Escape From Reality @smoothdogsgirl - Tumblr Blog

LTF - Ch. 37

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

Notes: This story takes place in 1986 up to the Top Gun: Maverick timeline. I will try to get it as accurate as possible. There may be some mistakes, so please don't hold that against me.

You sat at your desk, the divorce papers spread neatly in front of you, untouched for longer than you cared to admit.

It was early Saturday morning, and it was quieter than you expected.

Too quiet.

The house felt different now—emptier in a way that had nothing to do with furniture or space. It was the kind of quiet that settled in after something significant had passed through and left its mark behind.

Tom’s handwriting—precise, controlled—stared back at you from the margins. Notes. Edits. Adjustments. Everything thought through, just like he always did.

You traced your finger lightly along the edge of the top page but didn’t turn it.

Not yet.

Your mind drifted back to the night before.

The drive to the airport had been… normal.

That was the strange part.

Tommy had been in the backseat, talking about something from school—something about a project or a game or a kid in his class—and you and Tom had listened like you always did. Like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t driving him to catch a flight that felt heavier than any deployment ever had.

You could still see it—Tom glancing over at you at a red light, just for a second. Not saying anything. Just… looking.

Like he had wanted to.

Like maybe there had been something there he didn’t know how to put into words.

You swallowed, blinking the memory away as your eyes dropped back to the papers in front of you.

The airport had been quick.

Too quick.

Tommy had hugged him first, arms tight around his middle, and Tom had held on just a second longer than usual.

“Be good for your mom,” he’d said, his voice steady—but softer than it used to be.

“I am good,” Tommy had shot back, earning the smallest hint of a smile from him.

Then Tom’s eyes had found yours.

No crowd around you. No rushing. Just that same suspended second you seemed to keep finding yourselves in lately.

"Text or call me that you got home okay," you said.

He nodded. "I will."

And that had been it.

No drawn-out goodbye. No touching. No risk of crossing a line that had already been blurred enough the night before.

Just a look.

And then he turned and walked away.

He did text you later that he had made it home.

You exhaled slowly, bringing yourself back to the present as your fingers finally lifted the first page.

The sound of paper shifting felt louder than it should have in the stillness of the house.

Your eyes moved slowly across the page, taking in the structured, deliberate way Tom had laid everything out.

It was exactly how he flew.

Precise. Controlled. No wasted movement.

No room for error.

The first section was straightforward—custody.

He wanted shared custody of Tommy. Equal time, as much as his schedule would allow, with the understanding that his deployments and assignments would shift things. When he was stateside, he wanted to be present. Consistent. Reliable.

There was even a note in the margin—flexible around school schedules—underlined once.

Your throat tightened slightly.

Next came the house.

Tom had outlined that it would be sold.

Clean. Practical. No emotional attachment written into it—just logistics. The proceeds split fairly, with a note about timing the sale around school breaks to minimize disruption for Tommy.

Another small note in the margin—can stay on base housing once finalized.

Of course.

He wasn’t planning on keeping it. Wasn’t trying to hold onto something that didn’t fit his life anymore. Base housing was simpler. Temporary. Easier to leave when duty called.

Easier… in a lot of ways.

Your chest felt a little tighter as you kept reading.

His pension and military benefits were addressed with the same quiet fairness—split in a way that made sense, nothing excessive, nothing selfish. He wasn’t trying to take more than his share.

If anything… it felt like he was making sure you were taken care of.

Spousal support was minimal, almost an afterthought, structured more as a safety net than anything permanent.

And then the last section.

Clean.

Final.

No contesting. No drawn-out proceedings. No dragging each other through something uglier than it already was.

Even here… he was trying to protect what little remained between you.

You sat back slightly in your chair, the paper still in your hands.

It wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was… Tom.

Practical where it hurt. Careful where it mattered. Loving, in the quiet, restrained way he’d always been.

Your fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the page.

Of course he did it like this.

Of course he made it as simple as possible.

That was Tom.

You sighed softly when you heard the back door open.

There was only one other person who had a key.

Riley.

You listened as she moved through the kitchen like she always did—comfortable, familiar. The cabinet opened, a mug pulled down. The quiet pour of coffee. The soft clink of ceramic against the counter.

Normal sounds.

Everyday sounds.

A sharp contrast to everything sitting in front of you.

Her footsteps grew closer, unhurried, until she appeared in the doorway of your office.

You looked up.

Riley leaned against the frame, mug in hand, studying you a little too closely.

“Well,” she said lightly, lifting the mug to her lips, “you look like someone who’s either had a very long week… or a very interesting one.”

You huffed out a quiet breath, leaning back in your chair. “It’s been a week.”

“That bad, huh?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, her eyes flicking briefly to the papers spread across your desk. “Or… that complicated?”

You hesitated just a second too long.

And Riley caught it.

She always did.

Her brows lifted slightly as she took another sip of her coffee, watching you over the rim.

“Well?” she asked, more pointed now.

“It was… fine,” you said, knowing even as the words left your mouth that they sounded weak.

Riley let out a quiet, knowing hum.

“Mm,” she murmured. “Bullshit, I don’t believe you.”

Your lips pressed together, but you didn’t argue.

That was all it took.

Riley straightened slightly, her expression shifting—curiosity sharpening into something more perceptive.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “So not just ‘fine.’”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head faintly. “Riley—”

“No, no,” she cut in, holding up a hand, already piecing it together. “Let me guess. He comes into town, you two play house for a few days, there’s unresolved tension, years of history—”

You closed your eyes briefly.

That was another answer.

Riley blinked once.

Then twice.

“…Oh my God,” she said, lowering her mug just slightly. “You didn’t.”

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t have to.

Her eyes widened.

“You did,” she breathed, equal parts disbelief and understanding. “You and Tom—”

“Riley,” you warned quietly, finally looking up at her.

But there was no real heat behind it.

Just… resignation.

She stared at you for a second longer, then let out a slow breath, shifting her weight as she processed it.

“Okay,” she said after a moment, calmer now—but her voice softer. “Okay.”

Another beat passed.

“…Do you regret it?”

The question landed gently, but it still landed.

Your gaze dropped back to the papers in front of you, your fingers resting against the edge of them.

You thought about the night before.

The way it hadn’t felt like a mistake.

The way it had felt like… something real.

“No,” you said quietly. “I don’t.”

Riley watched you carefully for a beat, like she was weighing that—turning it over, making sure you meant it.

Then she shrugged lightly, taking another sip of her coffee.

“I mean,” she said casually, “I wouldn’t either. He’s still hot.”

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks despite yourself. “Geez, Riles.”

“What?” she shot back, a hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“No one else is thinking that,” you muttered.

“Oh, please,” Riley scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room. “Top Gun golden boy husband shows up looking like that? You expect me to believe there wasn’t at least a moment where you were like—” she gestured vaguely, “—‘hmm, maybe this is a bad idea… but also maybe not?’”

You tried to hold your expression steady.

You failed.

Riley’s grin widened. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You shook your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it—just a tired kind of amusement.

“It wasn’t like that,” you said, quieter now.

Her expression softened almost immediately.

“No?” she asked gently.

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of the papers again.

“It wasn’t just… physical,” you admitted. “That’s the problem.”

Riley didn’t interrupt this time.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t push.

She just listened.

“It felt…” you trailed off, searching for the right word before settling on the only honest one. “Familiar.”

That seemed to land harder than anything else.

Riley exhaled slowly, nodding once. "Okay."

"Until he told me had divorce papers for e to look over."

The words came out flatter than you meant them to, but they still carried weight.

Riley’s expression shifted, her brows pulling together slightly. “Ouch,” she murmured, quieter now. “Yeah… that’ll do it.”

You let out a small breath, your gaze dropping back to the stack in front of you.

“It was like being pulled right back into reality,” you said. “One second it felt like… nothing had changed. And the next—” you gestured faintly to the papers, “—this.”

Riley leaned her hip against the edge of your desk, crossing her arms loosely.

“That’s the thing about history,” she said. “It doesn’t disappear just because the present looks different for a minute.”

You huffed softly. “Yeah, well… would’ve been nice if it did.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mm. Temporary amnesia for emotional damage? Pretty sure everyone would sign up for that.”

That earned the faintest hint of a smile from you.

It faded just as quickly.

“I think what messes with me the most,” you admitted, quieter now, “is that it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It just… happened. Like we never stopped knowing each other.”

Riley didn’t respond right away.

She just watched you, thoughtful.

“Do you wish it hadn’t?” she asked finally.

You shook your head almost immediately.

“No.”

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Her eyes softened slightly at that.

“Okay,” she said again, more certain this time. “Then don’t turn it into something ugly just because the timing sucks.”

You glanced up at her.

“I’m not,” you said. “I just—” you paused, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Riley gave a small shrug. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it.”

You frowned slightly.

“That sounds like avoidance.”

“It’s not,” she countered. “It’s acceptance. There’s a difference.”

She gestured toward the papers.

“This?” she said. “This is a decision. A legal one. A practical one.”

Then she nodded toward you.

“And that?” she added, softer. “That was something real. You don’t have to shove it into the same box just because they happened at the same time.”

You sat with that for a moment, letting it settle.

Letting it make sense.

Your fingers brushed over the top page again, but this time your grip didn’t tighten.

“So, what do the divorce papers say?” Riley asked, nodding toward the stack.

You let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly in your chair. “Pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Tom. Split custody of Tommy. He wants to sell the house and divide the profits.” You paused, glancing down at the page. “There’s alimony, and I get a portion of his pension… but only if I never remarry.” You huffed softly, a hint of dry humor slipping through. “Gotta love the military.”

Riley’s eyes widened, her posture straightening. “Wait—hold on. You won’t get any of his military pension if you remarry?”

“Correct.”

She blinked, clearly trying to process that. “That feels… wildly unfair.”

You gave a small shrug, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s standard. There are rules about how it’s structured. Survivor benefits, remarriage clauses… all of it.”

Riley shook her head, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “So basically, if you ever move on with someone else, you lose that safety net?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wow,” she muttered. “Nothing says ‘fresh start’ like a built-in penalty.”

That pulled the faintest smirk from you.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s not exactly subtle.”

Riley studied you for a moment, her expression shifting again—less disbelief now, more curiosity.

“…And how do you feel about that?” she asked.

Your gaze dropped back to the papers, thumb sliding along the margin where Tom had made one of his neat, precise notes.

“I think,” you said slowly, “it makes everything feel a lot more… permanent.”

Riley didn’t interrupt.

“It’s one thing to sign papers,” you continued quietly. “It’s another to realize the government has already decided what moving on is supposed to look like.”

Riley exhaled softly, leaning her hip against the desk again.

“Do you think he put that in there on purpose?” she asked. “Or is it just… standard issue Iceman paperwork?”

You shook your head immediately. “No, that’s not him. If anything, he made this easier on me than he had to.”

Your fingers tapped lightly against the page.

“He’s not trying to trap me,” you added. “He’s trying to… take care of things. The only way he knows how.”

Riley’s expression softened at that.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “That sounds like him.”

A quiet settled over the room again, but it wasn’t as heavy as before—just thoughtful.

Then Riley tilted her head slightly, a glint of something returning to her eyes.

“…Still doesn’t change the fact that you slept with him right before reviewing all of this.”

You closed your eyes briefly. “Riley—”

“I’m just saying,” she continued, holding up her hands innocently, “the timing? Incredible. Truly.”

Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of you.

“Yeah,” you admitted, shaking your head. “Tell me about it.”

Riley smirked, tilting her head. “You’re such a slut,” she teased.

You snorted, grabbing the stress ball off your desk and tossing it at her.

It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder.

“Hey!” she laughed, catching it before it hit the floor. “I’m kidding—mostly.”

You shook your head, a reluctant smile still lingering. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you,” she shot back, pointing the stress ball at you, “are deflecting.”

Your smile faded just slightly at that—just enough for her to notice.

Riley’s expression softened, her tone easing. "You're not thinking about giving this all up and going back, are you?"

You looked at her. "As much as I love that man...no. I can't do that again. I finally have the life I wanted." You sigh. "i just wish he could've been involved."

Riley looked at you. "You two were great together back in the day."

You hesitated, then gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” you said quietly as thoughts of your past seeped into your head. “Yeah we were."

The pitter patter of feet running down the hallway broke you from your thoughts.

"Aunt Riley!" Tommy's voice yelled.

You watched as Riley turned around and you quickly put the divorce papers in a folder on your desk.

"Hey kiddo!" She lifted Tommy into her arms.

That night, after putting Tommy to bed, you returned to your office and pulled the manila folder back onto your desk. For a moment, you just stared at it.

Then you opened it.

You flipped through the pages again—slower this time, more deliberate. Reading every line and note. Every careful decision he’d made.

By the time you reached the last page, your mind was made up.

You reached for your phone and dialed Tom’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said.

“I take it you’re at work?” you asked, glancing at the clock.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Everything okay?”

You exhaled softly, leaning back in your chair.

“Yeah,” you said. “I went through the papers.”

There was a brief pause on the other end—quiet, but attentive.

“And?” he asked.

“They’re… fair,” you answered honestly. “More than fair. I agree to all of it.”

You could almost hear the shift in his posture through the phone—the way he processed things, steady and controlled.

“Okay,” he said, voice low.

“I mean it,” you continued. “Custody, the house, everything. It all makes sense.”

“Alright,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time. “Then we’ll move forward.”

You nodded to yourself, even though he couldn’t see it.

“What happens next?” you asked.

Tom didn’t hesitate.

“Since we’ve already been separated almost a year, Virginia makes it pretty straightforward,” he explained. “We can file as an uncontested divorce. No court fight, no drawn-out hearings.”

His tone shifted slightly—more procedural now, like he was walking you through a checklist.

“There’s a mandatory separation period, but we’ve already met it,” he continued. “So once we file the agreement and paperwork, it’s mostly administrative. A judge reviews it, signs off, and that’s it.”

“That’s it?” you echoed quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “No court appearance unless something gets contested. Which it won’t.”

A small, almost ironic breath left you.

“Of course it won’t,” you murmured.

Tom was quiet for a second.

“I wanted it to be as easy on you as possible,” he said.

Your chest tightened slightly at that, but your voice stayed steady. “I know.”

Another pause settled in—familiar now, but not uncomfortable.

Just… real.

“I’ll have my lawyer file everything Monday,” he added. “I’ll send you copies of whatever you need.”

“Okay,” you said.

Silence lingered for a moment longer, like neither of you was quite ready to hang up—but neither of you knew what else to say either.

“Tom…” you started, then stopped.

He waited.

You swallowed lightly, your grip tightening just slightly on the phone.

“Thank you,” you said finally. “For… how you handled all of this.”

His response came quieter.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

Another pause.

Then—

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he added.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You will.”

And when the call ended, the silence that followed didn’t feel as heavy.

Just… final. As a single tear slowly rolled down one side of your face.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @illisea

smoothdogsgirl

This literally is me as I pulled a pint of ice cream from the freezer before reading this chapter.

50calmadeuce

LTF - Ch. 23

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

Notes: This story takes place in 1986. I will try to get it as accurate as possible. There may be some mistakes, so please don't hold that against me.

The next day, Tom parked the Porsche in front of the School of Sciences building. He turned and looked at you.

“You’ve got lab all afternoon, right?” he asked.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed. “Try not to miss me too much.”

His mouth curved. “No promises.”

You leaned in and kissed him—soft, familiar, grounding. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours for a brief second, like he was memorizing the moment.

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” he said.

You nodded, opening the door and stepping out, slinging your backpack on your right shoulder.

He handed you your coffee, fingers brushing yours in a way that felt deliberately unhurried.

You nodded, smiling as you stepped away. “Drive safe. Love you," you said as you closed the door.

"Love you too," he replied.

He waited until you disappeared inside the buidling before putting the Porsche in drive and taking off.

Twenty minutes later, Tom pulled into a small, understated jewelry store tucked between a tailor and a bookstore downtown. Nothing flashy. No giant diamonds plastered in the window. Clean lines. Quiet confidence.

Slider was already there, having a deep conversation with Maverick by his motorcycle, sunglasses on, coffee in hand.

“Well?” Slider asked as Tom got out. “You drop her off?”

“Yes,” Tom replied.

Maverick grinned. “Good. That means we can get serious.”

Inside, the store was calm—glass cases glowing softly under warm lights. A middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up and smiled, sensing immediately that this wasn’t casual browsing.

Tom stopped at the first case, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning carefully.

“Okay,” Slider said, lowering his voice. “Let’s recap. No flashy.”

“Simple,” Tom confirmed.

“Gold,” Maverick added.

“Clean lines,” Slider said. “Like… Ice in jewelry form.”

Tom shot him a look. “Careful.”

They moved slowly, deliberately. Tom ignored the oversized stones and ornate settings, barely glancing at anything that felt performative. Then he stopped.

A small gold band sat nestled in velvet—delicate, elegant. At its center, a modest stone caught the light. Not huge. Not loud. Intentional.

He leaned closer.

Maverick followed his gaze and went quiet. “That one.”

Slider nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s her.”

Tom didn’t speak right away. He just stared at it, chest tightening as he imagined it on your hand—warm against your skin, steady, permanent.

“She said she’d rather it mean something than sparkle,” he said quietly.

The jeweler stepped closer. “That piece was custom. Simple by design. Chosen by people who know exactly what they want.”

Tom met her eyes. “I do.”

The jeweler smiled. "She must be really special to you."

"She is," Ice replied confidently.

Slider clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Look at you. Walking in here like you’re planning a sortie.”

Maverick smirked. “You ready for that, Ice?”

Tom didn’t hesitate. “I’ve been ready.”

As the jeweler lifted the ring from the case, Tom finally exhaled—slow, steady.

This wasn’t impulse.

This wasn’t pressure.

This was choice.

You saw the Porsche parked in its usual spot when you left the School of Sciences building that evening. The engine idled and the top was down. It was a beautiful evening for a ride in a convertible. Tom leaned an arm on the door, sunglasses on, calm as ever — like this was just another afternoon.

You slid into the passenger seat, dropping your bag at our feet with a tired sigh. "Long day," you muttered.

He glanced at you, that small knowing smile tugging at his mouth. "Yeah. I figured."

You buckled in, already launching into a half-formed complaint about lab equipment and ocean temps.

Tom put the Porsche in drive, pulling away from the school, not saying a word.

You continued talking about your lab and the partner you were working with when you realized you weren't driving towards home, but you trusted him — had learned to, over time. Tom Kazansky didn't do anything without a purpose.

The radio played low, something soft and forgettable, while his hand rested on your thigh like it belonged there. Outside, San Diego slowly gave way to open stretches of coast, the air cooler, sharper with salt.

You glanced over at him. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”

He didn’t look away from the road. Just the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered anyway. “That’s ominous.”

“Trust me,” he said calmly.

You did.

A few minutes later, he pulled off onto a narrow road you'd never noticed before, parking near a quiet overlook perched above the water. Now crowds. No noise. Just the steady, rhythmic crash of waves below and seabirds riding the wind.

Tom got out first and came around to your side of the car. When he opened the door, he held out his hand.

You took it without hesitation.

His grip was warm, steady. Grounding.

“You okay?” he asked, already studying your face.

You nodded. “Yeah. I just… didn’t know places like this still existed.”

“They do,” he said. “If you’re paying attention.”

He led you along a short path toward the railing overlooking the ocean. The water stretched endlessly in front of you, deep blue and alive, moving with a patience that made everything else feel small.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on the railing, breathing it in.

“This is beautiful,” you murmured.

“I remembered,” he said quietly.

You turned to look at him. “Remembered what?”

“The way you talk about the ocean,” he replied. “Like it’s not just water. Like it’s something that holds you together.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked back out at the waves. “I used to think it was all I needed,” you said softly. “The ocean. The work. Something steady.”

There was a pause behind you. Then—

“And now?” he asked.

You smiled faintly. “Now I know better.”

You felt him move then, stepping closer, turning you gently until you were facing him. His expression had changed—still calm, still controlled—but there was something deeper there. Something unguarded.

“I’ve spent my whole life managing risk,” he said. “Control. Precision. Distance.”

Your heart began to pound.

“But with you,” he continued, voice low and sure, “I don’t want distance. I don’t want control. I want commitment.”

Your breath caught as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. Slowly. Deliberately.

When he pulled out the ring, your eyes filled instantly.

It was perfect. Simple. Elegant. A quiet kind of beautiful that felt like it had always been meant for you.

“You made a home for me without ever asking me to stay,” he said. “You stood up to my father when I couldn’t.” “You waited when I left.” “You chose me knowing exactly who I am.”

He took your hands in his, thumbs brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want a future that doesn’t include you.”

Then Tom Kazansky—Lieutenant, naval aviator, the man who never knelt for anyone—lowered himself in front of you.

Not rushed. Not dramatic.

Certain.

“Marry me,” he said quietly. “Not because it’ll be easy. But because it’ll be ours.”

Tears spilled freely now. You covered your mouth, shaking your head as a laugh escaped you.

“You planned this,” you whispered.

A small smile curved his lips. “I planned us.”

You nodded, voice breaking. “Yes. Of course yes.”

He was on his feet instantly, pulling you into him, forehead resting against yours as if the world might tilt otherwise.

He slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

“I love you,” he said softly.

You smiled through tears. “I know. And I love you.”

He kissed you then—slow, grounding, full of promise—while the ocean roared beneath you, endless and sure, as if it had been waiting for this moment too.

The next morning, after Tom dropped you off, campus buzzed with its usual rhythm—students weaving between buildings, the ocean breeze carrying the faint smell of salt and sunscreen through the walkways. You spotted Riley near the quad, perched on a low stone wall with a coffee in one hand and her bag slung over her shoulder.

You yelled out her name and she looked up when she heard your voice.

“There you are,” she said, squinting against the sun. “You disappear last night and don’t even call—rude.”

You smiled, nerves fluttering low in your stomach as you walked toward her. “I had… a night.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed instantly. “That tone means something happened.”

You stopped in front of her, suddenly very aware of your hands. Slowly, deliberately, you held up your left one.

It took a second.

Then her coffee nearly hit the ground.

“Oh. My. God.” She jumped off the wall so fast you barely had time to brace yourself before she grabbed your shoulders. “Is that—are you—did HE—”

You laughed, breathless. “Yes. All of it. He proposed.”

Riley let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp, then pulled you into a tight hug. “I knew it,” she said fiercely. “I knew it. That man has been gone for months and still somehow managed to outdo every idiot on this campus.”

You pulled back, eyes bright, heart full. “There’s something else.”

She raised a brow. “There’s more?”

You swallowed, suddenly shy. “I was wondering… if you’d be my maid of honor.”

For once, Riley didn’t have something sarcastic ready.

Her mouth fell open, then she blinked rapidly, pressing her lips together. “You’re serious.”

“Completely,” you said. “You’ve been there through all of it. The waiting. The doubt. The mess. I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

Riley exhaled, then smiled—soft, real, a little emotional. “Yeah,” she said, voice thick. “Yeah, I’ll do it. Obviously. I’ll boss everyone around and make sure you don’t lose your mind.”

You laughed. “That’s exactly why I asked.”

She pulled you into another hug, squeezing tight. “You’re marrying a naval aviator,” she said quietly. “And you’re doing it your way. I’m so proud of you.”

As you pulled back, Riley glanced at your hand again, grinning. “Okay,” she added. “Now tell me everything. And don’t skip the good parts.”

You smiled, sunlight catching the diamond as you lifted your hand again—still half convinced this was real.

“Alright,” you said. “So… it started when he picked me up after class...”

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl

smoothdogsgirl

50calmadeuce

LTF - Ch. 21

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

Notes: This story takes place in 1986. I will try to get it as accurate as possible. There may be some mistakes, so please don’t hold that against me.

The summer passed in a blur of saltwater, sunburned skin, and long days at sea.

Your internship had been everything you hoped for—early mornings aboard research vessels, hours spent tagging sharks, logging data, and learning how to move with the rhythm of the ocean instead of fighting it. You came home exhausted most nights, muscles aching and hands raw, but fulfilled in a way that made every sacrifice feel worthwhile.

And every night, you came home to the apartment.

Even when Tom wasn’t there, the space still felt like him—his jacket draped over the back of a chair, the faint scent of his soap lingering in the bathroom, the Porsche keys sitting in their usual place by the door. It wasn’t just a place to sleep anymore. It was home.

You wrote to him whenever you could. Letters tucked into envelopes. Notes scribbled late at night when missing him felt heavier than usual. Some weeks passed without a reply. Other times, his words came sooner, steady and grounding. Every letter reminded you that this—you and him—was still real, even across oceans.

By the time summer ended, you had changed.

You were stronger. More certain. More aware of what it meant to love someone whose life was built around departures.

Sophomore year arrived without ceremony.

Instead of moving back into a dorm, you stayed where you belonged—at the apartment you shared with Tom. Your books filled the shelves beside his flight manuals. Your shoes lined up next to his by the door. It felt deliberate. Adult. Earned.

Your coursework intensified—advanced marine biology, long lab hours, research projects that demanded focus and precision—but it no longer felt overwhelming. This was the path you had chosen, and for the first time, it felt like your life was taking shape in a way that made sense.

Riley still came and went, crashing on the couch when she needed a break from her own chaos, bringing laughter and noise and comfort into the quiet space Tom usually filled. Some weekends, you stayed busy—studying, diving, working—anything to keep your mind from drifting too far.

Other nights, you lay awake in the dark, fingers brushing the dog tags you kept close, wondering where he was and if he was safe.

You were learning how to live in the in-between.

Balancing ambition with longing. Independence with devotion. Hope with the ache of absence.

Sophomore year wasn’t just about school anymore.

It was about building a life—one anchored in love, patience, and the quiet faith that he would always find his way back to you.

You sighed as you looked out the window of your apartment.

The window was cracked just enough to let the evening air drift in, warm and faintly salty, carrying the distant sound of the ocean mixed with the low hum of traffic from the street below. Outside, the sky was painted in soft shades of gold and lavender as the sun dipped toward the horizon, palm fronds swaying lazily in the breeze.

It was one of those San Diego evenings that felt almost unreal—too calm, too beautiful—like the world was holding its breath.

You rested your forehead briefly against the glass, watching as the last of the daylight faded, your thoughts drifting where they always seemed to go lately. To Tom. To wherever he was now. To the quiet absence that had become familiar but never quite comfortable.

The apartment was still, save for the faint rustle of papers on the table and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. You exhaled, letting the sound fill the space.

Then— a gentle knock at the door.

You froze.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t urgent. Just soft, deliberate. Almost hesitant.

Your heart skipped, hope flaring before you could stop it.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Then the knock came again, just as careful as the first.

You pushed away from the desk and crossed the apartment, your steps slow, cautious. Something in your chest tightened as you reached the door.

You rested your hand on the knob. “Who is it?”

“Y/N? It’s me—Maverick.”

You blinked, surprise washing over you. You hadn’t expected him. Not here.

You opened the door to find Pete Mitchell standing in the hallway, flight jacket slung over one shoulder, helmet tucked under his arm. His usual easy grin was there, but it softened when he saw your face.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Sorry to drop in unannounced.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated just long enough to make your heart start racing again. Then he exhaled and leaned back against the doorframe.

“I just got word,” he said. “Figured you deserved to hear it in person.”

You folded your arms loosely, bracing yourself. “Hear what?”

Maverick’s expression shifted—lighter now, almost proud.

“Tom’s rotation is wrapping up. He’ll be stateside in a couple weeks. Maybe sooner, if things line up right.”

For a second, the words didn’t register.

Then they did.

Your breath caught. “He’s… he’s coming home?”

Maverick nodded. “Yeah. He’s been counting the days—along with the rest of the squadron.”

The words finally sank in, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a breathless laugh and did a small, spontaneous spin right there in the living room—half a dance, half pure relief.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, pressing your hands to your face. “Oh my God.”

Maverick burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Yep. That about sums it up.”

You dropped your hands, grinning at him, eyes bright. “I’m sorry—I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said warmly. “Trust me, Kazansky would pay good money to see that.”

Your smile softened at the thought, excitement buzzing through you from head to toe. For the first time in what felt like forever, the waiting didn’t feel so heavy.

He was coming home.

Maverick studied you for a moment, his expression shifting—lighter than when he’d arrived, but still thoughtful. He’d made it a habit to check in on you whenever he could, a quiet constant during Tom’s absences, and somewhere along the way that concern had turned into an easy, genuine friendship.

“So,” he said casually, leaning back against the counter. “How are you doing otherwise?”

You smiled, appreciating that he really meant it. “Good. Almost halfway through my first sophomore semester, and… it’s been interesting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like there’s more to that sentence.”

You laughed softly. “Classes are harder. The internship kicked my ass—in a good way. And living off campus feels more real somehow. Like I’m actually building something instead of just passing time.”

Maverick nodded, clearly impressed. “Sounds like you’re holding your own.”

“I am,” you said, then added more quietly, “Most days.”

He didn’t push. He never did. Instead, he smiled and bumped your shoulder lightly. “Tom’s proud of you. Even if he doesn’t always say it out loud.”

That landed deeper than you expected.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “For checking in. For… everything.”

Maverick shrugged, but his grin was warm. “That’s what friends are for. And besides—someone’s gotta make sure you’re okay while Kazansky’s off playing hero.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as the excitement bubbled back up.

“He’s really coming home,” you said, almost to yourself.

Maverick glanced at you, amusement in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “And you’re gonna want to brace yourself. He’s been unbearable about it.”

You studied him for a moment, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes—the kind that came from long hours and short nights, not just jet lag.

“What about you?” you asked gently. “How are you doing, Mav?”

He blinked, clearly not expecting the question, then gave a crooked smile. “Me? I’m good. Busy.”

“That’s not an answer,” you said, folding your arms with a teasing tilt of your head.

He chuckled and sighed, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, okay. I wrapped up my instructor stint a while back. Didn’t last long—surprise, surprise.”

You smiled. “I can’t imagine you enjoying being grounded.”

“Drove me crazy,” he admitted. “Too much talking, not enough flying. I’m heading back to the fleet now. New assignment, different squadron. Same sky.”

“That sounds… big,” you said carefully.

“It is,” he nodded. “But it feels right. Being an instructor was important—don’t get me wrong—but I’m not done out there yet.”

You nodded, understanding more than he probably realized. “I get that. Sometimes staying still feels harder than leaving.”

Maverick looked at you, something thoughtful passing through his expression. “You’ve gotten good at this,” he said. “Handling the waiting.”

You shrugged. “I’ve had practice.”

He smiled softly. “Tom’s lucky. He knows it too—even if he won’t say it in those exact words.”

You laughed quietly. “None of you ever do.”

Maverick grinned. “Fair.”

He straightened, glancing toward the door. “Anyway—I wanted you to hear it from me. He’ll be home in a couple weeks. And he’s… different this time. In a good way.”

Your chest warmed at that. “I’ll take different.”

“Yeah,” Maverick said, heading for the door. “I figured you would.”

He paused, hand on the knob, and glanced back at you. “You’re doing okay, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

You smiled. “Neither are you.”

That earned you a quiet laugh as you closed the door behind him—leaving behind the promise of homecoming, and the comfort of knowing you weren’t facing the waiting alone.

You just stood there for a second, staring at the wood like it might suddenly start talking back to you.

He’s coming home.

The thought finally landed fully, warm and electric, and you let out a breathless laugh before you could stop yourself.

“Well,” you murmured to the empty apartment, “that changes everything.”

You turned toward the kitchen, your steps lighter than they had been all evening. The window above the sink was cracked open, letting in the cool San Diego night air, carrying the faint scent of salt and distant traffic. You pulled a bag of microwave popcorn from the cupboard, tossing it into the microwave and hitting the button with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

As it started popping, you leaned against the counter, arms folded, grinning like you had a secret the rest of the world didn’t know yet. In a couple of weeks, Tom would be standing in this space again—filling it with his quiet presence, his steady hands, that look he got when he saw you like you were the safest place he knew.

The microwave beeped, snapping you out of your thoughts. You poured the popcorn into a bowl, the buttery steam rising, and carried it back to your desk.

Your textbooks were still open where you’d left them, highlighter tucked between the pages, notes scattered in organized chaos. You sat down, curling your legs beneath you, and grabbed the bowl.

You tried to focus—really tried—but every few minutes your eyes drifted back to the calendar on the wall, counting days without meaning to.

Soon.

You smiled to yourself, popping a kernel into your mouth and turning back to your notes, heart buzzing, the waiting suddenly lighter now that it had an end.

The flight deck was finally quieting down, the sun bleeding out over the horizon as the carrier cut steadily through the water. The smell of jet fuel still lingered in the air, mixed with salt and metal. Tom stood near the rail, elbows resting against it, staring out at the ocean like it might offer answers.

Slider found him there a few minutes later, two coffees in hand—questionable coffee, but coffee nonetheless.

“You look like a man contemplating life, death, or doing something incredibly stupid,” Slider said, handing one over. “Figured I’d better intervene.”

Tom huffed a quiet breath, took the cup. “That so?”

“Yeah,” Slider replied. “That’s either a ‘Top Gun screwed me up’ stare or a ‘I’m about to propose’ stare. And since you already survived Top Gun, my money’s on the second.”

Tom shot him a look. “You ever consider not running your mouth?”

“Nope. Navy didn’t issue me that setting.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the ship filling the space between them. Tom finally spoke, voice low.

“I’m thinking about asking her.”

Slider’s teasing expression softened—just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Tom nodded. “I don’t want it to be impulsive. Or selfish. She’s got school. A future. I don’t ever want her to feel like she gave something up for me.”

Slider smirked. “You gave her your ring, your dog tags, and your Porsche. Pretty sure the girl knows where she stands.”

“That’s different,” Tom said. “Those were… trust. This is forever.”

Slider leaned back against the rail, studying him. “You’re serious-serious.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Tom replied without hesitation. “I come back from missions thinking about her. I picture home and it’s not a place—it’s her. And when things get bad out here?” He paused. “She’s what steadies me.”

Slider nodded slowly. “Damn. You’re gone.”

Tom snorted. “Says the guy who’s been married twice.”

“Hey,” Slider held up a finger, “I learned valuable lessons. Like: don’t rush it, don’t screw it up, and when you know—you know.”

He glanced sideways at Tom. “You know.”

“I do.”

Slider grinned. “So what’s the plan? Big dramatic Kazansky moment? Flight deck proposal? Formation flyover? Writing it in the sky?”

Tom grimaced. “Absolutely not.”

“Good. Because she’d probably throw something at you.”

Tom smiled despite himself. “I want it quiet. Just us. Something real.”

Slider nodded approvingly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth? She’s good for you. You’re different with her. Less… ice sculpture. More human.”

Tom glanced back out at the water, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “She makes me want to be better.”

Slider raised his coffee cup. “Well hell. Guess I’ll start practicing my ‘best man who totally didn’t cry’ face.”

Tom scoffed. “You cry, I’m denying this conversation ever happened.”

Slider grinned. “Deal.”

They stood there a while longer, the carrier cutting through the darkening sea, Tom’s thoughts already drifting home—to her, to the future, to a question he was already certain of the answer to.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl

smoothdogsgirl

this update has me ginnin' like a fool.

transformativeworks

Harassment Spam Bot Alert!

Date posted: November 12, 2025

AO3 has recently seen a rise in guest spambot comments making false accusations about work creators or other users. For example, they may claim that a particular user is discriminating against minorities, trying to hide the fact that they use AI, or are at risk of having their works stolen or deleted.

These comments often copy existing AO3 usernames in order to make their accusations seem more legitimate. They may also try to lure people onto other platforms (similar to the art commission scam), or use fake links that actually lead to pornographic images.

As always, we recommend that you do not click on any suspicious links or give your contact information to scammers. Instead, simply mark the comments as spam or report them so that the Policy & Abuse committee can remove comments left by these spambots.

Learn how to recognize them and what to do below the cut!

transformativeworks

As of December 2025, bots have also left guest comments harassing users by:

threatening to report you/your fic to the authorities or your employers

alleging security concerns like your email being compromised or spyware on your computer

claiming that they know your address and are going to visit you at your house

saying that you will die alone and unemployed over the holidays

What these bots claim is not true. These accusations do not mean your work will be deleted or that your accounts are insecure. We recommend that you mark these comments as spam following the instructions in our previous post.

These examples also do not represent the full range of harassment comments that you may receive. We will continue to try and keep you updated about trends; however, please note that the exact wording the bots use will continue to evolve.

If you're not sure if something is a spambot comment, you're welcome to contact Policy & Abuse for assistance. Refer to the original post for more information!

ansonmountdaily

Captain Christopher Pike - The Captain's chair

STAR TREK: DISCOVERY (2017–2024) STAR TREK: SHORT TREKS (2018–2020) STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS (2022– ) STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS | Patrick Starship Enterprise: SpongeBob Joins the Star Trek Crew ad (2025) STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS | Season 4 teaser for The Muppets episode (2025)

echolessvoid

THROUGH A RAPIST’S EYES” (PLS TAKE TIME TO READ THIS. It may save a life, It may save your life.)

An Article from Neena Susan Thomas

“Through a rapist’s eyes. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interview…ed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

1] The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun! , braid, or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed. They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair. Women with short hair are not common targets.

2] The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who’s clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around to cut clothing.

3] They also look for women using their cell phone, searching through their purse or doing other activities while walking because they are off guard and can be easily overpowered.

4] The number one place women are abducted from / attacked at is grocery store parking lots.

5] Number two is office parking lots/garages.

6] Number three is public restrooms.

7] The thing about these men is that they are looking to grab a woman and quickly move her to a second location where they don’t have to worry about getting caught.

8] If you put up any kind of a fight at all, they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you isn’t worth it because it will be time-consuming.

9] These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas,or other similar objects that can be used from a distance, in their hands.

10] Keys are not a deterrent because you have to get really close to the attacker to use them as a weapon. So, the idea is to convince these guys you’re not worth it.

POINTS THAT WE SHOULD REMEMBER:

1] If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question, like what time is it, or make general small talk: can’t believe it is so cold out here, we’re in for a bad winter. Now that you’ve seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up, you lose appeal as a target.

2] If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell Stop or Stay back! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they’d leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target.

3] If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes,) yelling I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

4] If someone grabs you, you can’t beat them with strength but you can do it by outsmarting them. If you are grabbed around the waist from behind, pinch the attacker either under the arm between the elbow and armpit or in the upper inner thigh – HARD. One woman in a class this guy taught told him she used the underarm pinch on a guy who was trying to date rape her and was so upset she broke through the skin and tore out muscle strands the guy needed stitches. Try pinching yourself in those places as hard as you can stand it; it really hurts.

5] After the initial hit, always go for the groin. I know from a particularly unfortunate experience that if you slap a guy’s parts it is extremely painful. You might think that you’ll anger the guy and make him want to hurt you more, but the thing these rapists told our instructor is that they want a woman who will not cause him a lot of trouble. Start causing trouble, and he’s out of there.

6] When the guy puts his hands up to you, grab his first two fingers and bend them back as far as possible with as much pressure pushing down on them as possible. The instructor did it to me without using much pressure, and I ended up on my knees and both knuckles cracked audibly.

7] Of course the things we always hear still apply. Always be aware of your surroundings, take someone with you if you can and if you see any odd behavior, don’t dismiss it, go with your instincts. You may feel little silly at the time, but you’d feel much worse if the guy really was trouble.

FINALLY, PLEASE REMEMBER THESE AS WELL ….

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do it.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans : if a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you…. chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won’t see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping,eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON’T DO THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side,put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU CLOSE the DOORS , LEAVE.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:

a. Be aware: look around your car as someone may be hiding at the passenger side , peek into your car, inside the passenger side floor, and in the back seat. ( DO THIS TOO BEFORE RIDING A TAXI CAB) .

b. If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

c. Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot).

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it’s better safe than sorry.

If u have compassion reblog this post. ‘Helping hands are better than Praying Lips’ – give us your helping hand.

REBLOG THIS AND LET EVERY GIRL KNOW AT LEAST PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHATS GOING ON IN THIS WORLD. So please reblog this….Your one reblog can Help to spread this information.

THIS COULD ACTUALLY SAVE A LIFE.”

aetherialmuse

Hi I’d like to submit this for your next writing day (I'm sending it now so I don't forget). I love reading what you come up with. Thanks in advance for the consideration.

Jensen x Reader (shes not in the film/tv industry) have been together a while but are not married. She brings him home for the holidays to meet her family. She grew up as a military brat that moved around every 3 yrs all over the world when she was growing up. Her dads not impressed that his daughter’s dating an actor. Wishing she’d date someone in a steady stable career who’ll be able to support and take care of her. Obv her dad doesn't know who Jensen is career wise.

Steady

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Pairings; Jensen Ackles x reader

Genre/Warnings; fluff, slight tension, meet-the-family

Summary: You take Jensen home for the holidays, but your military father isn’t thrilled you’re dating an actor—until Jensen quietly proves exactly who he is.

563 words

Your childhood home still smells like pine cleaner, old leather boots, and whatever candle your mom decided was festive but not overpowering. You’d barely dropped your bags at the door before Jensen was being ushered in behind you, shoulders relaxed, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket like he was trying not to look too big or too famous in the hallway.

He wasn’t nervous exactly… Just Jensen. Quiet. Observant. Polite. Trying.

“Dad,” you said, turning to where the old soldier stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed so tight the fabric strained. “This is—”

“Jensen,” he finished, giving him a curt nod. “Actor.”

You winced. Off to a great start.

Jensen didn’t flinch. “Sir,” he said, shaking his hand with the respect of a man who grew up with discipline in the house too.

Your dad’s expression didn’t budge. “So. You’re in… movies.”

“TV, mostly,” Jensen said, calm as ever. “Some voice work. Some directing.”

Dad nodded once, unimpressed. “Right. And you think that’s a stable career? Lot of moving around. No guarantees. No benefits.”

You felt your stomach drop, but Jensen only smiled a little, head tilting with that slow, warm charm that could melt concrete.

“Well, sir,” he said, “your daughter grew up moving every three years all over the world. I think she’s proven she can handle a little change.”

Your dad blinked—like he hadn’t expected an answer that wasn’t defensive or apologetic. You squeezed Jensen’s hand in thanks; he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“But,” Jensen added gently, “I’m not planning on dragging her anywhere she doesn’t want to go. I take care of the people I love. Always have. Always will.”

Your mother peeked in from the kitchen, mouthing that was good before disappearing.

Your dad grunted—not approval, but not disapproval either. “You make enough doing… what was it? Hunting ghosts?”

“Demons too,” Jensen said seriously. Then he winked at you when your dad looked away.

Later, during dinner, the real shift happened.

Your dad asked about responsibility. About planning ahead. About the future. And Jensen, without ever bragging, without ever dropping celebrity names or numbers, answered:

He talked about buying his first house because he didn’t want debt hanging over his family someday.

He talked about scheduling months off so your relationship wouldn’t be swallowed by the industry.

He talked about saving for retirement early because his old costar “lectured him like a dad about it at twenty-five.”

He talked about how he’d learned to cook because he wanted to take care of the people he loved without relying on anyone else.

Your dad’s brows rose higher with every answer.

Finally, near the end of dessert, he leaned back and sighed—the same sigh he used when he’d decided you weren’t completely helpless after all.

“You take care of my kid?” he asked.

Jensen didn’t hesitate. “With everything I’ve got.”

“And you two’re happy?”

You smiled. “Very.”

Your dad glanced between you. Slow. Measuring. Then nodded.

“Alright then,” he said. “Welcome to the family. But if you break her heart—”

“Sir,” Jensen said softly, “I’d break my own first.”

Your mom whispered “awww!” Your dad pretended not to hear it. And Jensen reached under the table, laced his fingers with yours, and mouthed:

I love you.

You squeezed back, cheeks warm, heart full.

Maybe bringing him home hadn’t been so scary after all.

Taglist -> @globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl @yoyok-era @deansbbyx @eagerlycyberchaos @star-yawnznn @mar-munteanu06 @barnes70stark @madelinessss @kittenlittle24 @whispersofautumnfog @swimmingglittertimemachine @dragonfly92 @enchantedtomeetcoffee @alyackles @notmewoah @5sos300865 @idfc @rott3ndesire @saltyfriendsaladbandit @ablondehoe

smoothdogsgirl

Awww this was perfect 😍

THANK YOU!!!

bellaireland1981

Classroom Proposal

Summary: Bradley decides he's going to propose to you, but he enlists the help of the squad... and 24 second graders that you had last school year. (Note: this is set in the Classroom Universe and you at least need to read Classroom Visits ... but should read them all prior to this!)

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (nicknamed Sparkles), Jake x OC Shay, Phoenix x Javy, Dagger squad.

Warnings: FLUFF...seriously... you may need a dentist after. Illusions to sex (MINORS DNI),

Word Count: 4520

A/N: I do not own Top Gun Maverick characters but all OC/Reader inserts are my own. DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE/REPOST my work to other platforms, I do NOT give permission to do so. I do NOT give permission to feed my work into an AI generators... DO NOT BE A JERK! Reblogs are ALWAYS welcome!

Masterlist

smoothdogsgirl

This is so cute and adorable. It totally made my heart melt.

ansonmountdaily

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds Season 3 behind the scenes

A collection of photos and selfies the Strange New Worlds cast members have shared via Instagram: Anson Mount, Ethan Peck, Rebecca Romijn, Celia Rose Gooding, Jess Bush, Christina Chong, Melissa Navia, Babs Olusanmokun, Carol Kane, Martin Quinn, Paul Wesley, and guest stars Cillian O'Sullivan, Patton Oswalt and Chris Myers. Pictured are also directors Jordan Canning, Valerie Weiss, Jonathan Frakes, Doug Aarniokoski and Andi Armaganian.

Source: Jess Bush [2], Celia Rose Gooding [2] [3] [4], Rebecca Romijn [2], Martin Quinn, Jordan Canning [2], Valerie Weiss, Chris Myers, beyondtheaudition

elen-aranel

Captain Pike - hosting the crew, SNW Episode 2 Children of the Comet

aetherialmuse

Jensen Ackles and or Henry Cavill request. They come home from filming or doing promo. And are having some adult time with the reader. But in all the excitement forgot to lock the bedroom door and in walks a little one asking “Daddy what are you doing to Mommy?”

Daddy, what are you doing to Mommy?

Main Masterlist Actors Masterlist

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Pairings; Jensen Ackles x wife!reader, Henry Cavill x wife!reader

Genre/warnings; fluff, domestic, humor, implied intimacy, rpf, implied smut, toddler interruption, embarrassment

Summary: you get caught up in some under-the-blanket intimacy, only to be hilariously interrupted by your toddler asking what Daddy’s doing to Mommy, forcing daddy to scramble for an innocent explanation.

718 words

Henry had barely kicked off his shoes before his lips found yours. After a long day of filming and back-to-back promo events, he was starved for you — for something real, soft, grounding.

You barely made it to the bedroom before clothes began to scatter, laughter and kisses filling the space. In the flurry of excitement, neither of you bothered with the door.

The blankets twisted around you both, muffling your soft moans and Henry’s low groans as he buried his face against your neck. His hand gripped yours tightly, his other hand tangled in the sheets.

And then — the creak of the door.

“Daddy?”

Both your heads snapped toward the doorway, where a sleepy little figure stood clutching a stuffed animal, eyes wide and curious.

“Daddy, what are you doing to Mommy?”

Silence. Deafening silence.

Your cheeks flamed. Henry’s ears went pink immediately, his mouth opening and closing like he’d just forgotten how to form words. He yanked the blanket up higher, practically hiding you both under it, his arm protectively across your body.

“Uh—uh—Daddy’s, um…” he stammered, shooting you a desperate look. You bit your lip, half mortified, half trying not to laugh.

Thinking fast, Henry cleared his throat. “Daddy’s… giving Mommy a massage. Because she was, uh, very tired.”

Your toddler tilted their head, suspicious in the way only a three-year-old could be. “Why was Mommy making noises?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole. Henry, on the other hand, straightened up with mock seriousness. “Because Daddy’s very good at massages.”

That earned a little satisfied nod. The toddler clutched their stuffed toy tighter. “Oh. Can I have a massage too?”

Henry choked on a laugh. “Maybe tomorrow. How about you go back to bed and let Mommy rest, yeah?”

With the innocence of a child who had no idea what they’d just walked in on, the little one nodded and padded out of the room.

The second the door shut, you buried your face in Henry’s chest, muffling your laughter and embarrassment. “A massage? Really?”

Henry kissed your hair, still flushed, still shaking with silent laughter. “It was all I had. We are never forgetting to lock that door again.”

It had been weeks since Jensen got home from set, and you barely made it upstairs before collapsing into each other. Clothes half on, half off, tangled in the sheets — your laughter and soft moans muffled under the heavy blanket, Jensen’s voice low and breathy in your ear.

Neither of you thought about the lock.

And then, just as Jensen buried his face against your neck—

“Daddy?”

You both froze like deer in headlights.

Your toddler stood in the doorway, clutching their sippy cup and blinking sleepily at you both in bed. “Daddy, what are you doing to Mommy?”

Jensen’s whole body went rigid. His head whipped toward the door, eyes wide, ears instantly pink. He yanked the blanket higher over the two of you, shielding you completely as he cleared his throat.

“Uh—well, uh—Daddy’s, um… giving Mommy a hug.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, trying not to laugh at his panicked expression.

The little one tilted their head. “Why was Mommy making noises?”

Jensen’s jaw dropped. He looked down at you like please, help me out here, but you only shook your head, eyes watery with suppressed laughter.

“Uh—because…” Jensen dragged a hand down his face, searching for words. “Because Mommy really likes Daddy’s hugs. A lot. They’re special hugs.”

Your toddler considered this seriously, nodding after a beat. “Can I have a special hug too?”

Jensen let out a strangled laugh, kissing your temple quickly before shifting the blanket even higher. “You got it, bud. First thing in the morning, Daddy’ll give you the best hug in the world. But right now, Mommy needs to rest, okay?”

Satisfied, the little one toddled back toward their room. “Okay. Night, Daddy. Night, Mommy.”

“Night, sweetheart,” you both chorused, waiting until the door shut.

The second it did, Jensen collapsed onto his back, covering his face with both hands. “We are never forgetting to lock that damn door again.”

You laughed, curling into his side. “A hug? Really?”

He peeked at you through his fingers, smirking. “I panicked.”

That sent you into another fit of giggles — one Jensen silenced quickly with a kiss.

Taglist -> @globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl @yoyok-era @deansbbyx @eagerlycyberchaos @star-yawnznn @mar-munteanu06 @barnes70stark @madelinessss @kittenlittle24

smoothdogsgirl

This is perfect and totally adorkable!!!!

rosieposie

The Avengers (2012) dir. Joss Whedon

bykaitlynann

More Mess After Kickoff

Summary: After Texas’ crushing 55–0 win, Glen’s house is buzzing with victory drinks and rowdy celebration. When he finally pulls you upstairs, the cowboy hat rule you broke earlier in the night comes due. What starts with a heated make out at the locked bedroom door unravels into soft-dom Glen cashing in on the ride you owe him, coaxing you through every moan and reminding you to stay quiet while the party rages below.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content (NSFW), soft dom dynamic, dirty talk, fingering/oral (female receiving), protected penetrative sex (condom use), overstimulation, praise kink, “good girl” language, light hand-over-mouth/muffling to keep quiet, public risk/exhibition undertones (guests downstairs), aftercare/comfort.

Word Count: 3,870

Author’s Note: This is the HIGHLY requested Part 2 to Mess Before Kickoff. They can be read separately but probably work best together. Enjoy xx

smoothdogsgirl

bykaitlynann

Mess Before Kickoff

Summary: What starts as a harmless dare at Glen’s pre-game hangout takes a sharp turn when you end up alone with him in the back of a shuttle van on the way to the stadium. The cowboy hat rule gets enforced, and one teasing touch becomes a messy, unforgettable reminder that Glen Powell always plays to win.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content (NSFW), soft-dom dynamic, grinding/overstimulation through clothing, dirty talk, public risk/semi-public setting (back of car), use of alcohol (social setting).

Word Count: 2,102

Author's Note: This is just pure filth based on a photo I saw and I have no excuse.