#Iceman kazansky requests

[iceman-kazansky]

In Your Arms, I Sleep Without a Doubt

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: @jill-smith-123

Request: So for the one shot it can filled with A LOT of angst yn could be captain Miller's daughter and maybe she's worried she'll loose Ryan again because of the war and stuff But maybe he gives her kisses and tells her it'll be okay hehe

Pairings: Private James Ryan x f! Miller! Wife!reader

Warnings: Movie-typical violence mentioned (Guns, Explosions, Bombs, etc), blood, loss of a parent, Reader and James are Married, hurt/comfort

A/n: I hope you like this, it was fun to work on and honestly, one of my favorite fics :D

(Not to mention, you were also INCREDIBLY nice to deal with and were very kind, even with me accidentally blocking you after mistaking you for a blank blog ((sorry again btw)) )

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Bullets. Everywhere. They leave puffs of dirt when they smack into the brick walled buildings.

Explosions. Much too loud for your ears. Each deafening 'Boom!' leaves behind a fiery ball of destruction in the form of a bowl-shaped crater.

Their eyes. The desperate, fleeting looks of agony. Of pain. Their fearful gazes as death waits for them to finish their last breath patiently. Holding his deadly sword of death above their head like a mistletoe.

Blood. Your comrades. The enemies. Your fathers. Crimson residue of death splattering on your face when they are gunned down. It reeks. The stench invades your nostrils, choking you out of your horrific and intricate labyrinth of nightmares.

You awoke with a jolt, cold sweat dotting your forehead. Your breathing is erratic. An irregular pattern as you recall the nightmare you were just shaken from.

When you look up towards the window you see the moon, shining high up in the sky, it's pale face staring you down, you feel the need for a breath of cold, fresh night air.

Rising from where you sit upright on the bed, you silently make your way out of your shared bedroom and out the front door - to the porch -

You stand, leaned against the railing of the house you share with your husband – James – who is currently peacefully asleep, staring at the night above. The stars twinkle beautifully, like mini diamonds of infinite light, blinking down upon your delicate form.

For minutes, you stay like that, watching the stars, listening to the blissful song sung by the creatures of the night. It's peaceful.

The door creaks open behind you, but you don't bother to look over your shoulder. You already know who it is.

"Are you okay?" He asks as he leans on the porch railing beside you, his stunning green gaze trailing your face.

With a quivering lip you look over to him, and his eyes go impossibly soft, "Oh, Honey."

He wraps you in his large arms, hugging you close to his chest in an effort to comfort you. He provides a place of warmth and security while the pent up fear and grief releases itself out in the form of hot tears.

For some silent moments, you just rock in the comfort of his arms, small and quiet sobs rack your body and hot tears drip off your chin and into his shirt.

"Why are you crying, darling?' He asks, his voice soft and a comforting warmth.

"I-" hiccuping, you pause for a moment, "I'm afraid, James."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at you, waiting for you to continue, "afraid of losing you. Losing you just like how I lost him."

He sighs, and hugs you again, kissing your forehead, "Oh, baby," He whispers, peppering your face with kisses, "You won't lose me."

"But what if you get drafted?"

"I won't." He says, as if that would be ensured, when deep down, you know the army might pull him back any day, tell him 'you need to come fight again,' and put him back into danger.

And with the war brewing in Korea, your fear did nothing but deepen, worries eating away at you as the war raged on. "You don't know that." You whisper.

Your husband presses a few kisses to your face, one to the tip of your nose, one to your cheek, below your eyes, another to your forehead, and finally a firm one to your lips, "I promise my love, I'm not going to war."

He grabs your hand delicately, his large palms enclosing your own, warm fingers pressed lightly against your own, "C'mon love, let's go back to bed."

Sniffling, you follow him back inside and back to your bedroom, where you both lay side by side.

He leans over and closes you in his arms, spooning you, whispering, "I love you" in your ear.

"I love you too."

Locked safely in his arms, back pressed into his chest while you cuddle, you fall asleep in peace. Surely, the thought of the impending war wouldn't leave you, the fear of losing your husband to war once more, so recently after your father's tragic passing, and nearly your whole squad's brutal death, where you'd first met James.

But here, lying in his perfect arms, on this perfect night, the thoughts of war and nightmares would keep at bay for a while. Allowing you to sleep peacefully in your husband's protection.

[pilvimarja]

Val Kilmer as Iceman in Top Gun, 1986 requested by anonymous

[squiddosss]

hi! i’d love to request an Ice doodle <3

also i am OBSESSED with your art!!

the one and only! (+ mini mav)

ALSO THANK YOU <3

[thatsrightice]

Maverick is bragging to all of the other pilots about taking the Iceman’s tower-buzzing virginity but Ice just gives him a look and suddenly Maverick has him pushed against the wall demanding an explanation. So he’s now got to figure out how to gently break it to Mav that an air traffic control tower in the middle of nowhere could not believe that they had a F-14 under their control and requested he fly by them at 500 ft AGL with a little wing rock.

[aestheticsuwu]

hello! I am here about your opening shop for moodboard requests. I've just been possessed with an IceMav skating AU with Ice as a figure skater and Mav as a hockey player. do with that what you will, I am desperate for any content for this

Hello! Thank you so much for leaving me a request 🫶✨I hope you like the moodboard @aech0folk . IceMav figure skater/hockey player sounds very interesting🔥 Carole being his skating partner and that’s how Ice knows/meets Mav👀

❄️ • ❄️ • ❄️ • ❄️ • ❄️ • ❄️ • ❄️

IceMav Figure Skater/Hockey Player Au

[topgun-imagines]

One Too Many

Requested: yes

Summary: A Christmas party at the O Club leaves you with many questions for your fiancé. One, however, catches him completely off guard.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Drinking. A very drunk reader.

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fém!reader

Loud music filled the bar as the aviators chatted loudly. The O Club was packed full of people all celebrating the holidays. Tonight, Top Gun was holding its annual Christmas party. While many of the people packed into the bar were aviators or Top Gun instructors, some civilians could be spotted in the crowd as well. There was an abundance of holiday lights strung up with occasional mistletoe littered throughout the bar. Something that Maverick had been caught under more than once.

You were standing with Iceman while he spoke with Wolfman and Hollywood. Tucked into his side, you only managed to catch parts of their conversation. When you moved to bring your glass up to your lips, you pouted slightly when you noticed it was empty. Standing on your tippy toes, your lips met the soft skin of your fiancé's cheek. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” Ice nodded and squeezed your hip softly, eyes flickering down to meet yours. He offered you a gentle smile as he kissed your forehead.

The bar had many bowls of spiked eggnog littered on the counter. There was always a bartened close by to make sure no one messed with anything. You stepped up to the counter, waiting patiently for your drink. You bobbed your head slightly, listening to the Christmas music as it blasted through the bar. Eventually, a bartender grabbed your cup from you and poured you another drink. You smiled at the young woman gratefully before moving to head back toward Ice.

His arm wound around you instinctively when you settled back into his side. Ice was still nursing an ice water. He had decided that he wouldn’t drink tonight, being the one that needed to get the pair of you home in one piece. The pilot was still engaged in a conversation with Hollywood and Wolfman. However, when you looked up you found the pair sharing a look before bidding you goodbye. You could have sworn you saw them head off toward the bathrooms.

A slower and softer song came over the bars speakers causing you to cheer happily. You were definitely drunk. Ice chuckled softly at your over eagerness. He grabbed your drink from you, setting it along with his on the table the aviators were sharing. You smiled widely up at him when he turned back to you. One of his arms wound around your back while his other hand joined yours. Your head rested on his shoulder as you began swaying to the soft music.

Some of the single aviators around you began to tease Ice. It was supposed to be a wild Christmas party. Those typically didn’t involve slow dancing in the middle of the bar. They were silenced by one of your fiancé’s icy glares. His cheek rested against the top of your head while he moved carefully.

Halfway through the song, however, the radio seems to cut out as someone tapped on a mic. Both yours and Ice’s eyes settled on his short wingman. He rolled his eyes only slightly annoyed. Of course he would interrupt your moment. Maverick began to sing a very off key rendition of some Christmas song. Many very drunk people began to sing along with him. It wasn’t uncommon to hear Mav singing his little heart out on the stage. When he wasn’t trying to woo some poor girl at the bar.

Ice grinned down at you softly. So what if your dancing was interrupted, this was supposed to be a night out with friends. Having Maverick interrupt was just the cherry on top. You began to sing along loudly, too tipsy to care about anyone but Ice. He watched you with a small smile on his face, glad that you were enjoying yourself. Your eyes met Tom’s as you grinned widely at him.

As the night continued more people hopped on the stage to take the mic. Even you and Slider were up there at one point. You came down from the stage full of giggles, leaning against Slider while he steered you back to Ice. Your arms wound around Ice’s shoulders while you buried your face in his neck. He could feel you yawn softly.

The thing was, when you got as drunk as you were now, you got giggly and then you got sleepy. Very quickly. Ice was supporting most of your weight while you leaned against him. Your eyes fluttered shut softly. The pilot's eyes drifted up to meet Slider’s. “I think we’re gonna call it a night,” Ice murmured. His hand stroked along your back gently. Slidre nodded, grinning softly at the pair of you. There was a warm, domestic look in his friend’s eye that he had never seen before; one that was there because of you. “Night Slider.” The RIO responded just as quietly. Slider patted your fiancé’s arm gently before moving over to join Maveirck, Goose, and Carole.

Ice led you to his truck. You stumbled slightly while walking, half asleep while leaning on the pilot. He opened the passenger door before helping you climb in. You did up your seatbelt before Ice closed your door, rounding the front of the truck before getting in. He started the truck and began pulling out of the parking lot. His hand settled on your thigh as he drove. Resting your head against the glass, you gazed at the Christmas lights that some people had strung up. There were even some on palm trees.

It was silent for a few more minutes before a question crossed your mind. “Hey Tom?” Your voice was soft. The only other noise in the truck was the soft crackling of the radio. He hummed quietly, thumb tracing patterns on your inner thigh. “Is Santa real?”

He chuckled quietly before he realized that you were completely serious. He cleared his throat with an amused yet bewildered expression. “What? No, of course not,” The pair of you sat in silence for a few more seconds before Ice spoke again. He heard you sniffle softly. “Baby, you’re 30.” Ice tried to keep the humor from his voice but ultimately failed. You only continued to sniffle. He sighed quietly. Regardless, there was a small fond smile on his face.

Pulling into the drive way, Ice quickly hopped out of the truck and made his way to you. When he opened the door he found tears welling in your eyes. You were so drunk. “It’s okay, baby,” He laughed quietly. The pilot pulled you ou of the truck and picked you up bridal style. “I think someone’s tired. Let’s get you to bed, huh?” The truck door slammed behind him as he carried you inside. It was going to be fun explaining this to you in the morning.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open.

[wearerandomlyyours]

In a world without DADT, neither Maverick or Iceman ever went down on one knee.

Not because they didn't love one another, or because they never got married, but because Ice loved Mav to the point of recklessness.

Because the Iceman is anything but Ice cold, and knows that the bravest pilot in the sky is terrified of what he can lose on solid ground.

So he needs to be the brave one.

So it's another day, another TopGun class, another training hop, and Ice and Mav are unstoppable, A-4's screaming through the sky. And Ice takes a deep breath, stops thinking, and does.

Ice inverts, pulls up over Mavrick, and pulls out the ring he spent weeks searching for.

"Waddya say, Mav-e-rick?" He grins down at the awestruck pilot below him, holding the ring out so Mav can see, "Want to be my wingman for life?"

[polar-equinoxx]

Oh my god they were wingmen…

(more versions and original screenshot under the cut!)

[dragon-kazansky]

Works for me!

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Reader

Requested by @callsignscupcake​

Again, another one requested ages ago. Sorry for that!

♡♡♡

Iceman liked this bar.

It wasn’t overly populated, the music was never too loud, and the company was pretty good. Most of all, the bartender was beautiful. That was the thing that stuck out the most to him.

He first came here a few months back with Slider. That was also when he first saw you. Slider had ordered the first round and Tom couldn’t help but watch from where he was waiting as you spoke to his friend. Whatever Ron had said made you smile, and Tom swears it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Tom said he would get the second round.

The moment he locked eyes with you, it was like the world has stopped. All he could see was you. Then you gave him one of your smiles and his heart could have leapt from his chest.

Coming here became a regular occurrence.

He played it off as casual nights out, but really, he was just here to see you.

You even became excited at the sight of him.

First name basis. The usual. Friendly smiles. Laughter. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know it.

It through those ‘casual’ conversations that he learned this was just a job to pay the bills while you were at school. You were a little surprised when he started asking about what you were studying, what you wanted to do after, where you wanted to go. He hung onto every word.

Seeing you was the best part of his week.

Then he stopped coming. You were disappointed. The shifts seemed to grow longer over the next couple weeks. Before you know it, a month had come and gone without so much as a glimpse of him. You missed your talks, his voice, those beautiful eyes, his dashing smile, the way he would hit Slider if he ever made a comment.

You would come to learn that they had been deployed on a mission. He didn’t even get a chance to tell you because he had to leave immediately.

So, you waited.

Business as usual, but without your favourite customer.

You’re wiping down the bar top one night, almost ready to close. The last few customers were just finishing up their last drinks before heading home at the late hour. Your mind was focused on getting the place clean and ready for the next shift, so you hadn’t taken much notice of someone coming over to the bar.

When you do realise someone is there, you speak up.

“You’ve missed last orders. We’re closing up now,” you say as you then look up. You stop what you’re doing when you meet the eyes of your favourite cocky pilot.

“I’m right on time,” he says.

“You’re back,” you smile.

He smiles back, “I’m back.”

You stop cleaning all together and make your way over to him, looking him over.

“I, uh.... I missed you,” you admit.

His smile turns more into a smirk. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your heart begin to race.

“You did?”

You nod.

“I missed you too. Sorry I couldn’t tell you I was leaving. It was a pretty big job,” he tells you.

“You’re forgiven. Your job is important.”

“I came to make it up to you,” he says.

“You don’t have to; I understand your job is demanding.”

He smiles softly.

“I think you’ll like this though. Is it too late for a date? Or should I come by tomorrow during the day?” He asks.

You stare at him.

“A date?”

He nods.

“Figured I’d ask my favourite bartender out at last. I live my life on the fast lane, but I think it’s a good time to take things slow and see if we’re on the same page.”

You begin to smile.

“I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip.

“So, tonight or tomorrow?” He asks.

“Why not both? I have a free day tomorrow anyway, and I’d rather spend it with you then over my textbooks.”

“Not very studious of you,” he chuckles.

“I think a date justifies one day less of revision,” you grin.

“Let’s not make this a habit,” Tom winks at you.

You laugh and leave to finish closing down for the night. Ice waits outside for you and then takes you on a very late-night date. Which actually just ends up with the pair of you back at your place having a little drink and chatting. It’s too late for anywhere to be open this time of night.

Still, it works for you.

Ice more than makes up for it during the day when he takes you for lunch and then for a long drive.

Safe to say, Ice showed up at the bar a lot more, and Slider was beginning to bruise with every comment, should he tag along. You didn’t care though. You’re very proud of your pilot.

[luxu1230]

Aweesome but this is a very specific request so feel free to ignore if you cant do it🙏Would you do headcanons or something about Ice being Muslim? Its just that i never saw anything like that and i would love especialy now that were in Ramadan thanks a lot❤🙏🙏no pressure🙏

(Okay I've had to do a tiny bit of research so I hope I'm right with some things. I also don't know how the USA military deals with Ramadan as I live in the UK but here we go).

Not many people knew that Iceman's mother was Muslim and that while she loved her Religion she also loved her husband and son. So in a way he (Iceman) also grew up knowing about his mother's religion and he grew a love of it too and while his father didn't fully celebrate their religious holidays he had always been supportive.

While he was younger he had always asked his mother why father didn't pray or celebrate fully. She sat him down and explained that while she loves her husband more than anything she wasn't going to force him into doing something he doesn't want to do and that she's perfectly happy that she found someone who supports her fully in wanting to keep her religious beliefs rather than having to give them up.

It's not until he's six and his mother has died of cancer and he's forced to move halfway round the globe so his father can continue his Admiral duties that he realises he couldn't bear to celebrate without his mother there and so his religion slips through his fingers.

It's not until years later where friends have been shot down and relationships have been built, some broke but some stayed especially a certain shot stack of a maniac. That one day he passes by a mosque and he doesn't know what compels his to go inside but he does and he feels the connection he lost with his mother returning and he can't help but join the prayers.

It feels like home.

He later returns home and tells everything to Maverick and he can't help but break down when Mav asks him if he wants to continue going to the mosque and celebrate his religion and how while he understands practically nothing of it having been bounced around in foster care as a child he'll support him in any way.

He now understands why his mother loved his father so much to not understand but still be supportive of them is like a true breath of air.

So he returns to his roots and while the Quran exempts him from Ramadan due to being a soldier he can't help but do it each year and even laughs when Mav says he'll try only to walk in on him halfway through the day snacking on a biscuit which makes them both laugh.

He can't help but love Eid Al Fitr and make plenty of food to give out to the local mosques to help out as many people as he can.

He loves his roots and he's so glad he finally understands why his mother was happy with his father.

(I hope you enjoyed that. I also hope it meets your request it was also fun doing a bit of research for it.)

[bradshawsbaby]

Oop, sent that too early—

And thank you very much, I’ll be praying for you for your work tomorrow!

Thank you! ☺️ Here’s the other board you requested—Iceman + piano!

[iceman-kazansky]

Hey :) I stumbled over your side a few days ago and absolutly love your writing so I wanted to ask for a request. (This is the first time I'm doing something like this so I'm sorry if I do something wrong?) How about an angsty Lipton x reader in which the reader gets wounded badly in the battle field and he gets like super terefied and trys to talk her into staying awake. With maybe a fluff ending. You don't have to do it of course I just thought I'd ask since Lip's kinda underrated :)

From the Start

Pairings: Carwood Lipton x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, cold, bombs, bombing, reader nearly dies, swearing I imagine, reader is knocked unconcious

A/n: I am so sorry this took so long 😭 I was so conflicted while writing this and it turned out to take much longer than I intended. I had a blast writing this, even if it took a little longer than I'd have liked. I hope you like enjoy 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Shivering within the confines of your foxhole, you listened half-heartedly to the world around you, the bitter wind was biting and silent. The forest seemed lonely, devoid of all human life and a true beauty of nature.

Except, it was anything but something of a 'beauty.' It was a place where you'd lost men — good Men, most fresh straight from America, just finished their basic; friends; too many, so, so many— in the devastating artillery the Germans bombarded you with.

Sitting in a foxhole farther from the front lines in desolate silence you listened. 

Listened, for nothing in particular; Listened for any sounds of wildlife in the frozen canopy above; Listened for the crunching of snow beneath a soldier's boots as he walked. You were taking the moment to relish the peace that settled over Bastogne.

But, unfortunately, the world had other plans. A shriek from further up in the large grouping of foxholes, followed by a thunderous boom that sent snow and dirt into the sky, signals the next wave of artillery.

The sky erupts in flashes of white –almost like lightning– followed by a deafening explosion –thunder.– 

The bombing is more intense this time, trees are exploding, the bark shooting outwards like bullets from the muzzle of a browning, sinking into unsuspecting victims with deadly precision. It's ironic in a sense, how, just a few minutes ago you'd been listening to the sounds of nature yet now you listened for incoming German mortars; Listened for the pleads and cries of help made by wounded soldiers.

Somewhere, in the vast sea of wounded, a faint scream of "Medic!" could be heard and you're already leaping out from the safest place you knew and over debris to answer their call. 

That's when the second wave hits.

You are unable to do anything when a mortar slams into the ground a few feet away, sending the ground beneath your feet shooting off into different directions, taking you with it. You felt the harsh impact when you inevitably collided with the ground, resonating in your bones, your helmet knocked free from your head while you lay on the ground motionless. The cold earth and snow pressed against your uniform as you lay. Your senses felt fuzzy; Your ears rang, blocking out all noises around you; arms and legs felt limp.

You don't want to move, but the scream for a medic you'd heard earlier echoes in your mind relentlessly, urging you on. Yet, when you try to get up, something doesn't feel right. Lifting your head slightly in confusion, pain shoots through your body. Your head pounds, it feels as if you can sense your brain smashing against your skull with every movement, prompting you to groan loudly and lay your head back down on the soft snow.

In your haze, you hear his voice, "Stay in your foxholes!" He’s screaming as he runs past disheveled men who are eager to get out of their only place of protection. But the minute he locks eyes on your slightly broken form, splayed on the forest floor, he can feel his heart stop.

In an instant he's at your side, dropped to his knees and eyes frantically searching your body.

He lifts his head up once more, head whipping to the side as he searches for help, yelling "Medic!" As loud as he can.

You can feel the adrenaline wearing off now, and feel the warm liquid that seeps from deep gashes on your stomach and legs. And in one horrific thought you realize, you've been wounded.

In seconds Eugene Roe, one of Easy companies medics, is at your side, pressing bandages into your wounds. They seem to be no use as they soak up blood quickly while more just keeps on seeping from the wounds and onto the once beautiful white snow.

Your head hurts so bad and it seems as if everything around you is so bright, urging you to close your eyes. You don't realize it, but death awaits on the other side of that deep void of acceptance, threatening to drag you into its depths.

"Hey-" You hear a fuzzy voice from above you, and register the feeling of warm fingers cupping your cheek, tapping you lightly in alarm, "c'mon," He whispers, "stay with me here."

If you were in the right consciousness you'd be appalled at the conflict you feel and the resignation you prepare to place forward. Staying in the real world… it feels painful, but there is another place, behind closed eyelids that beckons to you, offering comfort.

You can no longer resist the growing tiredness you feel, letting your consciousness slip away, but before you lose your senses you can hear the cracked, emotional voice of Carwood, "Don't die, please, I need you."

And everything goes black. You slip into a blissful, painless void of unconsciousness.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

This morning, feels different. Your wound feels significantly better. Of course, there is still the sickly stench that wafts through the room, invading your nostrils when you wake every morning.

It reeks of death, and there is a biting chill to the morning air that makes your nose burn as your senses roar alive.

It's almost quiet when you stir, the only sound being the pained groans emitted by the many wounded soldiers forced to lie in the church basement. Something you've grown accustomed to over the 11 days you've been here.

With shaky hands, wobbly legs and an immense effort, you push yourself on your two feet. 

You can feel your wound stretch when you take a tentative step forwards. It certainly is not perfect, but you can feel the difference over the 11 days. It no longer shoots a pain so strong it forces you back down. That's certainly a relief. 

By now you are itching to get back to the frontline. Partially because, in the back of your mind, Carwoods earlier words echo. 'I need you.' 

What did he mean by that? 

The thought of asking him. Knowing what he meant, has made you impatient.

Taking a deep breath you make your way to the stairs, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, giving an unfamiliar nurse a tight-lipped smile as you passed, praying she wouldn’t catch you on your grand escape and send you back.

A sigh of relief passed through your nose as you reached the stairs.

I’m not free yet.

You winced as you took the first few steps up the stairs, but were quick to stifle the small shutter of pain that reverberated through you as much as you could.

You were nearly there. By now you could see the door, your way out and back to the frontline.

Your steps quickened, eager to escape, to leave. Excited at the prospect of getting back to your found family and the man you loved.

Yet you found yourself pausing at the door, hand hovering just above the door handle. He’d want you to stay and get better.

But your family. They were at risk of being killed every waking hour of the day. Everyone you’d seen get injured managed to find a way back.

Shoving your internal conflict down for good, you twisted the knob and finally, you were on the home stretch.

Waving down a passing truck, you climbed in, instructing him to bring you to the front lines, to which he thankfully obliged.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The truck came to a rumbling halt, and you clambered out, thanking the driver while you walked to the makeshift Battalion HQ they’d sent up - located a little farther away than the foxholes and front line, to avoid the artillery from striking. - 

Feet crunching beneath the snow, the air quiet, with no signs of life except the few tents set up ahead, it was a breath of fresh air from the hospital you’d been locked in for the past week and a half.

“Sir?” You asked, waiting for a moment before the raspy reply of, ‘Enter’ was exchanged.

Pushing the flap aside, you entered. “Good to have you back, doc.” Richard Winters, your former captain smiled at you.

“Good to be back,” you smiled back. For truly, you were happy to be home. Although, you had a certain someone you wanted to see, “Do you know where I’d find Carwood?” A light blush tints your face, but you hope Dick takes it as the cold.

He smiles knowingly at you, “Yeah, he’s at the frontline. Sorry I don’t know exactly where.”

Nodding, you turn and exit the tent, speed walking to the forest you know Easy is holed in.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Carwood nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears your very familiar voice, and his head whips to the side in alarm, “What are you doing back?” he asks in bewilderment, his eyes round as saucers, “You are supposed to be on bedrest, Y/n. You nearly died.”

You feel a little bit of shame as he frowns pointedly at you, his eyes hardened with disappointment. It makes you feel like a child, caught in the scolding gaze of their mother after being caught red handed. “I know,” you whisper. The thought never did leave you. Of course you knew you almost died.

Carwood sighs, and an awkward silence settles between you two when you slide into the foxhole beside him.

You try to look anywhere but him. The trees, the snow, a crater a few feet away in the trees, and lastly back to your feet, that seem extremely interesting to your ashamed gaze in the tension.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he breaks the silence. You turn your head towards him, acknowledging him and meeting his dark eyes.

For moments, you stare into his eyes, a thought forming on your mind that his eyes look like warm honey. Eyes that hold the warmth of an everlasting hearth.

Staring at him, you can feel the words forming on your tongue, the question you’ve been longing to ask, “What did you mean when you said I need you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares, and you can feel your nerves creeping up on you, “Please, Carwood, tell me it meant what I think it did.”

“I means that I can’t live without you.”

You feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and your breath hitches at his confession, butterflies exploding in your stomach.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and you swear you are going to faint as everything you’ve ever dreamed of since meeting Carwood unfolds before you. Like a fairytale.

You can only nod, words lost in your throat as your eyes flutter closed.

He kisses you passionately, lips moving delicately against your own. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, further deeping the flood gate of passion he unleashes. Years of pent up love and adoration, spilled in one kiss. A kiss so withdrawn and repressed in fear of one breaking that oh-so-cherished friendship they’d built over the years of war, something unbeknownst to the other, they’d been longing to share. Ever since they’d met, the two had been swooning over the other, both too lost and oblivious to the blatantly obvious affection they held for eachother. Blind-sided by love.

Pulling away for a reluctant breath of air, your eyes meet his, and he smiles lovingly.

“I love you.” You whisper, breathless.

“I love you too.” He returns.

For a moment you just take time to think how much you’ve longed to do this. To kiss him. Every look you shared. The many times you were close. And thinking back, honestly? You think you did it at the perfect timing.

[shelfwar]

Hello! I love your work! Since your requests are open i was wandering if you could make one

Iceman(top gun)× fem!reader

What's it like to wake up next to him :)

Iceman X fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+?

As always thanks for the request!

You awoke to a warm arm going across your middle as you instinctively started squinting as the sunlight came through the shades. You looked down at the strangers arm and noticed that familiar black band on his ring finger, indicating that Tom was finally home from a 4 month mission out in the Pacific.

The past 4 months were tough, Tom was no longer a call away he was practically non existent in your life. But in your heart he was still on the familiar base that you called home, you and him grew a small family there by adopting a golden retriever named Clover.

The small pup was all you needed in your lives, he knew that you needed some company hence why he bought the dog. But she wasn't enough you needed him, which shifted you into a depression. OK, you take it back she did help you, in ways Ice couldn't; emotionally. She knew when your daily schedule like clock work, like when you didn't want to get up for work. She would pull the sheets off until you would get up and have the energy to start your day.

You shifted over so you could face him, but Clover was laying between you two. Ignoring her you leaned over and slowly kissed Ice, pulling back slowly as he breathed in a deep breath. "Ice?" "Hm?" "Welcome home baby." He opened his eyes and smiled. "Thank you. I see Clover missed me." "Yeah, she missed her daddy." "Don't tempt me,  the dogs right here." You let out a chuckle as Clover rolled over showing her belly.

"Clover? Wanna go for a run?" Clover shot up and started licking his face. "Alright, alright. Come on girl let's go for a much needed run." Clover and Ice got out bed but before Ice left the room he got on top of you and smothered you in kisses. "I missed you." "I missed you more."

Ice placed his chin on your chest watching you gawk at him. You ran your hand threw his blonde hair as he let out a content sigh. "Baby, it was so hellish being on that damn boat with him, him and his arrogance." "Like I keep on telling you, ignore him he's not worth your energy." "Yeah, your right." Ice sighed as he laid his head on your chest, while holding you tightly.

After a while Clover came back into the room, whining at the sight of you two. Iceman was knocked out cold still on you as you happened to fall asleep with him.

[ohtobemare]

Happy 100, Meer!!! 🥳🎉🎊

Could you do '86 Tom Kazansky with tgis prompt:

8. “Are you sure you want me to kiss you? No takebacks.”

Alrighty, this one was a bit tough and I took it a little bit of a different direction---hopefully you like it, because I do!

Uncertain Little Games

It’s a little after two in the morning when you get the call from some random no-name bar outside of Fightertown, a disgruntled and on-the-edge-of-livid bartender gruffing into the phone that somebody needed to come and pick up the man called Tom Kazansky—he was bleeding all over his freshly-waxed floor and causing more trouble than he was worth. 

“Found your number in his wallet, sweetheart—come and get him or the cops will.” 

Largely unimpressed with the man’s attempt to sound demanding, you’d sighed and slumped forward in bed, hand scrubbing your face as you turned to consider the colder side of the King mattress where you’d been attempting to catch REM. Rubbing the palm of your hand against your hair, a tired headache was already aching against your temple. 

Gut sinking with disdain over the very idea before it prickled with hot anger, you snapped the covers off your legs and swung out of bed, grumbling into the phone that you were on your way, halfheartedly listening to the man’s directions. 

Managing into some jeans and sneakers, you attempted to fix the scrunchie keeping your sleeping knot high on your head. Scrunching your nose disfavorably  at your disheveled appearance in the mirror, it would have to do—you’d gone to bed late. Or early, depending on who you asked. Waiting for Tom to come home after the argument. You see red for a minute, before your jaw clamps within an inch of fracturing, and for a second you swear you can taste blood from where you are biting your tongue. 

Instead of coming home, Tom had obviously gone out of his way to some god-forsaken bar outside of Miramar, and you weren’t sure if the cocktail of worry and anger in your gut was going to make you throw up or not. You probably wouldn’t until you saw him. 

You’d finally managed some sleep for what felt like seconds before the blare of the telephone bolted you upright. Resigned to Tom Kazansky sleeping off the heat of your fight somewhere else, you’d crawled back into bed after washing the smudged mascara from your face, the telltale blotch of hot color only sobbing could manage written across your face. 

You hadn’t wanted to fight. Not really. It had just sort of happened. The entire night had just sort of happened, much to your regret, and terms and conditions hadn’t improved when you’d stumbled in through the front door, feet sore from your heels, far too hot under the collar to even hear Iceman trying to reason with you. 

“Sweetheart, if you could just cool your jets and listen to me—” his words had broken apart under a grunt as he’d dodged the stilettos you’d chucked across the island counter. Reasonable effort had been required not to snatch one of the pans from the hanging rack of the island and take a swing at his head. 

The words still rang through this kitchen like an annoying bell. Then, hours ago, those words had prompted hot tears to form in your eyes, blurring his face entirely from your vision as he’d wretched your arm out of his hand, storming through the house wanting to be left alone. Your earrings were somewhere in the hallway where you’d whipped them with your clutch purse, anything becoming a weapon to keep him from touching you. 

“Baby, please, listen to me—” 

“No, Tom! I’m done listening! You’re grounded, understand? Privileges fucking revoked. Get out of here before I say something I really will regret!"

Heart up in the back of your throat, inches from vomiting and walking a tightwire of raw emotions, he’d followed you up the stairs at distance, like he was trying to read the air between you. 

Screaming that you wanted him to leave, that you were hurt; weren’t sure how you could ever forgive him for this. 

When you’d slammed this very bedroom door in his face, your heart had hit your knees, like it had bounced through your bones and shattered on the very floor at your swollen, sore feet. Ice had tried reasoning through the door, he really had—but you’d just drowned him out with AC/DC, though you hadn't heard a word of Thunderstruck through your hysterical ugly cry session. 

Splayed out across the king like a sad starfish,  you’d sobbed mascara into the duvet. Not enough to muster the energy to strip the bed, but enough to notice. Bawling until your head was pounding and your chest ached from the effort, you’d mustered enough energy to down a glass or two of rosé, eat half a line of Oreos, and sit under a scolding shower until it turned cold.

It was all the damn blonde from the bar’s fault. You’d noticed her immediately when Tom had stepped over the threshold at the club–she was hard to miss in that pink metallic mini dress and heels, hair teased to the heavens. Guys were fawning all over her, perched at the bar, but she’d set her eyes on Iceman, the Navy’s best and brightest of the class vying for top marks. 

Of course she had. Tom was a god who had stepped down from the sun, most days. A body that didn’t stop, blonde hair nearly platinum from California sun, eyes cool and bright enough to rival the sparkling waters of any of the world’s oceans, he was heartstopping. Every time he looked at you, your soul threatening to leave your body—suddenly air became too rich, too clear, while also being nonexistent all at the same damn time. 

Ice was “Breathtaking and ground shaking,”  as you’d told your best friend the night he’d dropped you off on your first date. He’d taken you to the pier after a fine sit-down dinner and getting-to-know-you conversations. Arriving just before sunset, with colors just beginning to spin in the tapestry of the clouds, you’d asked him what he loved about the pier. 

“Nothing, really, except sunset is always better over the open water,” he’d said it so nonchalantly that you’d blinked, having to actually remember that Ice spent a majority of his working hours in the actual sky and probably had seen his share of breathtaking sundowns. “Prettier in the air, though. Nothing quite like watching the sky change color while you’re there, touching clouds.” 

“I can’t imagine,” he’d offered you his hand and you’d slipped yours into his, loving the way his larger one warmed yours despite it being a balmy and humid 80-something degrees. 

After a few heartbeats of silence bleeding between you, he’d stopped and guided you out in front of him. The ocean and stunningly beautiful sky behind you, you’d watched Tom knock his aviators a notch down the bridge of his nose, content to say nothing and just stand there looking at you. Finally, the little tick in the corner of his mouth made you grin stupidly, giving him a slightly sideways look of uncertainty.

“What’s up with you? You’re acting weird, Ice,” 

“Just checking,” he’d pulled you a little closer, until you had a clear breath of his cologne beneath your nose, “I’m going to tell you something, but you’re not allowed to hit me.” 

“Hmmm…sketchy, Kazansky. But I’ll bite,” 

He’d just chuckled as his smile grew, “I think you just might be prettier than any damn sunset I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. And I’ve seen my fair share of them.” Agog in his face, Iceman had looked genuinely amused with your reaction before slipping his sunglasses up on his head, tracking you with crystalline eyes, “I also think I may have to kiss you, if you’ll let me.”

Swallowing a breath, “And why wouldn’t I let you?” 

“You sure you want me to kiss you? No takebacks,” He’d tried to sound serious in that Iceman Kazansky way of his, all cock and bravado and charm, but the analogy had just made you giggle. “You just let me know when I should take the shot, sweetheart.” 

“Well then why don’t you just hurry up then, Iceman?” 

He’d kissed you, long and hard and slow, until your toes had curled as far as they dared in the heels you’d worn with that dress he still asked you to wear. They always talked about your breath ramrodding in your chest, your heart skipping a beat when you kissed the person you were meant to kiss for the rest of your life—and, despite your best efforts not to believe it, whoever they were had been right. 

There, on the pier, pressed back against the railing and Ice all over you, you’d come to the conclusion that there wouldn’t be anyone else in the history of ever that you could imagine sharing moments like this with. 

Signed, sealed, delivered, Ice was the man for you. 

You’d known it from the second date, and upon stumbling into the dark of your then-shared-apartment to see your friend watching Leno, you’d dropped onto the couch, nearly a hot pile of goo, and told her that Tom Kazansky had stolen your breath and taken you for a ride you would never want off of. 

Six months later, he’d asked you to marry him—on the same damn pier, with the same damn sunglasses, using that same damn pickup line that had worked the first time. He’d hardly dropped to a knee before you were jumping up and down, pulling him to his feet, kissing him and climbing him like a damn tree telling him you’d never, under any circumstances or in any universe, not want his last name. Even if it went horribly with your first name and would be a hellish nightmare to sign. 

You had Tom Kazansky, zeroed in and target locked, as he said. Though, little miss pink-metallic-dress Barbie had seemed to conveniently overlook the fact that Ice had arrived with you. She must’ve been blind not seeing the ring—there was no other explanation. He wore it proudly, and had even moved his Academy ring to his left hand to rest snug beside it. It couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious that he was yours.��

The killer about the entire thing is that Tom hadn’t really sent her packing. He’d been talking to her at the bar when you’d secured scurried off to use the powder room, sliding past the Friday night crowd after spotting him. You’d arrived just at the moment Friday Night Barbie had reached to paw at his arm, Ice shifting a little at the bar in a posture that wasn’t defensive at all. If anything, he’d looked welcoming. 

“Tommy?” 

He’d jumped bolt upright as if someone had dropped a steel beam down the length of his spine. His little friend’s eyes had widened when you’d glared daggers at her, lifting your hand to sport the pricey Tiffany ring Kazansky had slid onto your finger not even a year ago. Tight-lipped, cheeks nearly a neon shade of crimson, she’d slipped off her stool without so much as a by-your-leave and vanished into the night crowd. 

On the verge of tears, angrier than a wet hen, you’d stalked out of the bar just at the moment Ice had moved off his seat to reach for you. You’d managed to tune him out, trying to move politely through the people, until you’d managed your way outdoors and a cool blast of heavy, ocean air had ripped open the ache in your chest, raw and bleeding like you were dying. 

Tears had pounced into your eyes and you were crying as you’d stalked to the car. He’d driven both of you, but he’d give you the keys—you’d make him hand them over. Swiping at your eyes, humiliated and angry, you’d staggered across the gravel of the lot to the familiar Chevelle which was supposed to take you home much later than this. 

He’d caught up to you, grabbed your arm to bring you to a rough start. He’d said your name in that way, the way that was firm and no-nonsense, like he had maybe a hundred times before. Usually it was fine. Usually you liked when he said your name with such ferocity and meaning. But not tonight. Maybe not ever, if the hole he’d punched through your heart would ever heal.

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” 

You couldn’t believe he had the audacity. “Me? Blowing what out of proportion, Tom? It couldn’t possibly be the fact you let that—that hussy come onto you, could it? When I am right the fuck THERE? Did not one red flag, one warning bell go off telling you ‘This is a bad idea, Kazansky?’ What is it you flyboys call it—tone? No tone, Tom, trying to snap you out of it?” Actively crying, you wrenched your arm out of his hand, staggering backward when he released you. 

“Holy fuck, sweetheart—I wasn’t into her. She asked to buy me a drink, and I said no—” 

“Oh, well, that’s the least you could’ve said as you let her paw at your arm, Ice. Now give me the damn keys, Kazansky—I’m going home.” 

He’d dropped into the seat beside you and said nothing, just to make sure you managed to get home safely. He’d told you so when you’d whipped the keys angrily across the kitchen island, sniveling and trying not to actively sob as he called after you. Racing up the stairs, trying not to hear him, you’d thrown on AC/DC after locking the door behind you.

He’d stood behind the door, trying to reason with you, for nearly an hour, until you’d sobbed so uncontrollably into the duvet you couldn’t hear him anymore. When you’d finally decided to go downstairs and drown your sorrows in booze, you’d peeked your head out the bedroom door to find the hall empty. Further inspection out of the kitchen window said he was gone, but the note he’d stuck to the fridge said he would be with Slider.

In retrospect, you should’ve known Ice would never open himself up to another woman so recklessly—it wasn’t his style. The cat and mouse the two of you had played before even deciding to go out officially was, officially, ridiculous. Some floozy at a bar was not enough to turn his head. 

Or so you liked to think. On the good days. On the bad days—well. Today was a bad day. 

He reassured you, always, that you were his, and that he wouldn’t have it any other way. That going back he’d do it all over again, the same way, because nothing you shared together was worth missing. Being the calculative, shrewd son of a bitch that he was, Ice actually was quite the romantic—though you’d never have guessed it, just knowing him. 

But your humiliated and already-suffering-with-confidence self still didn’t actually believe it, even after almost a year of marriage. Ice was nothing if not something to ogle, and the blonde at the bar isn’t and wouldn’t be the last pair of tits to give him a second glance. Just like there’d always be men who tried to approach you when he wasn’t around. 

This was Fightertown. It was fact. Regardless of both of your track records of loyalty, there was always the lurking suspicion in the cobwebs of your brain that Ice was wonderful, more man than you could ever deserve. 

He loved you. Yes. All of your heart knew that was true. 

But your head? Damn that fucker was thick, sometimes. 

“I’m going to kill you, Ice,” 

Snatching your keys out of the bowl by the door as you shoulder your purse, you pull the door closed behind you with the toe of your sneaker. Overhead street lights are casting long shadows down the block, not one house but yours alive in the early throes of ass o’clock in the morning. 

The bar is about ten minutes out of Miramar, a gem of a place that you can contribute to Slider—this wasn’t the first dive you’d found yourself at thanks to Ron Kerner. Fabulous.

Ice’s car is parked crookedly in the back of the lot, and you swing the Diplomat up beside the Chevelle, checking through dark windows to see if, on the off chance, he’s decided to sleep it off in his car. No dice, the Chevelle is empty, and your groan before popping the latch on your door, sliding out into the humid, thick air of California dark. 

Your feet are grinding on the pea rock of the lot until they hit the concrete steps, and the door weighs nearly a lifetime as you pull it open, assaulted with the low lights and haze of a bar that is definitely not smoke free. Coughing as you slip into the room that is swirling with nicotine and sweat, your eyes track the bar—Tom isn’t there, and neither is Slider, but every damn person seated at that bar has swiveled to notice you. Even the bartender himself pops a curious brow. 

Largely populated by men, save the waitress clearing tables, you feel about two inches tall when you suck in a brave breath and march towards the long mahogany bar. Leaning against the edge, you greet the bartender, who you assume is the man you spoke to, with an apologetically small smile. He returns it to you, and it takes what is perhaps the Lord’s will holding the universe together for you to not grimace at his absolutely filthy teeth. 

“You called me about my husband,” you say with a bit more bite than intended, “Tom Kazansky? I’m his wife. I’m here to take him home.” You swallow the embarrassment fanning to life across your nose as the men at the bar, obviously actively trying to overhear your conversation, do just that. 

One nudges the other, thinking you’ve missed him, but your eyes cut to him for a second before the bartender nods and gestures with a thumb around the corner. 

“He’s in the kitchen, honey. Guy he was with just took off with a buddy,” he nods, “right through there–careful, floor’s slippr’y,” he sends you off with a lift of his chin, slapping his bar rag over his shoulder as he turns to take another order. 

Blinking at his retreating back, it takes you all of a few seconds to hustle through the swinging doors of the kitchen, which is long since quieted after typical dinner hours. Half the lights are on, Tom propped sat on a stool, head lowered to his arms crossed over one of the prep tables. What looks like a frozen bag of french fries is draped over the back of his neck. 

Swinging hinges on the door creaking, you cock your hip and cross your arms over the front of your chest, trying to remain stalwart. Instinctively, Ice’s head lifts to register the new energy in the room, and his eyes snap over you in surprise for half a second. A slow smirk lifts the corner of his mouth–even from here, you can see he’s drunk. 

“There you are,” he chuckles, his voice sultry and thick in a way that sends your insides somersaulting, “Was wondering when you’d find me, darling.” 

“I didn’t,” you scoff, dropping your purse off your shoulder to the table as you march toward him, “the bartender found my number in  your wallet and said you were making an asshole of yourself. Surprise.” Swinging to a stop across the able from him, Tom’s eyes haven’t left you. They’re adoring and dark, tracking you like he never wants to not look at you again. “The only reason I’m here is because I didn’t feel like bailing you out of jail and having to explain things to Mike.” 

He snorts, a bit loudly, before rocking back on the stool a little to suavely run fingers through his close-cropped blonde hair. “You still sound pissed,” 

“I am pissed. And I’m tired. Your ass better be able to walk, Ice.” 

He grimaced at the venom in your tone, but chuckled and narrowed his gaze at you, chin plopping into his hand. “You aren’t still angry about that bitch at the bar, sweetheart,” it’s not a question, more of a probe, and at your deadpan expression his brow furrows a little deeper, “—oh come on, honey, honestly she came onto me and I didn’t even think about it. Really. I’d never do that to you,” 

You want to believe him. Really, you do. But Ice’s distinct lack of withdrawing from the blonde at the bar is branded into your memory like a hot iron. Swallowing the uneasy breath that threatens tears in your eyes, you ignore the pang of your heart erratically skipping in your chest, and nod to him, spinning a finger in the let’s go signal. 

“Tom, I really don’t want to talk about this—” 

“Y/N. Listen, please. I’d never do that—you know that.” 

For a heartbeat you’re inclined to believe him, mostly because he’s leaned across the table to snatch your wrist in his larger hand, pulling to an abrupt halt. The little jolt from where you hip bumps into the edge of the table makes you rethink wrenching your arm from his hand, but it’s mostly the weight of his stare that has you bolted into place. 

Part of you knows that Tom is not the kind of man to be unfaithful. He is a good man, and has always been right by your side from the moment you’d agreed to start going steady with him. He’s as a good of a husband as he is a pilot, which means that he’s unshakeable and isn’t rattled. Always comes home. 

Thinking back, Ice has never really looked at another woman—he doesn’t engage in the way Goose and Maverick and Slider do when it comes to ogling women at the club. 

As a matter of fact, Ice is usually the first to change the topic. He stays home more than he goes out, preferring a quiet night in watching late night game shows over popcorn and cheap wine than going out and fending off crowds and loud music. 

That quiet calculation that simmers beneath the surface has never once given you reason to be angry with him like this. Thinking about it, you hadn’t heard Tom’s conversation with the blonde at the bar—you’d only watched her reach for him. Not even giving Tom a chance to brush her off before you darted outside, hurt and overwhelmed and overthinking, you didn’t even know if he’d shook her off or not. 

Overreacting was in your nature. That was something Ice knew about you. 

And standing there, watching his sorry eyes track you, waiting for your hard exterior to break, you feel a pang of guilt at how you’ve treated him without knowing the full story. 

Tongue thickening in your mouth, it’s suddenly both hot and freezing in this kitchen, and you shrug your shoulders a little. 

It’s a miracle he isn’t angry—isn’t frustrated with your behavior. Other guys you’ve dated—other marriages you’ve seen—aren’t so forgiving. 

“I think I know that,” you respond with a quiet, shaky sigh, “it’s just—” 

“Sweetheart,” 

His willingness to stand here in this kitchen and hash open your insecurities is too raw and too public. A hot bolt of frustration races up your throat and you pop off a biting, “Tom, let’s just go,” that makes him release your hand. “It’s late and I’m really, really tired.” 

Sliding off the barstool, Tom Kazanksy is sober enough for his two feet as he rounds the long table, snatching your purse for you as you’re about to move for the swinging doors. Turning to brush shoulders with him, his hand on your bicep pulls you to another stop, your sneakers squeaking on the floor beneath you. 

He gently shuffles you back, angling you so that your chest is brushed up against his arm. Close enough to glimpse the whiskey on his breath, you can feel the faint beat of his heart through his ribs as his warmth skips over you. His nose brushes against your temple as he breathes in the scent of your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your ear. 

“There will never be anyone but you, my love,” the sharp, steely lines of Iceman Kazansky have broken through the loose drunkenness that’s been in the back of every word leading up to this, like he’s suddenly the man in the cockpit, making decisions that may change the course of national safety. “How could there ever be anyone else when I already have the woman I’ve always wanted?” 

You suck in a slow, thin breath as a fraction of a second cracks between the two of you. Suddenly the kitchen is spinning in a jumble of color and haze, and it’s just you and Tom in the void of the universe, nothing able to exist outside of this moment. Your throat is closing you think, and the air in your chest is so thin that you fear it might be passing through your skin and not actually providing you any sort of help at all. 

His other hand traps your chin between his thick fingers, tilting it up just a little. “I love you desperately, ma’am,” his voice rasps in that way that sends you reeling, and your heart picks up a few erratic beats more behind your ribs, “and nothing is going to ever change that. I married you, promised that you would be enough until death do us part, and I meant it. I am a man of my word. That much you know, pretty girl.” 

Your eyes cast down to the floor, and you don’t realize your shaking until Ice’s grip on your forearm tightens a little, reassuringly. You’re trying too hard not to cry, but a little sniffle escapes you as you nod your understanding, his smile spreading against your forehead as his lips skip lightly along your forehead. 

“Ice,” his name is perfect on your tongue, and you inhale a deep breath of his cologne, which is barely clinging to his beer-scented skin, “I’m not sorry for being jealous, but I am sorry for overreacting,” your voice is tiny, smaller than you intended as you bury your nose into his shoulder. “I should know better, yeah—but I’m a jealous wreck.”

Chuckle rumbling in his chest, he releases your arm to hug you, softly. “I know that, and I think it’s sexy as fuck, pretty,” his thumb returns to your chin, and he takes it a little rougher between his fingers, “Can I kiss you or do you still wanna stay pissed?” 

You giggle and raise on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck, firmly, “Why do you even have to ask, Ice?” 

His smile is cheshire, cutting you at the knees. “Are you sure? No takebacks, darlin’,” the way he says darlin’ sends such a bolt of heat between your legs that you’re clenching, your stomach rolling in a delightful little somersault at the base of your spine.

 “I’m sure, Iceman—I’m more than sure.” 

[blazingstar29]

now that fleeting love is over and blood on the barb wire is my only fic in progress i’m going to spend some time getting back to peaky blinders BUT also doing some tg one shots for funnies so opening up requests 🫶

pairings include , icemav, slimav, floysin, floydsinshaw, halonix. most topics are on the table but won’t really be touching ice undergoing cancer treatment but anything either side of that time period is okay! In saying that feel free to send it through and if it speaks to me i’ll try it but I also might not :)

[mcu-and-buckybarnes-things]

I’ve been thinking about a very young Mav & flight school instructor Ice AU, but before I can come up with any serious idea here is a dumb one based on some old joke—

Maverick: *Licks lips in anticipation* I’m nervous, I’ve never flown an F-18 before.

Ice: ……Don’t lick my lips again.