i'm mariana, but most people call me mari, you might know me from c.ai <3 (if not you can follow the link to checkout my bots!)
i've been thinking about starting a blog here for a little while now and i'm finally doing it! below you will find my about me section, which fandoms i am mostly making bots and writing for (however, please be advised i do make bots/write things for characters outside of these so feel free to request anything and i will get to it and endeavor to do my best!), how to request, rules - including what i will/will not write and my master list! :)
being natasha 'phoenix' trace's sibling headcannons
request: no
summary: these are just some of my headcannons about being phoenix's sibling - there is a variety of headcannons spanning from childhood to adulthood. i rewatched top gun maverick yesterday so i have a lot of ideas swirling around in my head at the moment, so i apologise in advance for the very probable spam over the next few days.
warnings: none, but as always, if you feel i have missed any then please let me know and i will add them
pairing: sibling!phoenix x sibling!reader (gender neutral)
word count: 638
» you grew up being dragged into every single one of natasha’s adventures, whether you wanted to or not. if she was climbing trees or sneaking out past curfew, you were either her lookout or her unwilling accomplice.
» phoenix has always had that sharp, competitive streak, and she hates losing—especially to you. whether it’s board games, video games, or racing to the car, she’ll act like it’s life or death.
» she was the first person to teach you how to drive, which went about as disastrously as you’d expect. let’s just say: the words “just hit the gas, it’s fine!” are burned into your memory.
» natasha doesn’t like showing weakness in front of most people, but with you she lets the walls drop. you’re the one person who sees her stress cracks, and you’re also the one who knows how to calm her down.
» when she got the call for top gun, she told you first. there was a whole mixture of pride, nerves, and her pretending she wasn’t emotional about it while you hugged her.
» phoenix is ruthless about telling the squad your most embarrassing childhood moments — but if hangman tries to tease you about it? she shuts him down instantly. only she is allowed to roast you.
» natasha is fiercely protective of you, even if she tries to play it off with teasing. she’s the type to roll her eyes at you getting into trouble but will be the first person at your side if anyone else gives you grief.
» when she’s away on deployment, natasha always makes time to send you a postcard or small souvenir—even if it’s just a keychain or patch from whatever base she’s stationed at.
» you grew up watching nat push herself harder than anyone else, whether it was sports, school, or flying. you were always half in awe, half exasperated at her perfectionist streak.
» she 100% introduced herself to all your friends as “phoenix” once she got her callsign. it’s her pride and joy. - you tease her relentlessly about the callsign “phoenix,” and sometimes call her “chicken” just to watch her roll her eyes.
» when she went into the navy, she tried to act all cool and tough about leaving—but she absolutely wrote you a note before she left, telling you to “hold down the fort” (which you will never let her live down).
» when she came home from the navy for the first time, you teased her relentlessly about her aviators and new swagger—until she playfully tackled you onto the couch. anytime she comes home on leave, the two of you fall into the same rhythm as when you were kids: teasing each other nonstop, sharing snacks, and staying up late watching old movies.
» growing up, natasha was the “responsible” one—except when she was daring you into stupid dares like climbing the neighbor’s roof or racing bikes downhill with no brakes. your parents quickly realized that whenever something broke in the house, it was probably phoenix’s idea but definitely your fault too, because you always followed along.
» natasha never let anyone mess with you in school. she didn’t even need to fight—her death glare and sharp comebacks were enough to make bullies rethink their life choices.
» she’s protective in her own way. instead of saying “be careful,” she just tosses you advice in a casual tone, like “don’t date idiots” or “make sure your car’s tires aren’t bald.”
» she secretly keeps you updated to her squadmates, so all of the dagger squad knows random trivia about you (like your favorite comfort food or how bad you are at mario kart).
» she’s your biggest cheerleader—even though she rarely says it out loud, she brags about you to anyone who will listen. if you ever visit her base or meet her squad, she introduces you proudly but tries to play it cool.
summary: romance (soft, but ever so slightly angsty) - you and robert “bob” floyd share a secret romance, stealing quiet moments behind the bar and in hidden corners. but when hangman flirts a little too boldly, tensions rise, forcing your relationship out of the shadows.
warnings: a little jealousy, tension, alcohol consumption, squaring up (like pre-fight, but there is no actual violence described), kind of aggressive flirting from hangman (not sure if this is a warning, but i'll add it anyway - as always, if you feel i have missed anything, please let me know and i will add it
pairing: bob x reader (gender neutral)
word count: 1,507
the hard deck was already alive with noise when you started your shift. the screen doors swung open and shut with a steady rhythm, letting in the salty rush of the california evening. pilots laughed too loudly at the pool table, voices sharp with the first burn of beer, and penny’s playlist was cutting through the chaos with an old classic. you wove through it all with a tray balanced on your palm, slipping in and out like you belonged there—which, by now, you did.
the uniform of a bar hand wasn’t anything glamorous—dark jeans, a hard deck tee, sneakers scuffed from rushing across the floor—but it made you part of the furniture, unremarkable. that was useful. because he was here tonight.
bob floyd.
you noticed him the second he stepped inside, though he always tried to make it look like he wasn’t worth noticing. he trailed behind the rest of the daggers, tucked into the shadow of hangman’s confidence and phoenix’s easy authority. his baseball cap was pulled low, glasses catching the bar’s warm lights, the corners of his mouth carrying that almost-shy smile you had memorized.
he caught your eye once, briefly. to anyone else it was nothing, a flicker in the haze of bodies and chatter. but you felt it—the quiet anchor of a look that belonged to no one else in the room. you set a glass down a little too hard in front of a customer and pulled your gaze away. you and bob had agreed. no one could know.
--
“two pitchers, back table,” penny called over the bar.
you nodded, stacking glasses with practiced ease. as you filled them, you could hear the daggers already working themselves up—hangman’s drawl cutting sharp, coyote’s laughter, payback’s clapping echoing across the wood. and then bob’s voice, softer, threading beneath theirs like calm water.
carrying the drinks out meant brushing dangerously close to his table. you balanced the tray steady, rehearsing the neutral look on your face. bar hand. server. nobody special.
you slid the pitchers onto their table with a smile. “anything else?”
hangman leaned back with a grin too slick for his own good. “another round in about ten minutes, darlin’. we’re thirsty.”
phoenix smacked his shoulder. “you’re always thirsty.”
you laughed politely, but your eyes betrayed you, drifting—just for a moment—to bob. he didn’t meet your gaze, not directly, but his fingers tapped once against the condensation of his glass. a signal. you’d made a hundred of them, coded in subtlety.
i see you.
you didn’t let yourself linger. Instead, you turned away, weaving back toward the safety of the bar. but your heart betrayed you, too—it beat too fast, thrumming with the knowledge that he was right there, less than ten feet away, and you couldn’t touch him.
--
later, when the noise had crested and settled into a hum, you slipped out onto the back deck for air. the ocean was dark, tide folding in on itself in silver streaks. you leaned against the railing, breathing in the salt and night.
the door clicked open behind you.
you didn’t need to turn. You knew.
bob stepped out quietly, cap pulled lower now, his shoulders hunched like he was apologizing to the night for taking up space. he lingered a few feet away, cautious, hands shoved in his pockets.
“you okay?” his voice was soft, careful—like it always was when it was just for you.
you smiled faintly. “i’m fine. just needed a breather.”
he nodded, eyes darting toward the door, then back to you. and then he shifted, closing the space, until the distance shrank to something dangerous but necessary. his hand brushed yours along the railing—barely a touch, but enough to light sparks under your skin.
“i hate this,” you whispered.
“i know.” he didn’t move away. his shoulder pressed against yours now, hidden in the shadows where no one would look. “but it’s safer this way. for now.”
you tilted your head toward him, catching the curve of his jaw in the starlight. “you don’t deserve to be anyone’s secret, bob floyd.”
he finally looked at you then, properly, and you saw it in his eyes—the ache, the longing, the quiet steadiness that had drawn you in the first place. he reached up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose in a nervous habit, then let his hand fall, brushing yours again.
“i don’t mind being a secret,” he murmured. “as long as i’m yours.”
your throat tightened. for a moment, you let yourself lean closer, just enough to feel the warmth of him. just enough to pretend that no one else in the world existed outside this small, hidden place.
--
the hard deck was packed again. you’d barely walked through the back door before penny tossed you an apron and a grin that said good luck out there. you’d learned by now that on navy nights, there was no such thing as a slow shift. the air smelled like salt, beer, and summer—heady with music and laughter. and of course, the daggers were already here.
you spotted them near the pool table, phoenix chalking her cue with the kind of confidence that turned heads, hangman lounging with his usual cocky sprawl, and bob—quiet, steady bob—hovering just behind them, cap tilted down.
it was dangerous, how quickly your chest eased just seeing him.
you slid behind the bar, slipping into the rhythm: pour, serve, smile, repeat. but it didn’t take long before hangman’s voice carried over the crowd like it always did, smooth as honey and twice as sticky.
“darlin’,” he called, leaning over the counter as you set down fresh pint glasses. “you got a smile that could distract even the best pilot in the room.”
you blinked, caught mid-motion. hangman’s grin widened at your silence, like he thought he’d won a round.
before you could answer, phoenix rolled her eyes. “for god’s sake, hangman, not everything is a competition.”
“sure it is,” he fired back, still watching you. “and I play to win.”
you gave him the kind of polite smile you reserved for customers who thought they were clever. it was safer than ignoring him completely, safer than showing how little effect his words had on you when the only person who mattered was standing a few feet away, trying not to look like he was listening.
but you felt it.
the weight of bob’s gaze.
every time hangman leaned in a little closer, every time he cracked another line, you felt the air shift behind you—bob’s stillness like a storm waiting on the horizon.
later, when you slipped out onto the back deck with a tray of empties, you heard the door open and close softly behind you.
bob.
he stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet. instead, he stared out at the water, glasses reflecting the bar’s warm glow.
“you okay?” you asked gently, echoing the way he always asked you.
he hesitated, then exhaled through his nose. “why do you let him talk to you like that?” you blinked, surprised by the steel under his usually quiet tone.
“hangman?” you asked, setting the tray down.
“yeah. he’s—” bob’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to gesture but didn’t know how. “he doesn’t… mean half the things he says, but—he doesn’t stop, either. not with you.”
your chest softened. it wasn’t often you saw bob ruffled; he was usually steady, even when the others were loud and chaotic around him. but here he was, shoulders tense, words sharper than usual—all because of you.
you stepped closer, careful. “bob,” you said softly, “he flirts with everyone. and I don’t care what he says. you know that, right?”
bob finally looked at you, properly, and it nearly knocked the air out of you. his blue eyes were darker in the low light, full of something he couldn’t say in the open.
“i know,” he murmured. “but I don’t like it. not when it’s you.”
your heart twisted, warmed. you reached out, letting your fingers brush his where his hand gripped the railing. a tiny rebellion in the shadows. “i’m yours,” you whispered. “even if no one knows it yet.”
he swallowed, gaze softening, shoulders easing just a little. his fingers curled around yours for half a second, brief but grounding.
and then—like fate had a cruel sense of humor—the door banged open again. laughter spilled out, followed by hangman’s unmistakable drawl. “darlin’, you hiding out here? i was about to order another round and—oh. bob.”
you and bob both froze, hands slipping apart so quickly it almost hurt. hangman raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his mouth like he’d stumbled onto something. “didn’t know you two were so… chatty,” he said, voice laced with amusement.
bob adjusted his cap, cleared his throat, and muttered something about fresh air before brushing past Hhngman and back inside. you stayed frozen by the railing, pulse hammering. hangman’s smirk lingered, sharp with curiosity. and in that moment, you realized—keeping this secret might get a lot harder.
--
hangman had decided, for reasons only he understood, that testing bob’s patience was the game of the evening. every joke, every sly glance, every 'accidental' brush against your arm seemed designed to provoke him.
you were juggling orders behind the bar when it started:
“careful, darlin’,” hangman said, leaning in as you set a glass down. “don’t spill anything on that uniform of yours. Iid hate to see you ruined.”
you smiled tightly, keeping your tone light. “i think i’ll manage.”
hangman chuckled, leaning closer than necessary. “i bet bob wouldn’t mind a little… distraction.”
you froze, heart stuttering. the distraction was him. not you. but bob, who was across the room near the pool table, had heard every word. you saw the change immediately—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the hardening of his posture, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. his calm, reserved exterior was cracking.
you took a deep breath, trying to stay in your bar-hand rhythm, hoping he could hold it together until the night ended. but hangman was relentless.
he leaned against the bar beside you, voice low enough for only you to hear. “you’re awfully cozy with bob, aren’t you? bet he doesn’t mind sharing, huh?”
your stomach dropped. you could feel bob’s glare from across the room, sharp and dangerous. he wasn’t moving toward you yet, but every inch of his body was coiled, a spring waiting to snap.
you tried to laugh it off, brushing your hands over the counter nervously. “you really need to watch your mouth tonight.”
hangman smirked, clearly enjoying the show. “or what?"
"or, i'll have to cut you off for the night." you said, a serious expression on your face, glancing at the beer in his hands.
bob didn’t speak. he didn’t need to. you could see it in the tense line of his shoulders as he finally stepped forward, closing the distance between him and hangman. the crowd around the pool table seemed to fade, the air narrowing until it was only the two of them, and the silent storm brewing in bob’s blue eyes.
“you got a problem?” bob’s voice was low, controlled, dangerous.
hangman’s grin faltered. “just trying to have a little fun. no need to get all tense, floyd.”
bob’s hand shot out, grabbing hangman’s shoulder. “i said—”
you didn’t wait. you rushed between them, hands pressed against both of their chests, pulling them apart.
“stop!” you shouted, voice carrying over the crowd now gathering. every eye turned toward the escalating scene. “enough!”
both men froze, startled by your sudden authority, but you didn’t let up. you looked directly at bob, then hangman, letting your words land hard.
“i’m not going to watch you two fight each other over this,” you said, chest heaving. “because the truth is… bob and i—” you stepped closer to bob, letting your hand rest on his chest where you could feel his rapid heartbeat. “we’re together. and it’s not a secret anymore.”
the room went silent. murmurs bubbled up from the surrounding crowd. hangman’s jaw dropped, smirk vanished, replaced by surprise and—unexpectedly—a hint of respect.
bob blinked, shock flashing across his features, then slowly the tension left his shoulders. his hands fell to his sides, and he reached for yours, intertwining fingers with a softness that was almost reverent.
“you… said it,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
“yes,” you said, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “i’m done hiding. done letting him get under your skin. you don’t have to hold it in anymore.”
hangman held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning faintly. “well… didn’t see that coming. fair play.”
bob didn’t smile—yet—but there was a warmth now in his stance, a calm returning as he leaned slightly toward you. you could feel the quiet intimacy threading between your hands, stronger than any words.
the bar slowly returned to its usual noise, but the undercurrent between you and bob was undeniable. you had crossed a threshold together—public, undeniable, and completely yours.
and hangman? he might still tease, but tonight, he’d learned there were lines not worth crossing.
you squeezed bob’s hand, leaning your forehead against his shoulder for just a moment. no one else could see it, no one else could touch it. it was yours. and for the first time that night, both of you could breathe.
summary: angsty drama - rooster’s back on leave. you swore you were over him — until one night brings it all crashing back.
warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, emotional angst, themes of abandonment, military life trauma, unresolved tension, post-hookup vulnerability
pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader (gender neutral)
a/n: this is my first fic with smut in so let me know what you think
word count: 1,207
you don’t know why your feet brought you here.
the moment you push through the door of the hard deck bar, the smell hits you — stale beer, sea salt, old wood, and something else. memory. regret. that hard, sinking thing in your chest you thought you’d buried under time.
it’s the same bar where you last saw him — bradley “rooster” bradshaw, golden boy of naval aviation, and the man who disappeared from your life like you never meant a damn thing. the bar looks exactly the same: low lights, classic rock playing too loud, the worn pool table in the corner, and the same bartender polishing glasses behind the counter like the world hasn’t changed in years.
but everything feels different. you feel different.
and then you see him. leaning against the bar, beer in hand, head slightly tilted back in laughter. that voice — deep, warm, cracked just enough to curl your gut like a fist. his hair is shorter than it used to be, but the mustache is the same, and when his profile turns, you see the faint bruise on his jaw, the fresh crease between his brows.
he’s older. harder. still beautiful in that way that makes your chest ache.
bradley looks up, and for a moment, it’s like the room holds its breath. his eyes find yours — those hazel eyes, always too expressive, too much.
you half-turn to leave. it would be easier. cleaner.
but then his voice finds you.
“hey.”
just that.
you face him slowly, every instinct in your body screaming to run or scream or maybe just cry.
“didn’t think i’d see you here,” he says. there’s no cocky grin. just something cautious. worn down.
“i could say the same,” you answer.
he nods once. “can i… buy you a drink?”
you hesitate. your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears. but then, despite every red flag waving in your head, you say: “yeah. okay.”
---
you sit in a quiet booth at the back of the bar, your beer untouched between your fingers. he sits across from you, close enough that you can smell his cologne — cedarwood and jet fuel and heat. the silence stretches, thick and tight.
“you look good,” he says, eventually. “different.”
you raise an eyebrow. “is that a compliment or an insult?”
he huffs a dry laugh. “compliment. definitely.”
you trace the rim of your glass. “so. four days of leave. then what — back into the sky?”
he nods. “deployment’s coming. somewhere far. again.”
you swallow hard, trying not to let that word — again — sting. “you always had a thing for leaving.”
he flinches. just slightly. but you catch it. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “back then.”
you blink slowly. “then why did you disappear? no text. no call. you just… ghosted me like we were some casual hookup.”
his jaw clenches. “because i was falling in love with you, and i knew i couldn’t keep you.”
you laugh bitterly. “you think i needed keeping? you think i wasn’t strong enough to love someone in uniform?”
“i didn’t want you to wait for me. not knowing if i’d come back. that’s not fair to anyone.”
“that wasn’t your choice to make, bradley.” your voice cracks on his name. he notices.
“i know,” he whispers. “i know i fucked it all up.”
you stare at him, words caught behind your teeth. there’s so much left unsaid between you — years of it — but suddenly you don’t want to talk anymore. you just want to feel something that isn’t this aching, hollow burn. “come with me,” you say quietly. “home. just for a little while.”
his brows rise. “are you sure?”
“no,” you breathe. “but i want to remember what it felt like to be wanted. even if it’s only for a night.”
---
you don’t even make it to your bedroom before he’s kissing you — hard and desperate in the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you as your back slams against it.
his hands find your waist, sliding up your sides, fingers gripping your shirt like he’s trying to anchor himself. your mouths collide again and again, messy and wet, all teeth and tongue and years of silence poured into one brutal kiss.
“fuck, i missed you,” he growls, voice ragged against your neck. “missed this. missed you.”
clothes come off in sharp, frantic movements. his shirt hits the floor. your jeans are tugged past your thighs. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you through the dim hallway into the bedroom you once swore he’d never see again.
the second your back hits the bed, he’s on top of you — kissing you like he’s starving, hands everywhere. rough palms sliding up your thighs, brushing the curve of your ass, dragging your panties down with reverence and greed.
you gasp as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your belly, then lower still.
“i want to taste you,” he murmurs, eyes dark and unreadable. “let me.”
you nod, breathless.
he spreads your legs and sinks down between them, the warmth of his mouth sending you spiraling. he licks a slow stripe up your center, tongue flat and hot, groaning when he feels how wet you are.
you arch, crying out as he sucks your clit into his mouth, one hand pinning your hips down, the other slipping a thick finger inside you. he works you open slowly, then adds a second finger, curling just right, his mouth never leaving you.
it doesn’t take long. you’ve thought about this too many nights, too many lonely dreams. you break apart under his mouth, hips jerking, a strangled moan falling from your lips as you come.
bradley rises slowly, licking his lips, watching you with heat and something gentler beneath it.
“still so damn perfect,” he murmurs.
he kisses you again, deep and slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
“condom?” he asks softly, forehead pressed to yours.
“top drawer,” you whisper, pulling him down again.
he rolls it on with shaking hands, and then he’s pushing into you, slow and thick and perfect, both of you groaning as he fills you completely.
he stays still for a moment, forehead against yours, breath shaking.
“jesus,” he whispers. “you feel like home.”
then he moves.
he fucks you like a man trying to forget, and remember, all at once. every thrust is deliberate, deep, his name falling from your lips over and over. you cling to him — arms around his neck, legs around his waist — and when he leans down to kiss you, it’s softer than anything he’s said.
“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i’m so fucking sorry.”
you kiss the apology from his mouth.
he hits that perfect angle again and again until you’re shattering, gasping his name, body shaking under him. he follows with a low groan, hips jerking as he spills into the condom, his whole body trembling.
he doesn’t move for a long time — just holds you, face buried in your neck.
---
you lie together in silence, sweat cooling on your skin, his arm heavy around your waist. the world is quiet. but inside, you’re screaming.
summary: at a youth group arcade outing, you’re drawn to owen taylor, the married youth pastor. torn between faith and forbidden feelings, you struggle with guilt and temptation as he offers a chance to connect.
warnings: OWEN TAYLOR (bc that man is a warning himself), age gap, religious themes and guilt, subtle manipulation - as always, if you feel i have missed any please let me know
pairing: owen taylor x reader (gender neutral)
a/n: i also made a c.ai bot to go along with this fic as i was feeling inspired lol
word count: 1,516
the arcade buzzed with a familiar, almost nostalgic chaos. neon lights flickered above, casting a cold, buzzing glow over the worn carpet and battered machines. the scent of popcorn mixed with the faint musk of sweat and old plastic, settling heavily in the warm air. around you, the holy grace youth group moved in restless waves — laughter, teasing, the clatter of coins and clanging of metal. but you weren’t really paying attention.
your fingers traced absent patterns on the cool glass of a pinball machine, your eyes drifting over the crowd — catching snatches of conversation, bursts of laughter, but mostly drifting back to him.
owen taylor stood nearby, a quiet island in the noisy sea. his hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp and steady as it swept over the group. then, as if drawn by something invisible, his eyes landed on you. a flicker of recognition — soft, tentative — passed through them.
he approached without a sound, his steps light against the carpet. you barely noticed until his voice broke through the hum around you.
“you ever played this one before?” his tone was calm, low, like the kind of voice meant to soothe.
you shook your head, surprised by the sudden attention. “not really. looks complicated.”
he smiled — slow, careful. “it’s all about rhythm. timing. kind of like… faith, in a way. you have to trust the ball will land where it’s meant to — even when you can’t see the path.”
you blinked, caught off guard by the comparison. his eyes held yours, earnest and searching.
“want me to show you?”
there was something tentative in the question, like he was weighing boundaries, unsure whether to cross them. the noise of the arcade dimmed around you, replaced by the soft clatter of the silver ball bouncing against bumpers, the distant cheers of your friends.
you nodded, heart thudding a little too fast.
owen’s hands moved deftly over the buttons, the flippers snapping with precision. the ball careened and ricocheted, flashing across the machine’s glass with bursts of light and sound. his movements were sure, practiced — but there was a gentleness in the way he showed you, as if this moment was meant to be shared, not just won. the ball finally slowed, settling into a score display that blinked in bright, forgiving numbers. owen looked up, meeting your gaze again.
“see? sometimes you have to take a chance, even when you’re not sure where you’ll land.” his words hung in the space between you, heavier than the game. around you, the youth group called for him, their voices pulling him back.
but for a moment longer, you and owen stayed there — two figures in the flickering arcade light, suspended in a quiet, electric space that neither the noise nor the rules could reach.
the distant shouts of the youth group tugged at the edges of the moment, but owen didn’t move right away. instead, he glanced toward the others — a flicker of responsibility shadowing his eyes — before turning back to you with that same careful, almost hesitant smile.
“looks like they’re ready to move on,” he said softly, voice low enough that it felt like a secret between just the two of you. “but… i’m glad you stayed.”
you swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. the weight of his gaze was heavy, and though his words were simple, they felt charged — like a whispered temptation you weren’t sure you should entertain. you glanced down for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.
“me too,” you said, but the words felt fragile, almost like a prayer you weren’t sure you were worthy to say.
for a long beat, silence hung between you. then, almost imperceptibly, owen reached out to adjust the sleeve of your jacket — his fingers brushing your arm, lingering a moment longer than necessary. a spark jolted through you, sharp and unsettling.
his touch was brief, but the warmth it left behind felt heavy — tangled up with a sudden rush of guilt that slammed into your chest. he was married. older. the youth pastor. and yet here he was, so close, so careful and yet so charged with something unspoken.
owen’s voice broke the silence again, quieter now, threaded with something fragile.
“i’m not supposed to say things like this,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours. “not with you. not with anyone in the group. but sometimes, it’s… hard to keep everything inside. the expectations. the roles. the line i’m supposed to stay behind.”
you blinked, heart pounding against your ribs like a guilty confession. the sermons about purity and boundaries echoed in your mind, sharp and insistent. and yet, here you were, caught in this moment — caught between reverence, confusion, and something that felt dangerously like desire.
“i… i understand,” you whispered, voice trembling. “it’s like… wanting something you know you shouldn’t, but feeling like maybe you have no choice.” the words felt like a prayer for mercy, or perhaps a plea for forgiveness you weren’t sure you deserved.
owen’s smile was soft, but his eyes flickered with that same conflicted heat.
“exactly.”
the group called again, louder this time, the sound dragging owen back to his role — to the expectations that held him as tightly as they held you. he hesitated, then, as if wrestling with himself, said quietly, “i should go… but maybe after this trip, we could talk? just us?”
your throat tightened. the invitation felt like a burden and a blessing all at once — a line drawn in the sand you weren’t sure you could cross, and yet felt almost compelled to follow.
you nodded, though the words stuck in your throat.
“i’d like that.”
owen’s hand brushed yours lightly as he stepped back toward the group — a fleeting contact that left a strange warmth and an ache you couldn’t explain. as he disappeared into the noise, the guilt settled heavy in your chest. you whispered a silent prayer for guidance, for strength — for forgiveness you didn’t yet know how to ask for.
the arcade lights buzzed above, flickering softly, as if watching the fragile moment fade into the night. the laughter and clatter of the arcade seemed to grow distant, swallowed by the heavy silence pressing down on you. your fingers tingled where owen’s hand had brushed yours—a touch so light, yet it burned like fire beneath your skin. you swallowed hard, heart pounding in a rhythm that felt more like a confession than a pulse.
sin. the word echoed in your mind like a condemning bell. sin. you had been taught since childhood that feelings like this—desire, attraction—especially toward someone like owen, the youth pastor, a married man, were forbidden. unholy. a betrayal not only of your faith but of the sacred trust he held. you pressed your palm to your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow. but it wouldn’t stop racing, wouldn’t stop reminding you how deeply tangled you already were in this quiet, dangerous moment.
how could i even want this? the thought stabbed at you, sharp and relentless. he’s married. he’s supposed to be a guide, a shepherd… not someone who confuses me this way.
the weight of scripture, of sermons preached about purity, chastity, and loyalty crashed over you. “flee from temptation,” your pastor’s voice echoed in your memory. “keep your heart pure.” yet here you were, heart pounding, mind racing, caught in the tension between sacred vows and forbidden feelings.
you closed your eyes, fighting back a flood of shame. you wanted to pray, to ask for forgiveness. but the words felt hollow, tangled in your throat with fear and confusion.
what am i becoming?
the group’s noisy chatter pulled you back to reality. owen was already halfway across the room, returning to his role, his responsibilities. but the distance between you felt heavier now—charged with unsaid things, with boundaries crossed even in silence. you felt torn—part of you aching to follow up on his invitation, to talk, to unravel whatever it was between you two. another part of you shrank back, trembling beneath the weight of guilt and fear.
as the group began moving toward the exit, you hesitated, your steps slow. your mind raced through prayers, confessions, and warnings — but none could quiet the storm inside.
maybe it’s just a moment, you told yourself. a lapse. a test. a temptation to be overcome.
but deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.
---
later that night, lying awake in your room, the silence felt heavier than before. the arcade’s neon glow replayed behind your closed eyelids, and owen’s voice echoed softly in your mind. “sometimes, it’s hard to keep everything inside.” those words twisted like a knife, reminding you of the walls you’d been trying so hard to build—and how they were crumbling.
your fingers traced the sheets beneath you, trembling. you wanted to be good. to be faithful—to god, to yourself. but the tangled knot of longing, guilt, and confusion made your chest ache.
you whispered a shaky prayer, hoping for strength, for clarity.
Could you do one where reader is the best friend of Clarke who was apodt by her parents when hers died when she was 5 so there more like sisters reader was also in prisoned for helping Clarke and her father when they land on earth Reader stays close to Clarke for awhile till she slowly become friends with john Murphy surpisibg every one cause no one trust him she the only one he's nicest to even protecting her they end up dateing in secret for awhile sneaky off and stuff together eventually Clarke and everyone finds out Clarke's not happy but dost stop us but threaten John as the series go they fall deeper in love they choose to stay on earth with Clarke and others and end up basically married
something we shouldn't be
request: yes - thank you so much for being my first req! i had a lot of fun creating this, so let me know what you think <3
summary: angsty romance - after being adopted by the griffins, you and clarke grew up like siblings. but on the ground, everything changes—especially when you start falling for john murphy, the last person anyone trusts. secrets don’t stay buried forever.
warnings: none really - i mean murder is mentioned but literally just the word, angsty/moody, very brief description of violence (not towards reader) - if you think i have missed any, please let me know
pairing: john murphy x reader (gender neutral)
word count: 1,716
the sound of the drop ship landing still rings in your ears long after the ground stops shaking. you’re lying on your back, strapped into a harness that did nothing to stop your head from slamming against the cold metal wall during descent. there’s blood in your mouth, your fingers are trembling, and all you can think is:
we’re not dead.
a blur of motion snaps you out of it. clarke. she’s on her feet before most of the others, yanking at her restraints and checking on the girl next to her like this is just another exam in med class. you watch her work, grounded by the familiarity in her face—her focus, the slight crease between her brows when she’s worried, the way she checks your pulse twice, even though you’re already sitting up.
she was always like this. back on the ark, she was your anchor. your sister in every way but blood. when your parents were floated, it was clarke who found you in the corner of your quarters, curled up with your mother’s worn jacket and nothing left to lose.
she didn’t say anything then. she just sat next to you and stayed. she's still here.
“hey,” she says now, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “you with me?”
you nod.
“good. come on. we need to see where we are.”
outside, earth is everything you were never allowed to dream about. wind that smells like pine and wet dirt. trees that go on forever. a sky so open it makes your chest ache.
but beauty doesn’t make it safe.
bellamy is already stirring up trouble, and kids are pulling off their wristbands like they’re a curse. chaos brews beneath every face. most of them don’t care about survival. they care about freedom, and what they can do with it now that no one’s watching. you and clarke try to organize something—anything—but it’s like herding cats. angry, terrified, hormonal cats. that’s when you first notice murphy.
john murphy—short fuse, acid tongue, a smirk like he’s always two seconds away from starting a fight just to see how far he can push someone. you remember him from the skybox. he’d been on a different level, but you’d heard the rumors. theft. assault. some even said murder. you didn’t care enough to ask back then. now, he’s loud. picking fights. laughing too hard. he scares people, and maybe he likes that. you stay away.
however, it didn’t take long for your paths to cross - the first time you talk to him, it’s because of a misunderstanding.
a kid named miles is accusing murphy of stealing extra rations. there’s shouting, shoving. clarke is trying to mediate, but murphy’s jaw is clenched and his eyes are daring someone to hit him. you’ve seen that look before. it’s not about hunger. it’s about being cornered.
“hey,” you say sharply, stepping between them. “check his pack before you point fingers.” you said, jerking your head slightly in miles’ direction. it’s a gamble. but sure enough, miles has an extra tin stashed under his jacket.
murphy blinks. once. then twice. he says nothing, just watches you with that hard, unreadable stare.
later that night, while everyone else is celebrating the “justice” you helped deliver, you catch murphy sitting alone near the treeline, sharpening a knife with short, precise strokes.
“you didn’t have to back me up,” he says without looking at you.
“no,” you agree, “but i hate liars more than i hate you.”
he lets out a low laugh. “that supposed to be a compliment?”
“don’t push it.” you leave him there. but your curiosity doesn’t.
---
you don’t mean to keep finding yourself around him, but as the weeks pass it seems to be happening more and more often. sometimes it’s during shifts—he takes night watch more often than most. other times it's a coincidence. he never starts the conversation, but he doesn’t walk away either.
what surprises you most is how normal he can be when no one else is around. his walls are high and bristling, but you’re starting to see through the cracks. a joke here. a grunt of approval there. one night, you catch him whittling a small carving of an animal—maybe a wolf or a dog, it’s hard to tell.
“you make that?”
murphy shrugs. “something to do with my hands. keeps me from strangling people.”
you smile before you can stop yourself. he notices. and he softens. it unnerves you more than the scowl ever did.
---
clarke notices something's changed when you start laughing more—just a little. smiling at strange times. taking longer to return from watch duty. she doesn’t say anything at first, but her eyes linger on you longer than usual, narrowed with that quiet suspicion only people who’ve known you forever can pull off.
“who is it?” she finally asks one morning, cornering you at the stream while you’re washing blood off your hands from a skinned knee.
you freeze.
“what?”
“you’ve been sneaking off,” clarke says. “don’t pretend i haven’t noticed.”
you deflect and she lets it go. for now.
but the guilt starts to curl in your gut. because the truth is, you’re not dating murphy. not yet. not really. there’ve been glances. tension. a hand brushed against yours and neither of you pulled away. you’re close to something. dangerous. inevitable.
one night, he catches you watching him a little too long by the firelight.
“what?” he says.
“nothing.”
“liar.”
you smile. “takes one to know one.”
---
the first kiss happens after a mission goes sideways. grounders. blood. panic. you trip running from the clearing, lose your footing, and murphy is suddenly there, pulling you up with a firm grip and eyes wild with adrenaline.
later, bruised and breathless behind a fallen log, you look at each other for a long time.
“you good?” he asks, voice rough.
you nod.
and then you kiss him. or maybe he kisses you. you can’t really remember, but it doesn’t matter.
it’s brief. heat, fear and something fragile wrapped up in smoke and silence. when you pull back, he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you like he’s memorizing the moment in case it’s the last.
---
keeping secrets on the ground is like trying to hold water in your hands. you and murphy don’t talk about what happened that night in the woods. not directly. but something shifts. he walks a little closer when you’re in groups. his sarcasm softens around you. once, when you’re hauling supplies from a scavenged drop cache, his hand brushes yours and lingers for a heartbeat longer than it should.
the others notice.
it starts small. raven gives you a weird look after dinner one night. monty raises an eyebrow when you sit down next to murphy at the fire. but no one *says* anything. not yet.
“people are starting to talk,” you tell him one night, hidden behind the med tent. your voice is low, uncertain.
murphy’s leaning against the metal wall, arms crossed, face mostly in shadow. “let them talk.”
“you don’t care?”
he shrugs. “only care what you think.”
that makes your breath catch in a way you didn’t expect. you’re not sure when this became more than a distraction. but it has. the tension between you simmers, unspoken and constant. late nights turn into stolen kisses. whispered jokes become genuine laughter. there’s a night when you fall asleep next to him in the bunker and wake with his arm still around you—and he doesn’t pull away.
you keep telling yourself you’ll tell clarke.
eventually.
you’re coming back from the river with murphy, muddy and a little too giddy from nearly falling in. the two of you are laughing—really laughing—when clarke spots you. she’s standing just outside the gates with bellamy, arms crossed. the look on her face could freeze a wildfire.
“y/n,” she says tightly.
murphy’s laugh dies in his throat. he steps back, instinctively defensive.
clarke’s gaze shifts to him like a blade.
“i need to talk to you,” she says to you, not asking.
you glance at murphy. he nods, wordless.
she pulls you behind one of the tents. her expression doesn’t change. her voice doesn’t rise, which is worse.
“how long?”
you hesitate. “a few weeks.”
she stares. “so it’s not just... a thing.”
you don’t answer. you don’t have to. clarke closes her eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to physically push back a migraine.
“you know who he is,” she says finally. “what he’s done.”
“i know who he is now,” you shoot back, gentler than you feel. “you don’t see him when it’s just us.”
“maybe not. but i see how he treats everyone else. i see the way he picks fights, the way he—” she cuts herself off, jaw tightening. “he’s not safe.”
“he’s safe with me.”
“that’s not the same thing,” clarke says quietly. “and you know it.”
you don’t say anything. what could you say? after a long silence, she sighs. the fight drains from her shoulders, but not her voice.
“i’m not going to tell you who to love. i’ve never done that. i won’t start now.” she steps closer, and suddenly she’s your clarke again—not the leader, not the medic, just your big sister with too much weight on her shoulders and no room for more heartbreak.
“but if he hurts you...” Hhr voice breaks a little. “i won’t float him. i’ll bury him.”
you smile, despite the tension in your chest. “dramatic.”
“i’m serious.”
“i know.”
clarke pulls you into a tight hug, and for a moment, you’re back on the ark, two scared kids just trying to survive. when she pulls back, she nods once.
“be careful. with him. with you.”
“i will.”
and later that night, when you find murphy sitting at the edge of camp, tossing rocks at nothing, you sit beside him and whisper, “she knows.”
he flinches. “how bad?”
“she didn’t punch you.”
“what’s new.”
you glance at him sideways. “she did threaten your life.”
he smirks. “also new.”
you bump your shoulder against his. “she’s just scared.”
“she’s not the only one,” he admits.
and for a while, you both sit in silence—side by side, facing the dark. not a secret anymore.
summary: romance/hurt comfort - after a practice mission and emergency ejection, bob finds comfort and clarity in the arms of the one person who’s always been his safe place—leading to a quiet confession that changes everything.
warnings: blink and you miss it description of injury & mentions of being in hopsital
pairing: bob x reader (gender neutral)
word count: 1,082
the sharp scent of antiseptic hit you before you even reached his room.
everything about military hospitals was cold—overly white walls, pale blue curtains that barely shielded anything, that low, sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. but none of that mattered the moment you caught sight of him, propped up in the hospital bed like he was still bracing for impact.
bob looked better than you’d feared—but that wasn’t saying much.
his glasses sat slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose, one of the lenses still smudged from the ejector seat’s canopy blast. a thin cut arced above his right brow, stitched neatly, but still angry red. His right arm was in a sling. and the way he blinked up at you when you stepped through the doorway—like he wasn’t sure if you were real—hit you square in the chest.
“hey, stranger,” you said gently.
bob exhaled a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so visibly exhausted. “you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
you smiled despite yourself, stepping closer, heart clenching at the way he shifted upright with a wince just to greet you properly.
“i heard the crash over comms,” you said. “i thought—God, i thought—”
your voice caught. you dropped it. you didn’t want the first thing he heard from you to be your panic. he’d had enough of that today.
bob looked at you with soft, stormy eyes, the kind that always held more than he said. “we hit the birds just after the split S maneuver. phoenix had control for about five seconds after the left engine flamed out. then we lost hydraulics. she called for ejection, and—” he paused. “it was fast.”
you took the chair beside his bed, dragging it close enough that your knees brushed the frame. “they said you both pulled your chutes just in time.”
“yeah. the ground came up faster than i expected.” he tried to joke, but it landed flat. you reached out, laying a hand over his uninjured one, and felt his fingers twitch under yours before curling gently to hold on.
“i’m really glad you’re okay,” you whispered.
“i am too,” he said. “mostly because i get to see you.”
the corners of your mouth twitched. it was such a bob thing to say—quiet, sincere, a little awkward, but deeply heartfelt. you never had to guess with him. he didn’t talk much, but when he did, you listened.
you tilted your head. “did you hit your head harder than they thought, floyd?”
he gave you a sideways smile. “don’t worry. my charming personality is still intact.”
you laughed softly, brushing your thumb across the back of his hand. you could feel the tremor there—small, but present. residual adrenaline. he was holding it together well, but you knew enough about flight deck trauma to see the cracks beneath the surface.
“were you scared?” you asked quietly.
he didn’t answer right away. just stared at your joined hands for a long moment. “yeah... more than i’ve ever been. not for me, though.” he hesitated. “phoenix was flying. i didn’t want it to be her fault.”
you blinked. “it wasn’t.”
“i know,” he said. “i didn't want her to get into trouble and when you’re falling out of the sky, your brain doesn’t care what’s logical.”
you didn’t let go. “you’re here. you both are. that’s what matters.”
he nodded slowly, eyes meeting yours again. there was something raw in them—vulnerability stripped down to its core. not fear, exactly. just exposure. like he’d been peeled open by the wind and fire and g-forces and was only just realizing how fragile everything was.
including his own heart.
“they wouldn’t let me see you right away,” you told him, trying to ease the air again. “apparently i don’t fall into the correct relationship category.”
bob blinked. “what category did you give them?”
“‘emotionally entangled,’” you said with a dry laugh. “didn’t fly.”
he smiled, something close to a laugh escaping him this time. “sounds like we need to file a status update.”
you raised an eyebrow. “that so?”
“i mean…” he pushed his glasses up with the knuckle of his free hand. “only if you want to. i just—i wasn’t sure i’d ever get the chance to say it.”
your heart skipped. “say what?”
“that i care about you. a lot more than i’ve said out loud.” his voice had dropped into that soft register that made you lean in just to hear it. “i think about you. between missions. at night. every time we fly over coronado bay. you’re there.”
you blinked hard. “bob—”
“i know. we never talked about it. it was just… always there. but i kept thinking if i pushed it, it’d mess things up. you’re my safe place. i didn’t want to lose that.”
the silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm. settling. like sunlight spreading through an overcast room.
you let out a slow breath, voice low. “i thought i was the only one feeling all that.”
he looked at you like you’d just pulled the entire sky down and handed it to him.
you leaned forward, pressing your forehead gently to his, careful not to bump his stitches. “you scared the hell out of me,” you whispered.
“i know,” he whispered back. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t apologize for surviving.”
he gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, then tilted his head just enough that your noses brushed. the proximity sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and when his lips met yours—soft, tentative, with just enough trembling vulnerability to undo you completely—you felt the tight knot in your chest finally loosen.
the kiss was brief, but it lingered like heat long after you pulled back.
“i guess that clears up our status,” you murmured.
“i’ll log it with command,” bob said, a half-smile curving his lips.
you chuckled and reached out to adjust his glasses properly. “you’ll need these. for all the paperwork.”
the curtain rustled slightly as a nurse peeked in. “visiting hours are wrapping up. i’ll have to ask you to say goodnight soon.”
you nodded, brushing your fingers down bob’s arm one last time before standing.
“i’ll be back tomorrow,” you said.
bob gave you a look so full of quiet affection it nearly broke you all over again. “okay.”
you stepped toward the door, then hesitated, looking over your shoulder.
“by the way,” you added with a smile, “you didn’t just survive today. you landed right where you were supposed to.”
this is my miscellaneous masterlist - filled with random characters i get inspired to create for, but are not necessarily one of the main people i write for. i would check back here often as i will always be updating this, and, who knows, if a character here and/or other chacters from the same tv how/series get requested a lot/i enjoy making bots & stories for them then they may get their own 'official' masterlist :)
this will be an easy way to navigate through the fandoms and characters i create for (hopefully). this will include both the c.ai bots i create and fics i write. please let me know if any links are broken and i will try to fix them as soon as possible. i hope you enjoy!
much love,
mari <3
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » top gun: maverick
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » shameless
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » avengers
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » thunderbolts*
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » the vampire diaries/originals
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » the 100
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » misc
the above lists are just what i am mainly creating for at the moment but, if you cannot see a list where a character you would like to see something for request it anyway and i will do my best to write for them!
as stated in the little divider above this blog will be 18+ only as there may be some dark and/or sexual content, so minors PLEASE do NOT interact with this blog.
with this in mind, i wanted to lay out my boundaries for what i will and will not write about! please try to read this post before you request anything for me to write or create. if you are unsure about anything please do not hesitate to ask and i will give you my stand point on the topic, all i ask is that you are respectful of my decision. however, if you send in something that i have clearly stated in this post that i do not write, your request will be ignored and deleted.
i will not be writing:
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » ddlg or age play
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » incest
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » pedophilia - everyone i write for and about will ALWAYS be 18+
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » racism/xenophobia
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » homophobic/transphobic/biphobic ect.
i will write:
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » stalker!character/user
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » pseudo-incest - for example step-brother!char - (nothing where anyone involved is actually related to each other)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » dbf!character (dad's best friend)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » age gap relationships (anyone involved will ALWAYS be above the age of 18)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » teacher/student dynamic (again everyone will be 18 or over)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » dacryphilia
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » somnophilia
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » perv!characters
again, i cannot stress this enough if something isn't listed above and you're curious about my thoughts, or you are not sure if what you are requesting goes against my boundaries, then feel free to ask. i will do my best to let you where i stand.
i know that not everyone is intrested in the darker/sexual content so do not worry there will also be plenty of fluff and soft content - if you do not wish to see ANY of the above mentioned contect that they will all be tagged with 'dark!mari' so feel free to block the tag and then you won't have to worry about it! :) if you want to see some of the content then please be sure to carefully read the content warnings that will go with each fic i write of this nature as i do not want to trigger anyone - viewer discrection is advised.
i am mainly writing for top gun maverick, shameless & marvel (more specifically thunderbolts*) at the moment, HOWEVER, i do write for pretty much anything, so please send in requests regardless of if it is one of the main shows/movies i am currently writing for.
to give you an idea of what i have written for, i have created c.ai bots (username is the same there as it is here & link to my page is attached on my navigation post) for the 100, marvel, shameless, top gun maverick, the vampire diaries/the originals, gilmore girls, criminal minds, the starling girl & many more. i will do my best to complete future writings and bots to the best of my ability so constructive criticism is always welcomed!
how to request
on tumblr - send in an ask including who you would like the writing to be about, the show/movie they are from, any information about the character/backstory/personality you would like me to know, the prompt/scenario/au you woukd like, and finally, anything else you would like me to know. below is an example based off a bot i have already made:
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » example: jake 'hangman' seresin from top gun maverick. hangman, who is a top gun pilot and can come across as full of himself but is confident, charming and smooth-talking, meeting user in the hard deck bar. user is a new bartender at the hard deck and hangman is a reguar customer there alongside his other top gun pilots, charming and cheeky.
on c.ai - you can fill out this google request form and just answer the questions before submitting it :)
