should be proud,” Bucky muses, pressing his lips to your temple. “They’re the second prettiest flower in this garden.”

(It takes you a second.)

“Stop,” you laugh, shoving him lightly. Bucky allows himself to fall onto the wet grass with the satisfaction of making you blush.

Mid-afternoon creeps in slowly, the setting sun casting light from its peak at the west face of the house. It was the perfect time to recline on the living room couch and enjoy the direct sunlight before it shifted away. Bucky savors the moment by stretching lazily across the couch, feeling the tension in his spine release with a satisfying pop.

“What do you think?”

Bucky raises his head at the sound of your voice. You gesture towards the end table, now decorated with a single stalk of the begonias from the garden in a glass vase.

“You picked them early?” he yawns.

“One of the sprouts looked ready,” you tilt your head, inspecting the arrangement. “Something to make the living room nicer.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

It's more than evident that Bucky’s losing the battle with sleep, and seeing how the sun hits him just right makes it difficult to stay awake yourself. You consider the implications: it’s more than likely you’ll both wake up after the sun has set, but it’ll be a reason to justify takeout and late-night TV with him. Toeing off the heels of your shoes, you amble down until your weight rests comfortably atop his chest.

“Move over,” you murmur, settling into the crook of his neck. He lets out a pleased hum right as your thigh slots between his.

Your hand feels around until it finds his dangling over the side of the couch. Lacing your fingers together, Bucky brings the back of your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin that lingers.

“I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Bucky nods. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

His hands urge underneath the hem of your shirt, palms smoothing firmly up the plush of your sides. With your face slotted in the crook of his neck, he can feel the way you smile. The only thing he can think to do amidst his fog is press a trail of lazy kisses to the side of your face.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, fingers curling gently into your waist. “Feels good.”

You giggle. That drowsy little giggle– he swears, it’ll kill him someday.

Before he falls into slumber, Bucky opens his eyes to remind himself of the life he’s made with you; stolen kisses and singing out of tune and the vase of white flowers in the house you live in together. Neither of you had ever really left behind Thorpe Abbotts– but you’re here, with your head on his shoulder and your fingers interlocked, underneath the sunlight of a lazy afternoon.

John Egan never doubted he’d be back. He was just happy that he’d come back to you.

“Sleep,” you press a chaste kiss to his neck. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

And finally, John can believe it.

#john bucky egan #john egan #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #masters of the air #mota #mota fic #hbowarsummer24 #🧀 ; writing

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thedeviltohisangel · 10 months ago

Note

Blurb idea of Cass bringing John a gift back after her overseas trip?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): All I Brought Back With Me

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 INTERLUDE 1 CHAPTER 3

INTERLUDE 2 INTERLUDE 3 interlude 4

a/n: this got a little out of hand. cass and john have a mind of their own. i took the prompt in a bit of an evil direction but am i sorry? you be the judge. interlude ideas still open/come scream thoughts and questions at me. esp curious if you guys think cass should visit more? what does she do when she notices bucky's decline? does seeing her help or hurt? interested in your thoughts. love you all, enjoy !

When she landed at Thorpe Abbotts, her trip to rescue John failed, Colonel Harding was waiting for her on the runway. He looked like her father did when he caught her sneaking back into the house after night swimming with friends back in South Carolina. Hands on his hips and jaw twitching.

“You look like hell, Lieutenant.” Cass had spent the flight back biting her lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to keep it from trembling. The tears had fallen silently but she was doing her best to keep them at bay. She couldn’t waste time crying over the current situation. Emotion would distract her from the task at hand. Prevent her from focusing the way she would need to do to break him out of the camp. She wasn’t going to sleep until he was back with her and safe.

“That’s where I came from, Colonel.” Her ribs were hurting with each breath, the bottle of whiskey the pilots had given her not numbing the pain at all.

“We’ve got to get you in front of an interrogator.” Cass nodded. She knew the drill. Knew they would want to know about the layout of the camp, the susceptibility of the guards, the process of transferring pilots. “For what it’s worth, Cassandra, I’m sorry about Egan. He was one of our best.”

“Is. He is one of the best. He’s at that godforsaken camp and I’m going to get him out.” She grimaced and reached for her side.

“I think your supervisors at the OSS have an opinion on that. They’re waiting for you inside.” Fuck. Now she was screwed. They had kept out of her business the entire time she was in the field. Had sent her instructions by classified mail or cable and praised all of her reports. For them to show up in person, she must have pissed someone off all the way up the ladder.

“Well, Colonel, I guess this is goodbye.” Harding removed his aviators and looked at her with sadness behind his eyes. He reached out and tenderly touched the bruise on her cheek before his hand dropped back to his side. “Cassandra-”

“Colonel, you already declared your love for me once. Don’t do it again.” Every professional wall she had built would break. She turned before he could change his mind and take the risk and walked into the building where she was sure her career was going to end. In there was a table with a man in a suit sitting behind it, a thick file open in front of him. All the chairs for her to sit in had been removed and she would’ve taken a deep breath if she thought it wouldn’t have killed her.

“Lieutenant Cassandra Ann Egan. Ink barely dry on the marriage certificate before your husband goes down over Germany and you recklessly insert yourself behind enemy lines. I might add, also in defiance of orders from your local, cover consistent chain of command, in direct violation of your training. Any comment so far, agent?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re lucky you were successful in Berlin last month. If you weren’t the only officer to ever accomplish that operational objective, I’d be here to escort you back to the states in handcuffs.” Cass gulped but maintained eye contact as best she could. “Instead, I’m here to promote you.”

“Sir, that doesn’t seem-” She caught the new rank he threw her way as best she could with one hand.

“Captain, you’re being sent on mandatory R&R back to the states until DC decides where to place you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Do I get to choose my location for leave?”

“I presumed South Carolina-”

“Wisconsin. There’s some people I need to meet.” He looked at her pensively but nodded.

“Very well. Now, let’s get a doctor in here and start the interrogation, shall we?”

----

When Cass finally made it back to her room, breathing was easier and the moon was illuminating a giant trunk that was now at the foot of her bed. She froze in the doorway. It was John’s. And now it was hers. She kicked her shoes off and padded over to her desk, his large sheepskin resting over the back of the chair. It still smelled like him when she put it on and it shattered her last will to stay strong. She dropped to her knees and wrapped his jacket around herself tighter, the sheepskin catching her tears like she imagined John would himself if he were here.

“You were right, Johnny. We should have never left London.” It had been the happiest two days of her life. It had been normal. Just like she imagined falling in love with a boy might be. They had gone to dinner and danced and danced and danced until her feet hurt. He had kissed her and ran his hands down her body and whispered in her ear how he needed her. They had gone to bed and claimed each other over and over until she forgot where she was and how awful the world around them was. Until she forgot how dangerous it would be to tell him she loved him and said it anyways. Had married him the next morning because neither of them could shake the feeling something bad was going to happen. That they needed to be each other’s fully in this life to guarantee they would find each other in the next.

Cass crawled over to the trunk and opened it shakily. There were the items she was expecting. Books, gum, cigarettes. A photo of his family back home and Yankees baseball cards. There was a pile of letters from home and then at the very bottom, an envelope with her name on it. And then she found another one and another one until there was a stack of letters he had written to her on the floor.

The first one dated the night she found the nerve to claim him in public. He wrote that he was going to tell her he loved her. That he couldn’t keep it in any longer so he wrote it down. That he knew she would be the one to get his trunk if anything happened to him because he had known she was it for him all along. She held that one close to her chest and felt the words seep into her skin and soothe the ache in her chest.

The rest of them followed similar themes of John pouring out emotions he was too afraid to say out loud. They all made her giggle because almost immediately after the letter was dated, he had said those words to her in person. He was never good at restraining himself when it came to her. The last one made her heart ache. It was the morning of the last mission, his handwriting rushed and sloppy. He poured out his love for her, how he was fighting for a future with her and hoped at least one of the men who owned the bullets she collected was down there today.

And as soon as I get back, we are going to celebrate our wedding and plan our trips to South Carolina and Wisconsin and practice our baby making. Cass smiled. The version of her that had met John that first night at the social club would have never guessed how broody he was. Now that she knew, it made her tingle. My sun. My moon. My stars. My wife. My precious Spook. I love you, Cass, and am eternally yours. She wiped the tears from her eyes and gently placed the letter back in its envelope. Sitting at her desk, her pen hovering over the blank paper, she looked up at the moon. Whenever her dad spent the nights camped with the farmhands in the field and Cass missed him, her mother would tell her to look at the moon and remember he was looking at the same one. John was looking at the same moon as her tonight. As she whispered her love into the moonlight and wrote the first of the daily letters she had promised him, she hoped the moon did her a favor and carried the message to Germany.

----

She spent the first day or two of her leave building up the courage to knock on the door of the Egan family. Her and John had discussed the eventuality of meeting his family. It felt odd to do it without him but she felt in her heart they deserved to know where he was and how he was doing. Selfishly, it was like getting a piece of him back.

After knocking on the door, she hoped for a moment it didn’t answer. Maybe this wasn’t going to make her or them feel any better. Maybe it would just break her heart all over again.

And then, the door opened.

----

A few weeks later she was pacing outside that wretched chain link fence. She had managed to make it without any broken ribs this time and she was thankful her contact hadn’t confiscated her canvas bag. In it were hats and gloves for John and Gale and the other men, enough chocolate to hopefully bring them some happiness and some mementos from Wisconsin his mother had sent with her. Cass wasn’t even sure how many of her letters had made it to him yet. If he even knew of the trip she had taken.

“There’s my beautiful, beautiful girl.” Her smile split her face, surging to meet his lips through a gap in the fence. “I’ve missed you.” Seeing her soothed the ache within him only incrementally. There was still something endlessly aggravating about the fence in between them but John knew he was lucky to even be able to see her like this. Counted her as his chief blessing before he tried to find sleep at night.

“I’ve missed you too but your face looks better than the last time I saw you.” John scoffed.

“Worried I wasn’t handsome enough for you anymore?”

“Worried you weren’t going to take care of yourself more like it.”

“Buck’s got me covered.” He pressed as close to her as the fence would allow. “I’ve gotten a few of your letters. Wrote you one back.” She smiled at how sheepish he seemed. Nervous that maybe she hadn’t liked what he had written.

“It hasn’t made its way to me but I’m sure it's lovely if the letters to me in your trunk are any indication.”

“You found those?” he asked while rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was waiting for me when I got back from here the last time. You loved me a lot earlier than you said it, John Egan.”

“Loved you from the moment I saw you.” He smiled, he thinks he only smiled when he read her letters or the one time she had visited, took any opportunity to escape into their solar system that he was allowed. “Your last letter said you got in trouble at work.”

“Colonel Harding ratted me out for not obeying his orders.” John’s jaw clenched at the mention of the man. The man who had used his rank to take Cass to dinners and dances and promised her the life of a General’s wife if she wanted it. “But you’ll be happy to know after I got my ass thoroughly chewed, I got promoted.”

“Promoted?”

“You are now the lucky husband to one Captain Cassandra Ann Egan.” He whistled, heart stuttering at the reminder she was his wife, as she did a little twirl and took a bow.

“Congratulations, Captain. You certainly earned the hell out of it.”

“You’ll have to feign surprise when the letter telling you all of this gets to you.” John watched as her face fell and grew concerned. “You’ll also see some letters from me that are postmarked from Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” Then realization settled on his face. “Cass, did you…did you…” He was struggling to formulate the question.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” she breathed desperately. “When they mandated stateside leave it just slipped out. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I should’ve just gone to South Carolina and left it alone.”

“I haven’t been to Manitowoc in years,” he spoke wistfully. Had wanted to go back with her on his arm when all this was over. “My sisters give you a hard time?”

“I brought some fabric from my last trip to Paris to butter them up.” John laughed. Only his Spook would be able to tame his two older sisters. “I spent most of the time promising you were okay. They thought you injured your head when I told them we’d been married, something about you not seeming like the type.”

“Just had to find the right girl.”

“Your mom misses you. A lot. Wanted me to give you this.” Cass reached into her bag and pulled out a slightly tarnished silver watch with a date engraved on the back.

“My dad’s watch.” It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. “His dad gave it to him on my parents' wedding day. That’s what the date on the back is. Told me when I got married, it would be mine.”

“I can get it cleaned and upgrade the engraving and bring it back if you’d like.” John coughed and shook the fog from his head.

“No. It’s perfect. We’ll get the engraving done together when I’m out of here.” He tucked the watch into his shirt pocket.

“She also gave me this. Was horrified I wasn’t already wearing it.” Cass handed him a small ring box and he knew it was his grandmother’s engagement ring before he even opened it. “I told her it would be wrong to put it on my own finger. One more thing for us to do when we get you out of here.”

“Yeah but you best keep it safe while we wait to get the chance.” He removed the cross from around his neck, slipping the small diamond ring onto it and passing through the fence. She took the chain but slid the cross charm off and handed it back to him with a look. “I’d rather use it to protect you.”

“It’s not up for debate.” He took it and slipped it onto the same chain as his pendant. “Here comes our friend. Catch.” Cass launched the canvas over the side of the fence, John gathering it with ease.

“Thanks, baby. I’m sure all the guys will be very grateful.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Moscow is my new station.” She had asked for London but was turned down. Told she had earned more of a challenge than London presented. “I have to get the lay of the land and keep my head down for a little bit.”

“I’m sure you’ll win them over in no time, Spook.” She rolled her eyes and reached for a kiss. “I love you, Cass. Now and forever. I promise.”

“I love you, too, Johnny. I’ll see you soon.” Cass stayed until he was walked out of sight, the chain heavy against her chest once he disappeared from her view.

Soon was never soon enough.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year ago

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Home: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @emersxn99 @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @beausimpsonsdarling @crimeshowjunkie @shepgurl

Deployment!Series:

Propriety (NSFW) - All thoughts of propriety goes out of the window when Beau finds you in his office.

Rumours - Beau doesn't realise there's a rumour about him.

Disengage - Beau discovers your secret.

Stalemate - The stalemate between you and Beau breaks when he recieves some news.

Absence - Beau misses you.

Things always get easier after the first month, Beau knows that. It takes him a couple of weeks to get into a new routine but once he does, it feels like everything starts snapping back into place. He goes running every morning, sometimes with Jake and Cujo. A couple of times a week the two of you have a catch-up call, you fill him in on everything that’s going on in Naples and he tells you about Jake and Jenna’s engagement. You give him a tour of your office space; share pictures of the day trips you take in your downtime.

One night Beau and you spend hours talking about your visit to Pompeii. How it felt like death himself was running his fingertips up your spine when you reviewed the plaster cast of the looter who was frozen in time, stealing from jewellery shops in the middle of the crisis.

You send photographs, funny ones, touristy ones and when you have a moment to yourself the more risqué ones. These are what he looks at when he’s alone in your bed touching himself and imagining you’re there with him.

He receives a couple of surprises in the mail. Care packages of authentic Italian coffee, citrus honey and handmade beer from a local brewery. You even post an expensive bottle of wine for him to give to Jake and Jenna as an engagement gift from the both of you.

Some days are tougher than others, there are times when Beau just wants to come home and hold you close, to wrap himself up in the shelter of your arms. It cuts both ways, he knows. You tell him so during Facetime one night after a tough case.

Everyday he watches the hourglass count down each individual grain of sand, and he knows that the end of the deployment is coming, that you’ll be home soon.

On the run up to your return there’s an apprehension in his chest, there always is the month before. Communication slows down again because you’re travelling, and he worries that maybe the time away has changed something between the two of you. It’s natural to think like that, he reminds himself. It’s part of the cycle of deployment. He charts your carrier’s progress on a daily basis, Warlock ensures he’s notified of any delays or changes in plans.

The ship gets in a day late because of maintenance and Beau is standing there waiting for you when the carrier finally docks. There’s a swell of anxiety in his chest as he seeks you out, his eyes studying the crowd through his aviators. It evaporates the moment he lays eyes on you.

Your hair is a shade or two lighter, from being out in the Italian sun, pinned neatly back into an elegant bun. He can’t wait to get you home, to take those pins out and run his hands through it. When you see him, you smile and for a moment it feels like he’s the only person on that dock. In the past he may have tried to stay reserved but now he simply can’t help himself. He’s already leaving his post so he can greet you halfway across the concrete platform. The two of you collide and the second you’re in his arms any reservations he may have had melt away, he knows that nothing has changed. He can feel your love, your adoration shining through as you cling to him tightly. He kisses you until you’re breathless because he wants you to know how much he’s missed you.

His wife is home and that’s all that matters.

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#beau simpson #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #beau simpson x you #cyclone x you #top gun maverick

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months ago

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Empanadas and Chocolate

Part One of Foul Play Series

Javier Peña x Aria Davis (plus size female OC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: The meet cute between Javier Peña and Aria. The beginning of everything.

Warnings: Meet cute, adorable vibes, food, curioisity, (we’re safe this part - we had to start somewhere)

Word Count: a little over 1.8k

Notes: My smut fairy was gone for a very long time. Thanks to @magpiepills and a fic called "Aquarius" that she wrote that was all the right kinds of smutty filth, she inspired me to write this. It's from an old WIP I had started but never finished. Now it is in a completely different direction and one I like. She also beta read some (not the whole thing - gotta surprise her 😘). So here we are. Originally posted on A03.

Main Masterlist/ Javier Peña Masterlist

Together is what he told you. That you’d go on this journey together and help bring peace to an unsettled country. It’s been eight months and neither the government nor the American agencies involved in trying to take down Pablo Escobar were any closer to ending his reign. What did any of that mean for Aria?

Not much, just looking over the balcony of her small one bedroom apartment provided by the US embassy. Her fiance and her had decided on living separately since they were each entitled to their own places. It seemed like a weird idea at first, but the longer she stayed here, the more sense it made. She wouldn't have to hear him coming and going or worry when he would be home. He rarely was, only to have some mediocre sex, maybe sleep sometimes and leave again citing that he was needed back on the case. Aria sometimes was able to finish on her own, but increasingly she couldn’t even do that, getting tired in the middle of things and giving up to read a book, listen to some music and just sleep. Sleep was what she did best.

It was early yet and the sun was just cresting over the horizon, painting a golden pink across the sky, it was barely six in the morning. One positive for coming here, despite all the violence was the scenery, it was beautiful and so were the people, well those she had met. That was two. She sighed and entered her apartment readying herself for work and headed off to the embassy where she worked as an accountant along with four others in a small office. It was cramped but she got to know them well, all nice, sometimes a little too chatty. Her days were similar, rise, go to work, come home, sometimes see her fiance, fuck, sleep, repeat.

It was on a rare day off during the week where she decided to venture to her favorite little shop down the street. Here she didn’t wear the knee length shirt of buttoned up shirt that fit a little too tight, she could wear a flowing dress with sunflowers on it. It was a gift from an older woman a few doors down. She also often gave her rice, meat, vegetables and other foods, hence why her work clothes didn’t fit as well as they once did. Her build was stocky and dense from head to toe though she did have breasts that stuck out a bit farther than her belly and wide hips so that helped, but in her work clothes she was still self-conscious, she knew it hugged in all of the places good and bad. It was always a button down shirt and skirt. She could get away with a polo shirt or sweater depending on who was in the office but more often than not if their supervisor came in and they weren’t dressed appropriately it was a warning then could progress to a write up. So stupid.

Arriving at the shop, she spied her prizes, empanadas and chocolate cake. She went to order as another person placed theirs, a tall man whose skin had been kissed by the sun, wore dark aviator sunglasses, and had a thick head of hair with a mustache to match. He stood with his hands on his slim hips, a rose pink shirt on with medium wash jeans and what was likely a gun along his back. He was cracking a joke with the señora who ran the shop with her husband. The señora asked for her order again as she had lost her train of thought while looking him up and down.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the handsome stranger had taken the last piece of chocolate cake. Aria pouted but little could be done, she hoped he at least enjoyed it, maybe it was a reward to himself for something that happened that day or week? She just hoped he wasn’t the type to eat a few bites and dispose of it. Taking the three empanadas she ordered, she turned to leave as the señora pointed to her and said her name. Apparently, handsome sunglasses wanted to add empanadas to his order but didn’t tell señora when he got the cake. The accountant had the last of them. He walked over with a smile,

“Disculpe señorita (excuse me miss), could I buy one of the empanadas from you? I just need one.” He asked, almost pleading, how much did he need one? Aria raised a counter offer,

“If you’ll spit half of the cake with me, I’ll give you the empanada at no charge.” She raised a finger. He nodded and waved his hand toward one of the small tables with chairs outside where they could do the exchange. He pulled out her chair for her and Aria thanked him, he said there was no thanks needed, he should be thanking her. He’d been looking forward to the empanadas all week, the señora here makes the best ones. To that, she agreed and pulled out the bag with the rolled and fried goods. Señor brought them plates, some water and napkins, insisting that they eat here. Aria shook her head but aviators nodded and assured her he was alright with it as long as she was, that he would make for good company.

“Alright, let’s exchange and eat. Here.” She took one of the empanadas and placed it on the plate in front of pink shirt. He cut his chocolate cake in half and placed it on her plate.

“Here you go. We’re even.” He chuckled, quickly picking up his newly earned empanada and moaning as he took a bite. “Been thinking about these all day…” His eyes were closed as he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of the onions, chicken, potatoes and peppers. Aria nodded as she watched his mouth, he smacked his lips before taking another bite and another moan left him. It wasn’t long before she wondered if she should be watching this, it felt like she was intruding on a private moment. She picked up water and downed a few gulps before biting into her own empanada, humming with the flavor.

“Mierda eso esta bien (Shit that’s good).”

Pink shirt had momentarily forgotten that he was sitting in public, with a woman no less. He cleared his throat and drank some sips of his water before muttering sorry to his table mate. She shook her head and told him that the lovely couple who owned the shop would be delighted to know he enjoyed the food that much, plus it was fun to watch him eat. Shaking his head, he asked her how long she had been coming to the little shop and in Columbia in general. Her accent sounded similar to his partner’s - American. She told him eight months in Columbia and six for the shop. It took her a few months to get acclimated at work and to the slower pace. She appeared to indicate that she was enjoying herself but there was a large part he knew she was leaving out: the ring on her left fourth finger. There could be a few reasons she could be leaving out that detail, none of them were good for him. She was definitely easy on the eyes, well scratch that. He found her gorgeous, her smile and laugh and the fair trade was definitely a bonus. He would at least let her know his name before they parted. The city of Bogotá seemed larger than it really was. He learned that she did accounting at the Embassy, he told her that he was with the police - didn’t think she really needed to know he was an agent.

“My name’s Javier, Javier Peña. What’s your’s Mrs?” He finally asked as the stood and disposed of their trash. Her warm smile faded with the question. Did that mean she really was married? Peña wasn’t really up for all the drama that came with that even if she did have hips he wanted to see from the back, a very different angle than he was looking at them now.

“No, no. I’m engaged. It’s…I’m engaged. “ Her nod told him she needed to be convinced she was in fact engaged. Usually engaged couples are supposed to be happy. Not that he wasn’t familiar with how that could burn horribly. It wasn’t his business, though he wondered. “My name is Aria Davis. It’s nice to meet you Javier. Thanks for the cake.” Her smile remained warm, he may see her around at the embassy though he didn’t recall ever meeting her before.

“I see. Well congratulations hermosa (beautiful). He’s a lucky man. Gracias for the empanadas. The señor here makes some of the best ones in Bogotá. I may see you if you come again, I’ll try not to take all the cake this time. I usually don’t eat sweets.” Peña explained, it was true he did not. He’s had another failed raid with no new information found and it would be a day that he forgot to get a new carton of cigarettes. He was on his way to go buy some when he noticed he was passing by señora Hernandez’s tienda (store) so he figured he’d stop in and get the food on the way. He hadn’t eaten all day, plus he’d been meaning to come all week. “Today didn’t go so well so I figured I’d get something on my way.” He paused. Did she walk here?

“Do you need a ride home, Aria?” He tilted his head in the direction of his car to which Aria shook her head.

“Oh no I live close by. Thank you though. I’m going home after this. Just going to relax a bit before work tomorrow.” Aria’s smile didn’t falter and Javier was curious, shouldn’t she be mentioning spending time with her fiancée? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bent card. He handed it to her and she took it reading it over, her eyes revealed her surprise but she didn’t mention that she’d heard of him. Aria assumed he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Here’s my card just in case. Bogotá is beautiful but can be dangerous. Call me if you need help okay?” The nod and grin that followed made her giggle. “I’ll come running and may speed a bit.” Javier cracked a small joke, it was a bad though but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll remember that Javier. I do pretty well at staying out of trouble though.”

“Trouble has a way of finding people Aria.” Peña took a step closer and spoke in her ear. “Call me Javi. Stay safe hermosa.” With that he turned and walked to his car, getting in and waving to her before putting one hand on the steering wheel and driving off.

Aria was left standing with Javier’s lingering words and his breath on her ear. The food in her belly wasn’t the only thing heating it from within. Peña wasn’t wrong. Trouble had found her.

Part Two

Dipping their empanadas in chocolate for Javi to lick off 🍫: @syd-djarin @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @guelyury

@yorksgirl @indiegirlunited @readingiskeepingmegoing @fhatbhabiee @javierpena-inatacvest

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x plus size ofc #nerdieforpedro #a short series

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tgmsunmontue · 1 year ago

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You need to learn how to fall 3/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the Airforce and Navy to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006

2007-2010 – The middle years

He ends up with another part-time job, fortunately using his human performance part of his degree and working as a personal trainer, mostly early mornings. Jumping out of planes is expensive. He moves out of the house him and Mav usually live in, but months later ends up moving in with Ice when he’s diagnosed with cancer. They don’t sugar coat things, not now that he’s an adult. He has to listen to them talk about wills and property and investments and assets; wants to stick his head in the sand and just chant la-la-la until it all goes away. He doesn’t want to consider his life without them both in it. Hard enough to think he’s already lost his actual parents, he can’t lose them too.

He sits through it though, signs forms he reads carefully because both Ice and Mav frown and look disappointed the first time he signed without even looking. They get similar forms for him, given his current career and he’s pretty sure Mav has to excuse himself to go and throw up when he says he doesn’t want to be kept on life support indefinitely if he has a bad fall. Ice just nods and accepts his decision with quiet equanimity and he wonders if it’s because he is facing his own mortality. He starts a YouTube channel, figures out how to take effective video and then edit it properly. Loads them up without commentary; originally it’s for those he’s taken up for tandem jumps, but then it’s for other instructors around the country, and then a couple of them move overseas. His channel has a small but dedicated following.

One of the silver linings of Ice’s cancer diagnosis is the fact he seems to no longer give any fucks about what people might say about his relationship with Mav. Don’t ask, don’t tell is still in effect but it’s also definitely very firmly in the don’t tell realm as far as Bradley can figure out. Everyone who they interact with seems to simply know that they’re together, and have been for as long as everyone remembers. Definitely for as long as he remembers. No one wants to tell and he guesses that Ice is high enough up that there’s probably blind-eyes all over the place.

Then Ice insists on Mav moving in, which he promptly leaves the house for, not wanting to hang around for listening to the argument or hearing the makeup sex that will surely follow. So they put the house on the market, then he’s given the money and told he can finally buy the plane he wants which he delays a little and carefully shops around, listening to the advice of his old instructors and also Ice and Mav. All his gifts for years are centered around either skydiving or filming and editing software. It doesn’t escape his notice that Mav’s gifts tend towards the safer indoor aspects, while Ice tends toward the safety needs. They’re both supportive in their own ways.

Living together, all of them, properly for the first time, results in the sudden influx of photos that pop up, every flat surface has frames with photos and Ice starts taking more photos. All of their lives are visually documented on the walls and bookshelves, although Bradley notes the front room Ice uses as a study and work room remains very formal and devoid of any personal touches. Other than formal portraits, like his graduation photo. Regardless of what room he’s in he feels like he is at home.

… … …

His nightmare becomes a reality, although not in full. The call he got was from Bradley, starting off with I’m alive but I’m on the way to the hospital. He’d then passed the phone over to someone else. Apparently he’d taken a bad landing after being forced to use his second backup shute. He’d been too close to the ground so had hit it hard. His hands are shaking as he walks down the hospital corridor, the only thing that has him not vomiting is the fact that Bradley is the one who called him. That Bradley was alive; maybe not alive and well, but alive enough to call him.

“Bad fall,” Mav mutters. “Like he’s tripped over the front step and grazed his hands…”

He pushes the door open to Bradley’s room. He’s pale, face covered in bandages, one arm in a cast and both legs in braces, but not as he’d imagined a broken spine and him being in something like full-traction it’s a little bit of a relief.

“He’s damned lucky.”

“Doesn’t look lucky.”

“He had his legs tucked up, hit the ground and rolled. Like it was as natural as breathing. He dislocated his shoulder but continued with the momentum… most people I know would have hit the ground feet-first despite years of training and the shock would have caused spiral fractures. They’ve braced his ankles as a matter of precaution because the x-rays showed no damage, which is a miracle but also isn’t surprising considering he walked into the hospital. We don’t usually say that you can be a natural at skydiving, but this kid is definitely a natural.”

Mav sighs.

Of course he is.

… … …

“If the cancer didn’t get me, then I’m sure jumping out of a plane isn’t going to kill me either.”

“Fighting words. It’s a good thing I’m taller than you. When we come into land you’re going to lift your legs.”

He listens as Bradley takes him through everything, despite the fact that he knows it all, having listened to it so often he’s pretty sure he could repeat it back, learning it alongside Bradley and quizzing him on it. He can follow Bradley’s instructions, he’s in the Navy. When he’s strapped to Bradley, waved the all-clear he feels a little frisson of abject terror but it’s too late, he’s falling toward to the ground and then his fear fades away and he lets out a whoop of joy, hears Bradley’s amused laughter before it’s whipped away by the rushing air. They hit the ground and it’s gentler than he thought it would be.

“Woo! What a rush!”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It reminds me of my first launch off a carrier. Damn. Yeah. I get it now. Love you kid,” he says, knocking his own helmet against Bradley’s, the words aren’t ones he says often, but feels the need to say them more often now. Doesn’t want Bradley to ever doubt how he feels. Mav either for that matter…

“Love you too.”

… … …

“You were both up there, together.”

He should have known it would give Mav another nightmare and he curls himself around him, makes gentle shushing noises under his breath, glad now that he doesn’t have to try and do this over the phone.

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then know that skydiving, especially tandem skydiving is safer than driving to and from the hangar. Car accidents are far more common and hurt far more people than skydiving does. You’ve seen him with his gear. Hell, we check it. He’s damned good at what he does. He’s meant to be up in the air just as much as you are…”

Mav lets out a little hiccupping breath and Tom knows he’s got something that’ll definitely take his mind of everything else.

“You know, there’s something else I want to check off on my bucket list…” Tom says, and he’s not going to move, but his otherwise grand plans aren’t getting a look in right now. This feels right.

“What?”

“Pete Mitchell, will you marry me?”

… … …

Ice and Mav leave plans on the table one night. An extension to the house, with a shared internal door but his own front door; effectively making two houses. A large bedroom, another room for an office with a desk, extension to the garage so he can store his gear, enough room to roll out his chutes and carry out checks. It’s very clearly an invitation to never move out, but also to live independently and he finds the sticky notes they use to communicate when they’re too busy to actually stop and talk. Simply draws a heart and writes love it in the center.

He doesn’t bother looking at moving out of home again.

2011-2015 - The later years (NEXT PART)

#IceMav #Top Gun fanfic #Hangster #you need to learn how to fall

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pareidoliaonthemove · 10 months ago

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Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

#thunderbirds are go #fanfic #my fanfic #scott tracy #febuwhump2024 #better late than never #plane crash

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theeccentricraven · 1 month ago

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The 18th Day of Writemas 🎄🎅🤶💚❤️👩‍💻

Wow day 18 already! If the 12th day of Christmas gives twelve drummers drumming, should the 18th day of Writemas give 18 writers tossing computers? 😁Thank you @agirlandherquill for setting up Writemas! 🤍❄️☃️🌟If you would like to know the rules and join, all that you need is in the invitation post

For the Day 18 writing prompt, I chose the setting prompt of a home. I decided this would be the perfect moment to write a scene from my YA Dystopia/Survival story Sanctuary Calling. Nari lives in a biodome on futuristic Mars in a community dominated by people with Korean heritage. This scene is from early in the novel, like Chapter 2. The conversations foreshadow what's in store.

___________________________________________________________

My parents and I retire to our home - room 1414 of the Pyeongchang Condominium. The building is based on the architecture of postmodern Korean buildings on earth. The lobby is a vertical garden. Vines and moss cover a wall. The fountain in the lobby releases the peaceful sound of nature, like we’re living in a forest. Inside our unit, we feel warmth and comfort. My family’s living room is full of potted plants and shelves of Korean celadons. A screen covers the entire wall near the entrance. The current image is the human avatar of our home AI who we call Cho. She looks like she could be my older sister if I had one. Whatever we need, we ask Cho and she makes it happen.

“Cho,” says my Mom. “Cook up some naengmyeon.”

I go to my bedroom to read over the orientation chip. My room is clean as I like it. The walls populate shelves where I keep my childhood dolls and models of my plane. I keep a chest of plane parts that I plan to bring down to the shop. One wall is covered by a screen, currently featuring the human avatar of my personal AI - Jin. He’s a spunky looking boy who looks like he could be my brother if I had one. At my desk computer, I plugin the chip. The orientation holograms begin to play. I watch the reels introducing the Lunar School of Engineering and Technology. The videos came with sensory emitters that give a smell and taste of the place along with the sights and sounds. I see students working on robotics, spacecrafts, and micromachines. I smell the roses and irises of the school’s gardens. My excitement grows by the second.

“Nari,” says Jin, smiling on the wall. “Dinner is ready.”

I go into our dining room. The robotic arms of Cho set the table. Even though Cho did the cooking, I follow the etiquette to respect my parents by saying, “I will eat well.”

My parents are pleased as we sit down. Since my dad is the oldest, he eats first, taking in a few sips of soup. My mother follows. Then me.

“You were the star of the show,” my mother says gleaming.

My dad puts down his spoon for a moment to say, “Now I’m going to brag about you with my colleagues.”

“Oh,” says my mom, “I’m going to tell Brynhild that the best student of this year is mine. Best aviator. Youngest of her class. Going to college at only fourteen.”

I smile as I take a tiny bite of rice.

“However,” my mother lowered her voice, “I still worry about you being in a place where there’s no one your age. All adults and doing adult activities. And so far away on Luna.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I say. “I’m going to be so busy studying anyway. The staff will also know my age. They’ll make sure no one bothers me. Also, I’ve heard of some other gifted students who went there early. A seventeen year old. A sixteen year old.”

My mom shakes her head. “Nari, for your safety, don’t go on dates with anyone older than you.”

I laugh. “No argument here. Like I said, studying.”

My mom nods. “That’s a smart move, Dear. You can’t let that interrupt your studies and possibly your career. As your father and I could tell you as anyone who has ever been in love can tell you, when you are in love, you’re willing to sacrifice anything for it.”

I roll my eyes. I smile as I add, “I’d only date a guy who's into airplanes, anyway.”

My mother and father look at each other. My mom nods once. My dad nods back.

“Nari, Dear,” he says to me. “Your mother and I want to tell you something.”

I had picked up my chopsticks, but now put them down.

My dad studies each grain of rice on his dish as he says, “After you graduate from the Lunar school, you could apply for medical school and make it in quickly….”

I pick up my spoon. I bend it. The best way to imagine that I’m tearing something apart.

Despite my anger, my mother pipes in. “You could also study only one or two years at the Lunar school before you transfer…”

I’ve just about had it. Not a meal goes by without my parents saying it’s not enough. I need to be a cardiologist like my dad. Or I need to be better than my dad and be a surgeon. I gave up trying to win the argument a long time ago. The best I can do is amuse myself.

I laugh harder. “Oh, I’m sorry. You meant to send a text to the Kang family about how their son was accepted into the Ivy Martian Medical School! Let’s go downstairs to congratulate them!”

My dad curls his lips. “Nari! This is serious. For one who accomplished so much, you’re selling yourself short.”

I grit my teeth. “Joo is selling himself short? How can you be so judgmental!”

My mother widens her eyes. “Don’t talk to your father like that!”

I gave up a long time ago. There’s no point in letting this go on for hours. I leave my spoon and chopsticks at the side of my bowl. I haven’t followed etiquette since the few bites I took left plenty of leftovers, but I don’t care anymore.

I stand up. “I ate well!”

I storm off to my bedroom.

I crash on my bed, taking in the warmth of my puffy white comforter. I cry as I think about how I can’t wait to go to Luna. I just want to get away from my parents. Thankfully, my scholarship includes a meal plan. For once, I’ll finally have a meal without the arguments over how my first choice was their second choice and I was too good for the second best.

I wish Soo was here so that I can just rant with her.

___________________________________________________________

Tagging mutuals! (No obligation to join) 🎁🔔🛷🐑🍬🕯️🦌🎼🍂

@sleepyrxsetea @edstoriesblog @thecomfywriter @pen-for-sword @toribookworm22

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@csdarkfantasy @watermeezer @distortedsense @sarahlizziewrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer

and open! 🧝🍒🥧🌰

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vivaislenska · 1 year ago

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Ace [Romar’s fridge 👨🏻‍🦳]

As seen on Romar's fridge! Ace is an old sobriquet for military aviators credited w/ shooting down 5+ enemy aircraft during aerial combat

This piece is a New Year’s gift for a staunch friend who has often been the Tech to my Wrecker in the best ways for many months now 💀⚡️. In a world where opinions and differing personalities divide, we've promised each other to try to let them enlighten. We're both trying to grow and be better, and we will be leaning on each other and the TBB community to make it happen. Brace yourselves, because I'm one heavy motherfucker lol ❤️

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loslentesdepedrito · 1 year ago

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Jack gif by: @coredrive My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Word count: 4.3k+

Chapter summary: Jack visits Ángel in the hospital, bringing the gifts he bought. During the visit, you find yourself reflecting on your relationship with Jack—both before and after your engagement. Also, your husband, Javi, and your ex-husband, Jack, try their best to not kill each other. (Picks up directly from ch. 5. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the aviators.

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, light suggestive stuff, pregnancy, divorce, childhood disease, mention of death, mention of the death of a child.

You were abruptly pulled from that memory when you heard a soft “¿Mami?”

Your head snapped towards Ángel, who was awake from his nap, his hair adorably messy.

"We've been calling your name," Javi says, no longer in his chair. He's now pouring some milkshake from a third cup into a smaller one for Ángel.

"Sorry, nomas estaba pensando ([I] was just thinking),” you say as you get up to give your son a kiss.

“¿En que, mami? (In what, mommy?)” Ángel asks, tilting his head to look at you.

Before you can reply, a knock echoes in the room.

"Come in," Javi says, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear.

The door opens, and Jack enters with a blue bag in hand.

"Mr. Daniels!" Ángel greeted him, clearly happy to see him.

"Hi, buddy," Jack responded, glad to see that Ángel was taking a liking to him, even if he didn't know their true connection.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, genuinely concerned.

"Good, thank you," Ángel replies politely, lifting his cup to take a sip. "My dad gave me some milkshake," he adds with a small smile.

At the mention of Javi’s name, Jack turns to Javi. "Javier," he acknowledges with a slightly sour tone.

"Hi, Jack," Javi responded without bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"I got something for you," Jack says, placing a gift bag on his son's lap. Ángel's head instinctively turned to look at Javi with big questioning eyes, silently seeking permission.

“Puedes abrirlo (you can open it),” Javi said softly, granting him permission.

Ángel eagerly reached into the bag, pulling out tissue paper and tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He excitedly reached into the bag with his small arm and pulled out a boy's denim jacket. It was a dark blue wash with silver buttons and yellow stitching all along the jacket. The jacket had several pockets, and Ángel immediately started sticking his small fingers into them. The most noticeable feature was a deep red patch at the back of the neck area. In the center of the maroon leather, the word "Jean" was meticulously stitched in bold, white thread. The stitching wasn't perfect, nor was it meant to be; it almost appeared as if it had been hand-sewn. Near the bottom right corner of the patch, a quartet of squares appears, not arranged in a straight line, but it looked better that way. Each square bears a single letter, together spelling out "S-H-O-P."

“¡Qué chulo! (so cute!)” Ángel exclaimed in awe as he tried to put it on, getting halfway before realizing that his right arm had an IV.

"I love it! Thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" your son exclaims with genuine joy. It almost makes up for all the Christmases Jack missed with Ángel - almost.

"No need to thank me, buddy," Jack replies, delighted that Ángel liked the jacket. Kids usually prefer toys over clothing, but ever since Ángel met Jack, he's had cowboy fever.

"I have the same one," Jack adds, the idea of matching with his son warming his heart. Jack couldn't help himself but buy items identical to the ones he already had in his closet. "You can wear it when you get out of here and go to the ranch," Jack explains.

Ángel responds happily and giddy, his excitement bubbling over.

"Keep looking, there's more," Jack encourages his son to explore the rest of the gifts, eager to see his reaction.

“Muy bien (very well), Mr. Jack," Ángel says obediently, forgetting Jack doesn't know Spanish. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book.

"One hundred fun facts about Horses," Ángel reads out loud and gasps.

"He loves books," you fill Jack in.

Jack was going to say, he didn't get that from me, but he held back and instead replied, "he got that from you."

"Can I read this now?" Ángel questions, clutching the milkshake in one hand and the book in the other.

"There's still more,” Jack points at the bag.

Ángel seemed astonished, asking as if he couldn't believe it, "More?"

"Just one more," Jack laughs at his son's excitement.

For the third time, Ángel reaches into the bag, his face contorted in confusion as he struggles to pull out the item with one hand. "Ma," he calls out and hands you his drink. You hold it for him, and with both hands, he successfully retrieves the last item from the bottom of the bag.

He takes out a black box with the word 'stetson' printed in white ink. Your son rattles the box, but his eyebrows pinch in the middle; he can't make out what's inside the box.

He finally reads the text and asks, "What is a stetson?" Not waiting for an answer as his curiosity got the best of him, he takes matters into his own hands and opens the box, revealing a layer of white tissue paper inside. This time, he's more careful. With his small fingers, Ángel gently grasps the paper from both ends in the middle and pulls it apart.

"Wow!" he exclaims as he sees a black hat upside down. He delicately removes the hat from its container and flips it over to examine it with wide eyes.

Ángel looks at Jack with a smile that warms Jack's heart, a smile he'd do anything for, even if it meant crawling to the depths of hell and facing Satan himself, just to keep it on his son's face.

He begins, "My grandpa gave me a hat—" but his sentence is cut short when he eyes Jack's own hat. He then turned his attention back to the smaller hat in his hands, his face contorted with intense concentration. "Wait... it's just like yours, Mr. Jack!"

The smile that Jack offers in response is just like Ángel's. He can already envision his son wearing everything he's given him. The prospect of having his son resemble him, even in a small way, fills Jack with emotion. Tears prick Jack’s eyes at the thought of his son looking like a little version of himself, without the mustache, of course. He can’t wait for the day his son will be his spitting image, from head to toe, or more appropriately, from the top of the hat to the tip of his boots. Now he just needs boots, Jack thinks, making a mental note to purchase them soon.

"Do you like it?" Jack asks.

"I love it!" Ángel exclaims.

Without hesitation, he places the hat on his head and grins when it fits perfectly. "My glasses didn't fall this time!"

Laughter envelops the room, and you can't help but wish for this kind of co-parenting relationship with Jack.

“Papi, look, it looks a little like the one grandpa gave me,” Ángel says not resisting showing his dad, as he does with everything.

It was indeed true; Chucho had gifted his grandson a straw hat. The moment Ángel received the hat, he'd given his grandpa a giant hug and then raced to show his dad.

Javi had never shared his son before, so watching him interact with Jack was a bit difficult for him. But he knew it was for the best, and he held onto the certainty that Ángel would always be his son, no matter what.

"Sí, mijo, te ves lindo (Yes son, you look nice)," Javi honestly praised Ángel's appearance, trying to focus on the happiness of the moment.

Jack, in the same boat as Javi, felt his heart chip ever so slightly every time Ángel called Javier "dad." He made a conscious effort to push aside these feelings and to fully enjoy the present.

"It’s perfect, right?” Jack asked, wanting reassurance.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels. Thank you,” Ángel replied, gratitude in his eyes, and he invited Jack to sit down next to him.

Jack complied happily, impressed by Ángel's ability to win him over so quickly.

“Can you tell me more about your ranch, please?” Ángel gazed at Jack with puppy eyes, and Jack couldn't resist.

He chuckled at how quickly his son could melt his heart. "Sure thing."

“Wait! I want a picture first,” Ángel suddenly announced.

“I’ll do it,” Jack offered before you or Javi had a chance to react.

Jack stood up from his chair, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and started setting up the camera. While he was busy, Ángel adjusted his jacket to make sure it wasn't slipping off the shoulder where his arm wasn't through the sleeve.

“Ready?” Jack asked, his finger poised over the top right button to take a picture.

Ángel didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked up at Jack and said, “Cheese,” remembering to smile. He held the pose while Jack's phone captured several clicks.

“Thank you, Mr. Jack,” Ángel said gratefully.

“Thank you, buddy.”

Jack moved to his gallery to look at the pictures he had just taken and let out a sigh of frustration when he noticed the quality wasn't what he had hoped for.

“Maybe I need to get a newer phone,” he grumbled, slightly annoyed.

At that moment, Javi's voice came from behind him, growing nearer. “Probably because I heard the Smithsonian wants to contact you to make a deal so they could display your phone for their 1930s collection,” Javi deadpanned, handing his own phone to Jack. “Here, use my phone. I'll make sure you get the pictures.”

Jack accepted the phone with an eye roll, gave a begrudging nod, and muttered a terse 'thanks' before asking his son to smile once more. This time, Jack was satisfied with the pictures he took and returned Javi's phone.

A palpable tension lingered between the two men as they settled back into their respective chairs, the strained atmosphere refusing to dissipate but remaining held in check within the confines of the hospital room.

Sipping on their milkshakes, Jack raked his brain for a story to share, while you removed your son’s jacket to allow him to lay back more comfortably.

Once Ángel was nestled against the pillows, Jack began his story. “During nights at the ranch, the stars are beautiful. The most beautiful starry nights…”

starry nights

“And that is The Big Dipper,” you pointed at the sky and traced the constellation with your finger. It was a collection of seven bright stars in the shape of a ladle, its handle stretching out across the sky like a long handle on a giant celestial spoon. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars seemed to shine especially bright.

“Over there is Orion,” you traced with your finger again. Orion was one of the most recognizable constellations, with its three stars forming Orion's Belt.

“and there-” you turned to look at Jack, expecting to find him gazing at the stars as you had been. Instead, he was looking intently at you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked, puzzled as to why he wasn’t following your descriptions. “Am I boring you?” You wondered, a mix of genuine concern and offense in your voice.

“Nunna that,” he replied in his thick drawl.

“So?” You prodded.

“I just love you,” he said, his expression filled with adoration. Jack looked at you as though you were the most incredible thing in the world.

You couldn't help but laugh, maybe at the intensity of the moment, or maybe at the expression that sent your heart racing, or perhaps a combination of both. You reached out, ran your fingers through his hatless hair – a rarity – and pulled him in for a kiss.

A few months later, he proposed to you, and just like that, it seemed that overnight, he had changed.

The night Jack proposed, the air was filled with the scent of love and the promise of a shared future. Bodies exhausted from the intimate celebration, you both drifted into sleep with the utmost excitement for your upcoming wedding and the prospect of spending the rest of your lives together.

As you dreamt sweetly about your wedding day and all the plans you and Jack had lovingly discussed, Jack had an entirely different dream – one that would alter the course of your lives. In this dream, he was visited by his high school sweetheart, his first wife. She came to him, tearful and broken, a ghost of heartache, accusing him of replacing her with you. Over eight hours of sleep, Jack relived every shared moment, each memory etched into his mind, right down to the devastating memory of burying her along with their unborn son.

In his vivid dream, Jack meticulously compared the two of you, scrutinizing and contrasting your every feature, your every virtue. He reached the conclusion that his first wife was his one true love, his happily ever after. He placed her on an unattainable pedestal, and you, unfortunately, received the short end of the stick. In his altered and frantic mindset, still within the dream, Jack reassured her that you could never replace her because you could never be her. Jack decided that you could never measure up to the ideal woman he had built in his memories of his first wife.

Life had cruelly snatched her away, and in a perverse twist of fate, you became a living and painful reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never regain. The woman he had lost became an unattainable ghost of perfection, and you, no matter how wonderful and loving, were forever held hostage by the shadow of her memory.

As the morning sun streamed into the room, you opened your eyes, anticipating the warmth of his presence beside you. When he wasn't in bed, you thought he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, so you searched for him happily, looking forward to sharing a bath to relive the delicious soreness from the night before, with thoughts of another round lingering in your imagination. However, your excitement turned to disappointment when he wasn't anywhere in the house.

Hours later, when he finally returned home, his behavior was curt, and he vaguely mentioned having something to do. Initially, you brushed it off, blaming his behavior on the stress of work, assuming it was a one-time thing.

Then, a week passed; Jack distanced himself even further, rejecting your touch and avoiding PDA, which he used to love. The warmth that used to define your connection was now replaced by a chilling void.

Conversations about his day once shared openly, became scarce, and when you broached planning your wedding, he conveniently found errands or claimed overtime at work—anything to avoid the topic.

Your once lively conversations dwindled, and the late-night talks on random topics became a distant memory. Your hopeful wishes for Jack to return to his previous self remained just that—wishes. Instead of reverting, Jack's behavior worsened. Thinking back on that post-engagement morning, it was as though a different Jack had awakened: someone you wouldn't recognize in the years to come, leaving you confused about what you might have done to bring about this change.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack had finished his story. You returned from the memory you had tried so diligently to bury, only to realize that Jack was explaining to his son that he needed to leave.

“I’ve gotta go to the pharmacy and pick up my medicine," he told Ángel. Although Jack didn't specify the medicine he needed to collect, both you and Javi were well aware that it was the injections he needed.

Ángel's face fell with disappointment, evident in his now-diminished smile. But he quickly bounced back before Jack could offer more apologies.

"It's okay, Mr. Jack," he said with a brave smile, even though his eyes betrayed his disappointment.

"Medicine is very important," Ángel added matter-of-factly.

Jack smiled at the boy's maturity. "You're absolutely right."

"I'll see you soon, right?" Ángel asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Whenever the hospital allows," Jack replied cautiously, refraining from disclosing his procedure, as Ángel wasn’t aware of the pending surgery, and Jack didn't want to lie to his son.

Ángel accepted Jack's answer and thanked him for the wonderful gifts before saying his goodbyes.

"I'll see you out, Jack. The exit you normally use is closed, so you'll need to go through the sky bridge," Javi offered.

"Sure," Jack agreed without protest.

He was just about to say goodbye to you when Ángel suddenly exclaimed, "Oh-uh…”

All three of you turned your heads, concern etching your features.

“Tengo que ir al baño (I have to go to the restroom),” he said anxiously. Typically, he didn't need assistance, but the IV made it complicated to go to the bathroom by himself.

Javi immediately offered, “Lo llevo yo (I’ll take him).” Given your pregnancy, taking care of Ángel was challenging, and Javi didn't want to jeopardize the well-being of all three of you. So Javi had willingly taken over the physical tasks of caring for him. He didn't mind – he loved looking after his son. Besides, he didn't want you walking Jack out, given that he remembered Jack referring to you as his wife. A part of him would always hold some resentment toward Jack, but his priority was his son.

As you focused on helping Ángel with the sheets, Javi approached Jack, his jaw locked, and in a low tone, he leaned in, warning, "If you try anything..." His stern expression and brown eyes bore into Jack's, conveying a clear threat. The warning only reached Jack's ears, and Jack remained silent, reminding himself to behave in front of Ángel.

Javi then forcefully bumped shoulders with Jack as he moved past him to assist Ángel in the restroom. You missed this interaction, and when you eventually glanced at Jack, he was seething. It had been years since you had seen him so angry – precisely nine years, to be exact. Confusion clouded your mind, leaving you standing there, staring at him, and he did the same. Your attention was drawn away from him when Ángel said his final goodbye.

"Let's go," you told Jack and proceeded towards the door.

Jack gives his son one last look and sees Javi guiding him to the restroom inside the hospital room.

With that, Jack is on your heels. You are five steps ahead of Jack. As you walk ahead of him, you find your mind drifting to your relationship with Jack. You classified your relationship with Jack in two phases: pre-engagement and post-engagement. Pre-engagement Jack would lace your hands together every time you were out in public or have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. He wanted everyone to know that you were his, and he was yours.

Post-engagement Jack underwent a drastic transformation. He no longer held you in public, except for that one instance when there was construction on a street that had forced him to help you across a blocked and narrow sidewalk. He also began to walk ahead of you, not just a step or two, but so far that you sometimes had to wait for the traffic light to change and he would be on the other side of the street. After several attempts of trying to catch up with him, you eventually stopped trying to keep up and accepted this new reality.

Now, ironically, the roles had reversed, and you were walking ahead of Jack, with no intention of slowing down once you crossed the skybridge. Jack used long strides to catch up to you. Fortunately, the two of you were the only ones crossing the bridge that connected the children's wing to the parking lot, or else it might appear as if he were following you. Desperately, Jack wished to be by your side and engage in conversation. About what? Anything, really. He wanted to talk about the weather, the stars (something you once loved discussing but which he had grown annoyed with), or even something as random as worms, as long as it led to a conversation. He hoped to make you smile and laugh, even if it meant discussing the most mundane topics. Jack briefly wondered if this was how you had felt during your marriage – always yearning for his presence and conversation. He was already aware of the answer: yes.

As he rounded the corner, he saw you and swiftly pressed the elevator button. The doors opened with a soft ding right in time for Jack to step inside. You promptly pressed the button marked G1, initiating the descent. Jack's mind raced as he desperately sought the right words, knowing he had only a few precious minutes before you returned upstairs. Once you were outside, he finally summoned the courage to speak, but you broke the silence first.

“I’m begging you, Jack, do not flake on this. You heard Ángel's doctor. If you back out while he’s on chemo-”

“Do ya really think I would do that?” Jack's hands went to his waist, his eyebrows furrowing with anger and surprise. “To my own son?” He sounded genuinely shocked that you would even consider such a possibility.

“No...” After a pause, you decided to be honest, “Yes, Jack. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth. I don’t know if I trust you. I want to. But I know better. I need to keep my guard up. I can’t risk it, not when Ángel is on the line. I did once, and look how that turned out.”

“Ya think I don't think 'bout that often?” Jack's voice rose. “Okay, I know what I did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t do that again. I will never abandon him. Ever. I will not fail him again.”

You repeated to yourself, Don't cry, don't cry.

“And you think it was easy for me to forget?” you continued, voice trembling. “I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. After you proposed, you... you changed!”

"I remember that once, I dropped off lunch at your office because I got out of work early, and I wished I never left work." The tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled the painful memory. "I was in your building, on my way to your office, when a guard stopped me before I got to the reception. I explained that I was going to drop off food for my husband, and he asked me who I was married to." You continued, “Of course, I said your name, and you know what he said?" Without giving Jack a chance to speak, you added, "He said he was under the impression that your wife had passed away."

The color drained from Jack's face.

"It was so embarrassing, Jack. I didn't know what to say." You covered your eyes with both hands. "He and everyone on the floor thought I was crazy and making shit up." After a moment of silence, you continued, “At least Ginger was there, and she took me away into a hallway. I begged her not to say anything. I just went back home and cried my heart out."

Jack looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find words.

You pointed your index finger at his face and said, "Yeah, do that for like two minutes with a Tupperware of food, and you'll look exactly like me." Your dry laugh turned into a scoff.

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Sugar, I'm so sorry."

You heard the emotion behind his words and snapped, “Oh, don’t you fucking dare cry.” You were furious that he wanted to cry when you were the one who had gone through this. Years ago, you would've never dreamt of him feeling the burden of your pain, one that he had caused. You would've shielded him and shouldered everything, but you had changed too.

“I already cried enough for the both of us,” you add.

That made Jack want to cry more, but he quickly composed himself and fought back the unshed tears.

He comes closer to you, cupping your face in his hand. You shiver. Not because you feel any warm feelings you used to. Quite the opposite; you shiver because his hand is so cold.

"I'm sorry for hurtin’ you, baby," he says sincerely, looking into your eyes.

“Don’t,” you say, smacking his hand away. “Don’t call me that and don’t ever touch me again.” It's as if the palm of his hand gave you a freezer burn.

Suddenly, you hear heavy and hurried footsteps behind you.

From the corner of your eye, you see one of the security guards from the lobby.

“Is there a problem?” the security guard asks.

Jack looks at the guard annoyed as if he interrupted something. “I’m talking with my wife.”

“Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m not your wife!” you exclaim, frustration lacing your voice.

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” The security guard is about to intervene, concern evident in his tone.

“No! He was just leaving, sir.” You manage to give the best smile you can muster to the guard, doing your best to reassure him.

Jack, still looking irritated, takes a step back, giving you some space.

You grab Jack’s jacket and spin him around so he could look onto the parking lot. In a hushed voice, you whisper-yell, “Jack, don’t make a scene. If you get in trouble, you won’t be allowed into the hospital, and then Ángel won’t have a donor.” You didn’t know that would happen if the security guard kicked him out, probably not, but you were just saying things to make him leave.

Shit, shit, shit, why do I keep doing this? he asks himself.

“We’ll talk another day, Jack,” you sound deflated.

“Right now I have to get back and explain everything to Ángel since he’s getting surgery tonight,” you say.

That sobered him up.

“Okay. Call me with any updates. Text me too. It don't matter what time.”

You nod and turn to go back to your family.

A/N: I've created an account exclusively for reblogging my writing: @loslentesdepedrito-library . Feel free to follow me there if you'd like to be notified about anything and everything I write!

This is the fastest I've ever created a graphic (even though it took me a week 😳), yay! The next couple of weeks will be busy for me, but I hope to upload the last chapter before the end of the year. I know! I just have a lot to catch up on since I went on sick leave :(

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

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