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writer-freak · 2 months ago

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Asking you out | Valo men x Gn reader

Characters: Gekko, Chamber, Sova, Yoru, Phoenix, Cypher, Omen, Brimstone, Kay/o and Habor

Warning: Gn reader, fluff, maybe ooc, english isn't my first language

A/n: I decided to go back to my roots and write some headcanons for Valorant. Haven't written for them in some time and I'm not up to date with the current lore so sorry for inaccuracies

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Gekko

Gekko is usually chill, so he’d be more low-key when asking you out.

One day you’re hanging out, Wingman chilling on your lap, and he just casually drops it

“Yo, maybe we should, like, go out on an official date?”

He’s trying to seem nonchalant, but the way he scratches the back of his head gives his nervousness away

When you agree, he lights up, his eyes wide with excitement and a big smile on his face

“Sick! Let’s grab something to eat!”

He’d definitely text his mom right after and would update her on how everything went

Chamber

Chamber has always been smooth, always flirting like it’s second nature

But when he asks you out, it’s a bit different

You’re used to his flirty remarks, but this time, after a successful mission, he walks up and asks

“If we succeed today, how about we celebrate together? Maybe dinner, just the two of us?”

His usual cockiness is a bit toned down, and there’s a vulnerability showing in his voice making it obvious he actually cares about your answer.

When you say yes, he recovers quickly with a grin, “I’ll consider that a victory, then.”

Sova

Sova is more straightforward and doesn’t really beat around the bush

After a long mission, he’d find you alone, pulling you aside. “You know I value you more than just a teammate, right?”

He’s nervous, but he says it calmly, watching for your reaction

If you tease him about being a softy, he’d chuckle, cheeks flushing slightly, before responding

“Perhaps I am soft… but only for you.” He’ll suggest something outdoorsy as a first date, like a quiet night under the stars, just something close to nature

Yoru

Yoru’s got a reputation for being cocky, and he’d play into that even while asking you out

“I heard you’ve been into me for a while now?” he’d say, smirking, trying to act cool

He’s testing the waters, but there’s a slight hesitation as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll reject him or call out his bluff

When you agree, he’ll act like it was no big deal, “Yeah, thought so,”

But then, his smirk softens slightly, and he looks at you more seriously. “So, how about we make it official? I’m asking you out—me and you, a proper date.”

If you agree, he’ll play it off cool, but you’d still catch the pink on his cheeks before he quickly changes the subject

Phoenix

Phoenix doesn’t like wasting time, so he’d ask you out while you’re the two of you were joking around together.

“Hey, let’s stop messing around and go out for real,” he’d say, flashing that bright grin.

“I’m serious though. Gonna be the best date of your life, I promise.”

His usual confidence is there, but you can tell he’s nervous from the way he messes with his jacket collar

When you say yes, he practically lights up—“Aight, bet! You won’t regret it.”

Cypher

Cypher’s approach is more subtle

He waits for a moment when it’s just the two of you, maybe working on something together

He’ll lean in slightly and say in a low voice, “I’ve come to enjoy our time together... Perhaps you’d also like something more?”

His tone is cautious watching for your reaction, but you can sense the warmth behind his words

When you agree, he smiles behind his mask

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he’d say, his voice softer. “How about dinner—just us?”

Omen

Omen is less direct when it comes to asking you out

One evening, after sitting together in silence, he'd hand you something small that he knitted himself

“This is for you.” he’d say in his usual low voice

If you ask him why he was gifting you this, he’d simply reply, “I want to be together with you.”

When you agree, there’s no visible smile, but you’ll feel the shift in his energy, warmth that shows that he is happy you accepted

Brimstone

Brimstone is all about professionalism, so he’d be more cautious about showing public affection.

If you’re already close, he might approach you after a mission, saying, “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should spend more time together outside of work.”

He’s straightforward, and his voice is calm, ready to accept your rejection

If you agree, he will give you a small smile.

“Glad to hear it. Let’s keep it between us for now, though.” He’s the type to plan something simple but meaningful—dinner at his place, maybe

KAY/O

KAY/O is logical, and while he’s sentient, human emotions can be tricky for him

He’d approach you one day, saying, “I have observed our interactions. I believe it would be beneficial to further explore this connection.”

It’s a bit robotic, but you can tell he’s trying

If you agree, he’d probably show a small heart symbol on his display, acknowledging the sentiment behind it

“Thank you. I will strive to meet your expectations,” he’d add, with a surprising amount of sincerity

Harbor

Harbor’s positive energy is contagious, and he’d be warm and positive when asking you out.

“You know, we always have a good time together,” he’d say with that bright smile of his.

“How about we make it official? Let me take you out properly.”

He’s all about showing affection, and if you agree, he’ll be beaming.

“You won’t regret it. I’ve got some amazing plans for us.”

He would make sure your first date is filled with fun and laughter

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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itsphoenix0724 · 9 months ago

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Dancing With Shadows (Azriel x Reader)~Chapter 1

Summary: Living your life with a long-distance relationship has never bothered you before, but when you surprise Az with a plane ticket you finally get to see how it works in person.

Warnings: SMUT, phone sex, mutual masturbation?, toys

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Bad Phoenix for starting another series while still having an incomplete one. I'm sorry (I'm not)

The morning light is just starting to creep through the gap in your curtains as you roll groggily over to the other side of your mattress. The Facetime call crackles over the end of the receiver as the brightness of your phone blares 7:00 am into your still sensitive eyes. You can hear Azriel vaguely fumbling with something over the other end, followed by a curse and the line quickly muting itself. You laugh silently, opening the camera and calling a good morning. It’s around noon across the ocean, and your slow rainy Saturday seems chaotic for Az already.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, face now lighting up your phone screen. You’re taken aback by his beauty for a second, hazel eyes boring into you through the camera. He’s wearing a tight compression top, and his black hair is slightly tousled and damp with sweat. He must’ve been working out.

“No not at all. I heard a crash, are you okay?” you ask, voice still crackly with sleep. A delightful red color sweeps the highs of Azirel’s cheekbones.

“I dropped a weight.” He supplies and you can see his shoulders move with a shrug. He sets you back down, now propping up the phone so you can watch him continue to lift. Your mouth almost waters, but you manage to reign yourself in.

“I wish you would wait for Rhys or Cas.” You can’t see Azriel’s eyes while he’s reclined on the bench, but you’re sure they’re rolling at the mention of his roommates. You move about your own apartment, getting ready for the day. Changing into a comfy set of pajamas you settle in to read comfortably on your couch.

You never minded the distance between the two of you.

Maybe that’s because it’s always been like this. You’d met Azriel on a dating app after you and your friend got wine-drunk one night and you switched the location to London. The two of you matched and it’s been the best six months of your life. He’s been kind, caring, and better than every guy you’d ever met in New York City.

Obviously, you want to be able to kiss and hold your boyfriend, hopefully, soon you can accomplish that. You bought Az a plane ticket so he’ll end up here for a week over Valentine’s Day. You just hope he’s able to make it, you did opt for a cancelable flight just in case he can’t get time off work, but he works in cyber security so he should be able to take it with him if needed.

You’ve finished your book, and Azriel is cooking dinner on his end of the line. The phone propped up against something on his counter, Cassian walks into the kitchen, clapping him on the shoulder before noticing you.

“There she is!” Cas steals the phone focusing on his face as he greets you with a broad smile. “How are you, princess?” Azriel snatches the phone back, letting a jealous stream of curses spew out of his mouth.

You can see him glaring at Cassian but as your laugh echoes back his eyes soften.

“I’m good, how are you.” Cassian gives a noncommittal shrug, stealing a piece of something off the cutting board before calling his goodbyes.

“He needs to learn to mind his business,” Azriel mutters but shines a bright smile when you laugh again.

“You’re such a baby.” You reply, still trying to fight laughter down at his pouting.

“I’m not a baby, I just don’t enjoy when Cassian flirts with you.” Az supplies moving about the kitchen.

You enjoy watching him cook.

You shamelessly ogle his back when he turns to the stove, loving the way the fabric of his shirt accentuates his broad shoulders. He moves like smoke. Gracefully gliding around the kitchen, pulling different spices and chopping different ingredients for some kind of stirfry.

Azriel being so good with a knife probably shouldn’t turn you on so much.

He has to hang up the phone to eat dinner with his roommates, so you blow him a kiss as he promises to call you back when he can. This leaves you to get ready for the little surprise you have planned for him.

You shower, styling your hair to perfection and applying some makeup before changing into the midnight blue lingerie set you picked out for him. You tie a barely-there black robe around yourself, make your bed, and light a few candles around the room to hopefully set the mood. A wicked idea flashes across your mind, so you make your way to the bathroom and slip a shoulder out of the robe snapping a picture quickly and sending it to Azriel’s contact.

“A little surprise to unwrap later ;)” It says that the message has been read at the bottom of the screen. Dots line the bottom of your screen, and you bite your lip as you await his response, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach already.

“What’re you trying to do to me, Sweetheart? I practically choked on my dinner” comes his response, and the previous heat turns practically boiling. A second text comes through a second later “I’ll be done in five minutes. Don’t you dare even think about touching yourself. Wait nice and pretty for me okay?” You double-check to make sure all your toys are charged, waiting patiently for Azriel’s Facetime call.

You can practically feel yourself dripping down your thighs in anticipation.

He calls four minutes later. Setting your phone up on your dresser you answer strutting over to the edge of the bed so he can see all of you. All you can hear is the sound of Az’s breathing and the lock on his door clicking shut.

“Take it off,” he practically growls and you play with the tie before you pull it apart and let the black silk pool around you on the bed. “You look absolutely fucking beautiful.” His pupils blow wide as he looks at you feeling like a goddess with his attention.

“Do you like it?” You tease, fluttering your eyelashes and sending him a sugar-sweet smile.

“That’s a ridiculous fucking question, I want to devour you.” His voice is like midnight water, ripples feel like they’re caressing down your spine as you shiver. Even now, even over the phone, it thrums through your chest like guitar strings, reverberating and ricocheting around your rapidly beating heart.

“Tell me what you want me to do Az,” you gasp out, waiting for him to give you some direction, eager to be obedient. Az takes a moment to admire how the blue lace clings to your skin, delicate gemstones glittering like you’d ripped the stars straight out of the sky.

“Lay back on the bed.” He rumbles, shamefully stealing an eyeful of your ass as you turn to crawl up to your pillows. “And as much as I love this outfit, I need you to take it off. Right Now.” You strip yourself out of the lace set, tossing it onto the carpet. His eyes blow out as he admires your naked form. You hear Az settle himself on his own bed and the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your mouth water. You’ve seen his dick before, obviously, but you wish that you could wrap your mouth around him right now.

“Are you touching yourself?” You mutter into the quiet, the sound like a bomb exploding around your buzzing anticipation.

“Not yet.” he grinds out. “I’m waiting for you.” his jeans and shirt hit the ground moments later. You eagerly drink in the dark ink you can see swirling around his collarbones.

“I wanna suck you off so bad.” Your brain goes into that empty fuzzy space that only happens when you and Az do something like this. A pained sort of noise falls out of his mouth, a mix between a whimper and a groan.

“Are you wet for me?” He questions, quirking a dark brow. You hum your difference, shrugging a bare shoulder. “You don’t know? Why don’t you find out for me?” You skate your fingers down your body, gliding them through your center. Your fingers come away slick with your arousal, and you circle your clit once letting out a breathless moan that makes Azriel’s eyes roll.

“I want you.” You mumble as you continue to toy with yourself and let your mind run wild. Images flash behind your eyelids, thoughts of Az between your thighs and him pounding you into the mattress so hard his hands leave bruises on your hips.

“Get your vibrator.” He orders and you slip your hand into the drawer of your right nightstand. You find the pink bullet and flick it to the lowest setting. “Run it down your body, slowly.” Following his instructions you drag the toy down your body until you reach your center. You can hear Azriel’s labored breath as he exhibits self-restraint. He wants nothing more right now than to make you cry with pleasure instead of that toy. “Give me a show now, Sweetheart.” He kicks off his underwear, finally palming his rock-hard cock.

You do exactly as he asks flicking the vibrator up another setting as you finally allow it to touch your clit. You throw your head back with a moan, fisting your other hand in your bed sheets. You imagine it’s his tongue or his fingers. A thousand fantasies flash in your brain as you push down a little harder, hips canting up to meet the toy, grinding yourself into it. Azriel jerks himself, his own fantasies playing on a loop. He keeps his eyes open though, refusing to take his eyes off of you for even one second.

He doesn’t even think he’s blinked since the moment you answered his phone call.

“Az, I wanna hear you cum. Please.” You beg, you need to hear him to get yourself there. Azriel bites back a guttural moan, he’s still having trouble wrapping his brain around the fact that you actually want to hear him be loud. He’s been quiet his whole life, not quite used to having someone who never wants him to stop talking. “Please,” you beg again and he snaps letting a whimper escape out of his lips. All of his moans slip out after that. It’s music to your ears as you turn the vibrator up another speed and slip a finger inside of you, curling your fingers so you can barely skim the spot that makes you see white.

“I’m close,” he promises and that helps you push yourself toward a blazing crescendo right as Az explodes alongside you. You stand on shaking legs and collect your phone from the dresser before slumping back against the pillows. “You’re amazing,” He mutters into his pillow, eyelids drooping in his state of bliss.

“I bought you a plane ticket.” you can’t control it as you blurt it out. “For over Valentine’s Day…if you want to come.” it tumbles out, suddenly insecure.

“You what?” Azriel shoots up shock straight, looking at you with wild eyes. “Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not joking. I’m sorry if it’s too forward–I can cancel it, I should’ve talked to you about it first.” You curse, already pulling up the airport's website to cancel the ticket.

“Don’t cancel it.” Azriel cuts in, “Of course I want to come. I’ll be there, whatever it takes.”

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #acotar au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel x you

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crimsonbubble · 2 years ago

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WAIT, YOU DO VALORANT REQUESTS?? OKAY OKAY. CONSIDER THIS ONE :

Reader (they/them) is in a situationship with Yoru (it's pretty clear they both like each other, but no one has conffessed yet).

We all know how cocky Yoru can get. What if one day Phoenix was teasing Yoru for liking Y/N and Yoru just gets tired and lies to Phoenix that he actually hates Reader or something like that?

AND WHAT IF READER OVERHEARS AND TAKES YORU'S WORDS TO HEART? DISTANCING THEMSELVES AND JUST RETHINKING EVERYTHING?

WOULD YORU APOLOGISE? HOW WOULD HE DO IT?

FLUFF ENDING PLEEEEAAAASSEEEEE

If you can't write this prompt, it's okie! Take care! 💖

cw. hurt/comfort, gn!reader, yoru being emotionally constipated *not proofread, just pure brainrot

[yoru my beloved <33 i hope this suits your tastes 🤞🤞]

you were too caught up in your head as you listened to your footsteps echo quietly in the empty corridor. you made you way into the main room, quietly slipping into the kitchen as you listened in on the rant that phoenix had started with yoru. you rested your hand on the tap, trying to keep quiet as you listened.

"oh come on, you know you like them. admit it." yoru grumbled, running his hand through his hair.

"phoenix, this is the last time I'm saying this. no, I don't like them. they're fucking annoying and not my type." upon hearing that, you hurried to fill your water bottle and make your way back to your room.

yoru heard you slam the tap down, sitting up as you rushed back down the corridor. his eyes followed your figure as you walked away, a sudden tightness spreading across his chest. he fell back against the couch, his head in his hands as he can't believe how badly he fumbled with his words.

phoenix smacked yoru upside the head, shaking his head disapprovingly. "this is what happens when you don't watch your mouth. this is your problem, fix it."

you slammed the door closed behind you, trying to take deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your bed. your lower lip wobbled, a stray tear cascading down your cheek. you lay down in bed, hiding your face in the pillow as you attempted to steady your breathing.

you spent the next few days avoiding him and you were doing a damn good job at it, it made yoru frustrated. over the days you've spent ignoring him, yoru spent his free hours creating a gift basket.

with that, he bid yoru goodnight, walking down the hallway just like you did. yoru felt tears burn in his eyes as he sank further into the couch, he let out a huff before making his way to his room.

he managed to fill it with your favorite snacks, candy, drinks, and a handwritten letter. the basket sat in his room, a constant reminder of how hard you're working to avoid him. yoru sat at the foot of his bed, fiddling with the letter.

he felt stupid writing a letter but it was the easiest way to say the things he was afraid to. he put the card back in the basket, carefully taking it with him as he made his way to your room. sage will kill him if he finds him in the girl's dorm after hours, so he had to be quick.

just as he approached the door, a soft voice called for him. he nearly dropped the basket as he jumped back. "I can explain-" yoru carefully set the basket down.

"go on then." sage crossed her arms, staring at him deadpanned as yoru stumbled over his words. she eyed the basket, seeing the letter with your name and a heart on it. "yknow what? nevermind, just make it quick." sage gave yoru a small wink before making her way to her room. sage let out a breathy laugh as she saw the array of snacks, all of the ones you liked.

yoru quietly knocked on your door, carefully pushing it open. his eyes softened as he saw the small collection of arcade machine plushies he's won you, sitting on the empty side of your bed. yoru set the basket on your desk, his eyes tracing over your features. he made his way to your bedside, crouching down to push the hair out of your face. he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, trying to make his way back to his room before he was caught.

you grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back. he stumbled a bit, watching with questioning eyes as you tugged him closer, peeking up at him through sleepy eyes. yoru smiled softly, caressing your face. "don't worry, you'll see me tomorrow. go back to sleep."

you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes as you looked around the room, spotting the basket yoru had put on your desk just hours ago. you felt arms tightening around you, freaking out for all but four seconds before you recognized the tuft of blue and black hair against your pillows.

he tried to stand again, but you tugged him down harder, shuffling back in bed to give him space. he watched as you only tugged at his shirt, a soft pout playing at your lips. his heart warmed as he finally laid down in bed beside you. you immediately snuggled into his warmth, wrapping yourself around him. yoru kissed the top of your head, rubbing your back as he finally fell asleep with you in his arms.

sage quietly knocked on your door, peeking in to see that you were awake. a smile made its way onto her face, watching how you combed your fingers through his hair as you sat against the headboard. "I suggest you read the letter. I'm sure yoru put a lot of effort into it." sage left quietly as you peered over at your desk.

you watched as sage closed the door, slowly climbing off your bed to pad over to the basket. you sat down in your desk chair, scanning over the large selection of snacks and drinks. you picked up the letter, looking back at him as he slept in your bed. you lean back in your chair, wincing as it squealed under your movements.

your heart is pounding in your chest and your smile unable to leave your face as you read the letter. by now yoru had woken up, freaking out for a second at the unfamiliar surroundings, until he saw you at your desk. his heart is pounding in his chest and he almost thinks it's loud enough for you to hear it.

you spun in the chair, looking at him with such a soft smile and watery eyes it made his heart clench. he got out of bed as you stood from your chair. you leaned up, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting a quick peck on his cheek. "I love you too."

yoru's heart was soaring as he wrapped his arms around you, eyes lining with tears. "I'm sorry. please don't ignore me like that." you pressed a kiss to his lips, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "as long as you don't act like an idiot, again."

"I'm your idiot, now."

#bubbly speaks <3 #bubbly writes <3 #ash answers #valorant x reader #valorant yoru #yoru x reader #valorant yoru x reader #valorant imagines #valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant yoru imagines

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fabricated-misslieness · 4 months ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: phoenix x valorant agent male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: spending time apart is never acceptable to him.

mailmango: I wanna see Phoenix not letting reader out of his cuddles after a particularly long time apart (two days as opposed to one) because that his water boyfie

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 908

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: for me none, lmk

☾⋆☆⋆☽

"Shaanxi's mayor called and asked for help, so seeing as it's Sage's home turf, she's leading the mission. She's your captain, aye, Phoenix?" Brimstone's eyes are pointed heavily on Phoenix, almost like he's pinning the man down with a look.

Phoenix takes it all in stride, despite how threatening it seems to be, "No need to question me, boss man. I got it!"

Brimstone then turns to you, his eyes softening substantially. "On the other hand, we got reports from Raze that Brazil's bay state is in a bit of a pinch. Lotta water 'round for you to play around with, Downpour."

Phoenix immediately objects, stepping between you two and covering line of sight with a raised finger. "Hold on, Brim, we not goin' together?"

The commander sighs in turn, "We've been over this, Phoenix. You two don't exactly go well together–"

"We go amazing together."

"Fire and water, Phoenix. You create something, he'll," He points his hand at you like you're suddenly a culprit, even if you are in this hypothetical situation, "just smother it."

"I–"

"It's final!"

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He should've argued harder, Phoenix thinks while he's on the mission. Even afterwards, when the agents take a little break before returning home, he's regretful. Shaanxi's beautiful and all: nice weather, respectful people–if a bit amazed by his foreigness–lotta fun with a local (Sage) as your tour guide.

Phoenix never has his way when the two of you are split. The logic is sound and clear, and everyone in the team agrees fire and water don't mix. Jett or Gecko might argue for chemistry reasons, but it never helps. None of it will ever stop him from trying, anyway.

When Phoenix steps back into HQ, he's never been happier before (even if he says that every time).

Cypher often says the Radiants' powers match them. Jett's cool and a lover of speed, so wind fits great for her. Sage is calm and caring, and so is her healing power.

Phoenix is definitely a fire. He's always flickering with excitement. He can't stay idle, he's always rushing to grow larger in some way or other. You know how flames cling and spread to anything flammable near them? That's you.

Even if you're water, he clings to you like a flame engulfing you in its warmth. You're calmer on the other end, but you still rest an arm over the small of his back and cradle the back of his head.

He's got his head in the crook of your neck, like he's trying to inhale your very being to store you in the forefront of his mind.

Besides the fact it's cute, it tickles...

"Phen," You chuckle, both from the tickling and the situation. "it's been two days."

"That is not an okay amount of time!" Phoenix pulls away, sitting up on your laugh to pound your chest harmlessly. "Seriously, it's like you don't even love me."

You huff, sitting up to meet his eye. "You don't mean that."

He wants to say he does, to tease you, to play, but he can't, not to you. "No, I don't." He says, utterly defeated.

"Good." You lean closer to steal a quick kiss. Tender and soft, and Phoenix would usually want more, but there are always other ways of closeness.

He collapses against you, forcing you back flush onto the bed to press himself against you. When every part of him is against a part of yours, legs tangled, arms around your neck, side of his face against yours, he sighs like he's complete. "I missed youuu!"

"I know." You say, and though you might've rolled your eyes at the repetition, you don't. Instead, you place your hand on his cheek and smooth your thumb over his cheekbone.

He positively melts into the touch with a blatant groan. "Say you miss me."

"I missed you." You reply easily.

"Say it like you mean it." He demands with a pout, and how could you deny him?

"I missed you."

"Aaaah...you're my boyfriend!" Phoenix drawls, like he's drunk, like you're fresh into the relationship in your honeymoon phase. "My one! Loml!"

"Loml?"

He clicks his tongue disappointedly. He sets his eyes on you with a deadpan glare. "LOML, like love of my life, you know."

"Ahhhh." So that's what that means.

Phoenix pats your cheek playfully for it. "No way you've been seein' LOML, LOML, this my boyfie, the LOML, on my insta stories that you always like n' never questioned it."

"I kinda learned to ignore it, I don't know." You answer truthfully.

"You stupid, stupid man." He teases in that silly little accent of his, stewpid. You have to hold in your laugh to tease him next.

"Heyy!" You all but pout at him.

"I'm sorry," As expected, he falls for it instantly, surging forward to press apologetic little kisses to your face, muttering a new "I'm sorry," with each one.

"Aw, you're okay, big man." You finally let go of your laugh and redirect his kisses to your lips. "C'mere."

They say water smothers fire, but whenever you're around, Phoenix is more motivated than if he were anywhere else in the world. He's more excited than when he's on stage, more focused than when he's on mission, happier than he's ever been. You can say the same thing, that he's the one to turn your lazy rivers into rapid streams.

Neither of you would have it any other way.

#phoenix x male reader #phoenix x reader #valorant x reader #valorant x male reader #🌸 // success!#🎫 // phoenix #🎟️ // valorant

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years ago

Note

Hi can I request I feel safe with you, with Hangman? Thanks

TW: f!reader, alcohol, reader is drunk, slight angst at the end bc Hangman is an emo baby this is canon because I said so

When Jake entered the Hard Deck, he was met with Penny’s amused, half-hearted glare and a grinning idiot practically leaning off of one of the stools at the bar.

“Thanks for coming,” Penny said. “Phoenix challenged her to a shot competition and, as we all know, Natasha Trace can handle her alcohol. She can pay next time she comes in.”

Jake sighed as he bracketed you in with his hands on your hips to ensure you wouldn’t tip off the stool and face plant into the wood. He handed his card to Penny and she smirked, but didn’t say anything as she passed it back to him once she closed out your tab.

“Jaaaake!” you cried when you turned and saw him. Your eyes were glassy and a loose smile clung to your lips. A bottle of water was clutched loosely in your hands and he snagged it from you, twisting off the cap and putting it to your lips. You dutifully took two long sips and he pulled it away from you, placing the cap back on it, and then shook his head.

“C’mon, Piggy,” he sighed. “Remind me to ream Phoenix out tomorrow for letting you get this drunk.”

As if the aviator heard him from across the packed bar, Phoenix and Halo waved. Jake smiled at his friends and raised his middle finger in response. Natasha blew a kiss and he pretended to catch it before pressing his palm gently to your forehead and then jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. She replied with two thumbs up.

“Alright, let’s get you home. You’re going to finish that whole bottle and eat some toast before bed,” he ordered. The last thing he wanted was to wake up to you heaving over a toilet because you always cried when you threw up and he hated seeing you cry.

For fuck’s sake, the two of you weren’t even an “item” and yet here he was, being called to pick you up from girl’s night. He didn’t understand why you kept flitting around him. He was cocky, self-centered, and a dick. You were plain sunshine and daisies with a smile that lit up the whole damn room. Yet, the moment you had met him courtesy of Bob bringing his “friend from knitting club” to the Hard Deck, Jake Seresin found himself drawn to you.

“Thank you, Jakey,” you hummed as he scooped you up and began to carry you out. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder and he almost shivered at the feel of your soft breaths brushing across the exposed skin of his chest, courtesy of the baseball jersey he had on.

“If you throw up in my truck, I will leave your ass in the sand,” he threatened, but there was no real heat behind his words. You giggled and pressed yourself impossibly closer.

“You wouldn’t do that, Kermit.” God, that stupid nickname shouldn’t warm his chest as much as it did. Your eyes widened as your alcohol-addled brain slowly processed words. “That would be dangerous. But you won’t let anything happen to me. You’re too good.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Piggy.”

You nuzzled your nose against the column of his throat and let out a soft hum. “I feel safe with you. Always have.”

His heart lurched into his throat at your admission. Jake Seresin had been labeled a lot of things in his life. A pain in the ass, selfish, arrogant, but never safe. This had to be your tequila-soaked tongue talking and not the rational, brilliant woman he knew you to be.

But you continued talking, even as he maneuvered open the door to his passenger seat and gently set you down. He slid the seatbelt over your shoulder and stomach before clasping it into place and testing it was secure. His hand slid up to rest on your jaw as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Like the night Bobby brought me here and that guy was making me scared, you knew what to do. You bring me soup when I’m sick and you help me when there’s storms.” Your smile softened and your eyelids drooped. “You make me feel safe, Kermit.”

Jake couldn’t help himself. He pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead and then stepped back. “Let’s get you home, Piggy, before you fall asleep for the night.”

Surely you would forget everything you had just said. He would make you breakfast in the morning and drive you to the Hard Deck to collect your car before you two parted ways and never spoke about the constant brewing tension between you. Because someone as kind and loving and caring would only be disappointed in the reality of who he truly was behind this veneer of arrogance. He was a broken man and he wouldn’t subject you to the jagged shards of Jake Seresin.

#jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #honey's 3k celebration

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lottespics · 1 year ago

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Why Me? - Part 1

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, insecurities, pining (if I do end up writing more I will put more chapter warnings)

Word Count: 700

Summary: Bob is a total simp, and he is too caught up in his own insecurities to ever think about the possibility you may very well like him back.

A/N: Ok, so this is my first attempt at writing in a VERY long time, so pls be gentle to me, thank you. But if anyone comes upon this I hope you enjoy it! I'm hoping to write more and have it become a series but we'll see what happens. Also I suck at summaries so sorryyy.

For the twenty-nine years Bob had been alive he had never felt this way before. It took a single stare. A look. A glance really, to know that he had been blessed in this life. You’d think he was admiring a masterpiece carefully handcrafted by a tortured artist who had dedicated his life to his craft, or perhaps the sunset over the cliffs of La Jolla that reflected off of the water just right. But no. Because nothing in this moment could compare to the sight before him. It was simply you, holding a hand to your chest, throwing your head back in a laugh over some wild story Phoenix was telling you about her family back home.

Everything slowed down around him as the light from the bar cast a halo around your head. The way your cheeks flushed from the rowdy atmosphere of the Hard Deck. The way your soft hand slid from your chest to Phoenix’s shoulder in an attempt to catch your breath. He knew he was staring at this point, but he just couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Even gazing at you in awe from behind the pool table he found himself blushing at the thought of you and your inviting smile.

Just as you take a sip from your glass, your eyes scan the bar and land on his, already staring right at you. Your eyes widen at first at how intently his eyes bore into yours, until they soften and a crooked smile makes its way to his lips. You smile right back at him and raise your hand in a small wave. Bob’s heart beats faster as you continue to smile at him, he picks up his hand and gives a wave back. Your smile widens as you stare back into your drink.

Even in your khakis Bob thinks there is no way you could get more beautiful. He should go over and talk to you. But he thinks better of it as you’re still in your conversation with Phoenix. That is until Phoenix gets up and heads to the restroom. Oh god. This is his chance. He should take it right? No, he’ll just end up making a stuttering mess of himself like the last time he tried to have a one-on-one conversation with you. The team still held that over his head, as they only thought he was nervous to say something wrong and have you go running to tell your dad what a dumb-ass he was.

Your father of course being their Captain, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. That was its own obstacle. Other than the fact that the thought of you had him stumbling over his own words, your father was one reason why he was hesitant to approach you. You had mentioned to Phoenix before that because of this every aviator either kept their distance from you, or had made a game of trying to hook up with you. This detachment had been different this time. Everyone has been friendly to you for no other reason than to be friendly. Of course, Hangman tried his hand at you, but that was before he realized who your father was. Bob remembers it quite well. The way Hangman sidled up to you to introduce himself. Giving you his best lines, eventually asking how you got the call sign of “Mantis” only for you to stare at him and casually say, “‘Cause I’ll bite your fucking head off if you try anything”. You gave him your best smile and walked off after Hangman promptly choked on his drink.

Lost in his daydream, Bob barely notices Phoenix coming back and reclaiming her seat next to you. Another opportunity slips out of his hands. He looks back to his empty cup of peanuts and decides to call it a night, heading out without saying goodbye to anyone, not like they would notice anyway. Besides, if you ever were to take a chance on anyone in the squad why would it be him? He makes it to the front of the bar before you look up smiling, hoping to see him again, he was too far gone to see it slip from your face. You let out a dejected sigh before asking Penny to close out your tab.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd x female reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #mavdad #top gun fandom

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snailor-bee · 1 year ago

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Marco x NB!Reader / SFW / 2.1k Summary: Marco is finally going to confess to you! If only it would stop going wrong... Notes: Written for @op-xreader-zine! All the art is done by the amazing @issatheartist thank you for working with me on this! ;w;

This was it! Marco was finally going to do it. He was going to walk up to you and confess.

He'd been crushing on you for a while now and it was time. He'd dealt with the teasing from his brothers and the nurses for far too long. Originally Marco had held himself back because he hadn't wanted to ruin what the two of you already had.

Friends, nakama, family.

Still, everyone had insisted that he go for it and had completely ignored his reasonings for maybe why he shouldn't—"Marco, you can't seriously use your rank as an excuse; the only person higher than you is Pops"—so that's how he found his hands sweating, wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

Maybe it was a bit simple but at this point, Marco figured it was better than nothing. His head felt like a jumbled mess and he hadn't really planned out how he was going to do this but he'd wing it as he went along, all Marco had to do was find you and—

So distracted by his thoughts, he bounced off someone's body made a little oof of pain.

"Marco!" Izou's voice broke through his thoughts. "Watch where you're going. What are you doing?"

"I, uh," he couldn't bring himself to say it. Izou was the ship's gossip and if Marco said he was looking for you in order to confess then you'd hear about it before Marco even got to you. Sweat beaded at his brow as Izou's sharp gaze took him in. Uncharacteristically, Marco knew he looked nervous.

Which might as well have been blood in the water for a shark, when one was dealing with Izou.

Then all at once, Izou's posture softened and he smiled. "Are those for me?? For my birthday!? Oh, you shouldn't have, these are my favorite too!" Still gushing, Izou grabbed the bouquet and Marco was too stunned to stop him.

"A-ah, yes. I was worried you wouldn't like them, yoi," he said, going for a smile. It was a bit strained but Izou didn't seem to notice. Marco cursed himself internally. He'd been so focused on the almost-not-quite-confession, Izou's birthday had completely slipped his mind.

"No, they're perfect ," Izou enthused happily and Marco sighed fondly, letting the anxiety of confronting you fade. He could always do it later.

The next 'attempt' wasn't really an attempt.

Marco had been walking down a street when his inner phoenix noticed a section of smooth rocks. Without too much thought, he reached out and snatched one up. He frequently did this; the drawers in his office were filled with random bits and bobs, shiny pieces of metal, rocks, and other random things that appealed to his phoenix half for whatever reason. Marco never mentioned it to anyone but a few of his brothers who had been around him for years had picked up on it, though they were kind enough not to point it out.

So, without much thought, when he saw you chatting with some other shipmates, Marco ambled over and handed you the rock. "Here, for you."

You raised a brow and looked into your palm before running your thumb over the stone's surface, feeling out the texture.

Inside, his phoenix cooed and Marco was grateful he wasn't in his half-form. He could tell that his tails would be going wild right about now, watching your reaction.

"...Thanks," you said at last, sounding confused before you pocketed the rock and turned back to listen to the story that Ace had been in the process of telling. It didn't deter Marco at all, you had accepted it!

Feeling thrilled somewhere deep in his bones, he barely felt the jab to his ribs.

"Hey," Thatch whispered, "you know they aren't a bird, right?"

Confused, Marco cocked his head. Thatch gestured at you with his chin. "They probably don't know why you just handed them a rock. Shouldn't you be doing more, uh, human courting stuff?"

There was a few seconds of incomprehension before the meaning hit him and Marco felt like dissolving into dust and disappearing forever. He leaned over to bury his head into Thatch's shoulder to cover up the sound of his groan of pain as his brother laughed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, you'll get them next time, birdie."

Next time ended up being a love letter.

Old fashioned? Maybe. But Marco was getting desperate. At least this would be crystal clear.

He'd gone through numerous editions. The trash can in his room was overflowing with failed attempts, bunched up balls of paper scattered around his desk as he tried again and again until he finally felt he had it all down.

Exactly what about you that made him smile, how the simple sight of you lifted his spirits and the sound of your laugh made his chest tight. He'd bared it all.

Walking across the busy deck, the night breeze ruffling his hair, Marco was barely able to return the greetings he got as he passed by scattered groups. He'd locked eyes with you right away and once you noticed him coming, you'd said your goodbyes and were coming to meet him halfway.

The closer and closer the two of you got, the more and more nervous Marco became. The butterflies in his stomach were making him feel like he might throw up. What if you didn't return his feelings? What if you thought the letter was lame?

What if you went to read it right away? Oh fuck , he hadn't thought this through. He didn't want to watch your face as you read the confession, heartfelt though it may be. If you had to turn him down after he poured his heart onto the parchment, Marco really didn't know how he was going to take that.

Saying it to your face, letting you turn him down gently without realizing the true depths of his feeling was way more appealing.

His step faltered before a rush of heat flashed beside him. On instinct he tossed the letter into the roar of fire. Ace was likely showing off and didn't even notice the slight disturbance.

"What was that?" you asked, finally having made your way to him.

"Nothing," Marco said quickly. "Someone did their report so badly, so I had a bunch of corrections but thinking it over I realized I'll just have them redo it. Makes it easier, yoi."

You laughed. "Harsh. I'd hate to be them, putting in all that work for nothing."

Marco shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Yeah but I'm sure they'll get over it."

"Wow, Marco, you're not very good at this are you?" Ace asked with a snicker. Marco glared, fork paused midway to his mouth. Thatch elbowed him good-naturedly from his side. They were sitting in the galley, the shipmates talking around them creating a symphony of noise that easily hid the conversation from others.

"Good at what, yoi?" Marco asked, placing the fork down. Thatch threw an arm around his shoulders and shook him lightly as Ace's eyes sharpened with glee.

"Now Ace," Thatch said, mockingly sweet, "don't go teasing our resident birdbrain here. He's trying so hard, the poor thing."

"Get off," Marco said, irritated as he pushed at Thatch until he let him go, laughing.

"Think they've even noticed?" Ace asked thoughtfully before shoving something into his mouth and chewing loudly.

Marco opened his mouth to answer but Thatch beat him to it. "Hopefully not, though Marco looking so pathetic has been quite amusing." Thatch batted away his hand before Marco could punch him in the ribs, the bastard.

Grunting with annoyance, Marco looked away just in time to catch you several tables away leaning your head back with a laugh and he stared, heart suddenly in his throat. He couldn't help it, you were just so—

"Plus the whole ships been taking bets at this point," Thatch tacked on and Marco tore his gaze away from you.

"What?!" Marco demanded as Ace hooted joyfully. Thatch shrugged, grinning all the while.

"Maybe you shouldn't look like a lovesick bird all the time and we wouldn't have to take bets on when you finally get your act together. Do not" —Thatch pointed a steak knife menacingly in Ace's direction after a garbled noise had started— "talk with your mouth full. Swallow."

Dutifully, Ace swallowed his barely chewed food and took a second to catch his breath before barrelling on, "Whatcha got planned next, Marco? Anything good?"

"Excuse me? All my ideas have been fine so far!" Two blank looks had his hackles raising but before he could argue more, your voice rang out.

"Hey, Marco!" Immediately he whipped his head up and caught your eye. You waved before you arrived behind Ace, patting him on the shoulder. "I was wondering if we could spar later?"

Quickly, he nodded back. "Yeah, that sounds great!" Embarrassingly, he heard his voice hit a slightly higher pitch, almost as if his voice had cracked. Ace and Thatch did a terrible job at stifling their giggles as Marco felt his face flush traitorously.

"Great!" you enthused, apparently having not noticed. "See you after lunch?"

Not trusting his voice, he nodded and you skipped away happily. Once you were far enough away, Ace and Thatch collapsed into loud laughter, Ace banging on the table as Thatch wheezed out between his laughs, "What are you Marco, twelve ?? What was that?!"

"I hate both of you," Marco grit out between clenched teeth before shoving his half finished tray of food at Ace. "Finish this, I'm leaving, yoi."

"Good luck on your dateeee," Ace managed to yell out before he got too far away. Marco flipped him off over his shoulder.

"So, Marco." You looked uncharacteristically anxious as you fidgeted and looked at everything except him. Marco felt his stomach drop to the deck. What was wrong? You hadn't... noticed had you? Fuck, this was not how he wanted you to find out.

He'd come to find you for your spar after Ace and Thatch had literally laughed him out of the galley. You'd seemed eager enough to see him before dragging him to a quiet part of the deck, mentioning you had something to say first.

Seemingly steeling your nerves, you looked into his eyes and they burned with determination.

"I've liked you for a really long time now. You're literally one of my best friends and more than that you make me feel like I can fly, like nothing could ever hurt me. I didn't really want to mention this and have it ruin our friendship but I can't keep it to myself anymore. Please go on a date with me!"

Time seemed like it stood still as he gaped at you. He could see your cheeks flush, likely with embarrassment at your proclamation but he was still reeling.

Finally, you swallowed. "And if you don't feel the same—"

"No!" he cut in, finally finding his voice. Marco grabbed up your hands, cradling them close. "No, don't. Just, I—" He chuckled with wry amusement before pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "I'm just a little shocked. I've been trying to ask you out for ages now."

"Wait, really?" you asked, mouth dropping open. He nodded with a smile. There was a strange buzzing in his body, from his toes up to the tips of his ears. Everything felt a little fuzzy, a little warm. He wanted to run around the deck like a teenager again, grab you close and never let go, scream over the railing until he ran out of breath. So many different emotions were raging through him, he was beginning to feel dizzy from the weight of all of them.

Deciding to just pick one, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into his chest, breathing in your scent as he began to chuckle lowly. You joined in and soon the two of you were full-out laughing. When you separated, he brushed a hand against your cheek reverently, giddy that he was able to do so.

"To be honest," Marco began, "I don't think I can spar right now, I feel like my knees are made of jell-o."

You laughed again. "That's okay, I'm feeling the same. Wanna go tell Pops instead?"

Marco ran a hand through his hair, before smiling at you. "Sure. We're about to get the teasing of a lifetime."

You held out a hand and he took it, fingers twining together with yours like they were meant to be.

"We may as well get started," you said back, fondness shining in your eyes and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something more.

#one piece #one piece x reader #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco the phoenix x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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proskillservices · 6 months ago

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the-ace-with-spades · 7 months ago

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just hold my hand

(based on this and this post) (hangster kids, mpreg, sad grandpa Mav, protective Hangman and the angsty hours followed by fluff hours)

---

Part 2/3? | read on ao3

Mav really doesn’t know what to do. None of the lieutenants seem to be taking the training seriously — if anything, they treat it like a competition, like an opportunity to outrun the other person and prove they’re better.

He knows it’s ironic to say given his history, but he wishes they’d actually focus more on team-building than proving who has less skill issue.

The worst part of it is, if he needed to decide today on the pairs, both Rooster and Hangman would be chosen. He regrets letting them train at all because everyone has seen how well they work together — Cyclone included, who can just override his judgment and choose them both for the mission anyway — they fly a bit too aggressively to his taste and still didn’t manage to make a swing at him, but they were close, really close. Rooster seems to be taming Hangman down, enough that he thinks about who is there with him in the air — his husband, Bradley is Hangman’s husband and he’s in the air with him — and Hangman seems to bring out of Bradley the worst; the overconfidence, the rushness, the unquestioned trust in his wingman.

Mav really feels the irony.

He’s still against them both being sent off. Right after the two of them, Coyote seems to be following the lead, and he and Hangman work the best as a pair, Bradley excluded. Bradley works better with any of the foxtrot teams than Hangman and it’d make sense to group them by compatibility with foxtrot teams rather than the individual pilots' compatibility.

If he could, he’d choose no one.

Mav knows that if he chooses Bradley and he dies, he'll feel guilty forever — another Bradshaw gone from the world too soon due to Mav’s choices, another dad he’d take away from a Bradshaw kid — their Baby Goose, the kid Mav has known since the day he was born.

But he also knows that if he chooses Hangman and he dies during the mission, Bradley will never forgive him. Mav’s been lucky enough to have been given that kind of forgiveness once already, from Carole, who had always claimed she hadn’t blamed him at all, not even for a second, and he’s not lucky enough to earn it twice.

This training is a last, and slightly haphazard, attempt to make all of the aviators work better in a team, no matter who is in that team.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he watches them all do warm-up stretches on the beach, Hondo running them ragged with the whistle.

They’re catching a break, each of them with a cooled water bottle, and still scattered in the same small groups they seem to favor in the air.

Bradley and Hangman are standing close, sharing a water bottle between themselves. Hangman dries off his face with the hem of his t-shirt and opts to take it off completely, throwing it onto the floor.

Bradley rolls his eyes and handing him the water, leans forward to pick it up. Mav sees him hiss, staying hunched over for longer than expected. When he straightens up, he rubs his spine a little, blinking.

Hangman reaches his hand to Bradley’s waist. “Is your back still—”

“I’m fine,” Bradley replies, so sharply and so loudly that it turns heads. If it was anyone else, Mav’d have joked about trouble in paradise, but it’s Bradley and Mav’s been watching his husband hover around him, clutching onto him, to an annoying degree.

Mav watches again, ready to interfere, as Hangman tenses, his jaw clenching.

Bradley softens, just a bit, palm wrapping around Hangman’s hand, squeezing and letting go as he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m fine, Jake, I promise.”

His voice sounds so gentle, so intimate that Mav has to look away from them. Phoenix meets his gaze, shaking her head a little.

“It’s really weird, isn’t it?” she tells him, quietly, and she doesn’t know the half of it. “You’d think they hate each other but they actually work together better than most.”

He’s not sure what to tell her — he can see how it could look like that, on the outside, that they’re good for each other, the way they complement each other, but Mav has more than just reservations. He’d have never taken Hangman for the type Bradley would choose and Hangman seems not only arrogant on the work level but also seems like he is too assured he knows what Bradley wants or needs, a bit too possessive.

The behaviors Mav knows people would call cute seem a bit too controlling, for Mav’s liking. Even just now, in the corner of his eyes, he can see Hangman rubbing sunscreen into Bradley’s face and neck — he’s always had such sensitive skin, turning lobster red within an hour out in the sun — and Bradley stands there idly, letting Hangman do as he pleases, and he looks so passive to everything that’s happening.

He’s not seen this relationship develop, Hangman is not someone he’d have wished for Bradley, and just from their files, he knows they had the twins first and only then got married. It looks the way it looks — like they only got married because they had kids together.

He’s—He’s a little bit scared, that Bradley got trapped, and he hasn’t been there to prevent it. He hasn’t been there for so much.

When he lets himself look again, most of the training group has piled closer to the water, just Bradley and Hangman staying behind and Halo and Harvard idling around the cooler.

He takes a deep breath at the sight, telling himself to not explode, to be professional, for once, even if Hangman isn’t giving him the same courtesy, pushing his hands under Bradley’s t-shirt shamelessly.

Bradley isn’t exactly better, swatting him away but not really putting much effort into it.

“No one is going to say anything,” he hears Hangman say, his voice a bit too—too sultry for Mav’s liking, one hand now on the small of Bradley’s back, too low. Really too low. “They’re not going to even notice.”

“I’m going to notice,” Bradley replies, squirming a little.

“Sweetheart,” Hangman—it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“Don’t you sweetheart me,” he protests but even to Mav’s ears, it sounds half-hearted, more amused than anything. “I’m not taking it off, end of it.”

Mav stands there a bit horrified — he should do, say something, but he can’t stop looking. It’s like watching a train wreck or even worse than that.

“But you look good,” Hangman, hands still fisting the hem of Bradley’s t-shirt, both at the front and behind, but pulling him in closer by bending his elbows, says. Mav can barely hear it. “So, so good.”

He can see an arm slipping down even lower, Hangman is getting a bit too—handsy, for Mav’s liking, so he clears his throat, loudly enough that it makes them part.

Bradley crosses his arms over his chest again, but he’s red in the face and he knows it’s not a sunburn. He awkwardly avoids Mav’s gaze, swatting Hangman’s hands away, and walks off to the group that’s already jogging back and forth along the waves.

Hangman has the nerve to glare at him, like Mav was in the wrong for interrupting this wildly inappropriate display of affection.

“Is, uhm—Is Rooster okay?”

“With all due respect, sir, but you don’t have the right to ask that,” he replies and by the tone he uses, Mav can guess all due meant zero.

“This is still mandatory training, lead by me,” he points out. If nothing is working, at least his rank should — maybe Hangman needs to be reminded.

“And Rooster is fit for training, the same way he’s fit for flying,” he says, tone short.

Mav still doesn’t get it. “What was that about then? Why does he not want to take his shirt off?”

Hangman puts his sunglasses on, the corners of his mouth quirking, but not making him seem amused at all. “He’d been pregnant three times — take a wild guess, Captain.”

***

Warlock said Lieutenant Bradshaw was still at the base and Mav let himself hope for a moment alone, finally. He was sure Hangman would stay behind with Coyote at the hospital, they seemed closer than the rest of the lieutenants had been with Hangman.

The last hop was a nightmare. He’s almost lost three people in one flight session, everything going horribly wrong and then getting worse the longer they stayed in the air. Mav has stayed with them throughout the medical transport, escorting the medevac to the hospital and then driving there on his bike with the rest of the aviators who wanted to check on them, Bradley and Hangman included.

The surprise he’s met with as he steps into the rec room is a bitter reminder — there are two Lieutenant Bradshaws and the one who is at the base is not the one Mav wants to see.

Hangman is kneeling beside one of the desks — Bradley’s — three packed bags already at his feet, and he doesn’t even attempt to stand up as he notices Mav enter the room.

“Captain,” is all he says to acknowledge his presence.

“Hangman,” he says, biting down his tongue not to add something too snarky. “Not at the hospital anymore?”

“My husband stayed,” he replies and Mav is sure he’s taunting him with it. My husband. Like he hasn’t been Mav’s kid first. “I’m only grabbing everyone’s things.”

Bradley must have stayed with Phoenix, then, or Coyote decided to not get admitted and come back for a check-up in the morning after all.

It’s getting late. The sun is already turning the sky orange and even with the summer being almost done, San Diego always has quite late sunsets. It’s been a long day.

“Shouldn’t you be home then,” he notes and it comes out flat and bitter, to the point his voice wavers, “if he’s not, that is, because the—the kids—”

Hangman stands up and even a few feet away, Mav feels the way he towers over him badly. He finally meets Mav’s gaze, his eyes working like spikes on Mav. “I don’t need advice on our parenting, especially from you, sir.”

“I know Bradley is still mad at me—”

“You don't know anything.”

“Hangman,” he warns.

“Hurting. He was hurting and he still is and you're the cause. There’s a difference.” He makes a humorless sound, shaking his head at Mav and Mav wants to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Mav closes his eyes, trying to keep it all inside — the anger, at Hangman, who is the one who doesn’t know shit, the guilt that’s been culminating in him for over thirty years, and all the regret and bitterness he’s brought onto himself and that still feels unfair.

“It took me years to fix what you’ve done to him,” Hangman says and it sounds to Mav’s ears too much like he’s calling Bradley a problem. “Years of trying to make him believe he deserves to have a family, that he can trust the people he loves, that he’s worth his place, worth the care, that he’s worth being loved.”

Mav has many faults, has made many mistakes, but this one thing he is sure — this is absurd. “We loved him. We still love him.”

“Funny way you showed it,” he snarls. “I’m not losing my husband to your mistakes again and I don’t care what you think you’re doing. Stay away from our family.”

“Bradley deserves to make his own choices,” he tries, feeling again like Hangman is letting himself interfere with Bradley’s life too much, like he’s already decided for Bradley what Mav is and isn’t going to be to him.

Hangman snorts, an unamused laugh souring his voice. “Says you. Ironic, ain’t it.”

He’s grabbing all the bags and Mav takes a step, something inside him boiling—

The door opens and Warlock stays in the entrance until he turns toward him.

“Maverick,” he says slowly, eyes painfully blank. “The admiral has been hospitalized.”

***

Mav’s been staring at the obnoxiously gray walls of the waiting room for what felt like hours — it’s only been forty-five minutes — sat in the plastic chairs.

By the time he had arrived in the hospital, again, Ice was already being prepared in the OR. Mav had only passed a few words with the nurse in charge of the theaters, who explained what was happening and why, and the anesthesiologist, who asked Mav the standard questions again, and then he was left alone behind the glass door.

It isn’t the first time he’s waiting there, but he has never waited there so suddenly — all of Ice’s operations and procedures so far have been carefully planned and scheduled in advance, never an emergency.

Ice’s oncologist warned them it might be a possibility, he’s just never let himself think about it. Denial kept him calm and that kept Ice calm.

Someone had come by and left a jug of water on the plastic table next to him, asked if Mav wanted anything else to drink, but that was it.

He is alone. He is alone and he can only wait.

The door on the other end opens and Mav stands up instantly, expecting someone to come and update him — he’s met with Bradley, still in his flight suit, just like Mav, tired but with a blank expression on his face. He quietly closes the door behind himself and rubs his hands over his thighs, not looking fully at Mav.

“Bradley? How did you—”

“Jake called me,” he says only, not explaining anything else.

Why did Hangman tell him? What? Why is he here? Who let him in, who told him where to come?

Mav’s brain feels like a pulp. It’s too late for this, he’s too tired, he’s—He knows Ice thought it was time, to face it all, but he can’t.

“You’ve got better places to be, Bradley, kids waiting at home for you,” he says, trying to sound genuine. Bradley doesn’t have to sit here, worrying, he’s got his own family to take care of. “I can let you know if—if anything happens.”

“I’m not here for you,” he says pointedly, voice cracking a bit. “Besides, Jake’s got them.”

He sits down on the chair on the opposite wall, the farthest away he can from Mav — he fidgets a bit in the seat, face cringing, and does a couple of small stretches with his back. His legs are too long, too, folding over the same he’d sit on the couch when he was a teen.

Mav wants to say something about crappy hospital chairs, even just to fill the silence, but he doesn’t want to start an argument, not now, and he isn’t sure Bradley would hold back.

He sits back down and shuts up, his eyes itchy. He really wants to cry right now, he does, but he doesn’t want Bradley to take it the wrong way, doesn’t want him to think he’s playing on his empathy.

Bradley takes out his phone, leaning on his knees, and Mav can only guess he’s texting someone. He flips the phone in his hand and Mav tries not to look at his face too closely, not to search for anything — his expression is cold and emotionless and it’s so weird to see it, to see a mix of Goose’s face and Carole’s round eyes showing nothing.

Mav stares at the ceiling, the off-white shade of it daunting but better than staring at the OR door.

He doesn’t know how much time passes — his eyes close from time to time, it’s late, he’s drained and he feels so stiff. The door from the outside corridor opens again but he doesn’t get up.

Slider, still in his airline uniform, steps in, looking between the two sides of the room. He takes his hat off and the door slams behind him, echoing between the walls.

“Slider,” he says, suddenly so much more awake.

“Mav,” he says back. “Baby Goose? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on training detachment in San Diego,” he replies.

Slider blinks, mouthing at Mav, and Mav can only shrug. He isn’t going to be able to explain more.

Slider opens his mouth again but the vibration sound pops in the silence, turning all their attention to Bradley, who takes his phone out of his pocket.

He leans away from them as he picks up, but they can all hear it clearly anyway. “Jake? Yeah, I have a minute, just—give me a second.” He covers the phone with his hand and addressing them, says, “I’m going to say goodnight to the kids and will be back.”

“You should go home,” Mav attempts again. “Ice—Ice wouldn’t like you to get stuck here and neither do I.”

“Good thing I don’t need to listen to either of you anymore,” he replies only, and with that, he passes Slider and steps out of the waiting room, the doors swinging behind him.

Slider’s eyes follow him until he’s gone and stay on the door for a minute. Finally, when he turns to Mav, he questions, voice a bit breathless, “Kids?”

“Hasn’t Ice told you?”

The way he falls numbly into the chair next to Mav tells him the answer before he can vocalize it.

“No,” he says. Then, still sounding so confused, he asks again, “He has kids? Plural?”

“Four,” he supplies. “Twin girls, another girl, and a boy.”

Mav doesn’t even know their names, he’s not sure if Ice did either. Maybe the full files had access to his insurance policy, they’d have been named there.

“That’s—Well.” He can tell Slider is trying to stay—some sort of positive and Mav, he appreciates it. “Good enough reason for Ice to turn back around, isn’t it? Gotta meet them.”

He doesn’t want to think about it, especially not right now, but he’s not sure Bradley would ever let them meet them. Even if this, if Ice being—if this would bring him a change of heart he’s sure Hangman wouldn’t let them meet them.

Despite that, Mav just says, “Yeah.”

Slider nudges him with his elbow. “It’s going to be alright, Mitchell.”

“It’s Mitchell-Kazansky.”

“Not like you use it.”

Maybe he should start.

***

Mav still can’t believe they’re mostly in one piece. They’re mostly in one piece and Bradley is talking, joking, smiling with Mav, around Mav.

He looks so much younger like that, even with the dried blood around his neck, the tiredness in his eyes, like the bright boy Mav remembers.

And then his face changes shades and his smile falls, and Mav can swear he has a bit of a green edge to his complexion.

He slides off the cot he’s sitting on, steps rushed, and asks, “Bradley?”

Bradley blinks and slouches, the telltale sign he’s going to throw up in the upcoming minutes, just like when he was twelve, arm reaching for Mav’s shoulder, and says, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

The medical officer who has been checking them so far barely manages to grab a bowl and pop it under Bradley’s chin. They haven’t eaten anything in hours so he’s mostly just heaving dryly, griping Mav’s flight suit.

When it finally stops, the officer hands Mav a towel and sets the bowl on the nearby table with paper towels inside. Mav lets Bradley breathe for a few seconds, long, deep breaths that seem to never stop, and when Bradley finally opens his eyes again, he cleans his face with the towel. He could probably do with a drink of water or something to brush his teeth, but it has to wait.

“Why didn’t you say you might have a concussion the whole time?” Mav asks, brushing hair off his sweaty forehead.

“I don’t think it’s a concussion,” Bradley says, a bit wide-eyed, as he takes the offered plastic glass from the officer.

He gulps the whole thing down and Mav blinks, feeling like he’s missing something, like the face Bradley is making means something.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I just realized I’ve been nauseous the past couple of weeks,” Bradley explains and Mav still doesn’t get it, but he hears the medical officer take a deep, sharp breath. “I thought it was just stress, but—”

But what? It could’ve been stress. Bradley’s always been a stress puker, every school play, every new first day at new school, every bigger exam — he’d puke before and after, up until he mostly grew out of it at the end of high school.

“I think I might be pregnant again,” Bradley says, quietly but it echoes in Mav’s ears.

“That’s—” He doesn’t know what to say — that’s one of the scenarios he’s never imagined before, Bradley staying in his head seventeen and not really ready for more than hand-holding and cheek kisses. He turns to the medical officer, but the young lady doesn’t look any less caught off guard. “They’d have tested for it, wouldn’t they? Before they send him. He couldn’t have—”

“Not necessarily, only women are—”

The lieutenant bites down on her lip and Mav can tell she’s deeply unprepared for even the possibility. Pregnant people should not be present on the aircraft carriers, or any battleships.

“Let’s just have a look,” she decides, nodding to herself. “I’m going to grab a portable ultrasound, sir.”

She leaves, disappearing somewhere behind another curtain, and Mav doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Bradley unzips his flight suit, getting his arms out of his sleeves, and pushes it down so it rests below his waist, staying only in his black cotton top. Mav grabs him another cup of water and then refills it, handing him the bowl, and watches as Bradley rinses his mouth, still looking a bit pale.

“You’re weirdly…calm,” he notes.

“Someone has to be,” Bradley says and it sounds like something he’s said many times even though Mav’s only heard it just now. “I’ve been through this three times, Mav, now that I had a minute to think about it, I’m pretty sure this is happening.”

“Just like that?”

“Aside from being nauseous, my back’s been killing me, which is not that unusual since pregnancy number three, so I just ignored it, the tiredness I put up to the house move and the whole ordeal just being one big nightmare,” he explains and Mav blinks, the amount of new information from Bradley’s life feeling almost sacred. “I’ve also been peeing like crazy, which is not that unusual since the twins, but also kinda been going away lately, so I just thought, you know, coming back after all.”

He and Goose were deployed for a large portion of Carole’s pregnancy, months three through six spent on the ship, but he remembers how much she’d slept at any given moment at the beginning, and how her back and stomach always felt overstretched, no matter if the bump was or wasn’t getting bigger.

Bradley says it all so nonchalantly — he looks thoughtful, eyes absently going over the missed memories.

“The moodiness should have been a clue, even with stress,” he realizes. “I’ve been really snappy.”

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean with Mav — he’s pretty sure he mostly means his—his husband, Mav still can’t get over it, husband, kids, now pregnant, again — but he almost feels a bit better about how hot and cold Bradley’s been with him the past couple of weeks.

“You’ve been flying under so much stress the past few weeks,” he notes, horrified. They’ve been flying at a G force that isn't recommended for people at their fittest and healthiest, burning through tons of jet fuel, and they’ve both destroyed their planes less than a day ago. “This mission alone, you ejected—”

“I’m worried, a bit,” Bradley says and he doesn’t sound it a bit and — oh — he lays his hand over his stomach. “But, well, it is what it is. We’ll—we’ll manage. Always have, always will.”

We.

Mav probably should offer to go and grab—grab Bradley’s husband from the debriefing. He doesn’t want to — he wants to be the one who is there for Bradley, this one time.

Before he can ask, the lieutenant returns, an old-looking, clunky machine trailing behind her. She pulls the curtains around them

“Do you want me to explain what I’ll do, Lieutenant?”

“No, I know the drill.”

Mav doesn’t know the drill. He had gone to one OB appointment when Carole was pregnant, but the times were different back then — ultrasounds weren’t that popular and expensive and most of the time, there was one or two done through the whole pregnancy.

He stands there like a sore thumb as Bradley lifts his t-shirt, bunching it up on his chest lets the lieutenant squirt some gel on his abdomen.

“Do you have an estimate?” she asks.

“Not really, we’re—it’s spread out all over,” Bradley says, cheeks pink as he gives him a glance. “Usually, I don’t have any symptoms until around the middle or end of the second month so probably at least that.”

Usually. It still doesn’t register in Mav’s head, that it’s been three times already. When he looks down, he tries not to stare — Bradley’s stomach looked flat in a t-shirt, but he can see the white lines on his sides and his skin is a bit floppy, the way Carole’s belly stayed stretched out the first year after Bradley came into the world.

It seems—unreal. Bradley, he knows, has a husband and kids, but somehow, all Mav can see is the seventeen-year-old boy who couldn’t keep a goldfish alive.

He blinks when the probe starts smearing the gel all over the skin, Bradley hissing a little bit. He resists the urge to hold his hand — Bradley’s both hands are holding the fabric up, clenched up, and it feels like overstepping to unroll his fists and take them over.

“I haven’t done any ob-gyn work since my intern days, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to—”

The lieutenant stops, frowning, and clicks something on the machine.

“What? What’s happening?” Mav asks. He steps to the left, stretching his neck, and he’s met with a mostly black screen with a white blob in the center. “Is that—”

“I’m going to grab someone who has, uhm—a bit more experience in this area, sir,” she says, taking the probe away.

She doesn’t turn the picture off so it just stays there frozen.

Mav makes himself blink and when he turns to Bradley, he looks almost amused.

“Do you want a towel?” he manages to ask because Bradley is still lying there holding up the t-shirt, the area around the zipper of his flight suit a bit wet from the gel.

“No, I’ll just wait, at least it’ll warm up this way.” Bradley tilts his head at him, contemplating something. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he says instantly.

“Hold off Jake from coming here for a minute,” he says. Carefully, he adds, “He’s going to be—a lot. I don’t need him to explode right now.”

“Is he going to be…angry?”

It’s—well, if Bradley is pregnant — he’s still holding out hope that he is and he hasn’t been pulling ten Gs and ejecting from planes while pregnant — it can’t have been a planned pregnancy. They already have four kids and he can imagine not being unconditionally enthusiastic about this.

If Hangman is angry, that will be a whole other thing. There’s a difference between worrying about how you’ll manage with another kid and being angry another kid is on its way.

“Oh, he’s going to be pissed,” Bradley snorts. Something on Mav’s face must still be showing because he softens, explaining, “Not with me. Just, everyone else on this ship. Or the whole Navy.”

“This includes me,” he guesses.

“Look, Mav, I was messed up after you—” Bradley takes a deep breath and starts again, “I was a fixer-upper when we met, Jake was a whole construction crew, and he doesn’t like being—Jake loves me, more than I could’ve ever imagined, which means he’s always on my side, even if I don’t want him there.”

Mav doesn’t know what to say to this — he still has mixed feelings about the way he words it. Quite frankly, he doesn’t like the way he’s talking about himself, the way he’s putting himself down and into Hangman’s arms.

They haven’t really talked, about what Mav did all those years ago and what followed, and he can’t imagine it being easy for Bradley. He had been there, too, alone in the world, trying to navigate adulthood, college and a job, and he had never wished for Bradley to go through.

Saying sorry doesn’t feel enough now.

The lieutenant returns, bringing another medical officer with her — a commander this time. He takes one look at Bradley, then one look at the frozen screen on the machine, and blinks.

“Well,” he says. “That’s definitely a fetus.”

Mav can’t breathe for a few seconds, feeling—something. Bradley, their baby boy, the kid he had used to sing to sleep, who used to fit in his arm, who would shy away from people into his side or hide away behind his legs, is pregnant.

He knows Bradley already has kids — but it only just solidifies in his mind. This Bradley is an adult, a husband, a parent, and Mav hasn’t seen him become any of it.

He turns his gaze to Mav and he even sounds a little smug as he says, “Told you.”

“I’m going to conduct a full exam, we need to decide if you have to be transported to a maternity hospital, Lieutenant,” the commander says. “If you could wait outside, Captain Mitchell.”

Mav looks to Bradley, unsure if he should leave him alone right now. He doesn’t want to, but Bradley nods at him and promises, “I’ll be okay.”

Mav steps out from the curtain, pulling it back together as soon as he can, and hears snippets of questions the commander has.

He’s contemplating what to do now — Hangman surely will show up after the debriefing, he just doesn’t know how soon. The best action would be to wait in the little waiting area outside the med bay, but he isn’t sure how that would actually help.

Distracting Hangman with something is another option, but he’s pretty sure if he gives Hangman some order, he’s just going to ignore it and come straight back here.

In the end, he doesn’t need to decide on anything, because Hangman enters the med bay before he can leave it. He’s looking like a man on a mission and he supposes his mission is finding Bradley and making sure he’s in one piece after the heart attack their little stunts from early that day gave everyone.

“Hangman,” he speaks up, catching his attention, even if reluctant.

“Captain,” he says curtly. “Where’s my husband?”

“Not even a glad to see you in one piece, sir?” he tries. He’s met with an unimpressed silence. “Look, he needs a minute, they’re still checking him up, just wait outside.”

“Like hell I will,” he spits out. He tries to take a step past Mav’s right, but Mav pivots, catching him with his shoulder before he can go through. If Bradley doesn’t want him there, Mav will try to keep him away. “If you think this mission solves everything, you’re wrong, I’m not going to let you—”

Suddenly, he stops completely. His eyes widen, focused on the curtain behind Mav's shoulders.

“Lieutenant?”

“I know this sound,” he says and Mav registers the rhythmic, rustling sound, mostly overshadowed by the Commander's voice talking quietly.

He doesn't understand.

Mav barely has a second and he's barging through him, completely avoiding Mav's barricade of a body.

“Hangman—” he calls out, catching him by the arm, but he gets an elbow to his stomach and Hangman slips through. “Hangman—”

He grabs his flight suit, pulling him by it, by the waist, to no avail. Before Mav knows it, they’re at the hidden bed, Hangman pushing the curtain away, just a little, and stops moving.

He hears, from behind Hangman’s body, exclaims gently, “Jake—”

Hangman’s body flops, back relaxing under Mav’s hands. He sounds both awed and horrified, as he says, “You’re—”

“Just hold my hand,” Bradley says, softly, like it can stop a hurricane from coming. “Please.”

Mav doesn’t try to grab him again — Hangman steps in through the small hole in the curtains, and with a tunnel vision, moves to Bradley’s bedside.

As Mav closes the curtain back up, he sees him reach for Bradley, one arm going towards Bradley’s hands, still clenched on his chest, the other to Bradley’s shoulder.

#hangster #tw mpreg

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ohtobeleah · 2 years ago

Note

MICKEY GARCIA + BREEDING KINK = 😈😈

We’ve all talked about Bradley Bradshaw with a breeding kink, and we’ve discussed the idea of Jake Seresin discovering it—but what about Mickey Garcia?

Warnings: This is Strictly scandalous, Smut ahead.

Well, if you ask me. Personally I think it’s a kink discovered after the fact and I think that you and Fanboy would be absolutely feral about it.

Mickey Garcia had always tried to do the right thing in his life, he takes care of his house, his picket fence, his children and his wife—but the way he’s looking at you while you’re laughing at something Phoenix had said he can’t help but want to devour you, stuff you full, and leave you carrying yet a third Garcia child.

“Excuse me Nix, can I borrow my girl here for a minute?” Mickey is smiling as politely as he can, a gentleman at heart and around his friends. But behind closed doors as of late? He’d been a feral man on a mission to get you pregnant just one more time.

“Mick—where are we—?”

“Bathroom, now.” Mickey ushers you through the crowded Hard Deck, his children are with your mum for the night, giving you two so much needed adult time. “It’s six o’clock, your ovulation tracker says it peaks at six, so—bathroom. Now.”

“Okay but we have to be quick.” Giddy as teenagers, Mickey led you to the bathrooms, passing past his friends as colleagues like he wasn’t about to try and impregnate you. You’d been trying for a third for a while now and for some reason things just weren’t coming around as easily as your first and second had. Both accidentally, both very much loved and cherished.

“I can be quick.” Mickey smiled as he followed you into the female bathroom, thankfully, no one was present as you rushed to the nearest stall, locking the stall door before Mickey's lips were on yours in a fever dream rush. “Only need five minutes mama—“ Both working to undo and pull up articles of clothing that weren’t needed.

“You been taking your preconception tablets baby?” It wasn’t the sexy talk that you and your husband had been used to before you were trying for a third, but as Mickey kissed you? He moaned into your mouth as he cupped your cheeks.

“Oh so fucking many—“ Mickey knew his way around your body, pushing his jeans just down past his ass, enough to have his boxer briefs tugged down and heavy cock springing free. “I liked the gummy version better though, capsules suck ass.” The childishness of Mickey's response had you giggling into his neck as he worked to lift you up. Wrapping your legs around his waist as he pressed your back into the cubicle stall wall. “What about you?”

“Every morning, every night.” You mumbled into your husband's mouth as he guided himself into you. Already slick and ready for him just from the anticipation and thought of making a baby at your favorite watering hole.

“God that's so hot–” Mickey smiled as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. “So fucking hot mama.”

It's fast and quick and it does the job. Mickeys fucking into you all the while he cups a hand over your mouth to soften the sounds of your moans that were echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom. He feels so good inside you but again, he was your husband after all.

“Mick, Baby, faster–” Your panting against his palm as Mickey bucks his hips against you a little faster, hitting that spot he knows you like over and over as his balls slap against the curvature of your ass. “Want you to make me a mama again.”

“Gonna flood you baby.” Mickey was quick to respond as he groaned against your neck, sucking against the pulse point he knows you love. “Love seeing you all full of my cum.”

The two of you had a job to do, so when Mickey was feeling your walls begin to tighten around him, those velvet walls that sucked him in and milked him dry? He knew he was a goner.

“Arruggh, Baby–baby, I’m close so fucking close.” There is a momentary lapse in judgment where Mickey forgets you’re both in the stall of the female bathroom at the back of the Hard Deck. he isn't concerned about the volume of his cries. “Holy shit—gonna cum all up in this pretty pussy of yours love.”

“Shit shit shit shit–” It was as if hearing the term of endearment that your husband chose to call you on a regular basis sent you into the stratosphere. Pushing yourself off the wall and stunballing back so Mickey could sit on the close toilet seat. “I’m there, I’m so fucking there baby!” Bouncing in your husband's lap as his length throbbed inside you, you reached between the two of you as Mickey's hands worked to guide your hips. “FUCK!” Playing with yourself with two delicate digits, Mickey glanced down to watch you as your mouth opened and eyes rolled, your head fell back as a mantra of sighs and pleas and his name in toe escaped. “Mickey! Ahh baby fuck, yesss—-auurrgghh–” That was all Mickey needed to hear as he fucked himself into you, he could feel his orgasm pooling at the base of his shift as he spilled and spilled.

“Ahhhhhh–” Mickey hissed as he clenched his jaw, his fingertips digging into your hips as he came deep inside you. “Fuck mama, if this doesnt take im getting checked.” He sighed as you leaned forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Kissing at his earlobe. “Can't wait to see you all swollen and waddling around again.”

“You have a breeding kink for sure, Fanboy.” You taunted as you sat up, Mickey still buried to the hilt inside you, working to plug his load. “I have a good feeling about this one.”

“If not we can just keep trying.” Mickey cooed, leaning in to kiss your sweet lips as his hands held you tight at your hips. Still straddling his waist on top of the closed toilet seat. “But yes, love breeding you, baby. You're just so pretty when you're pregnant.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Strictly Scandalous Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia

#ohtobeleah 3k celebration #strictly scandalous #strictly scandalous mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia #mickey garcia x you #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey garcia x female reader #top gun mickey #fanboy x you #fanboy x reader

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year ago

Note

Happy Sleepover lovely Kay!!

You know how I love me some Steve Rogers, I’d love to request him with the prompt…

“You have any idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you.”

Please and thank you!

🌹

ericca!!! thanks for such a fun request ☺️ the inspo jumped out of me on this one (but my apologies for taking so long to get it posted!) and out came a sequel/follow-up to walking the wire!!

would def recommend reading that before you read this (if you haven’t already 😉)

tell me your troubles - steve rogers x fem!super soldier reader (phoenix)

word count: 3k

warnings: lil more than canon-typical violence (i like netflix marvel more than disney marvel these days can u tell), lowkey possessive!steve, heavy make outs, shower sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (they’re supersoldiers ok but wrap it before you tap it) - also russian translations from google so if it’s not right I’M SORRY

Nat gives the order to fall back, and it goes against every fibre of Steve’s being to obey.

They have you. They have his girl.

It’s Nat’s op. She’s in charge, and he knows this isn’t her fault, that she’s not to blame for the fact that you’re not by his side right now, that you’re instead being hauled into the back of a large van, too-thick cuffs banding your arms behind your back. He’s having flashbacks to Berlin, to Bucky in a cage. They put a hood over your head, and you manage to catch his eye before your face disappears from view.

Go.

His every instinct is screaming at him to go after you, doubly so when the van starts to drive away. But there are bombs planted between you and him, obstructing his path. One wrong step, and no amount of super-soldier serum could save him from being blasted apart. And then where would that leave him?

Where would that leave you?

“I want a plan,” he spits as soon as they’re back at the makeshift base they’ve been calling home the last few months. It’s no Stark Tower, but there’s running water and a bed he’s shared with you most nights, a haphazard sign scrawled on the door — Cap & Phoenix. Bucky drew a little cartoon shield and a flame to go along with it.

He sees Nat bristle as he barks his order, but when her sharp gaze flicks to him, something in him softens. He tends to forget, that she cares for you on a similar level to his own affection. Not the same type granted, but the Widow holds you close to her heart, and despite Steve’s own confirmation that Nat’s not to blame for your kidnapping, he can see in her face that she doesn’t think the same.

“You didn’t do this, Nat,” he says, following her into the large office they’ve used to map out missions. Bucky and Sam make themselves scarce, disappearing from the corner of Steve’s vision. “We all knew there was a risk.”

“She was right there,” Nat replies, shaking her head, sinking into a crouch in front of the table, surveying the map you’d all reviewed before leaving. “She was right there, and I let them grab her.”

“We couldn’t have known they’d have the capability, the means to—”

“This is my fault, Steve.”

“It’s not,” he reiterates, hand clenched into a fist, knuckles pressed to the table. “I know it, Phoenix knows it. But letting it get the better of you isn’t going to bring her back. You think you made a mistake, then fix it. We find her.” He plants his other fist. “No matter the cost.”

Nat arches one perfect brow, and he can already see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Tracking you down is the easy part; recovering you proves to be a touch more complicated.

Natasha’s plan is airtight this time, outright refusing to split the team, the four of them moving through the building silently. They have each other’s backs, and soon enough, they’ll have you. But it’s a maze from the moment they step in. The map they have is accurate, but it’s more heavily guarded than they’re anticipating. Nat and Bucky both put men down with acute precision — assassin precision — and Steve finds himself lagging behind Sam, his knuckles aching from the sheer number of punches he’s delivered.

Part of him feels naked without the shield. He gave it up for a reason, before he had you. It’s something he’s talked through over and over, you sprawled on his chest, chin propped on the back of your hand, watching him talk as he stares at the ceiling.

Talk to me, drevniy. Tell me your troubles.

That last night, before the mission went awry, it was the same. He’d talked himself in circles, until his voice went hoarse and he was losing himself to the soft press of your body against his, and then all he really wanted to lose himself in you instead, so he did.

You held him close after and murmured something in Russian he couldn’t quite make out. He lifted his head to ask you what the words meant, but you kissed him before he could get the question out, and you’d drifted off to sleep a few minutes later. He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Damn the shield, he thinks now, trying not to flinch when Bucky pulls the trigger on his gun, more men dropping to the floor. Damn it all.

They round a corner, and Steve nearly crashes into Nat’s stalled figure.

“Hello, Captain.”

You’re strapped to a chair. Restrained nearly the exact same way that Bucky was back in Berlin. Only him, the man Steve had watched cart you away, he’s got his hand knotted in the back of your hair, your head yanked back, your throat bared, a large knife pressed against it. It could be steel, but Steve would bet good money it’s vibranium.

Steve darts forward, but Nat throw her hand out, stopping him. She tilts her chin imperceptibly, and Steve’s eyes follow the direction, spotting a generator in the far corner. From the corner of his gaze, he sees Bucky catch on, and wordlessly, the plan is formed.

“Let her go,” Steve calls to your captor, and when the man starts laughing, Bucky slinks into the shadows, towards the generator. Nat raises her gun, aiming at the thugs flanking either side of your captor, and Steve’s hands clench into tighter fists.

“I would not do that if I were you, Captain Rogers,” the man taunts, waving a finger in the air. “You have not even heard the bargain I propose, for the return of your sweet Phoenix.”

“I don’t make it a habit of bargaining with kidnappers,” Steve returns, and the man yanks your hair back harder. He can hear your slight whimper from where he stands. “Let her go, and maybe I let you live.” From the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky near the generator, hidden by the shadows — perks of super-soldier sight and stealth.

The man starts laughing. He sees the glint of the knife press against your neck, and a single drop of blood beads along the blade. Nat’s eyes cut to Steve’s, he nods, and Bucky’s metal fist connects with the generator, sparks flying as the room is plunged into darkness.

It comes in flashes. Bullets spark through the air as Nat takes down the two thugs who have started running for them. Bucky shoots forward, yanking the metal away from where it’s restraining your arms and pulls you out of the chair. Steve disarms your captor, the knife now streaked with your blood, but before he can do anything else, you grab it from him, whipping it over your shoulder. The blade buries itself in your captor’s chest, and the man drops instantly.

Steve reaches for you, hauling you into his arms, and you cling to him as you all turn tail, heading out of the building. It’s not until you reach the Quinjet that Steve finally feels relief, but remembers the blood and takes you to the back of the jet while Nat and Bucky prepare for takeoff.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, and wordlessly, you push your hair away, baring your neck to him. The scratch is barely visible, already just the remnant of a scar, but Steve knows it won’t go away, not completely. He wipes the blood gingerly from your skin, his movements gentle even though he knows he can’t hurt you, not truly.

His brow furrows as he looks the rest of you over. There are no other obvious injuries, or evidence of them. Your clothing is tattered, dirt and grime smeared on your skin, and there’s a brightness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time — not since they pulled you out of that lab.

“I’m fine, drevniy,” you say, grabbing his wrist when his attention falls back to your neck, to the tiny scar now there. “It will take much more than a scratch like that to take me from you.”

Steve bristles at the mere thought. He feels like a live wire suddenly, exposed, vulnerable. You tug on his hand, pulling his palm until it rests over your heart, until he can feel the rapid beat if it against his skin. You lean up, fitting your lips to his pulse, a soft kiss to his throat. His whole body feels tight as a bowstring, and while the feeling of you has soothed it some, he can’t shake it.

“Steve,” you call, your voice low, almost cajoling. Suddenly, he feels guilty. You’re the one who was kidnapped; he should be comforting you, not the other way around. The corner of your mouth lifts. “Tell me your troubles.”

He groans, and the tether on his restraint snaps. Both his hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks in his palms. He hears your quick intake of breath right before his mouth covers yours, and you sigh into him, your body relaxing almost completely in his grip.

“You have no idea,” you murmur, and the purr in your voice makes his tac pants grow tight, “how much I missed your touch.”

“Baby,” he nearly growls, pushing you back against the metal wall of the jet. You’re tucked in the corner now, out of sight of Nat and Bucky, and Steve’s plan forms quicker than Nat’s rescue had. “I need you right now.”

Your breath hitches high, the noise catching in your throat, and Steve’s hands drop from your face to your waist, tugging your hips until they’re flush with his. “Right now?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face. “Buck’s hearing is as good as yours is, Steve. You want him hearing you take what’s yours? Want him to know what I sound like?”

The reminder tugs his restraint back into place. Something deep in his chest, something feral and wild, growls in response. Mine. He lifts you until you’re high enough to wrap your legs around his hips and his fingers press into your sides, feeling the rush of your blood beneath your skin, the heat of it.

He kisses you until the jet touches down again.

As soon as the ramp lowers, he hauls you over his shoulder and stalks down it, his boots clanging against the metal. He barely hears Nat’s low chuckle behind him and grinds his teeth when you palms settle on the small of his back, fingers tapping random patterns against his skin.

Once you’re inside, he heads straight for the bathroom you’ve been sharing. You barely get a word out as he turns the water on, nearly as hot as it’ll go, just like you like it. When he turns back, you’re naked, and more relief blankets him when he sees you’re untouched, unscarred.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Captain,” you grin, and Steve backs you against the wall, desperate to feel your bare skin against his. You bite your lip as his palms skim up your ribs, but he feels your hands on his belt, unhooking it with ease. But then the light in your eyes changes, and as his belt thunks to the floor, your hand roves up his chest, two fingers tucked under his chin, tilting his face to yours. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Something in his chest cracks. “Of course I did. I…”

He’d barely let himself feel it, when he saw you there, strapped to that chair, that man’s hands on you, the knife at your throat. The…intensity, the way he instantly knew he would do whatever was necessary to get you back. If Nat hadn’t pulled his focus, pointed out the more sensible path, he can only guess what might have happened, what mess he might have left behind.

Your palm, light against his cheek, pulls him out of his head. “Hey, come back to me,” you call, your voice so soft, so sincere, it pushes away the violence in his head, the guilt that threatens to brew over things he hasn’t even done. “I’m here, krasivyy. Alive. Intact. Yours.” You get closer, your nose brushing his, lips grazing his when you speak. “Only yours.”

“Mine,” he repeats, like the word might bring him back down to earth. His hands grip your hips, lifting you with ease, growling when he feels your legs wrap around his waist. “Watching him touch you, you have no idea how I…” He bites off the sentence with a groan as you grind against him, your bare core leaving a wet patch on the spot just above his waist. Keeping you in place with his hips, he rips the shirt off, tossing it away as he pushes at his pants, barely getting them down his legs before his cock is springing free. The head taps between your legs and it makes you squirm.

“I’m yours, drevniy,” you say, and the nickname once made him bristle, but now it just lights a fire in his chest. “Only yours. No one else gets to touch.” You lean up, pulling yourself against his chest, nosing at his neck, scraping your teeth at his earlobe. “Just you.”

Steve growls again, holding you against him with one arm, wrenching the shower door open with the other. You hiss when the water hits you, but the sound drags out into a low moan as he positions you beneath the spray, steam filling the stall, smudging your outlines.

He lets his hands roam, massaging your limbs, cleaning the dirt from your skin. You hum along with his movements, your head tipping back between your shoulders when he works your chest, wiping away the dried blood and grime. Then he walks you back, pushing you against the tiles. You gasp when your back touches them, the porcelain so much colder than the water, but Steve’s made up his mind.

He starts at your lips. Kisses you rough, bites at you bottom lip, pushes his tongue past your teeth to tangle with yours. When your hands move to grip his hair, wet strands wrapped around his knuckles, he groans into your mouth, drags his lips along your jaw, down your throat.

He bends slightly, tracing your collarbones with his tongue. Your hands don’t leave his hair, only gripping tighter as he moves down, nose dragging along your sternum. But then he pauses, cheats left, scraping the scruff of his jaw along the curve of your breast. You breathe out his name when he closes his lips around your nipple, giving you just the edge of his teeth, pinching the other between his knuckles lightly before rolling it between his fingers.

“Steve.”

He grins against you, sure you can feel it as he pulls back, satisfied only when he sees your nipple is peaked, tight from his attention. Then he does it all over again on the right, only stopping when you tug at his hair, a panting mess as you look down at him, your eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

“What are you…” you start to ask, but the words drop off into a moan when he drops to his knees, using his shoulder to wedge your legs wide, leaning in to bite the inside of your thigh.

“Appreciating what’s mine,” he replies, tongue soothing the spot he bit. “Too much?”

You shake your head, rolling it against the tile, a blissed-out smile on your face. Fuck, he missed you. Can’t imagine his life without you. “Never,” you reply, meeting his gaze again. “Prityazhatel'nyy padezh.”

Steve’s brow lifts, and he puts his face against your thigh again, dragging his tongue up toward the heat between your legs. “Translate, please.”

“Possessive.” You moan the word, one hand staying in his hair while the other reaches up to squeeze at your breast. “Fuck, I should have gotten myself kidnapped a long time ago.”

The thought makes him see red, and you squeal as he grabs both your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders and diving straight between your legs.

“Steve!”

He eats your pussy like he’s never done before. Nips and sucks and licks until your thighs are quaking around his ears, until your cries bounce off the tile walls. You’re an oasis in a desert, his first meal after being starved for days. You’re everything.

You’re his.

He doesn’t stop until you cum, your hand an iron vice against his scalp, tugging so hard it gives him just that little twinge of pain, and he’s reminded how evenly matched you are. He takes everything you have to give, drinks down every drop until you’re pushing at him, overstimulated, body lax in his grip. He works his way back up to standing, worshipping you on the way up the same as he had on the way down. Your chest heaves against his as he pushes his body against yours, caging you in against the wall, keeping you safe.

“Tell me something,” he asks, and you nod, the movement lazy, your hands dragging up and down his ribs as he straightens, reaches up to brush a wet strand of hair from your face.

“Mm?”

Steve leans in, nosing at the curve of your jaw before pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “How do you say I love you in Russian?”

Your whole body jolts as the words fall past his lips, and he chuckles into your skin, pulling you even closer, wrapping his body around yours. Your head tips back, eyes trained on the ceiling, but you hold him just as close. “You’re going soft, drevniy.”

“Only for you,” he replies, nipping at your throat. “Yours, remember?”

Your quiet laugh seems to echo around the shower until you speak again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” You say, and Steve gives his best repetition, earning himself another chuckle from you. After his second try, your eyes lower, and he sees the wetness in them. “I love you, too.”

#my fics #tell me your troubles #sleepover sundae #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smutt #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel fic #nomad steve rogers #captain america x phoenix

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quinloki · 10 months ago

Text

Marco the Phoenix - Sweet

Requestor: @kazieai Reader Vibes Requested: AFAB she/her - no pronouns or bodily description was used in the final result. CW: Angst and amnesia, reminder of canon event deaths

When you’d woken up, there’d been a man sound asleep at your bedside. His fingers were intertwined with yours, and pure exhaustion must’ve taken him considering how dark the circles were around his eyes. Something about him had been reassuring and relaxing, despite the fact that you couldn’t remember anything about him.

Or yourself.

The room was unfamiliar, and a dull throb in your head was the only indication that something had happened and you were in the bed because you were healing. The air was fresh and warm, sunlight and a soft breeze coming into your room.

You’d pulled your hand away from his just so you could run your fingers through his hair. A muffled groan had been replaced with a contented look, his fitful expression softening as you combed through the blonde locks that topped his head.

The idea that he was a little like a pineapple came into your mind and you smiled to yourself, letting him rest a little more. You weren’t confined to the bed, and the door into the rest of the house was open. There was a glass of water by your bed, and a basin with a rag on the side of it.

Maybe you’d had a fever? Come down with a sudden illness and hit your head? The clues were pointing to that, but you couldn’t be sure. You felt well enough, but you could feel the weight of prolonged exhaustion in your own limbs.

Exhaustion that lasted long enough to etch dark circles into such an otherwise comforting face.

You sense the man at your bed stir before he started to move, eyes fluttering open to look up and focus on you. They flickered with a teal and gold light for a moment before he seemed to see you entirely.

“Hey,” you say softly, a smile on your lips.

“Hey.” He says back, sitting up and letting your hand cup his cheek as your fingers slip out of his hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Head aches,” you admit. “And… I…” You hesitate, folding your hands in your lap, and looking away from him. There’s a pain in your gut you don’t completely understand, but at the same time you do.

Guilt.

“I don’t remember this place.”

Worry crosses his face, and a moment’s silence follows. “And… me?”

The look on your face is enough to answer his question and you can see exhaustion settle into his posture and expression. You reach out and put your hand over his, causing his gaze to meet yours.

“I… I feel like I can trust you though.” You admit, sheepish smile on your face. “You’ve been taking care of me, I can tell.”

He smiles at you, the expression breaking as pain crosses his features briefly. Clearing his throat he looks away, getting up quickly and turning away.

“Let me… get you something to eat.” He says, voice shuddering for a moment before he leaves the room entirely.

You weren’t sure what your relationship was with him. Family or romantic. He probably didn’t want to say until you had a chance to remember on your own, even with your declaration of trust.

A few moments later he returned with a breakfast in bed tray, an assortment of easy foods on it. He set it down and put a finger up before leaving the room again and coming back with two mugs of warm tea, setting one of them on your breakfast tray before sitting down beside you.

“I can leave you alone while you eat, yoi.” He says. “If you’d rather.”

You shake your head, pulling a grape free from the small bunch on the plate. “I feel like if I’m left alone I’ll become anxious.”

“Then… I won’t leave you alone until you tell me to.” He replies.

“Tell me about this place, while I eat… please.” You request, picking another grape free.

While you eat, he tells you about the island. It’s people. He tells you he’s a doctor on the island, and that the two of you have been sailing together before retiring from an exciting life and settling on this island. He speaks of old friends, old islands, old memories.

He never uses words like love, or pirate, but there’s a theme to the stories that feels decidedly swashbuckler-like. He speaks about his devil fruit, he speaks about loss, recounting the friends that have had to travel ahead of you.

Tears fall from your face without you realizing, and his warm hand brushes them away. You don’t admit you can’t bring any faces to mind, but there’s a sense of closeness that twists your heart.

“If you’re up for it, now that you’re done eating,” he begins, lifting the tray. “We can go for a walk.”

“I… want to,” you begin hesitantly.

“But?” He prompts setting the tray down in the kitchen before coming back into the room.

“I don’t know that I’d make it back to the house.”

“… You were always good at assessing your limits. Don’t worry, if you get worn out before we return, I’ll carry you, yoi.”

The two of you walk, enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the serenity of the island. He points out houses and families, gives you names, and occupations. Lets you repeat them and then says them again. As though he knows you don’t want to worry other people with your current predicament.

The two of you will get through it, there’s no need to worry others.

You end up walking to Pops and Ace’s graves. You put your hands against the smooth stone, letting your fingers run over the names.

“He was too young,” you say softly, finger slipping along the C in his name. “I… can’t see his face, but I feel like I remember flames and fire.” You tilt your head.

“He was a logia?” You ask.

He nods.

“That… makes sense. The fire in my mind wasn’t menacing.” You pull your hand away, hugging yourself, and trying to keep the tears welling up in your chest from bubbling over.

He says your name, it’s a word you remember, and it’s enough to break the gates. You sob, on you own for a breath, before long, warm arms are wrapped around you from behind. He hugs you over your own arms, tucked down low, head resting against yours.

“We loved him.” You say, words floating on your sorrow.

“We did.” He agrees quietly, arms tightening around you.

You stand there quietly for a long moment, before turning your head toward him, still wrapped in one another, eyes closed, warmed by the sun. A word walks along your heart, slipping through your veins, and dancing against your soul.

A name more comfortable than your own.

“Marco.”

You feel him flinch, feel the rush of warm air slip from his lips, and the careful shift of his arms as he seems desperate to hold you just a little bit closer.

“Yeah, pretty bird?” He replies, words light against your skin, hopeful but unsure.

“I loved you different.”

“You did.”

You turn inside his strong embrace that breaks like paper at your command, facing him directly. Your eyes searching his, flickers of teal and gold bursting emotions he’s trying to hide in his irises.

“I do.” You correct, hand soft against his cheek, eyes shifting along features that are new and comforting.

“You-.” He begins, a tear slipping down his cheek and curling around your fingers.

“Stay with me until I remember.” You mean the words as a plea, but they feel heavy, like a command that moves your hands past his cheeks. Fingers against the back of his neck, pulling him close.

“I will. Until then, and beyond it.” He promises, arms around your waist, pulling your body closer.

“Every time?” Your commanding tone is shattered, scared this moment will become a hazy memory of warm sunlight and little more.

“At least once more than needed.” He promises, warm lips brushing against yours, letting the soft gasp of air dance between you both for a moment before he pulls you in - holding you close and kissing you deeply.

The sweet kiss breaks, and he shifts, easily lifting you into his arms with such grace it almost feels more natural than walking on your own two legs.

“I can still walk.” You hum, arms around his shoulders, head nuzzled just under his jaw.

“I know,” he says sweetly, kissing the top of your head. “I just wanted you in my arms a little longer, yoi.”

#Forget Me Not Event 2024 #reader insert #x reader #amnesia #one piece fanfiction #request event #angst #marco the phoenix

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