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silverflqmes · 1 year ago

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໒⦂ 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

synopsis. a compilation of headcanons that showcase the dating experience of the first class SOLDIER boys — along with a certain self proclaimed one..

genre. fluff + crack

ft. sephiroth, cloud strife, zack fair, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley

gender neutral! reader.

➫ 𝓢𝗘𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating sephiroth? it’s along the lines of sneaking around to meet at your most favorite spots, learning how to love, delicate touches and kisses, elements of forbidden romance, healing and deep conversations involving lots of reassurance.

⌗ sephiroth isn’t very familiar with physical affection, it’s something he never had the luxury of experiencing all his life.. so he would be a bit awkward with it, confused even, but he’s willing to learn cuz he wants to bond with you more! that and he’s hella touch starved.. although he won’t say🙁

⌗ love language, let’s see.. he also seems like the acts of service kinda guy, but values words of affirmation — whether towards himself or towards you. he doesn’t want his unwarranted popularity to bring you doubt of your own worth, but he also wants to hear he’s enough for you, since he, um, doesn’t view himself in the best light.. sobs.

⌗ the first date.. well, i would think you guys would have been together during the crisis core era cuz like.. after nibelheim.. kinda hard. unless you have jenova cells😭 anyways- the first date! he was not sure on where to take you, given his schedule and just him not um being sure on where to take you.. somehow, though, you ended up at a beautiful library, straight out of a fairytale setting. how he found such a hidden gem in midgar of all places stayed unknown to you, but it was such a lovely outing together<3 he seemed so carefree and at ease ( im sobbing. )

⌗ if anybody dares talk shit about sephiroth or make him feel outcasted, inhuman — whatever they have made him feel — BEAT THEM UP!! although, not actually.. because he won’t let you😐 still, he finds it sweet that despite his power and capability of ending somebody’s career — you won’t hesitate for even a second to stand up for him. likewise, if people dare to hurt you in anyway, it’s on sight.

⌗ ah, the i love you.. he would take a minute to say it because he’s still trying to understand the concept of love and process that you actually feel that way about him. but you wouldn’t say it first — he would. because you want him to say it when he feels it’s right, cuz you don’t wanna pressure him or anything..

⌗ sephiroth became a father of a very, very adorable feline friend that you surprised him with one day to keep him company. he was confused at first — but has grown fond of the cat and it’s his best friend now. they have the same eye color too and the cat has silver fur!!

➫ 𝓒𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗗 𝓢𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗙𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating cloud? it’s late nights underneath the stars, comforting words and squeezes, a rollercoaster of challenges that you will have to overcome in order to be with one another.. and emotional constipation on his end for sure, but he’s trying his best!

⌗ cloud isn’t exactly the easiest with pda, he gets embarassed easily and doesn’t seem like the type to uh.. want people watching him do something outside of his norm? not really the spotlight loving type despite the wall market arc.. but he is okay with handholding and locking pinkies even too<3

⌗ his love language, hm.. i think it would be acts of service on the giving end, and for the receiving end, i think words of affirmation would suit his wants. he just wants to make sure he’s doing okay for you, every now and again he needs to hear it. otherwise i do see physical affection behind curtains.. he’s not openly expressive on it — has a hard time asking for stuff🥹

⌗ first date, uhh.. i think he would’ve gotten with you by the advent children timeline, just because he wants to do some reflection and y’know get the angst out of his system.. but anyway, the date i think would be a drive on fenrir ( his motorcycle.. ) to the outskirts of edge, somewhere the stars can be seen. it’s simple, nothing complex, just to unwind and enjoy the other’s company.

⌗ cloud tends to get nightmares a lot, i mean, bro has unresolved trauma.. and doesn’t have all his memories back because of that. so i feel he would have developed insomnia or just fears going to sleep. when this happens, i imagine later down the line when you are comfy with each other, be there for him!! company helps, always<3

⌗ for the i love you.. well, i think you’ll probably be the one to say it first — but verbatim. cloud, however, would be the one to say it first.. but without actually saying those three words.

⌗ while cloud has a very idgaf attitude and demeanor, he won’t hesitate to kick ass if someone speaks bad on you or does anything harmful towards you. bro literally used to brawl with kids back in nibelheim😭 if he hears any shit spoken on you or sees you getting pushed around, the buster is coming tf out🫡 or well, i suppose first tsurugi if it’s ac..

➫ 𝓩𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝓕𝗔𝗜𝗥 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating zack fair? a total fever dream that makes you feel like a school girl in love, surprise attack hugs, being dragged to all sorts of places for dates, phone calls when you are apart and can’t sleep, convenience store trips at super odd hours and avoiding your responsibilities at shinra!

⌗ bro is so about pda, he can’t keep his hands off you!! wants to hug and hold you as much as possible, truly a puppy🥸 in public he likes to hold hands and walks with a skip in his step cuz he’s just so happy to be around you, also likes to wrap an arm around you for close proximity<3 doesn’t shy away from physical touch basically!

⌗ love language.. definitely physical affection, bro is totally the clingy type.. but i also believe he would value it a lot tbh — giving as well as receiving! then there’s acts of service, cuz i think that would also be his thing based on him telling aerith to make a list of her wishes for him.. OH, OH AND QUALITY TIME!! can’t forget that🙃

⌗ the first date was at costa del sol!! cc era too cuz um.. well.. y’know.. zack needed a break away from SOLDIER activities and hitting the beach seemed like a good way to go! catch some rays, chase those waves, maybe some volleyball, bbq and smoothies!! if you think it’s gonna be a relaxing day.. it’s probably gonna be a shit load of different activities.. but don’t worry!! you’ll get the absolute best sleep EVER afterwards. guaranteed!!

⌗ zack is a pretty emotional person, he feels very easily so if you’re hurt or upset, he aches for you. he rlly wants you to be happy, doesn’t want to see your smile taken away, ever. so he does everything in his power to ensure your happiness and if it’s people who have brought you sadness, then oh boy, they have another thing coming..

⌗ he kinda blurts the i love you out first without thinking tbh, it just comes out and he has the widest grin on his face when he says it. he fr doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, no matter how flustered or warm your chest feels, he’s so nonchalant about it😭 like why should he wait when he knows how he feels??

⌗ angeal had to give him a long ass talk about dating, honor, treating you well — you name it, your average angeal lecture🫡 but romance edition.. featuring genesis ( and sephiroth in the background smiling apologetically )

➫ 𝓖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦 𝓡𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗦 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating genesis? it’s like being in a fairytale or movie, having poetry recited to you on the daily to further emphasize his love, getting spoiled endlessly, touches that leave you wanting more and ending up with the prince of your dreams.. kinda.

⌗ he is very much about pda! likes to display that you are his, holds you in his arms at any chance he gets, peppers you with slow, yet lingering kisses that leaves you completely touch starved😪 angeal has to scold him sometimes when he takes too long saying goodbye, especially if they have to go on missions..

⌗ love language would be a mixture between gift giving and physical affection, but i could also see him wanting words of affirmation. i mean he feels like he’s the failed attempt at being sephiroth, believes that the top hero spot should be his and all.. but otherwise, giving gifts to you would definitely be smtn he’d wanna do, especially if his missions are outside of midgar.

⌗ ah, the first date.. well, once again your best chance at being with him would have to have been during the cc timeline cuz bro dips.. but anyway!! the date.. well, strap yourself in cuz you’re going to a living showing of genesis’ favorite, loveless. yes, yes he takes you to a play. how can he not? it’s his favorite work of literature, and he wants to share that love with you too!! he’ll dress you up fancy beforehand, bought you a whole outfit😵‍💫

⌗ circling back to the reassurance thing.. despite his arrogance, he feels like he’s not good enough a lot. feels like a failed project in a sense, and views himself as less because of his degradation — it’s just a slow burn for him. but a little bit of affirmation on your end and the promise of wanting him for him helps a lot<3

⌗ who said i love you first.. hm, he seems like the type to say it without actually saying those specific words. i think he would have said it several times via poetry before you fully register that this man fr said he loved you. awkward on your end. but when the pieces finally clicked together, butterflies swarmed your stomach hella but you adored every minute of it🫶

⌗ he shows off his relationship with you at any chance he gets to sephiroth and zack, angeal kinda but not really.. but he’s just super proud to have you as his and makes sure that it’s known among his colleagues at shinra😭 clown behavior fr but you love it anyway, it’s always nice to feel wanted — even if your man is flashy about it..

➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝓗𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating angeal? being treated with lots of care and gentleness, bit of a mom for a boyfriend at times cuz he wants to make sure you’re taken care of, cradling your face in his hands like you’re his everything and saving you no matter the odds, like a guardian angel.

⌗ pda won’t um.. be so much, bro is very respectful of space and has to be proper or whatever because of honor!! that and he kinda has an image to upkeep, especially with zack around — gotta show the right example of having a significant other! but when you’re alone, he likes to hold you close and just enjoy your presence tbh

⌗ the love language.. let me see, i think he would be a mixture between acts of service and quality time. he enjoys being with you and any company he can get when he isn’t called on missions or babysitting training zack. when he can’t be present, he does things for you to express his love — genesis urges him to!!

⌗ okay let’s see.. the first date, well — again, cc timeline here too since he also, um, leaves.. ANYWAY. where was the location of the first date, you might ask, well.. the museum tbh! i think he would enjoy the calmness of it and just looking at different works of art.. except his most favorite work would fr distract him from any other scenes — that being you. so plan failed on his end, but you had enjoyed yourself lots, and that made him happy to witness🫶

⌗ the amount of panic he would feel if he saw you hurt, like bro is meant to protect you — he promised that he would.. so angeal would feel like he failed you in a sense for not being there to prevent your pain, but you remind him that he’s there now and that you feel safe again, grounded in spite of the hurt you earlier felt.

⌗ i think the first i love you would come from you cuz he just.. wouldn’t know the right time or chance to say it LMAO so you end up saying it which brings this look of shock to his face, but then a warm smile would stretch across his lips, knowing you felt the same as he did<3

⌗ can’t sleep? he’s got plenty of stories to tell about his childhood and some silly events during his missions. it feels foreign to hear this lighthearted, less mature side to him, but it’s also a breath of fresh air and makes you feel special that he allows you to see this more relaxed side to him that isn’t a stoic overly responsible SOLDIER🗣️

notes. whew oh boy uhh second time writing ffvii, i hope it turned out okay :’) i kinda wrote these out of order so some might seem longer or shorter but i hope you guys enjoy!! ik it’s different from the fandoms i write for, but welp this is where my brain has been🫡

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

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wei-ying-kexing-apologist · 2 months ago

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Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

I've been doing this self imposed challenge where I watch all the films on @bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus. Last month I start Unit 6: Gems which includes the following films: Big Eden, Shelter, Weekend, Private Romeo, Were the World Mine, The Birdcage, Make the Yuletide Gay, The Sum of Us, Boy Erased, Boys, Summer Storm, C.R.A.Z.Y., North Sea Texas, Saturday Church, Boy Meets Girl, The Adventers of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Too Wong Foo Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar.

Today I watched

Shelter (2007) dir. Jonah Markowitz

[Run Time: 1 hour, 37 minutes, Language: English]

Summary: When his college dreams are sidelined by family obligations, a young man finds comfort in surfing with his best friend's brother.

Cast: - Trevor Wright as Zach - Brad Rowe as Shawn

___

Shelter was such a lovely little film. Another good example of how a film does not have to be ridiculously expensive in order to be good. It’s definitely an indie film, the video quality and the acting is not top tier but the performances are still compelling and the story is able to fit quite a bit of complexity in to a rather short run time. (Especially considering this movie was filmed in 21 days).

I think overall my favorite part of Shelter was the way the film used Zach’s graffiti as a way to show him working through his own feelings. Zach’s life is chaotic even though he is stuck in the same cycles, trapped in the same town and his artwork mimics that. I loved watching the graffiti on the side of the building grow in to something that was chaotic, in to something tangible, something legible, something that was no longer abstract but was a picture of home and of love. To watch Zach build this for himself, to watch him sit and ponder it, to watch him stare miserably at his graffiti disappearing back behind beige paint when he’s adrift after dumping Shawn and trying to wrestle all his dreams back to the pit where he stored them the first time he undermined his own desires for the sake of his family.

gif by @brittany

My second favorite part was watching the relationship between Zach and Shawn unfold. The way that Zach kept going for the intimacy between him and Shawn and then retreating the second that his sister would ask him questions. The second she would call him out for putting himself before others. She didn’t want to deal with the possibility that he was a fag so he internalized that homophobia and started lashing out at Shawn, started getting worried about leaving Shawn alone with Cody because his sister was worried about Shawn being gay and alone with her child. But there was such a hunger and desperation there, you could feel it in the scene where Zach initiates physical intimacy.

gif by @zanephillips

And you know that Shawn is going to be really good for Zach because even as Zach was lashing out at him, even after Zach dumped him, and he got some (imo) necessary correction about the class differences between them and why it is harder for Zach to actually go for what he wants, he still submitted Zach’s portfolio to Cal Arts. Shawn wanted to make sure that Zach had the opportunity to choose for himself what he wanted.

There were a lot of things that I hated about Jeanne, but she was a complex character who did the right thing in the end, and so I have to give her some props for that. I appreciate that the film made sure that we all knew that there was love there between Jeanne and Zach because so many of Jeanne’s behaviors throughout the film feel selfish and detached from genuine care for her family.

And finally, I am so glad that Cody ended up with Zach and Shawn. The kid broke my heart open when he turned to Zach early on in the film and said “you’re my dad” to his uncle, especially when he continued to claim Zach as his father even after Zach explained the nature of their relationship. But jokes on Zach cause Cody was right all along. Zach is his Dad now, and so is Shawn, and that is the best possible outcome for Cody that could exist. I loved that we ended the film on all of them playing together on the beach.

gifs by @deanseyes

Favorite Moment

I was going to initially claim Cody calling Zach his father as my favorite moment of the film, then it was going to be the introduction to the sex scene. But after completing the movie I have actually landed on the moment where Shawn and Zach are in bed together talking about the future and Shawn tells Zach he’s so beautiful and Zach responds with “shut up” and Shawn’s voice goes soft and quiet and asks him why he can’t take a compliment and Zach just goes silent and small under the weight of that. His little “thanks”? Ohhhhhhhhh it killed me. What a wonderful scene!

can't find a gif of the actual scene, so please have this beautiful gif by @indigomood instead

Favorite Quote

“What changed?” “I did.”

Final Score:

9/10

I understand why it has been so high up on the list of the Top 100 Gay Films for so long.

#bengiyo queer cinema syllabus #queer cinema syllabus #shelter #shelter (2007)#unit 6: gems

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shan-yee · 7 months ago

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•Here is my masterlist for the Advent Calendar challenge, you will find different headcanons, one shots, imagines, drabble and smut on different fandoms.

•English is not my first language, please let me know if you see any mistakes ! Enjoy ✨

•Hi ! Due to personal problems I may take a little time to post the rest, but i will definitely continue this challenge.

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄༄ 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 ��𝘢𝘳𝘵 1

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄𝙄༄ 𝘈 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶 𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 [𝘑𝘑𝘒]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄𝙄𝙄༄ 𝘈 𝘚𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘶𝘬𝘢 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 [𝘞𝘉]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄𝙑༄ 𝘛𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙑༄ 𝘝𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵 [𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘦]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙑𝙄༄ 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵 [𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙑𝙄𝙄༄ 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 [𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙑𝙄𝙄𝙄༄ 𝘈 𝘝𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 [𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘦]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄𝙓༄ 𝘛𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 2

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓༄ 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 2

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙄༄ 𝘌𝘬𝘬𝘰 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵 [𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘦]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙄𝙄༄ 𝘈 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘜𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 [��𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙄𝙄𝙄༄𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯!𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘶 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯[𝘛𝘙]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙄𝙑༄𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 ? 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯[𝘋𝘊]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙑༄𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 [𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦]

༄𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙓𝙑𝙄༄𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘵[𝘋𝘊]

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whencyclopedia · 4 months ago

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Ragnarök

Ragnarök is the cataclysmic battle between the forces of chaos and those of order in Norse mythology, ending the world and killing most of the gods and their adversaries, leading to the birth of a new world. It has been claimed, however, that in pre-Christian Norse belief there was no rebirth after the fall of the gods.

Ragnarök ("Fate of the Gods") is also given as Ragnarokkr ("Twilight of the Gods") and is the pivotal event that ends the mythic cycle beginning with the birth of the gods of Asgard (the Aesir) and the creation of the Nine Realms of Norse cosmology. The gods established order and restrained the forces of chaos, but at Ragnarök, these forces break free, and even though the gods know they are doomed, they march to battle to save the world they have created.

The gods fail and most are killed, including Odin, Thor, Tyr, and Heimdall, but order is preserved, and a new world emerges from the destruction of the old. Traditionally, since the 13th century, Ragnarök has been understood as the end of the Nine Realms through dramatic climate changes, the breakdown of traditional values, and a final battle which destroys the present cycle of existence to birth a new one. After Ragnarök, the surviving gods return to the place where their city once stood, and the last surviving human couple repopulates the earth for a new age.

This vision of Ragnarök is almost certainly influenced by Christianity, and it is possible that an earlier understanding of the event ended with complete destruction without resurrection. This claim is challenged, however, as the Norse myths were passed down orally prior to the advent of Christianity in the region and there is no written record of how Ragnarök may have once been understood. In the present day, the event is best known through popular media including a film, video game, and a TV series all suggesting rebirth after death.

Origin & Sources

The story of Ragnarök is suggested through runestones dated to between the 10th-11th centuries – notably the Gosforth Cross in England, Thorwald’s Cross on the Isle of Man, and the Ledberg Stone in Sweden – and is only attested to in writing from the 13th century CE in the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda. The Poetic Edda is a collection of earlier Norse poems while the Prose Edda was composed by the Icelandic mythographer Snorri Sturluson (l. 1179-1241) from older sources and oral tradition.

Prior to the acceptance of Christianity in the region c. 1000, myths, legends, and histories were transmitted orally. Runes were used for memorial stones and brief messages, not for longer works, and so all extant Norse mythology was recorded through a Christian lens. Scholar John Lindow comments:

Scandinavian mythology was, with virtually no exceptions, written down by Christians…At least some of the monks were literate and they composed both Latin and Icelandic texts. Some lay persons of higher status were also apparently literate, at least in Icelandic, but all writing, whether in the international language of the church or in the vernacular, was the result of the conversion to Christianity, which brought with it the technology of manuscript writing. (10)

Even the poems from the compilation known as the Codex Regius ("King’s Book", written c. 1270), some dating to the 10th century and included in the Poetic Edda, were therefore written down either by Christians or scribes influenced by the Christian vision. Among these is the Völuspá ("The Witch’s Prophecy", c. 10th century) in which Odin summons a völva (seeress) who tells of the creation of the world, predicts Ragnarök, and describes its aftermath, including the rebirth of creation after the end of the present cycle.

Other works in the Poetic Edda, such as Baldrs Draumar ("Baldur’s Dreams"), Vafþrúðnismál ("The Lay of Valthrudnir"), and the Völuspá hin skamma ("Short Voluspa") also touch on or describe Ragnarök. These works, and others, were drawn on by Sturluson for his Prose Edda in which Ragnarök receives its fullest treatment in the section Gylfaginning, describing in detail the fall of the gods and the Nine Realms.

#History #Asgard #Baldr #Christian #WHE #[#]

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years ago

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Day 10 — Under The Mistletoe

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 600

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, very mild Smut — mild explicit content/language.

Disclaimers || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

A holiday tradition Bucky loved to uphold was the surprise of a passionate mistletoe kiss. What had begun as a modest tradition had evolved into a playful game, where the challenge was for you to find the hidden mistletoe Bucky had hung somewhere in your house. The reward? A passionate and unforgettable kiss from his truly. With each passing year, Bucky had to get more creative with it, hiding it in odd corners throughout your house, turning the hunt into more of a challenge.

During the annual Christmas decoration of your home into a festive wonderland, Bucky, with a mischievous glint in his eye, would slip away for a moment to discreetly position the mistletoe somewhere in your house. And thus, your hunt for the mistletoe began.

The next day, you spent the morning searching every nook and cranny and stopping beneath every doorway. Every hopeful glance at Bucky was met with a playful shake of his head and a teasing smile, indicating that you had not won the grand kissing prize.

It continued for two more days, and with each shake of his stupid big head and an annoying teasing smile on that stupidly handsome face, the frustration built. Bucky promised he would help you the next day with the search, even tell you where the mistletoe was hidden. However, that same evening, fate took a different turn, and you stumbled upon the mistletoe without even trying.

— — — —

As you entered the spare bedroom to stash away some Christmas presents in the closet discreetly, Bucky’s stealthy approach went unnoticed. It wasn’t until you felt his warm breath tingling down your neck and his hands gently asserting a soft grip on your hips that his presence became known.

“Look up, doll,” he murmured, his lips delicately grazing your skin.

Complying, your gaze landed on the leathery leaves hanging above the closet—the very mistletoe you had spent days searching. Mentally facepalming, you scolded yourself for overlooking the guest bedroom—stupid idiot.

With a smooth motion, Bucky turned you around, pressing you against the closet door. His heated body melded with yours, his hands finding a place on your waist, sending delicious shivers down your spine. As he leaned in, face mere inches from yours, your lips brushing, a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Looks like you’ve earned yourself a mistletoe kiss, doll.”

He captured your lips in a searing kiss. As your lips met, a spark ignited in your chest at his passion, sending waves of trill through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you drew a deep moan from him as the kiss deepened. His lips parted yours effortlessly, tongue slipping inside to caress skillfully against yours, eliciting a whimper and almost causing you to buckle under his assertive passion. For a blissful minute or two, you lost yourself in the intoxication of Bucky underneath the mistletoe. His lips, tongue, and touch leaving you dizzy with desire.

When you eventually pulled away, breathing deeply, you hummed in appreciation, cupping Bucky’s scruffy cheeks as the rush of his intoxication still coursed through your veins.

“Wow, that was worth the three-day wait.”

“Definitely, but I’ll give you a bonus for being so patient this year,” he rumbled in his deep voice, his nose skimming down the column of your neck as he planted open-mouthed kisses on your heated skin.

“Y-yeah?”

“Mhm,” he responded, brushing his lips underneath your ear. “As a bonus for being such a good and patient girl, I’ll make you come on my fingers, tongue, and cock,” he groaned, biting your earlobe.

A naughty thought crossed your mind. Next year, you will deliberately struggle to find the mistletoe to be awarded the added bonus.

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

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89degree · 6 months ago

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It has been a while since I got out to take photos. Still dealing with the psychological fallout of Covid. The last few times out have been uninspiring at best. I have been reading the collected works of St Teresa of Avila Vol.2 ( just started really). She was discouraged too but for different reasons but her perseverance might have inspired me. She wanted to do big things for God but being a woman in the 16th century she had few options and she knew it. So she looked for things she could do. She could not preach but she could help and pray and teach like minded women to serve in that way. When I started taking pictures I wanted to change the world not knowing what that meant or how to do it. Little did I know that photography would become a prayer language for me. I can't travel the world, don't, have a studio. I manage to keep myself in enough gear to do art and record the happenings in my community Though I am not a prolific as I used to be. I, too, am a victim of our times. I feel the resentments from people on the street to the presence of my camera. So it gets harder. Today I almost turned around and went home because the light that got me out had quickly disappeared. I went on passed the hospital though the tent city under the viaduct and into Montose Park. I tried a few handheld IR photos at about 1.6sec. to get a feel for composing trough the EVF with suss a dark filter. Truly uninspired images. I pushed on toward the beach . Again I was about to turn back after I took more of the same. But I heard machinery clanking out on the beach went to check it out. This is the first of 3 infrared images, the only one hand held. Sometimes I tell myself that there is nothing out there for me , I want to go somewhere where the paint is old and the colors ... different , and just living is a challenge . Just living is challenge here, and expressing that reality with a side of hope is what I do. I like this image. The sidewalk through no effort of its own is not completely covered and these three trees seem to stand watch over it.

Peace and Grace. ( the 14th day of advent.)

#chicago #photography #uptown #art #original tumblr photographers #lensculture #montrosepark #landscapes #landscapelover #urban #infrared photography #lensblr

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the-authoress-writes · 1 year ago

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Wherever You Go Chapter One

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be cursing, because these are people in the Navy.

I don’t think there’s anything else, though.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Yeah, freaking right.

This took forever (become a church musician, they said, it’ll be fun, they said, you’re in charge of the choir for the Advent season and Christmas while the choir director is on medical leave), but I’m fairly happy with how this turned out.

I think.

The impostor syndrome do be impostoring.

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

A huge thank you and shout out to @thatsrightice, who helped me so much with the hop maneuvers, by researching the F-14 and A-4 high and low for me.

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x reader! fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Previously on “Wherever You Go”…

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

Two months ago…

“So, you looking forward to teaching the next generation of stick jocks like us, Ice?” Mav spoke, barely intelligible around the food he had in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak whatever language that was, because it definitely wasn’t English.” Tom deadpanned, looking up from his forkful of the fairly-decent facsimile of scrambled eggs from the famed Officer’s Mess Hall of NAS Miramar.

Mav rolled his eyes and hastily swallowed his own forkful of eggs. “I said, are you looking forward to teaching the next generation of pilots like us, Ice?”

“Like me?

Yes.

Like you?

No.”

With Slider’s approval, he had taken the instructor assignment after it was offered to him shortly after the Layton, he and Slider wanting a little stability for two or three years—maybe even four—the Layton mission having shaved off what felt like a whole decade from their lifespan.

The fact that he was going to be able to fly and show off—sorry—instruct, was a nice bonus.

And the fact that his wingman, the only other pilot who could hold a candle to him, was also an instructor, was another plus.

They’d kick the asses of the hotshots they were going to teach, no problem.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m the best,” Mav grinned, nearly maniacally.

Tom put his scrambled eggs in his mouth, and made a show of chewing and swallowing, before replying, “Second best,” gesturing with his fork.

“I’m the best and you know it,” Mav practically vibrated.

Tom squinted at his wingman. “How much sugar did you put in your coffee?”

The other pilot froze guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed—hyper Mav was even more of a chaotic gremlin than normal Mav.

The younger man had an incredibly high, almost unnatural, tolerance for sugar, but put enough of it in his system, and you got one Pete Mitchell who could fly without a jet.

Tom had personally seen the other man put what seemed like half a sugar bottle in one cup of coffee. “Why?”

Mav pouted, looking like a child, and not the twenty-four year-old naval aviator he was. “I just wanted to indulge myself a little, Ice, ‘cause, you know, we’re instructors—together—we’re gonna kick ass—it’s gonna be great!”

“I know we’re gonna kick ass, but you’re not going to be able to instruct if you’re vibrating so much they can’t even see you,” Tom chuckled, shaking his head, trying to figure out how he could burn off Mav’s extra energy before they, along with Viper and Jester, had to head to the classroom to greet their new students later that morning.

“I know—but I just wanted something a little sweet as a treat,” Mav murmured, green eyes cast down and glazed with shame, and he got a glimpse of the child his wingman must have been over fifteen years ago.

He softened on the younger pilot, and reached out to ruffle the raven hair with a soft smile. “‘m not mad at you, Mav, it’s okay.”

Mav pulled away with a grimace and a slap at Tom’s hand, before fussing with his dark hair, but the familiar light returned to the other man’s eyes, though with considerably less mania than two minutes ago.

They continued eating, but Tom’s devious side reared its head. “You do know what this means, though, right?”

“Wha’?”

Tom nearly laughed right there.

Mav had half a forkful of eggs balanced on his lower lip.

“You and I are going to go for a little run around the south hangars, to burn off that energy.”

An intense green stare fixed on him, clearly considering. “Okay, fine—I might… might have overdone it a little bit with the sugar packets.”

“A ‘little’, huh?

Good for you, bud, getting more self-aware.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” Mav smirked.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom grinned. “Come on, finish up, so we can get a decent shower after our run.”

“You okay there, old man?” came the smug voice not far above his head.

“Two—two years, that’s all you have on me, Mav,” Tom muttered, massaging the ankle and knee of his right leg, stretched out on the bench of the instructor’s locker room, mentally cursing the old injuries he’d sustained there from a bad ejection he and Sli endured during one of their first deployments, on the Constellation, when the arresting gear failed because a new crewman didn’t check the weight on the valve of the wire.

It was why he had to wear a wrap on his knee and ankle whenever he and Slider played volleyball.

Mav continued, “You know I was gonna kick your ass running even if I wasn’t amped up on sugar, right?

Tall people wear out faster—that’s what you get for being freakishly tall.”

Tom frowned. “If I’m freakishly tall, what’s Merlin?”

Long pause.

Smirk.

“No,” Mav accusingly pointed, “I refuse to fall for that—I will not speak ill of my RIO, even though I’m his teacher.”

Tom chuckled.

Merlin had been lucky to be selected for TOPGUN again, though it was with the caveat that he wouldn’t be able to win the trophy in his session, as his pilot was going to be an instructor.

Merls had taken it well in stride, glad to be at TOPGUN, even if it meant he’d only graduate, as a reserve RIO for his session.

“Hey, did you hear?

History’s being made this session—we’re teaching the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN,” Tom remarked, once he’d eased the ache in his knee and ankle.

“Yeah, I know—and I know her; hell of a pilot,” Mav nodded. “Hell of a woman too.”

“Oh?” a blond brow rose wryly.

“Yeah, I met her two or so years ago, when the Black Aces chopped in on the Big E.

Callsign’s Thorn.

And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Mav’s voice was slightly muffled as he dug through his locker for a stick of deodorant. “Like you think I know her… carnally.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t flirt with any woman with a pulse.”

“Only most,” Tom nodded sagely, a smirk tugging his lips, even though his wingman couldn’t see it.

A finger was flipped in his direction over a shoulder. “Get in your khakis already, Icy-Hot-Man.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fuck you, Mav.”

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Mav threw back, and the shit-eating grin was audible in his voice, which made Tom secretly smile, to know his wingman and brother was happy.

After the two of them managed to get into their khakis in record time, they came up to the building with their classroom right with Jester and Viper, who spotted them and waved off their salutes. “Kazansky, Mitchell.

It’s good to see you both.

You ready.”

It was more statement than question, but despite the stoicism on the Vietnam veteran’s face, Tom could see the pride in his CO’s eyes, and the added glint of paternal pride, when he looked at Mav.

Though it made him sad to see that, reminding him of what he used to have, Tom was glad that the other aviator had a paternal influence in his adult life.

He’d had one before—Mav, on the other hand, hadn’t.

He really missed his Dedushka.

He pushed the thought away in time to see Viper gesture to follow him and Jester inside.

They all slipped their garrison caps off once they were under the fluorescent lights of the building, and the classroom door was in sight after a short walk.

“Alright,” Viper sighed, gaze running across all of them, a smile reminiscent of his callsign on his face, “time to school another batch of hotshots.

Let’s begin.”

The two wingmen exchanged a little grin, before squaring their shoulders and following Jester inside as Viper trailed behind.

“ATTENTION!!” Jester barked, striding to the front, Tom and Mav moving to the right side of the classroom, opposite the TV, following the order like everyone else in the room.

“At ease.”

At this, they all moved to parade rest, Tom and Mav having the luxury of clasping their hands before them, while Jester picked up a clipboard. “I will be calling out the driver and RIO teams.

After I call both your names, make yourselves known.

Lieutenant Solomon Bates, callsign “Warlock”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Kenneth Han, callsign “Shogun”.”

“Present, sir!” an Asian man about Tom’s height, and a tall African-American man enthusiastically chorused.

“Lieutenant Stephen Ruth, callsign “Babe”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Timothy Martin, callsign “Priest”.”

“Here, sir!”

“Lieutenant Edward Arellano, callsign “Belter”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Gabriel Presleigh, callsign “Elvis”.”

“Yes, sir!”

Lieutenant Henry Baker, callsign “Snackbar”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Matthias Novak, callsign “Links”.”

“Sir!”

“Lieutenant Julian Howell, callsign “Ash”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Randall Simmons, callsign “Igor”.”

“Up and ready, sir!”

The pilot, Howell, it was plain to see, had an arrogant, smug look on his face, almost like he felt it was inevitable he’d be at TOPGUN, and Tom sent Mav a sideways glance, which the other man returned.

Any hop with that particular pair was going to be interesting, and it was clear from the look on his wingman’s face, that his immediate dislike of the pilot was shared by Mav.

Tom looked forward to him and Mav educating Howell as to who were the best pilots, in the final hops.

“And finally, Lieutenant __ __, callsign “Thorn”, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Emmett Kinford, callsign “Romeo.””

“Yes, sir!” came a resonant alto and an even, low baritone, the call jarring insofar as it was to hear a woman’s voice mixed with that of a man’s in this room, heretofore the demesne of men.

Both had even expressions on their faces, pilot and RIO gazing straight ahead, while the OCD part of Tom’s mind registered that their khakis were in better form than even his own, ribbons not the slightest bit out of place, with creases you could cut yourself on, and that was saying something.

Her hair was carefully pulled into the regulation tight bun, not a single strand out of place, and her RIO’s dark waves were also the picture of military perfection.

“You may be seated.” Jester said after a beat, casting his gaze shrewdly around the room. “I am Commander Rick Heatherly—callsign Jester.

I am the Executive Officer of Fighter Weapons School, known to all naval aviators as TOPGUN, and your Lead Opposing.

Each one of you have been selected for a very specific reason; to become the best of the best’s best.

Blinds.”

The room went dark as the blinds were shut, and the familiar video began playing, the familiar speech being recited.

Soon, Jester finished his speech, calling for the blinds to be opened.

Light flooded into the room, and Tom fought to look dignified, not squinty, even as the sun assaulted his eyes.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your Junior Instructors, and this school’s Secondary Opposing; Lieutenant Tom Kazansky, callsign “Iceman”, and Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, callsign “Maverick”, last year’s Top Gun, and second place finisher respectively—”

Both he and Mav somehow straightened further, nodding professionally at their class.

“—and finally, our Commanding Officer here at TOPGUN, the very first man to win the Top Gun Trophy; and there is not a finer naval aviator in the world.

Captain Mike Metcalf—callsign “Viper”.”

Viper strode in and told the first class of ‘87 much the same things he did the flyboys of ‘86, and they all turned to get a good look at the Top Gun Trophy, whose newest brass plaque bore the engraving “LT T. Kazansky & LTJG R. Kerner — 1986”.

“You think your names are going to be up there?” Viper gazed speculatively at the class.

However, this time, no one filled the silence with an affirmative response—unlike Mav the year before—though Ash and Igor had hungry and yet self-assured looks in their eyes.

“Well, regardless of whose name ends up in brass at the end of these five weeks, at the end of the day, you—we—are all on the same team.

Gentlemen—and lady,” Viper nodded towards Thorn, “this school is about combat—there are no points for second place.

Dismissed.”

“Report to the quartermaster for your housing assignments, you’ll have today to get settled.” Jester called out to the room at large, “and remember, tomorrow’s first class starts at 0800.”

Most of the class quickly shuffled out of the room, but not before a few of them shot Thorn and Romeo, both of whom were still seated, skeptical—and in Ash and Igor’s case, outright dirty—looks, looks which she ignored, though one would have to be blind not to notice the protective menace emanating from her RIO despite the similar expression of indifference on his features.

But once her classmates had filed out, Thorn looked towards him and Mav, her indifference giving way to a radiant smile.

“Mav,” she exclaimed, striding over.

“Acey!” his wingman laughed, pulling her into a hug, briefly lifting her a slight distance off the floor.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you!”

“You too—it’s been too long.”

“Yeah—” here her expression sobered, “and I’m so sorry—I heard about Nick—Ro and I couldn’t believe it.”

“Nick was a great guy, it was such a shock—damn canopy of all things,” Romeo said, having walked over to give Mav a warm pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Mav breathed evenly, a bit too evenly for Tom’s liking. “Oh, uh, Thorn, Romeo, this is my f-friend and wingman, Tom Kazansky.”

All too glad to take the spotlight to give Mav time to breathe, he stepped forward, extending his hand. “You can call me Ice, it’s good to meet you.

Mav’s told me about you, Thorn.”

“Oh?

Only good things, I hope,” she said, shaking his hand.

Her hand had the same callouses he and most fighter pilots had—which gave him a bit of cognitive dissonance, because he was used to only feeling those callouses on other men—with a strong grip, and a confident posture as she looked up at him.

“Practically praised you to the stars and back,” he smiled, letting go of her hand.

“Hello, I’m chopped liver,” Romeo wryly stated as he shook Tom’s hand. “Call me Ro.”

“You’re hardly chopped liver, Ro, you’re the sixth best RIO I know,” Mav interjected, his voice and breathing seeming more like baseline.

“Thank you, I guess?” Romeo frowned.

Thorn broke in, “I gotta admit, for a second, I was kind of worried that you’d suddenly become too good for the likes of me and Ro, Mr. TOPGUN-Instructor and Three-Confirmed-Kills, I swear, Mav, that was the stillest I’ve ever seen you.”

The aforementioned man shrugged. “That’s Ice’s influence.

Got to stand still so you hotshots have a chance to admire us.”

Thorn huffed a light-hearted laugh, but Mav continued, “And I only got those kills thanks to this guy.

I had to lead some of the MiGs away so that he could have one all to himself,” Mav beamed, waggling his eyebrows.

Thorn blinked, “Oh yeah, you’ve got one too.”

Before he could reply, Mav proudly cut in, “Yes, he does—and this guy held out against five MiGs.”

“Sli and I’d have burned in if you didn’t get there in time, Mav,” Tom said, determined that his wingman would get the praise he deserved.

Said wingman turned, eyes narrowed hopefully. “Is this you admitting I’m the better pilot?”

He scoffed lightly, “Any pilot would have trouble against five adversaries, the best or not.”

“I’ll get you to admit it one day,” the diminutive pilot muttered.

Tom clapped Mav on the shoulder. “Today is not that day, buddy.”

Another huffed laugh had the two wingmen remembering that their students were still in the room.

Romeo was shaking his head in the way of those who have fondly dealt with the inimitable Pete Mitchell, and Thorn had a small smile on her face, but it was no less bright than the one she had when she greeted Mav. “You look good, Mav.”

“Uhh�� thanks?

But I always do.”

Thorn scoffed, and Romeo rolled his eyes so hard, Tom was surprised the RIO didn’t pull something.

She turned to him, a look in her eyes that spoke as if he had passed some test he didn’t know about, turning the tables on him, her instructor, and they weren’t even in the air yet. “You keep taking care of this Firebird for me, huh?”

Something about receiving her unsought approval shot a bolt of feeling through him, searing through his being, like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. “Of course.”

“Good,” she breathed, her small smile turning to a grin. “I guess—I guess Ro and I better go, because I’m sure our classmates got the good housing already.”

“We’ll accompany you to your housing, once you get your assignment—the uh—” he cleared his throat and sniffed, “the housing here is laid out pretty weird.”

Tom could feel Mav’s gaze snap to him at a practically supersonic speed, but he ignored it, in favor of shooting Thorn a charming, if not slightly awkward, smile.

Her head tilted at a slight angle, keen gaze analyzing him like he was some sort of problem she couldn’t quite solve. “If that’s what you want to do with your time, sure thing, sir.”

His brain shut down on him for a split second, for some odd reason, but he managed to evenly reply, “We’re the same rank.”

“That shiny Junior Instructor title of yours begs to differ, but whatever you say… sir.”

A nudge at his side snapped him out of whatever strange fugue his brain was trying to drag him into.

He’d have to get more sleep, he figured.

“What’d I tell you, Ice?

Sometimes I wonder if Acey here should have been the Firebird instead of me—because I’m well on my way to becoming an ace, as you all know,” Mav declared.

“Imagine being deployed with this for months,” Thorn sighed, but with a teasing glimmer in her eyes.

“Imagine agreeing to get stationed with him, and being his wingman,” Tom reparteed.

“Oh, I can,” she nodded knowingly. “I have stories, by the way.”

“Oh?

Do tell,” he grinned, playfully ignoring the groan from his wingman.

She blinked, her expression frozen for a split second, before she gestured to the aisle, “Mind if we walk and talk?”

“At your leave, Lieutenant.”

She shook her head slightly, but strode onwards, their strides matching in less than half a beat. “So there was this one incident with some shaving cream…”

When the four of them arrived at the quartermaster, as Thorn predicted, her and Romeo’s classmates were long gone.

“Hello, shitty housing,” she muttered, as she and Romeo approached the quartermaster, while he and Mav stood a ways behind.

“You’re being weird.”

“What?” Tom turned to see Mav staring at him like he was an F-14 requiring diagnostics and a shit-ton of maintenance.

“I said you’re being weird—”

“Yeah,” he slowly began, “I heard you the first time, Mav, what do you mean?”

“You—you’re being… nice,” was the other aviator’s perplexed reply, accompanied by an equally consterned gesture.

It was his turn to stare. “I am nice.”

“Uh-huh, but you’re not usually this—this, to people you don’t know.

Who are you, and what have you done to my wingman?”

If Tom were to be honest, he himself knew that he wasn’t exactly acting in character, but there was just something that tugged him to… be warmer towards Thorn and Romeo.

He put it down to wanting to repay the TOPGUN students for being kind to his brother, when not many others were.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Mav,” he said, sounding somewhat lame to even his own ears, truthful as it was.

“Okay, sure,” the other man nodded, in an extremely distrustful tone.

“Got it!” Thorn declared, she and Romeo marching up. “Let’s see what Government Issued shanty we’ll be put up in, shall we?

Looks like we’re at… 315 Vraciu.”

Tom spoke up. “That’s not bad, I think; a couple of our classmates last year were put up in that same housing—Charles Piper and Marcus Williams—and I don’t think they had any problems.”

Romeo clicked his tongue, “Well, that’s a first—less-than half-decent housing’s usually par for the course for me and Thorn.

This’ll be a refreshing change.”

Tom would never understand why good pilots were blamed for things they couldn’t change, Mav for his father’s “betrayal” and his own unconventional flying style, and Thorn for her gender, through relentless hazing and/or poor treatment.

If he ever rose high enough to change things, he swore he would.

The housing was a basic, cookie cutter home a little over a five minute drive from the main TOPGUN building, and on the way there, Thorn and Mav were seated in the back of Tom’s truck, catching up, while Romeo sat shotgun.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Tom saw that both pilots were animatedly discussing things that had happened since the last time they saw each other, including the infamous inverted-over-a-MiG situation.

“Are they always like this?” he said in sotto voce to the RIO beside him.

Romeo flicked his dark gaze to the backseat, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah.

It’s nice to see her happy.

Not a lot of people think much of her, since she’s a woman, you know.

But Mav, he and Goose, they never saw that, they just saw a good pilot, and I’m grateful.

They were the only ones who wanted to fly with us.”

Tom frowned in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

If Mav was singing her praises, she must be a phenomenon in the sky—who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

“Nope.

They were the only ones who volunteered, so they kind of got stuck with us that whole deployment.”

At this point, they arrived at 315 Vraciu, and they all hopped out, the two students carrying their seabags to the door.

Thorn unlocked the door, she and Romeo tossing their bags in the entrance. “Well, thanks for the ride,” she nodded, Romeo doing likewise behind her.

“No problem, my pleasure,” Tom replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’ll see you both around, I guess.”

He imagined that her eyes lingered longer on him than they did on Mav, and… he didn’t exactly know how he felt about that.

Mav threw off a nonchalant salute while he sent a respectful nod, before they moved to go back to his truck.

They were halfway there when they heard, “Hey Mav!”

The two of them halted, turning to see the fire of challenge in Thorn’s brilliant eyes. “You gonna take it easy on me?”

Mav scoffed, “You think I’m an idiot?”

She carefully maintained a blank look, and Mav flipped her off with a grin.

Her expression sharpened, gaze landing on him, callsign all too accurate, as the edge of defiance in her voice rang through the air. “And how about you—are you going to take it easy on me?”

He had to admire her for that already.

“If you’re as good as Mav says, that’d be a damn injustice.”

Her answering smile was dagger-keen. “Looking forward to seeing you up there, then.”

Something in him thrilled to the thought of having another worthy opponent in the sky. “It’ll be a highlight of my day, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see.”

Though not unkindly, the door shut in their faces soon after.

Tom stared at the door a moment longer, before again turning to see Mav frowning.

“You’re really being weird.”

“…Shut up, Mav.”

“Alright boys—just to remind you, we have the classes in the morning, and we’re going up in the afternoon.

For the first hop, it’s going to be Jester against Thorn and Romeo, Mitchell against Warlock and Shogun, then Ash and Igor.”

An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over Tom as he realized Viper’s hop arrangement meant he wouldn’t get to fly against Thorn the first day, but he managed to keep most of the expression off his face, especially with Mav treating him like a problem to solve the whole rest of last night.

Indeed, the shorter man was and had been surreptitiously studying him.

“Which leaves me with Belter and Elvis, and you, Kazansky, with Snackbar and Links, then Babe and Priest, for the second hop.”

Just a banner day for Thomas Kazansky, wasn’t it?

Couldn’t fly against Thorn, and didn’t even get to school Ash and Igor.

“Everyone understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!”s rang through the room, and Viper nodded, pleased.

“Dismissed, then.

To your classes, gentlemen.”

Viper knocked a fist against the table twice before he and Jester departed the briefing room.

Tom gathered his folders and looked at his wingman, who was neatening a very short stack of papers. “I was hoping to have first crack at Ash and Igor,” he muttered.

“I know,” Mav smirked.

Resigned, he sighed, “Well, kick their ass extra hard for me, will ya?”

The smaller man’s smirk took on a devilish quality. “I’ll draw first blood, then you wipe the floor with them, and us together, it’ll be game over,” he stated, as he extended a fist.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom nodded, sealing the agreement with a fist bump.

As he bent to pick up his attaché case, Tom’s eyes were again drawn to the minuscule stack of papers the other man had. “You got the material for your class today, right?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sort of,” Mav shrugged.

“‘Sort of’.

What exactly do ‘sort of’ class materials look like?”

Mav spread his hands, and he knew. “In all honesty, I was gonna just kind of wing it.”

Tom honestly should have seen it coming—but Maverick mavericking was what made Maverick, Maverick.

“Okay,” he replied, trying to hide his grin. “Sounds good.

Good—good, good.”

He managed to hold his laughter in until he reached the hall, but even then, an “Up yours, Ice!” followed him around the corner.

Tom’s class went smoothly, and after a lunch that he eagerly finished, he eventually found himself in his flight gear, fidgeting in the instructor’s ready room.

Having completed his preflight, he decided to chalk his restlessness down to the novelty of flying an A-4, a single-seater, with no Slider in his ear or backseat, as he listened intently to the comms for the first hop, Viper doing the same across the room.

Mav and Jester engaged Warlock and Shogun, and Thorn and Romeo, respectively, once the Commander called “Fight’s on!”, and Mav made short work of Warlock and Shogun, getting tone on the other pilot and RIO in a little over two minutes.

Commendable, in his opinion, for their students.

Mav called for them to knock it off and return to base, before moving on to Ash and Igor.

It was then that he realized that Jester was still engaged with Thorn and Romeo.

Romeo was evenly calling out altitudes, positions, and break directions, while Thorn composedly called maneuvers out, interrupted only by the sound of the two aviators g-straining, the F-14’s engines in the background.

He briefly turned his attention to Mav, who had engaged Ash and Igor; the two were, as he predicted, scrambling wildly for their “lives” (and based on what he was hearing, would get tone locked in a matter of seconds), in radical contrast to Thorn, who was calmly holding her own.

In his head, he could see a vague picture of what was going on up there with Jester, Thorn, and Romeo, and Tom realized that he wasn’t sure how it was going to end, the sound of Mav getting tone on Ash and Igor fading into the background.

Tom could hear the strain in Thorn and Romeo’s voices as they fought more g-forces while calling movement and other things out—they had to be at or near corner speed to make them sound like that.

Tom could hear the faint, steady beeping which warned of imminent tone lock, and he hoped she would win this, if only to prove his wingman’s faith in her skill correct.

Just as the beeping grew faster, Thorn muttered, “Just a little… come on, come on…”

He leaned forward in his seat, and realized he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to inhale.

Then suddenly, the blare of confirmed tone.

Disappointment for her sake sank in his stomach, but only for the briefest moment, because the voice which triumphantly called out “Good lock!” was distinctly female. “That’s a kill, Commander!”

And Tom could breathe again.

Holy shit, Mav was right—she was a hell of a pilot.

Thorn managed to keep too much of the gloating out of her tone, but it was a fairly narrow thing, and in his opinion, it was justified.

A faint sound caught his attention—if he didn’t know any better, Tom could have sworn that that was a… fond chuckle that came from Jester.

“Copy kill.

Well, knock it off, Lieutenant, and RTB.”

“Yes, sir!”

Without really thinking about it, he went to the flight line, in time to see the three F-14s and two A-4s land.

His eyes were drawn to her jet as she pulled in to the flight line, and he was faintly aware of Mav’s A-4 pulling up beside his.

She’d done the impossible; Thorn, a female naval aviator, got chosen for TOPGUN, and got tone on her instructor the first day.

Technically, that wasn’t anything new—Mav had done similar—but in a sense, it was.

Women were just starting to be seen as capable of being in the military, in combat roles, to be exact, and to see a woman do something that had been the domain of men for decades, centuries, and do it just as well as a man—better even; as evidenced by the fact that in her hop, she was the only one to get tone on her instructor…

He really had to admire that—admire her.

“That good enough of an ass kicking for ya, Ice?”

Tom was snapped out of his introspection from the sudden appearance of his wingman at his side, running a hand through his hair, helmet under his arm.

“What?”

Mav grinned, “I got tone on Ash and Igor in roughly a minute or so.

How the fuck those two got picked for TOPGUN eludes me.”

Tom scoffed and shook his head in agreement. “Bet I can get tone on them faster, though.”

Mav slapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll see, Ice.”

A sudden whoop of jubilant laughter drew his gaze, and he could see Thorn about thirty paces away, coming ever closer, and his breath caught in his throat—her mouth was split in a beaming smile, wild and passionate, illuminating her from within with effervescent joy, her shining eyes endlessly reflecting her exhilaration.

Her bun was coming slightly loose, tendrils of hair framing her face and swaying in the breeze, while her flight suit clung to her figure, helmet dangling insouciantly from her fingers; it was decorated with a briar all over, red roses among thorns made of black aces, and it had her callsign across its brow.

Her eyes landed on him, and her smile took on a mischievous quality. “We got Jester, nailed him on the first day.

You gonna be ready for us?” Then, as if she only noticed Mav next to him at that moment, she amended, “Both of you?”

He grinned, just shy of showing too many teeth, nonchalantly stepping closer, shifting his weight to lean towards her, hip slightly cocked to keep his balance, barely paying any mind to the tension in Romeo’s stance behind his pilot. “We’ll see who gets tone on whom first.”

Thorn smirked as she looked him up and down, teeth tugging her bottom lip for the briefest moment before she clicked her tongue, “Good thing I’ve got front row seats for that show, then.” She pivoted on her heel, walking backwards as she sent him a casual salute, before turning to stride back to the locker room, Romeo following her with a minutely narrowed glance over his shoulder at him.

“Huh.”

He turned from watching the pilot and RIO, to see Mav again at his side, glancing back and forth between him and Thorn and Romeo.

Tom frowned, “What ‘huh’?”

“Nothing, nothing,” came the too-quick answer. “Just huh.”

“…Now who’s being weird?”

Tom’s hop with Viper was not quite as interesting as Mav with Jester’s, though he did have to commend all three pilots for holding out for a few minutes, which was more than Ash and Igor could say.

The debrief was a thing of beauty—going in reverse order from lowest to highest hop score, meant that he got to witness Mav positively eviscerate Ash and Igor as the first order of business, and the sheer stupidity that Ash displayed in the air, made Tom wonder what guardian angel or deity sent this idiot to TOPGUN.

He mentally saw a dozen different maneuvers that Ash could have done, that, while they might not have gotten him tone on Mav, they would have helped him last longer against the other pilot.

The debrief drew on, Tom stepping forward when it was his turn, not sparing the other pilots their vivisections, though theirs were not quite as harsh, by sheer dint of them not being as idiotic as Ash and Igor, and finally, it was the debrief he was waiting for; Thorn and Romeo’s.

He had an idea of what happened in the air, but he wanted to know what exactly she had done.

It was textbook and yet genius.

He was right; once they hit the merge, flying at corner speed through a series of turns, Thorn had maneuvered to force Jester to increase his turn rate, bleeding his airspeed, playing the Skyhawk’s weakness against it, before placing him in her sights.

“…all in all, great work, Lieutenant,” Jester complimented, writing her hop score of 5 on the board, the highest number of all the teams that day, sending her a nod.

Her face was impassive as she replied, “Thank you, sir,” but Tom could see the vindication in her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all learned something from your classes and most especially, your hops today,” Viper declared, pacing the front of the classroom. “This is only the first day, and to borrow a saying from our SEAL cousins, ‘The only easy day was yesterday’.”

The Captain stared the students down, pair by pair, searching for something in each of them.

Finally, he stated, “You’re all dismissed.”

After Jester and Viper left, leaving him and Mav, as the junior instructors, to neaten things, Ash and Igor were predictably the first out the door—just shy of storming out, while most of the others looked at Thorn with less suspicion than the day before, a few actually lingering.

While he was fixing the markers, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Warlock step forward first, a light smile on his face. “Hey, uh, that was great, what you pulled today—I’m Solomon, but you can call me Sol or Warlock, whichever you prefer.

This is my RIO, Ken, but he prefers Shogun.”

The Asian man genially lifted a hand in greeting, “Really wish I could have seen that.”

Babe chuckled, “Yeah, that was good, wish I’d have thought of what you did, maybe I’d have had a chance against Kazansky—I’m Stephen.”

Priest, his RIO, cooed, “Aw, you embarrassed by your callsign, Babe?”

“Shut up, Tim,” Babe glared.

Priest raised both hands in surrender. “Not my fault your last name’s Ruth—I’m this stick in the mud’s RIO, Tim—call me Priest, that there’s Belter and Elvis.”

Tom almost laughed at the expression Thorn made; the momentary shock on her face was palpable, but it was swiftly concealed—the only reason it registered for him was because he was so used to reading Mav’s microexpressions.

“Thanks—nice to meet you all.

I’m Thorn, this’ Romeo, my RIO.”

Romeo shook hands with them all, a pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

“You weren’t too bad up there yourselves, from what I heard,” she continued.

“Yeahhh, but who got tone on their instructor first day?

Not this guy,” Priest waggled his eyebrows, jerking both thumbs at his pilot, “and not any of these guys,” making the others groan or laugh.

Tom ducked his head, hiding his smile; he was glad that the others seemed to be warming up to her, he wanted her to have the same experience as he did at TOPGUN—establishing a brotherhood with his classmates.

“—Tom!”

He pivoted to see Mav snapping his fingers close to his face, and he reflexively flinched back from his wingman’s hand in his face. “What?”

He belatedly realized that he’d been saying that a little too much recently.

As if he were speaking to a particularly dull child, Mav spoke slowly. “Do you think I can erase the board now?”

“Yeah, uh, but not the scores.”

“Of course not.

You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah—fine, it’s just a… long day.”

The suspicion in Mav’s eyes didn’t fade as he sighed and nodded. “Feel up to The O Club tonight?

Maybe decompress a bit, have a drink?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Maybe a drink was what he needed, his mind seemed to be all over the place.

“‘Kay—meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

Once he finished with the room, he followed Mav out, sending a look to where Thorn was still talking with her classmates, to see that her gaze was already on him.

Her eyes immediately went back to her classmates, but nevertheless, he felt branded by her stare, like it was a tangible thing, searing through his veins, sending a paradoxical shiver down his spine.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he could admit it; he didn’t know what it was, but he felt drawn to her.

To what end… he didn’t know.

And that…

That scared him.

Tom eased his precious Chevelle into a parking spot near the door of The O Club; a rarity, but one very welcomed, given how busy the bar seemed.

(The fact that it was within sight of Mav’s highly recognizable Ninja was a perk—he and Slider had stopped one too many parking lot beatdowns.)

He reached for his Shooters, narrowly stopping himself from putting them on (Mav hated it when he did that at night; “It makes you look like a dick”, according to his wingman), instead tucking them into the pocket of his whites, carefully opening the driver’s door, squeezing himself out of the narrow gap he afforded himself.

The black metal flake paint was pristine, and he intended to keep it that way, it didn’t matter how ridiculous he may look.

The O Club was, as the parking lot showed, busy, full of people in service whites, throwing him back to last year, that first night for the flyboys of ‘86.

He cast his gaze around the bar, peering through the haze of cigarette smoke and the people, searching for his wingman’s squirrelly figure, before a call of “Ice; over here!” pierced through the sound of numerous conversations and the jukebox, before a hand flailed wildly, becoming visible over the heads of the crowd.

Mav had claimed seats at the bar; prime real estate with the place this hectic—he didn’t want to know how the other man had kept the seat next to him free when every Tom (hah), Dick, and Harry were clamoring for a seat at the bar.

He made his way through the crowd, gratefully settling onto the barstool next to Mav, also dressed in his service whites. “Hey Mav,” he greeted.

“Hey; I ordered already, I assumed you’d want your usual vodka on the rocks.”

“Thanks; you know me too well.”

“Kind of hard to miss when it’s literally what you order every single time,” Mav smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes—he was a creature of habit, sue him.

(And if vodka on the rocks reminded him of his Dedushka, what was wrong with that?)

“Seems like all of Fightertown is here tonight,” he muttered to Mav.

“You’re not too far off on that, I saw basically all of our students here,” the other man replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Only ones I haven’t seen are Thorn and Romeo, actually,” he finished casually.

Rather against Tom’s will, something in him lurched forward, his thought process halting, making him feel like he’d just snagged the third wire on the carrier deck.

Despite that, he managed a calm—at least in his opinion—“Oh.”

“Mmm.” Another calm sip of beer from his wingman—too calm.

He narrowed his eyes and sighed at Mav. “What the fuck is that ‘Mmm’ for?”

The dark-haired aviator pulled an expression like he just sucked on a lemon. “What, can’t a guy just ‘Mmm’ anymore?”

“Not when you’ve been fucking weird for the past two days,” he replied, sending the harried bartender a grateful nod as they slid his vodka on the rocks over to him.

“I’m not weird, you’re weird,” was Mav’s reply, and he narrowed his eyes at the muted shimmer of something in the other pilot’s eyes.

He was about to retort when his eyes were drawn to the door, and the bulk of Romeo walked in, his head and whites-clad shoulders peeking above quite a few people’s.

It was mere curiosity, he told himself, that led him to lean to see if his pilot was also with him.

It took a beat, but then, several people in the crowd moved, and he saw her—her hair cascaded down her shoulders, as sharp eyes surveyed The O like it was the skies, dressed, unlike everyone else in the Navy who occupied this space, in civvies; a loose, white blouse tucked into jeans, cinched with a thick brown leather belt at her waist.

And everything seemed to fade into the background, the sight of her drowning out the sound of the bar, and Mav’s howling laughter.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

Faceclaims

Russian glossary

Disclaimer: translations are from the interwebs.

Please don’t kill me.

Dedushka: Grandfather

Two years is the real-life age gap between Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer.

The story behind Ice and Slider’s bad ejection actually did happen to a pilot-RIO pair, then-Commander William Switzer and then-Lieutenant (junior grade) David “Bio” Baranek on December 19, 1981, aboard the very same aircraft carrier that I mentioned.

You can read the detailed description of the incident here, retold by Commander Baranek, for the Ejection Tie Club of the Martin-Baker company, who specialize in making ejection seats—including those of the F-14 Tomcat—for pilots and backseaters who have ejected using a Martin-Baker ejection seat.

VFA-41, the “Black Aces”, based out of NAS Lemoore, were featured in Top Gun: Maverick as the squadron of Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, and I thought that would be nice to include that, in this universe at least, Phoenix is a member of the squadron with the first female naval aviator selected for TOPGUN.

Icy-Hot is a liniment that has been on the market since before 1931.

The name of LTJG Kenneth “Shogun” Han is a reference to this scene in the now-ABC hit series, 9-1-1, where paramedic/firefighter Howard “Chimney” Han, played by actor Kenneth Choi, replies that if he weren’t a paramedic/firefigher, he’d have liked to be a Navy TOPGUN graduate, with the callsign “Shogun”.

The names of Henry “Snackbar” Baker, Stephen “Babe” Ruth, and Timothy “Priest” Martin are a reference to both the original name of Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe—Henry Ruth—and the Martin-Baker company.

The speeches that Jester and Viper give are nearly word for word the same as the speeches that they gave in TG86, with some authorly variation because I didn’t want to rehash the same speeches that we heard in the movie word for word.

Again, VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation, instead bearing the insignia of VAW-110, the “Firebirds”, who flew the E-2 Hawkeye, which was shown as Comanche in TG:M.

Alexander Vraciu was a WWII Navy ace who downed 12 Japanese aircraft and sank a Japanese merchant ship with a direct hit to her stern.

The merge is a concept used in air combat, where aerial warfighters engage with enemy aircraft by steering their plane toward the adversary—this maneuver is referred to as “going to the merge.”

Corner Speed

Did anyone catch the TG:M line reference?

Special thanks to @valmare for the Ice has a Chevelle headcanon!

Service Whites

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#top gun rocktober #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #val kilmer

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jollyhunter · 7 months ago

Text

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 1.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content and sex toys, soft!dom Dean. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! Also, English is not my native language

Advent calendar includes: headcanons, snippets, one shots, imagines, blurbs etc.

Words: 2,380

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

A/N: If you want to be tagged for the next parts, just let me know. And feedback is welcome!! Enjoy! 🦊

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

1st Dec. - Sunshine

“Sunshine?” You repeat the unexpected nickname with a little grin while you sit down on the edge of the motels bed. You were used to sweetheart, darling, love or even baby, but sunshine? “That’s a new one…” you remark with a teasing lift of your eyebrow, your eyes darting from his, back down to the gift on your lap.

“I thought it suited you.” He explains with an expression which was almost too innocent for him. Clearly he is trying his best to hide his knowing smile, but his excited voice betrays him. “Now open it, sunshine.”

“Uh-huh”, Your finger tugs at the unconventional gift paper, which consisted of nothing but a roll of toilet paper that hung loosely around the small package. “Interesting wrapping paper you picked there…” You comment with a wry smile. This was so typical Dean.

He chuckles at your remark, “What can I say? I’m a fan of practical gift wrapping,” he says with a cocky smirk, taking a seat next to you, “It’s eco-friendly.” The mattress dipped down from his weight and your shoulders bumped against each other. He makes a great effort to play it cool, but the slight friction was enough for you to notice the excitement and arousal which was radiating off of him. This just made you wonder even more; What the hell is that sly bastard up to this time?

Dean watches as you carefully unwrap the package, clearly intrigued by what he had given you. “But I promise, the content’s worth the toilet paper sacrifice,” he adds with a playful smirk. There it was again, that all too familiar glint in his green eyes. That flash of ‘oh baby if only you knew’.

At last, you rip the box open, your eyes peering down to be met with… Oh dear lord. Your eyes widen and Dean could see a million thoughts flicker across your face at the moment of realization. This is exactly the reaction he had hoped for. He has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep a straight face – but fails miserably.

“You stick it where the sun don’t shine… sunshi-”

“I know where it goes.” you cut him short in a sputter, your mind still trying to catch up with this... this gift, “I just- I’ve never-…”

“- done it before. I know,” he finishes for you, his voice a mixture of teasing and reassuring, “Remember that talk we had? About tryin’ new things.” He leans over, his shoulders brushing against your chest as he reaches into the box. “You like it?”, he asks, feigning innocence. He takes the toy out of the box to trace a finger lightly over the small, jewel-adorned plug.

“I-...I- uh-,” You start, but your eyes keep drifting down to the toy in his hand, your mind racing – damnit, you were usually confident and experienced when it came down to these things… but, to be honest, kinky stuff really hasn’t made it into your bedroom so far. But trying these things with Dean for the first time? You’d be damned for missing out on that. And hey, don't knock it till you try it, right?

“Yeh, I like it,” you finally say, trying to muster some of your usual confidence, “I mean… I did say I wanna spice it up...”

That answer hit jackpot in Dean’s expression. He bites his bottom lip, trying to contain his eagerness, yet again, failing miserably. “Well, don’t keep me waitin’,” he teases, his voice just a tad bit lower than usual. You glance down at the toy and back up at him, unsure how to approach this exactly.

Noticing your lost expression, Dean gently takes your hand and leads you to stand up in front of him, him still seated on the edge of the bed. “Strip.” His tone has an authoritative edge to it now, though his eyes remain soft, almost tender as he tries to guide you.

You feel a little shiver run down your spine; that damn voice could have made your knees buckle any time. Nodding slightly, you slowly begin to undress, stripping off layer after layer of clothing until you stand completely naked before him. Dean takes a moment to admire your body, his eyes roaming over every part of you. As his gaze lands on your hips, he speaks again, his voice a low growl. “Now turn around, sweetheart.” He places his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing over your skin, sending a row of shivers through your body. Once you face away from him, you involuntarily bite your lower lip in anticipation. With the toy in his grasp, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get on your hands and knees, sunshine.” You swallow thickly. But again, you obey his command without question and you drop down onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the bed. By now you can feel the excitement and lust raise more with each of your quickened breaths. And Dean can almost smell your arousal as he has to bite back a groan from it, his bulge growing bigger. He pushes off the bed and places a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you slightly forward, forcing you to arch your back slightly. He runs his fingertips down your spine, eliciting another small shiver from you. Out of your sight, but still not going unnoticed by your ears, you hear him lick the bottom of his lips at the sight while he could feel all of his blood go south. He leans in close to you, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

A small whimper leaves your lips at the praise and the feeling of his firm hands on your bare skin are already enough to make you dripping wet. You hear Dean move behind you, reaching for the lube on the bedside table and what you assume, coating the toy with it. He then gently leans against your back, the cold buckle of his belt and the evidence of his arousal pressing against your bare skin. You bite back a groan from it, silently wishing nothing more but for him to unbuckle those damn pants already. But you know, you’d have to be patient for now, so you keep your needy sounds back as well as you can. At least until you gasp loudly when you suddenly feel the cool, metallic surface make contact with the warm skin of your buttocks. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand soothingly massaging the small of your back. “I’ll be gentle.” His voice is even deeper now, filled with lust. You feel his hands continue their exploration, running over your curves and every dip, his calloused fingers caressing you like you are a work of art he wants to savour. His hands send sparks up your spine and you find yourself shudder and your breath hitch whenever his fingers brush across your most sensitive spots. “Now, this might feel a lil’ odd at first,” you hear him whisper, his lips hovering over the back of your neck as you feel his warm breath tingle your skin and the fabric of his flannel rest against your back. “Lemme know if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I will,” you reassure him in a low mumble, not managing to hide the slight trepidation from your voice while your fingers idly searched the rug for something to dig your fingers into.

Dean feels you tense under his touch and he makes sure to keep his hands firm yet tender, his fingers tracing reassuringly over your skin. “Remember, just relax,” he repeats, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks. A shaky breath escapes your lips and you do your best to loosen up your muscles and melt into his strong hands which always give you a feeling of safety, no matter what you two did. And you two had done a lot of adventurous things so far.

“I’ve got you,” you hear him whisper against your ear again. And this time you could swear you even heard some vulnerability in his voice. You trust him, always, no doubt about that. But it’s moments like these, rare little moments of him giving you a glimpse of how damn much he really cares about you feeling safe and protected in his presence, that makes you eager to reassure him. Maybe even please him a little. You hum a soft “Mhm”, silently giving him the final go.

Then, he begins to slowly press the plug forward, his hand still resting on your back, steadying you. You feel the cool and wet tip sliding further inside, spreading you surprisingly well – but then a little sting makes you gasp from the unexpected feeling, which let your muscles tense up momentarily, before you feel his soothing hands again, and you relax under his touch.

“Shhh, ‘tis alright,” he coos softly, the plug inching inside you at the same time, “Good girl. You deserve a big treat.” Your legs tremble from the sensation and a low whimper leaves your lips – it’s not bad, but still very new and you were constantly fighting the urge to clench your buttocks around the unfamiliar object. When Dean finally stilled in his movement and the toy reached its end, you couldn’t hold back the shaky exhale which was close to a soft moan. Now that your body has adjusted to it, it feels… surprisingly exciting and pleasurable. And damnit, you want more now. You need more.

A sudden pleading whine hits Dean’s ears and his smirk widens into a cocky grin at the needy noise coming from your trembling form. “You want more, sunshine?”

“Yes...please,” you whimper instantly, your hands and knees shifting along the rug, in a desperate attempt to get some friction between your thighs. He groans – this time failing to hold it back in. The sight of you, all needy and exposed and you wearing that pretty jewel adorned-plug that’s twinkling in the low light of the motel room and fuck- he just noticed how wet you are. He briefly grazes his bottom lip with his teeth before he clenches his jaw to force down a swallow, his voice a low rumble under his breath, “Goddamn honey…”. Meanwhile his fingers run along the inside of your wet thighs, scooping up some of your juice like he wanted to make sure that none of it went to waste. He brings his fingertips up to his lips where he then licks them off with a deep groan.

And that just does it to make Dean give in.

Without giving you the chance to prepare, he goes back to your pussy and effortlessly pushes two fingers past your slick lips, drawing a deep moan from you as you feel a shudder go through your body. He keeps one hand on the small of your back, while his fingers pump inside you, relentless and eager to give you the release you deserve. “You were such a good girl,” he praises you, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot which makes you almost buckle. “Oh God-” you moan shakily, the sensation of his thick fingers filling you up on one side while the butt plug is spreading your other side, was almost too much.

“You can take it, come on,” he challenges you with a gravelly voice, his teeth grazing your neck as if to dare you to talk back. “‘M gonna make sure you get what you deserve and then some,” he whispers against your ear, the sound of it a threat as much as a promise. And then he starts scissoring his fingers while holding you in place with his other hand. You groan loudly, your fingers clutching the next thing they can reach - the damn toilet paper wrapping, which rip and crumple from your nails in an instant. Your hip‘s bucking involuntarily at the increased pressure and a row of guttural moans leave your throat. “F-fuck” you whine breathlessly, the feeling of being spread and stretched becoming almost bordering painful and yet oh so pleasurable as you feel the knot inside you tighten up more and more. The working of his fingers and the pressure in your butt get you close to the edge in record time as you just give in and let him do his magic. Your legs start to shake and if it wasn’t for his fingers dug into the flesh at your hip, you’d have keeled over by now for sure. Dean increases the speed, now his thumb flicking over your swollen bundle of nerves every time he pumps his fingers inside of you again.

“F-fuck, Dean, I- I’m- I’m comin’-” your voice breaks off when his fingers hit your g-spot again and you find yourself whimper into the rug, your nails clawing at the floor.

“That’s it-” he praises you again, now slowing down his pace but thrusting them as deep as he can while his arm slams against the plug, pressing it further in - and that‘s the last push it takes to tip you over the edge. You feel your legs give in as the knot finally bursts and the wave of ecstasy hits you, your walls clenching around his fingers and your body tensing up. Dean keeps you from falling forward, his fingers still going and his grip on your hip tightening while he’s murmuring words that go past your clouded mind. He lets you ride out your hight while your juice is soaking his entire arm. You moan out his name with a final shudder before he lets you collapse to the floor.

Dean looks down at your trembling form, all spent and limp. A satisfied grin spreads across his face while his tongue swipes over his glistening arm, savouring your sweetness and cleaning some of the mess. After a moment, he kneels down behind you, his hands caressing your butt where he pulls the plug gently out, putting it aside before his hands go back to soothingly stroke your arms and legs. He places a row of tender kisses on the back of your neck, his voice a low rumble, filled with affection and pride as he whispers against the nape of your neck. “Happy first advent, sunshine.”

EDIT: I revised some of it. My sleep-deprived brain had left out some parts which I just had to add / adjust.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags: (thank you lovely sweeties, I hope you enjoyed it!)

@deaniemyboo @deansjacket @literallylexa

#dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #spn reader insert #spn x reader #spn x you #dean winchester #soft dom! dean winchester x reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural #spn #kinky advent calendar

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queengiuliettafirstlady · 6 months ago

Text

Snowed in affection

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Jean x Julia (Half-Pureblood vampire)

Part of : Ikemen Advent hosted by me and @candied-boys

Prompt : December 11 - Sleigh

Tag: Established relationship Fluff

Word Count : 414

Author’s Note: A lazy sleigh ride turn into a blissful date when boldy she decide to take matters into her own hands and show off her love to him with a gentle kiss. 🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978

@william-rex @candied-boys @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic @lichtluv

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty @ike-garden2024

@maeko-kun @oda-princess @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

The weather that morning though chilly seemed clear, no clouds on the horizon menacing rain, the sun too long hidden away was more than happy to shine on the sky, reflecting its light on the snow that fallen during the night, creating a winter wonderland the two lovebirds of the mansion took advantage of by exploring it comfortable sat on a sleigh.

"It always amazes me the amount of unnecessary stuff your uncle kept hoarded around."

"Well I won't call this unnecessary."

Julia leaned against the sleigh soft cushions looking at him, that with experted hands had taken the reins of the white horses leading the sleigh, riding it all though the mansion gardens, Jean didn’t needed to look at her to know she was smiling, thing that despite the harsh wind hitting his skin made his lips curl upward.

“Are you enjoying the view, Julia ?”

“Absolutely.”

“Julia.”

“Yes.”

“What do you like about the landscape ?”

“The scenery ? Everything but I must say I am afraid I got a bit distracted you see I couldn't help it but I see something much more attractive at the head of the sleigh.”

Jean retort melted into a low scoff as he felt his cheeks on fire despite the cold weather.

“Mhh it seems my knight is shy.”

A lulling cadences to her words made him pull the reins of the horses that stopped to a halt amidst the snow cladded hill as he turned around meeting her challenging gaze.

“I'm not.”

Jean was to protest but before he could speak a pair of soft lips landed on his breathing warmth into his frozen ones, spreading in him a smoldering fire much more warmer than the sun ever could, like the snow melting under the sun he relaxed wrapping his arms around Julia shorter form, keeping her close as he kissed her back even more fiercely.

A kiss Jean broke away from only reluctantly, so drunken with love he felt at the sight of Julia’s chartreuse eyes glimmering with unconditional affection he had to lean his forehead to hers, taking delight in the tender smile curling her lips a spectacle more bedazzling than even the bright sun could have never compared to, gently he brushed his nose against hers, revelling in the carefree giggles pouring from her rosy lips, ever so gently he brushed his gloved thumb on her cheek feeling his heart race madly in his chest as he gazed at her with a fond smile.

#IkemenAdvent #ikemen vampire julia original character #my writing #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikevamp

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gepgep2 · 1 month ago

Text

For the first two decades of neoliberalism, the term was almost never used in the academy; instead, the new dispensation was discussed almost exclusively as the advent of a giddy new age of “postmodernism”—just one that, in retrospect, almost precisely reproduced the language and spirit of neoliberal “globalization” being presented in the media at the time. Almost all the emerging theoretical foci of the time—identity, creative consumption, flows and scapes, and so on—turned out to encode a kind of neoliberal cosmology in miniature. Even more, poststructural theory—particularly as enshrined in what might be termed the “vulgar Foucauldianism” that came to dominate so many ostensibly oppositional academic disciplines at the time—came to enshrine the particular class experiences of the professional-managerial class as universal truths: that is, a world of networks and networking, where games of power create social reality itself, all truth-claims are merely stratagems, and where mechanisms of physical coercion are made to seem irrelevant (even as they became ever more omnipresent) because all the real action is assumed to take place within techniques of self-discipline, forms of performance, and an endless variety of dispersed and decentered flows of influence. As a description of academic life, or for that matter professional life in general, such descriptions are often spot on. But it’s not what life is like for most people on earth and never has been. Indeed, the very fact that it was being posed not as a type of class experience but as a universal truth (in fact the only universal truth, since all others are denied) demonstrates just how wrong-headed the tendency, at this time, to dismiss older forms of ideology really was.

Now, how does anthropology fit into all of this? Well, in the 1980s, it did at first appear to be moving in the opposite direction to most disciplines, where “postmodernism” hovered somewhere between toothless mock radicalism, at worst, and a kind of pretentious and aggressively depoliticizing fin-de-siècle despair. In US anthropology, where the term really took off, “postmodernism” seemed anything but depoliticizing. Exponents of the reflexive moment proposed to dissect and challenge the political implications of ethnographic practice on every level, not even ruling out the possibility of rejecting the entire enterprise of anthropology as irredeemably compromised by its history as handmaiden to colonialism.

The postmodern challenge transformed anthropology—most of all, in teaching, where all introductory courses, or histories of the discipline, necessarily begin with a kind of ritual condemnation of anthropological theory and practice from the Victorian era through to at least the 1950s, and often well beyond. It came with all the trappings of radicalism. The very existence of the discipline was called into question. Yet the critique was never quite as radical as it seemed. First of all, one of the main practical effects it had was to blunt the political potential of anthropology—as the bearer of any kind of archive of social possibilities—by providing anyone outside the discipline, daunted by the very kaleidoscopic multiplicity it had documented of possible arrangements of political, economic, or domestic life, with a handy two- or three-line series of catchphrases allowing them to dismiss all forms of anthropological knowledge as inherently illegitimate. This was no doubt highly convenient for those who did not wish to consider themselves Eurocentric, but also did not wish to have to trouble themselves with learning much of anything about non-European perspectives on the world, but it had devastating effects on the ability of anthropologists to take part in a planetary conversation on human possibilities at precisely the moment, one might argue, that we were needed most.

Secondly, the critique of forms of power directed itself overwhelmingly at colonialism and its legacy, and much less—if at all—at economic structures of domination, corporate and financial power, bureaucracy, or structures of state coercion that were not directly related to it.

...At the risk of being slightly cartoonish, let me evoke a sketch of two different paradigms of academic authority. On the one hand, we have the patriarchal professor, a figure dominant for most of the twentieth century. A figure of absolute self-assurance, whether pedantic or playful, he is on a day-to-day level at least largely oblivious to the forms of privilege and exploitation that make his life possible, and as a result entirely at peace with himself owing to the existence of an institutional structure that guarantees him near-perfect life security. This is a caricature but, still, anyone who has spent much time in academia has encountered someone who fits the description, and there are still a handful, if rapidly decreasing in number, alive and in positions of authority even today. Nevertheless, such characters are no longer being produced. After all, this is precisely the figure whose privilege was so dramatically challenged in the campus turmoil of the 1960s and 1970s. In the neoliberal university, this challenge, combined with the dramatic marketization of academic life that began in the 1980s, has ultimately produced a very different sort of figure of authority. Let us imagine him too as a white male, since white males are, still, most likely to win the academic game—but one who, in the place of the self-assurance of the old patriarchal professor, combines a kind of constant nervous self-examination of his own privilege with a determination to nonetheless deploy all advantages—including that very privilege—in any way he can to prevail in an increasingly precarious academic environment; an environment demanding near-continual acts of reinvention and self-marketing.

...In fact, almost all the dominant theoretical trends within anthropology can only be understood in terms of the very context they themselves tend to efface. I have already given the example of what I’ve called vulgar Foucauldianism, which simultaneously developed the subjective experience of professional-managerial work arrangements as the basis for a universal principle of human sociality, and denied the central importance of either capitalism, or the threat of direct physical violence, at exactly the moment the threat of direct physical violence was becoming central to the operation of capitalism.

...Probably the most important thing I’ve learned from radical social movements, particularly those that have emerged from the engagement of anarchism, and other antiauthoritarian traditions, and radical feminism, is the notion of prefiguration. This is a very old idea—you already see it around 1900 in the Industrial Workers of the World’s call to “build a new society in the shell of the old”—but it has taken on a renewed power with the collapse of classical vanguardism: the widespread rejection of the idea of the stoic, humorless revolutionary whose purity can be judged by the degree to which they sacrifice all personal indulgences in the name of an absolute dedication to the cause, seen as a rational, calculated pursuit of power. There has been a general recognition that such a figure will never be able to produce a social order anyone would actually want to live in. Rather, prefigurative politics means making one’s means as far as possible identical with one’s ends, creating social relations and decision-making processes that at least approximate those that might exist in the kind of society we’d like to bring about. It is, as I’ve put it elsewhere, the defiant insistence on acting as if one is already free (Graeber 2004, 2013). Increasingly, this kind of defiant utopianism—an attendant refusal to operate through those institutional structures dominated by professional-managerial elites and their proceduralist ethic—has become the ground principle of democratic social movements, whether in Tunisia or Egypt, Greece, Spain, Occupy Wall Street, the Idle No More movement in Canada, or more recent outbreaks in Turkey, Bosnia, or Brazil. In fact, it’s everywhere. This is important, because it marks a real transformation in the idea of what a democratic movement would even mean.

What would it mean to apply this prefigurative principle to academic practice? Obviously it would not mean subordinating our passion for knowledge and understanding to the imperatives of activist strategy. It would challenge the very idea that there is, ultimately, any division here. It’s significant that just about every student occupation during the movement of 2010 began with a declaration that education is not an economic good, but a value in itself. But neither is it just a political good. A prefigurative approach, it seems to me, would most of all mean abandoning the nervous defensiveness of the hyperprofessionalized academic entrepreneur, and admitting to ourselves that what drew us to this line of work was mainly a sense of fun, that playing with ideas is a form of pleasure in itself, and that the deal we are tacitly being offered in the process of professionalization, that we must make a ritual sacrifice of everything that most gave us joy about the prospect of undertaking an intellectual life in order to have a chance of achieving even a modicum of life security, is itself violent and unnecessary. In retrospect, it’s hard not to see something deeply appealing about the easy self-confidence of that old patriarchal professor—and this, I note, coming from someone of nonelite class background who never had any chance of becoming that person under any circumstances. After all, in the final analysis, the problem with entitlement and privilege is not that some people have it, it’s that other people don’t. As any anthropologist who has had direct experience of an even moderately egalitarian society can attest, these are not, generally speaking, societies where everyone behaves like we expect a worker or a peasant to behave, but ones where everyone acts like an aristocrat. Call this, if you like, the utopian moment in intellectual practice. Whatever one choose to call it, it seems to me that any genuinely effective transformative practice would have to embrace that sense of confidence and pleasure in a form that would lead to a world where it would be available to absolutely everyone.

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