One shot, 5,000 words.

"Teammates, wingmen, Ice and Maverick, they’re all synonyms in Maverick’s head, the lines long since disappeared and mixed up, placed in the wrong boxes with the wrong labels. And now Maverick’s in Ice’s face, eerily similar to that day in the locker room, to that dreadful year, to jet wash and biting teeth and stupidity. And Ice wants to push Maverick away, to give way and make space. He doesn’t. Because it’s better him than someone else. Better than Maverick walking away with his fists clenched and teeth bared and going to Bradley demanding why. Ice wants to grab Maverick by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Yes, Mitchell. It was fucking obvious that Bradley was getting restless. That he needed space for all the fear and anger to go. He doesn’t really know what to say, but he opens his mouth, getting ready to deliver something. Anything. Maverick beats him to it, quick and desperate. Just in the nick of time. In the last second. It’s all so irritating." Or: Ice and Mav argue about everything and nothing. Ouroboros.

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky / Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Rating: Explicit. Word Count: 4,410

Everyone thinks they're watching the Superbowl. And they will watch it, half-heartedly and disinterested. But they will watch it. Just after this. After they bite and tear each other apart at the seams. After Ice leaves all the marks he wants to. Once the proof is there and once Ice proves himself. Emasculation and whatever its antonym is. The Iceman is a real man. He’s got the gall and the balls to prove it.

What is unfeared and what is unfed.

SUMMARY:

"Buck hasn’t been smaller than Maddie in a long time. Not since the beginning of high school. Not since he stopped giving their parents cards and gifts for Mother and Father’s Day. But right now, with Maddie’s arms wrapped around him, he feels as small as that boy who still lives inside him. He feels like that young boy with his own bloody, beating heart in between his teeth. And Maddie’s holding him; she’s cradling that beaten, bloody heart in the softest parts of her hands, right where all her palm lines meet. She’s holding Buck, and she’s holding Evan, and she’s holding all the others that lived between the two."

Or: Maddie and Buck buy flowers for Mother's Day, have a long needed conversation, and Buck finally sleeps in the guest room. Oh, and Buck and Eddie are somewhere in there too. And a German folktale.

(disclaimer! my irl friend was sitting next to me as they sent in this request! we were both laughing and in on the joke!) (i would prefer for online anons to not call me a dumb bitch, though!)

This goes out to you, @soggyfruitloopsforever!

17. "Ok, well... Fuck." From this writing prompt game!

Tags: Mature, sexual content, allusions to internalized homophobia, Word count 1100.

I hope you enjoyed it! It was fun to explore more of Ice's perspective and his own relationship with his sexuality! I tried copying and pasting this directly into tumblr but it formatted all weird and I got frustrated fixing it (and it was crazy long), so alas, screenshots.

He brings the clunky, old Polaroid camera to his face, squinting through the lens and through the bright sun. He presses his finger down until he hears the telltale– click! The small frame, still blank, comes from the mouth of the camera. Mav holds it and resists the urge to shake it. The picture turns out to be a little unfocused, but if it ain’t the best picture Mav has ever taken. Ice has that small, genuine smile as he splashes Bradley. Bradley’s loud, boisterous laughter can be heard through the small rectangle between Mav’s hands. Bradley’s teeth are splitting across his face, his hair flinging more of those little water droplets everywhere. This is a great shot, Goose. I should become a photographer.

He puts his hands all over you to keep you in the room.

SUMMARY:

Dripping honey and fast cars on empty highways. Big hands and ruffled hair. Blushing down his neck and bowling balls for heads. German Rummy and sliding back doors. Mourning and knowing. Crackling radios and Olivia Newton-John. Fingers shoved down his throat. There’s tonight, and there’s tomorrow. He never stood a chance.