#literally never been able to do that before | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 2 days ago

Text

Many thoughts

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

Adorable!

You spot it from across the room. You've been watching him on and off all night. Not in a creepy way— At least, you hope not. Just in a way that's...careful. Curious. Quiet. Like you always are with Bob. Because if you let yourself feel it too hard — the pull, the fondness, the way he talks with his hands when he's excited — you might never stop.

I wouldn't stop either 🤭

Because you've had a thing for Bob Floyd since the first day you saw him fiddling with the collar of his flight suit, too quiet for the room but, damn, if he didn't hold his own in the air. Because he always remembers how you like your coffee. Because he asked how your dog was doing after his surgery, even two weeks later. Because he makes you feel seen.

To be loved is to be known 👀

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

Of course Hangman says stuff like that lol

The drive to his is short but pleasant. Well, if it wasn't for the scent of beer slowly sinking into his shirt and your car seat. The windows are rolled down and you can feel the wind on your face. Neither of you talk but it's a nice silence, like the two of you are just content in each other's company. You like it that way. Like you don't have to fill the silence to be comfortable; you can just co-exist.

Being able to be comfortably silent with someone is something special!

You like the relationship you have with Bob; it's easy and natural. You just feel...at home with him, like you don't have to pretend to be social or talkative. But there's always that warmth that buzzes just below the surface when he catches your eye or when he smiles. Or when he laughs. Or when he fiddles with his glasses. Or when he does literally anything.

Mood 🤭😍

"C'mon, let's get you inside, mister." He leans against you as you walk up to his house. He's so warm and he smells good, despite the spilt beer. He's wearing that aftershave his mom got him for Christmas again. It's citrusy and sweet but still masculine and fresh. He smells amazing.

Bob smells amazing is canon to me

"Upstairs, first door on the left." He points vaguely towards the stairs before continuing to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off and pulling off his undershirt. He's always so conservative with his clothes; never wearing anything too revealing. Hell, even at the beach, he wears a shirt when the rest of the squad is more than happy to run around half-naked. You look back from the stairs to find him shirtless and it's almost impossible to look away.

What the change for him 👀

God, he's gorgeous, almost to the point where it's at odds with his sweet, boyish smile. Strong shoulders, perfect biceps, broad chest, narrow hips; he could be carved out of granite and you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference— You shake the thought from your head before it can take root.

Valid lol

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

Not sure if that would only make my fingers tingle 🤭

You stand by the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking over his bedroom. There are certificates lining the walls and pictures of him and his parents at birthdays and holidays. It makes your chest feel tight. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer, rifling through to pick out a pair of loose sweatpants. As he pulls out a pair, the towel comes undone from around his waist and pools on the floor. Your eyes go wide and you jerk your head away but not before getting a perfect view of his round, peachy ass. This is cruel and unusual punishment but you're too weak to complain.

His perfect, biteable ass 😍

Once he's pulled on the sweatpants and slid into bed, his hair still damp against the pillow, he takes off his glasses, folds them up and places them on the nightstand before looking at you as you linger in the doorway, looking awkward and out-of-place. "C'mon." He mumbles sleepily. "It's late and you're tired too." He weakly pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed; a silent invitation. One you want to jump at. But you can't.

I wanna grab her by the shoulders and shake her while yelling: do it!!

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

The cutest 🥹🥰

You eat in relative silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of your coffee cups and between forkfuls of bacon and eggs. The morning light filtering through the window casts a warm glow over his features. He looks peaceful — content, even — sitting across from you, like this is something you do on the regular. You wish it was regular. You want these quiet mornings with him; sharing coffee in comforting silence, surrounded by the scent of fried eggs, the silence only broken by the soft chirping of birds outside.

Truly a dream

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean." "I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

He truly deserves it!

"You think so?" He asks and you nod. There's a pause before he clears his throat. "Would you— Can I— Can I tell you something?" You nod again, lifting your gaze to meet his as he mutters something under his breath. "Okay..." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think you're amazing. And not just because of how you were on the mission or taking care of me last night or making breakfast..." He sets his coffee cup down, hands tapping restlessly on the side of the table. "I just think you're amazing. Just...as a person." You just stare at him for a moment before heat creeps along your cheeks and you smile widely. "I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Ahhh finally!!

"So... Hypothetically..." He starts, not daring to look up at you as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt. "If a guy hypothetically really liked you — like really, really liked you — what would he need to do?" You turn around to lean against the table, looking pensive.

I likee where this is going 👀

"I mean..." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If he wanted to be with you, like, properly. Not just friends or whatever... What would he need to do to make you notice him? To make you...want him?" He asks, voice wavering slightly. There's a flutter in your chest as you stiffen slightly. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Don't fumble this— "Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly. "He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Awwww rats so cute and perfect for them 🥰

The second you kiss him, he's done. Finished. Over. His heart is completely yours and he never wants it back. Your lips are soft and warm, just like your smile, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You take it; slowly inching your tongue into his mouth and tasting the bitterness of the coffee, moaning softly. God. You can't make that sound. His brain short-circuits. That one small, needy sound from you against his mouth has blood rushing south and he stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

That kiss truly sounds life-changing 🥰

"Shh..." He whispers against your mouth, warm hands roaming your body, touching you like he's dreamed of doing a million times. He pulls back just long enough to take off his glasses and set them aside. Then he's kissing you again, deeper this time. It takes you by surprise. You never thought he could be this...passionate. You always figured, if you ever got this far, you'd be coaxing it out of him, bit by bit, encouraging him with little kisses and your fingers in his hair.

I would never let go again 🤭

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds. "When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs. "You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath. "Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

"Wh-What...?" You just stare at him owlishly because, God, if that isn't the biggest cock you've ever seen in your life. Thick, throbbing, leaking... And you thought his body was slightly at odds with the personality of sweet, shy, wallflower Bob Floyd but this? This takes the cake. "You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

Maybe not a casual lunch topic 😅

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm. "Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard. "You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees. "God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

🤤🤤🤤

"I'm...getting real close." He warns you, his voice strained with effort. "If you don't want me to...finish in your mouth, you should probably stop now." Still, his hips are flexing, desperately trying to fuck your hand. You take a moment to decide before flicking your tongue over the head and his hands fly to curl around the seat of his chair, nails digging into the wood. "God...! I mean it... I'm...really close..." He gives you one last warning.

Urgh obsessed with him warning multiple times

When he opens his eyes, he sees your face pressed against his inner thigh as you gently squeeze the base of his cock, gazing up at him adoringly. He runs a shaky hand through your hair, still trying to blink away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. "That was... Holy shit... I..." You smile and press a kiss to his hipbone, nuzzling his thigh, as he tries to find words in the jumbled mess of his orgasm-addled brain. "You... Bedroom... Yes, bedroom." He manages breathily and you nod, getting up from the floor and letting him tug on his sweatpants again before you eagerly pull him upstairs.

Yes bedroom 🙂‍↕

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..." "I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly. "I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

The cutest man alive

Large hands find your thighs, lifting them until your toes touch the headboard, essentially folding you in half and leaving you completely exposed to him. "God, you're so perfect..." He whispers under his breath, holding you in place as he lines himself up, his cock sliding deliciously against your aching, swollen pussy. "Look at me. Look at me." He urges and you lay your head back against the pillows as he slowly pushes in. He feels absolutely massive but it's not painful; just this pleasant, warm ache that seeps through your body as you stretch around him. You grab onto his biceps for support as his fingers wrap around your ankles, holding your legs up. You're so tight around him, it's almost unbearable. He can feel every swell and curve of your inner walls squeezing around him. Your brows knit as he sinks in deeper, your fingers squeezing his arms.

🥵🥵🥵

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs. "Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes. "I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

Great conversation 😌🤭

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

One of the best headcanons for Bob

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

I have a feeling that this secretly spurs him on 👀🤭

"I know... I'll pull out, promise..." But, even as he says it, he feels the heat mounting and he desperately wants to finish inside you. His hips keep rolling against yours in a deep, steady rhythm. You drag your nails across his shoulder blades, your body clenching down around him, throbbing around him rhythmically because, deep down, you'd love if he could cum inside you, leave his mark. But you can't take that risk.

And he doesn't break a promise more importantly!

He gives you a few more slow deep thrusts before pulling back to look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, face flushed. "Gonna pull out now, okay?" He pants out and you nod as he pulls out just in time, sandwiching his cock into the crook of your thigh and grinding against it until he cums, decorating your body with slick, white ribbons that ooze across your skin. You run your fingers through his hair as his orgasm hits, his arms clenching around you, hanging onto you for dear life.

Why is it so hot that he checks in before he pulls out? 1😮‍💨

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his. "Mhm. You?" "Perfect."

Truly perfection 🥰

"It wasn't just a one-time thing for me." He says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't do this kind of thing lightly, y'know? I wanted you and I still want you. But, if you're not on the same page, that okay too. We can still just be...friends, if you want." God, he's too sweet for his own good sometimes.

He truly is the sweetest 😍

"And you don't regret it?" "God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you."

🥰🥰🥰

"I mean, we could do that." He says slowly. "But, if I'm being completely honest, I don't want it to be just that? Friends with benefits implies casual and what we just did? It didn't feel casual to me." You cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. "I like you. A lot." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. "But if that scares you off, I understand." Without a word, you lean forward, licking your way into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. When you break apart, you're both breathless.

I think the answer is clear after that kiss 🤭

"That sounds perfect. But first..." You roll your hips against his, a gentle reminder that he's been inside you for the better half of ten minutes. "Can we do that again?" He wets his lips and rolls you back over onto your back, leaning down to press kisses to your neck.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen. "Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him. "According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!" "In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

The "please say yes" 🥹🥰

Absolutely 100% yes🙂‍↕

I absolutely loved this! If you ever feel up to it, I would love to read more of these two 🤗

> ENTRY: ITS_ALWAYS_THE_QUIET_ONES

RATING: explicit

CATEGORY: top gun: maverick (2022)

PAIRING: bob floyd x afab!reader (mc's call sign is 'pez'.)

EST. READING TIME: 37m 0s

INDEX TAGS: (not actually) unrequited love, cock-warming, friends to lovers, love confessions, masturbation, not beta read, oral sex, pov second person, size difference, size kink, vaginal sex

SUMMARY: after the mission with mav, you find bob drunk at the resulting party at the hard deck. as a designated driver, you take it upon yourself to get him home and into bed safely but staying composed proves harder than expected

ACCESS MATERIAL ON AO3 OR BELOW

The Hard Deck is louder than it's been in weeks. Rooster and Hangman are fighting over the jukebox. Payback's halfway into a dramatic retelling of the mission to a captivated circle of admirers, punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures and Maverick's quiet chuckling. Fanboy's mixing questionable liquors together like he's auditioning for a bartending job no one asked for. It's celebration in full swing. The mission's done. Everyone's alive. Everyone made it home.

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

He doesn't look it at first. But you can see it in the tilt of his shoulders, the soft pink in his cheeks, the vague squint he gives the bottles behind the counter like he's trying to read through a fog.

You've had a drink; just the one. You're a designated driver tonight. That and watching Bob lose his balance trying to sit on a barstool has very effectively sobered you up. You finish your water, nod to Phoenix and move across the bar like the world isn't tilting just a little because he's looking at you now.

Why?

"Hey." You say gently, sliding into the space next to him. "You good?" He blinks at you. Then his face lights up; not like a flash but a slow dawn that warms everything it touches.

"Pez." He says, soft and too fond for how casual he tries to sound. "You're here." You smile.

"Been here the whole time, Bob." He looks at his drink like it's betrayed him.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

You glance him over. His collar is a little crooked and his glasses are ever-so-slightly askew. His usually neat hair is slightly mussed and there's a half-moon mark on his palm where he's been gripping his glass too hard. He's not swaying. But he's definitely drifting. You rest a hand lightly on the edge of the bar.

"How many have you had?" He frowns.

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

"That doesn't sound right." Bob leans closer and squints at you.

"You smell like mint."

"That'd be the gum I've been chewing instead of drinking." You reply, amused. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." He straightens. Sort of.

"I'm fine."

"You're adorable." You correct. "But also definitely tipsy and I'd rather you didn't fall asleep like last time."

"I didn't fall asleep, I—"

"You nodded off against the jukebox for twenty-three minutes." He considers this.

"It was playing Fleetwood Mac." You arch a brow.

"That's your excuse?" He almost looks offended.

"I like Fleetwood Mac." He mumbles. You can't help it; you laugh. And, across the bar, the other Dagger Squad pilots exhale in collective relief like finally. It goes unnoticed by you.

You help Bob off his stool, a drink forgotten in his hand, and he goes to steady himself on the edge of the bar but misjudges the distance. In trying to recover, the remnants of his last beer spill all over his uniform shirt, making it cling to him like a second skin.

"Woah!" You grab onto his shoulders. "You okay?" He stumbles slightly as he tries to catch himself, hands reflexively reaching out to hold onto your arms for support. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he feels the cold beer seeping into his shirt, looking down at the mess with embarrassment.

"Sorry..." He murmurs and you haul him upright.

"Don't apologise." You glance across to see Phoenix chuckling and shaking her head. "I think I need to take you home though." He laughs nervously, pushes his hair out of his eyes and tries to straighten his glasses.

"Yeah... Yeah, that might be a good idea." He leans against you for support as you start helping him to the door. You yell over your shoulder that you're taking him home, wishing the rest of them a good night. Some of the Dagger Squad murmur something you don't quite hear as you reach the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the cool sea breeze.

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, as you help him out to the parking lot. You open the passenger-side door for him and he near-collapses onto the car seat. "Thanks for doing this." He says softly, looking up at you with those sweet, grateful eyes. You watch him fumble with his hands as he tries to buckle himself in.

"Stop being so damn polite." You smile, shutting the door and rounding the hood to get in the driver's seat.

Safe to say, you like him a whole lot; pretty much since you were brought on board for the Dagger Squad.

But you don't want to say anything because what if it makes things weird between you? What if he's not into it and everything just gets awkward? What if you accidentally gush about how gorgeous he looks in his uniform and he thinks you're an absolute creep for admiring the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and the way his pants hug his ass perfectly? He probably already knows and just pretends not to for exactly the same reasons. He probably knows and has also made up his mind that you're not really the one for him. He would've said something by now if he was into you but he hasn't so he probably isn't. It's not something you like thinking about.

Finally, you pull up to his house and park outside. You get out, open his door and stand there, just in case he needs the support again.

"I'm fine. I'm good." He starts to protest before immediately losing his balance and grabbing onto your arm. "Actually..." Rolling your eyes, you hang onto him and close the door.

When you haul him up the short flight of stairs and reach the front door, he digs his hand into his pocket and struggles to get his keys out for a moment. He must try to insert the key into the lock a good three times, each time stabbing the door just shy of the lock.

"Can't seem to..." He mumbles and you gently place your hand over his, guiding the key into the lock with a satisfying click, turning it and opening the door.

"There we go." You smile warmly and he stares at you for a moment, swallowing hard, before grabbing onto the door frame and stepping inside.

Once inside, you turn the light on and close the door behind you. He kicks off his shoes and pats down his chest. His uniform shirt is still clinging to him, now sticky from the spilt beer. His nose crinkles as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack.

"Gotta shower..." He slurs softly. By the time you stand up to look at him, he's already halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes flick down over the angles of his collarbone and, before you can look further, you avert your eyes.

"Okay, which way's the bathroom?" You ask a little too quickly.

He tosses his shirt on the floor and yawns. "You don't have to wait for me or anything." He says and you bring yourself back to the present, your eyes flicking back up to his face. You just pray, in his inebriated state, that he didn't just catch you eyeballing his bare chest.

"No, I don't need to go to the bathroom, Bob. I'm taking you up because I don't trust you on the stairs." You tell him and he protests weakly but you help him up anyway.

When you reach the bathroom, he leans against the sink for support and you have to look away as you notice the veins in his arms and hands become more pronounced from the pressure. Maybe that one drink you had was a little stronger than you thought. God, what would those fingers feel like in your mouth? Or in your— "You gonna be okay in the shower?" You ask him and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Mhm. I'm not that drunk." He assures you. "You can go watch TV or something." He reaches down to unbuckle his belt and you pin your gaze to the floor.

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

"Alright." He reaches down for his belt and you almost slam the door shut, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall. You let out a slow exhale. You're heart's going a mile a minute.

Distraction. You need a distraction; something — anything — to get your mind off what it would feel like to have your lips on his or your tongue on his neck or your hands on his chest... Heat pools in the pit of your stomach; a desperate, deep-seated ache. You pull out your phone and start flicking through your socials, trying to find something else to focus on but it's no use.

You hear the shower hiss to life and you can't help but think about what he'd look like if you poked your head in for just a moment; shiny from the water, dripping with soap suds and wreathed in steam. Goddamn... But you couldn't breach his privacy, betray his trust, like that, especially while he's drunk and vulnerable. Even thinking about it feels like a betrayal but you can't get the thought out of your head and the aching between your legs only grows stronger.

Maybe you should've let someone else bring him home.

Eventually, the shower turns off and the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of steam as Bob steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist as he uses another to dry his hair. His skin gleams in the low light of the hallway, flushed pink from the hot water, damp hair falling in front of his face. He's being unknowingly, impossibly cruel.

"Better?" You manage, somewhat breathless.

"Yeah. So much better." Thankfully, he doesn't seem capable of noticing your — very obvious — attraction to him right now. He positions his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as you push off the wall and onto your feet, your own knees slightly weak.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

"You don't have to baby me, Pez. I'm sobering up now." He responds softly but lets you guide him anyway, his hand dwarfing your own. He's still a little unsteady on his feet as you reach his bedroom.

He's drunk and not thinking straight and you don't trust yourself. Not that you'd touch him; never that. But you're devastatingly wet and you already know you need to take care of that and you can't do it next to him. To take your mind off that thought, you grab a glass and fill it with water from the bathroom sink before placing it on the nightstand.

"I'll sleep downstairs. Just yell if you need anything, okay?" You tell him and he nods, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face.

"Okay... Thanks for taking care of me." A smile curves at your lips as you brush a couple of damp locks out of his face. It brings you some modicum of relief, just that little bit of tender skin-to-skin contact.

"No problem." You sigh longingly, almost ruefully. "Night, Bob." You turn on your heel to leave the room and he catches your wrist with a hand, making you stop in your tracks.

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

"Sure." You sit on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He looks up at you, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His fingers tighten around yours slightly and you feel your pulse racing.

Finally, his fingers loosen on yours as his eyes drop shut. You let out a soft sigh, releasing his hand and rising from the bed. You watch him for a moment, considering, before leaning down to brush a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep tight, Bobby."

You turn off all the lights and head back downstairs. You set up a little bed for yourself on the couch and slip out of your uniform, laying back against the couch cushions in your t-shirt and underwear.

After a moment, you find your hand drifting down between your thighs, pressing your fingertips against the gusset of your panties. It's absolutely sodden. You sigh in defeat, sling one leg over the back of the sofa and push the gusset of your panties to one side, sliding your fingers inside yourself with a sigh, pressing your thumb to the hood of your clit and working in slow circles. With your free hand, you grab a pillow and press it over your mouth to muffle the soft moans that fall from your lips despite knowing that Bob is probably dead to the world right now.

You finish yourself off quickly; imagining it's his fingers buried inside you, his tongue drawing slow, languid circles around your clit. The only sound is the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft whines you try to drown out behind the pillow pressed against your face.

As soon as you're done, you pull your underwear back on properly and collapse onto your side, huddling into the blankets, cheeks flaming with heat. You're a mess for him but he can't know that, even if the rest of the Dagger Squad does.

Finally, the sun rises and you pack up the blankets and pillows you'd used before pulling on your pants from the day before. You yawn and stretch before heading into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. Your stomach rumbles. After all, you haven't eaten since before the party last night.

Looking up, you check the clock above the fridge. About 10 am. Not too bad.

While rummaging around for the creamer, you stumble across a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon about to go out of date. Pulling them out, you grab a skillet from a nearby rack and set out to make some breakfast.

Upstairs, Bob rubs the sleep from his eyes and replaces his glasses, the glass of water from the night before thoroughly drained throughout the night. He pulls back the covers, swings his legs over the side and pulls on a t-shirt before heading to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he pads down the stairs, drawn toward the scent of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you flip the bacon over, the eggs growing crispy around the edges but the centre staying soft and jammy. You notice Bob leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of your eye, staying quiet as he watches you work. It's domestic, comforting and you find yourself wishing you could do this for him every morning. Finally, you turn to face him and he smiles warmly. Thankfully, he doesn't seem hungover.

"Morning." He says softly, voice a little lower and scratchier from sleep.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a brick." He responds with a small smile, pushing away from the doorframe and walking further into the small kitchen. His voice drops to a more serious tone "Thanks for taking care of me last night. And for making breakfast." He pauses by the counter, looking at you appreciatively. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I know." You reply simply. He pauses before he quickly looks away, grabbing some plates and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers.

"Need any help?" He asks gruffly, setting the plates next to the stove.

"No, I'm nearly finished here." You turn off the heat and plate up the bacon and eggs before setting the empty skillet on the cool side of the stove. "Order up."

You carry the plates over to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Bob digs in eagerly, making appreciative noises between bites. The food is simple but perfect; exactly what he needs after shifting a good amount of alcohol the night prior. You set a couple of mugs down on the table and pour the coffee before sitting down to tuck into your own breakfast, humming in satisfaction.

"Thanks." He says again. "For everything."

"Really, it's fine." You laugh softly, clearing your plate and setting it to one side with your cutlery. He does the same, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean."

"I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

"I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly.

"And...what else?" He asks and you turn your head to look at him. He looks so open and vulnerable but not in the way he was last night. This is open and honest and completely aware. Suddenly, it dawns on you; he wants this just as much as you do.

"He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

He lifts you onto the dining table and you loop your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Bobby..."

Instead, his hands are firm on your waist, tugging up your shirt just a little to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, as he kisses you like it's all he's ever wanted to do. It steals the breath from your lungs and it has confessions falling from your lips between deep, hungry kisses.

"You don't know...what last night...did to me..." You murmur breathlessly against his mouth and he groans, hands sliding under your shirt.

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds.

"When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

"You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath.

"Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

He's losing his mind, control slipping. He steps between your legs, pressing closer, and you can feel him through his sweatpants. He feels perfect; pressing against your thigh desperately. "Bobby..." You move to whisper in his ear. "I need my mouth on you."

"Jesus." It comes out as a soft hiss. "You want to..."

"Please."

You— You don't have to..." He breathes but he's already reaching for the tie of his sweatpants. He wants you to. He wants you to want to.

You push him back gently so you can push off the table, guiding him back into his chair.

"I know I don't have to." You kneel on the worn linoleum between his feet, rubbing your hands along his thighs. He's straining desperately against the front of his sweatpants. "I want to." You tug at the tie of his sweatpants before curling your fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. He lifts his hips and you pull them down and off but, when you sit back to look at him—

Holy Mother of God.

"You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm.

"Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard.

"You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees.

"God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.

You run the flat of your tongue from root to tip and a sharp intake of breath stutters in his throat.

"Ohh, my God..." His hands instinctively grab onto your hair but he doesn't pull, just resting there, as you lick along the underside of his shaft. When you reach the top, you swirl your tongue languidly around the head before taking it into your mouth. "Sh-Shit..." His head falls back against the chair with a soft thud.

He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

You take more of him into your mouth, tentatively testing how much you can take. He groans lowly at the sensation of your tongue sliding along the underside, watching you with lidded eyes as his thick cock disappears between your lips. You press your head down until you feel the tip touch the back of your throat and you gag slightly before pulling away. You're panting, lips wet with saliva, and just watching you sends a shiver down his spine, toes curling against the lino. "Do that again... Please..." It's almost a beg and you can't deny him or yourself.

You lean back in, sliding down until it hits the back of your throat. Now you know how far you can take him, you cover the rest of his shaft with your hand, easing the slide with more spit as you work him over. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, only to keep him tethered to the moment. He can feel every inch being worshipped by your greedy mouth and talented hands and his hips start to thrust upward involuntarily. "God, just like that..."

You fall into a steady rhythm, peering up at him through your lashes, and you feel another spurt of pre hit your tongue as he meets your gaze, completely mesmerised. It's almost embarrassingly clear how much you love having him in your mouth; his cock hot and thick and pulsing on your tongue. The wet sounds of your mouth and the sight of his cock sliding between your lips are driving him wild and he can feel that familiar feeling deep in his core. He gives your hair a gentle tug. "Hey..." You pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Mhm?"

"Do it." You tell him, dragging your tongue along the cleft at the underside of the head, still stroking along his shaft, your fingers slick and shining with a mix of precum and saliva.

That's all it takes.

With a deep groan that rumbles from deep in his diaphragm, he cums hard, his hips jerking uncontrollably as his eyes roll. You lean back to watch with satisfaction as thick shots of white spurt from his cock, making your hand slicker as you stroke him through his climax. "That's it, Bobby." You encourage him softly as he unloads onto your hands and his stomach. He's panting heavily, his body shaking, as the last few shots of cum ooze down his shaft. Your gentle praise and the feeling of your spit-slick hand only intensify the pleasure.

On the way up to his bedroom, you pull off your jeans and underwear before collapsing onto his bed with an excited giggle. Bob quickly joins you; pulling off his shirt and stained sweatpants, his body hovering over yours. You bite your lip, running your hands appreciatively over his body as you sit up slightly to kiss him, finding warm, firm muscle under your palms. He deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue and exploring your mouth hungrily. But, before he can get too lost in the moment, he pulls back, heavy breaths making his chest heave.

"Wait—"

"Mhm...?" He looks sheepish.

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..."

"I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly.

"I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

"B-Bobby!"

"God, it's so good..." His eyes drift shut as he tosses his head back, starting to move slowly, deliberately rocking his hips against yours. The position is just perfect; hitting all the right spots all at once with every deep, purposeful stroke.

Strong fingers dig into your ankles as he slowly starts to pick up the pace. "You like this?" He asks, sweat beading on his brow as he looks down at you. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a breathless whine. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He huffs through his nose as he targets that sweet spot inside you over and over, drawing these adorable, breathy whimpers from you. Your back arches, hands moving to claw at his broad shoulders.

"Please... Feel good... Feels so fucking good..." You pant out and he nods, his hips snapping forward. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, rutting against you desperately.

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs.

"Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

"I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

"You like them big..." He repeats and you nod, whining as he hammers your sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy.

"Mmhmmm... I didn't...think you'd be so...big... O-Ohhh... It's so fucking good, Bobby..." You manage and he wraps your legs around his waist, coiling his arms under the small of your back, hugging you against him. His thrusts turn shallow but stay deep, your bodies pushed together from shoulder to hip. You hook your arms over his shoulders, nails raking red lines up his back.

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

You nuzzle his hair, breathing in the scent of him; yesterday's aftershave lingering on his skin, sweat breaking out all across his body. "Love having you like this..." You murmur in his ear and he nods.

"Mhmm... I love it too..." His thrusts grow slower but no less deep; each movement designed to draw out the pleasure, make it last. He stretches you out and fills you up perfectly, holding you through all of it, eagerly soaking up every moan, plea and whimper you give him. He's rubbing up against the deepest part of you now, the crown of his cock sliding perfectly against the swell of your cervix.

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

Finally, his body goes slack. He's panting heavily, tilting his head up to claim your lips again in a soft, slow, lazy kiss. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so you're lying on top of him. He's still semi-hard against your thigh but he's given you all he can for now so you sit up and sink back down onto him before curling up on top of him, enjoying the feeling of having his huge, softening cock nestled inside you. He lets out a low groan, gathering you up in his arms, fingers drawing idle patterns along the small of your back. "Gonna keep it in?" He asks softly and you look up at him.

"Is that okay?"

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his.

"Mhm. You?"

"Perfect."

A soft silence settles over the room, almost jarring after the slamming and slapping and moaning from just a few moments ago. But you aren't complaining.

You card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face.

"You wanna talk about what just happened?" You laugh softly before sobering. "And where we go from here?"

"Mhm." He hums thoughtfully. "You mean like the 'was this a one-time thing' talk? Or the 'do you regret it' talk?" His thumbs rub the small of your back soothingly.

"Both." He takes a breath and you feel his chest rise beneath you.

"And you don't regret it?"

"God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you." He swallows hard, finally meeting your eyes again. "So where does that leave us?"

"Like friends with benefits or...?" You trail off and he makes a noncommittal sound.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen.

"Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him.

"According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!"

"In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

"I'd like that a lot."

"Thank God." His arms squeeze tight around you. "Should I take you out properly sometime? Coffee, dinner, all that stuff?" He traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

"It'd be nice, yeah." You reply and he gives you that sweet, beaming, boyish grin.

"Then it's a date. How about tomorrow night? We can grab some dinner and maybe catch a movie if you're up for it?" You nod and ruffle his hair lightly.

"Mhm. As many times as you want."

Bob's call sign may be just 'Bob' but, in your head, it's 'Tripod'. Sweet, shy Bobby 'Tripod' Floyd.

TAGLIST: @ingoldthewizard @judeval @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

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punks-never-die205 · 2 days ago

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By the Horns

Hybrid Bull AU

Thanks to @don-mellow and the FANTASTIC Bullstass art that inspired @hannahbarberra162 -> and then me -> to write some Hybrid Bull AU content.

Seriously check out those two as soon as you can. I am incredibly lucky to have talented people in my orbit like this. It literally feeds me.

Personal Note: I do have a LOT of Kid WiPs. I have not forgotten them, I have not abandoned them. I haven't had the drive to write Kid in MONTHS. So rejoice with me.

CW: Hurt, sex, revenge, murder, abuse, dark themes, estrus, tensions between humans and hybrids, so much sex, so much - and in an unexpected twist: consensual drugging, 18+ only.

Tag List: @keiva1000, @mfreedomstuff, @likeeliterallywtf, @usopp-enjoyer

Chapter 1: Tail End

You ran.

And ran.

Everything ached, but everything had hurt before you started running, and you only knew that you couldn’t stop. It was night time, probably sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning, still hours before the sun would rise.

Your breath billowed out in front of you like fog, and the tattered remnants of your clothing billowed out behind you like bits of sail. Bruises, dried blood, and dirt covered your skin in the places that the meager clothing didn’t cover, and honestly the bruises and scrapes were beneath the cloth too.

If you stopped running your farmer would find you, and he’d kill you.

You knew it as sure as you knew anything. Maybe it was the part of your mind that was an animal, an instinct that made you move even when all manner of conscious rebellion had been bred and beat out of you years ago. A strange desire to live, despite not even being sure you really deserved such a privilege.

Lights on the horizon, the edge of a farm, not the sky, catch your attention and you run toward them. If you’re around other people the farmer won’t kill you. At least not right away, and if you can get help before he shows up, then maybe he won’t be able to do so at all.

As you neared the source of the light something made your legs wobble. Relief, or exhaustion, or both. Someone steps out from the light into the dark, a bull you think, from his height and the horns, he wasn’t a farmer. Details about him flit into your mind and leave just as quickly, but you’re at least sure enough that he’s a bull that you continue moving toward him.

Bulls never hurt you, so maybe he could-.

“-help,” you gasp, your hoarse voice barely a sound above the breath that escaped you. It was enough for him to turn and look at you, eyes going wide in surprise. “Me.”

The next step you took was all you had left, but you didn’t hit the dirt. You collapsed into a large, warm arm, that supported you entirely. You could see the dirt, and you think you managed to say some manner of thanks, but fear, exhaustion, and pain, took you into the darkness and you passed out.

Looking down at the form that’s collapsed onto his arm, Kid looks out to the fields and the horizon for any signs of lights or pursuers. It wasn’t every day a mostly naked woman ran onto the backside of the ranch like this, and given the state of you, you’d been running for a long time.

After a moment he figured it was safe to assume you’d made a clean escape, where ever you had been escaping from, and adjusted you in his arm enough to stand up and walk back to the ranch. He’d just finished fucking a few of his heifers and, as usual, had energy to spare. Shutting off lights as he walked by he checked into the pens of his stock as he took you back to the main house, checking every now and then that you were still breathing.

Everyone else was down for sleep, or close enough to it, and so he detoured to the small clinic. House, one of the few non-hybrids on the farm, was put up there. She’d been the ranch doctor before he and the others took over, and she’d stayed on as doc afterward. Anything House couldn’t handle meant either a trip to the city for the hospital, or a call to the creepy emo fuck who had some of the most effective weirdo voodoo shit going on.

Walking into the clinic, Kid starts turning on lights, working his way through as quietly as he can. House would fuck him up six ways to Sunday if he made a mess, and if she was asleep he wanted to leave her that way.

Or so he initially thought.

Setting his little intruder on the exam table, under the harsh lights of the room, Kid had a better idea of how hurt you were.

“You might need the hospital.” He says softly, looking you over. Layers of bruises, but the more he looks the more he’s unsure where the dirt stops and the bruising starts. There’s dried blood, caked in places, and fresh trickles from wounds you reopened from running. “Fuckin’ hells.”

Growling Kid steps out of the room, turning on the water in the bathroom and pulling down washrags and towels. Just as he’s getting ready to knock on House’s bedroom door it opens. She doesn’t look angry, just tired.

“Help me, doc.” He commands, pointing into the bathroom. “I’ll bring ‘er in.”

House moves into the bathroom without question, but her eyes go wide when he brings you in.

“Gods,” she breathes, kicking off her slippers and climbing into the tub before he even starts to set you into the warm water. “Who is she? Ain’t one of ours.”

“Ran up to me when I came out the back pens.” He explains, ripping the useless remnants of your ruined clothes off easily and tossing them aside.

“Anything broke?”

“Nothing I could feel or see.” Kid answers.

“Eh. We’ll get her cleaned up and I can examine her. Human huh?” She asks.

“Think so. If she’s a hybrid, she doesn’t have a tail, or anything else.” He explains, helping House by keeping you stable with his arm, handing her clean rags and more soap as she cleans you up.

“She’s not nearly as dirty as I was hoping she was.” House says professionally. “This bruising is terrible. Layered too. She’s been beat pretty fierce for a long time. These scrapes and the blood are from it too. Bare hands, not that it makes it better, but it doesn’t look like he used a bat or anything.”

She takes care to check the worst of the bruises for fractures before cleaning them. Your breathing is steady, and you are effectively fast asleep. Poor thing must’ve ran until you were beyond exhausted, and your body was forcing you to rest.

Made it easier to get you cleaned up and checked at least.

“Fuckin’ pig.” Kid growls, helping House turn you on your side.

“Yeah, he-.” House freezes, eyes wide. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong doc?”

“Kid.” She looks up at him, and the look on her face already had his temper flaring. “You have to stay calm, Kid.”

“Tryin’.” He snarls.

“Try harder.” House instructs forcefully. “You have to put her back on the exam table for me.” She orders, one hand on the girl, one hand on Kid’s arm. “You hearing me?”

“Yeah.”

“Put her on the exam table.”

“Yeah.”

Kid finally starts moving, and House moves with him. The water in the hall is a small price to pay, and so House doesn’t say anything about it.

Hybrids aren’t all that different from humans. Unlike actual cows, they’re smart, adaptable, and as far as Kid and his friends were concerned, perfectly capable of ruling the world. Aside from a few differences like horns on bulls, tails, bovine ears, and body hair that could get a little thick like fur down the back, stomach and shoulders, they could look human.

Tails were about the only consistent indicator of a hybrid, the rest could come and go, and a good many hybrids only had tails. Everything else was human. It didn’t make ‘em human, and it didn’t make them less of a hybrid, it was just how genetics worked. On the other side of that, one of Kid’s bulls had bovine legs, which was the other end of the extremes.

If you had any fur the abuse might’ve caused it to fall out, patches of your hair had rinsed out in the bath, but House hadn’t gotten around to washing it properly before she had Kid put you back on the exam table. Fur usually matched hair color, but right now he couldn’t even be sure the hair color was correct.

He already knew, though, what House had noticed, even as he laid you back in the room. It took everything he had to keep from going mad with rage, but if he lost his cool he’d break the clinic and risk you and House.

“Go get Killer.” House commands.

“House-.”

“Get the fuck out of my clinic, Eustass Kid, before you lose your calm, and send in Killer. Forewarn him and send him in.” She commands. The only time House has, or uses, any authority is in times of medical need. She doesn’t stop anyone from doing what they do, she just patches people up afterward, and sometimes she’s patching people up she beat the shit out of if they fought in her clinic.

“And if you find who did this, I want to talk to them!” She shouts out after him.

Kid hears her, even over the rage pounding in his ears. He hears her and in a way it helps him calm down. Kid was big and harsh, a great weight that beat into the world around him until it gave way to what he wanted. There was finesse in a sense, but he was by the old adage, a bull in a shop of fine wares, and Kid didn’t give a shit about things that weren’t his.

You might not be, technically, his, but you were on his land and you’d asked for his help. His first compulsion was to find the person who abused you like that and break them in half.

Simple. Effective. Elegant in its own way.

But too gods-forsaken-quick.

House, rough around the edges as she was, was a doctor. A needle that slipped between the seams, and exacting presence comparatively. House would fix the bones he’d break, and make it hurt worse the entire time, inflicting at least half as much pain as your abuser probably deserved.

Now the trick was going to be keeping the fucker alive in the first place. Once Kid figured out who it was, he was going to have to keep his own red-laced rage in check enough to bring House anything more than a corpse.

Fucker cut off your tail.

#x reader #reader insert #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #heat one piece #wire one piece #bull hybrid au

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swagpeachhumanoidgarden-blog · 2 days ago

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NICOLANDRIA….. walk with me!!!!

Nic still wants Olandria, he pulled a Kordell from szn 6 and went with what olandria said because he is extremely observant and saw that Olandria wasn’t over taylor so he pulled back. FAST FORWARD TO THE RECOUPLING. He was absolutely NOT letting his queen leave, he had to have talked people into saving her because everyone was gung-ho about keeping Coco until he said his piece. His FACE when taylor opened his mouth to say something negative and delusional about Olandria…. He was looking at him soo sideways because he fumbled the FUCK out of that girl. Thennnn she was saved (led by Nicky Poo) and he smiled at her with stars in the eyes and she went STRAIGHT to Nic for comfort. I know yall peeped it.

NEXT EPISODE: I think that Nic is going to comfort Olandria because he’s the only one who saw everything that happened with Clarke in taylor in the villa with her and they’re going to get even CLOSER then BAM he says he’s interested in exploring a romantic connection and the win the 100 thou.

I am curious how upset Cierra is going to be that her good friend and her couple partner made out in soul ties outside of a challenge but…. Don’t let your girlfriend stop you from finding your wife.

I need to ALSO talk about the fact that Nic was a gentleman the ENTIRE TIME THEY WERE DOING CASA TOGETHER starting when they were walking up to that date. He kissed her hands, called her his queen, couldn’t wait to talk to her about what happened, said HE missed her, immediately shut down her thinking they would just be a friendship couple, waited for VERBAL CONSENT before kissing her in soul ties, held her lip combo in his POCKET, said he was the most attractive/beautiful woman he’s ever seen in HIS LIFETIME (he is 24 years old and has been to 44 fucking countries mind you), GAVE HER THE SHIRT OFF OF HIS BACK WITH NO HESITATION AS SOON AS SHE SAID SHE WAS COLD, had the patented kenny stars in his eyes when he was looking at her after (and before tbh) their kiss, HELPED HER ONTO THE BLEACHERS (s/o to Pepe for leading her to her man btw), and looked at her with sparkly eyes while she rested her head on his shoulder.

AND ANOTHER THING Nic is literally more attractive when he’s coupled with Olandria, maybe it’s the pure joy he feels knowing he got his woman but who’s to say.

Let us ALSO not forget that his mom and sister have been rooting for them to be together SINCE THE BEGINNING. they literally talked more about Olandria than Cierra in BOTH of the videos they’ve done talking about their thoughts. If anyone would be able to see that Nic is smitten would it not be his MOTHER? I don’t know you guyssssss I’m thinking they’re gonna find their way back to eachother.

In the words of the wise Jeff Buckley….. it is quite literally never over. I am going down with this ship. They can rip it out of my cold dead hands.

Side note…. I need a Nic.

#nicolandria #nic love island #olandria love island #olandria carthen #nicolas vansteenberghe #love island usa #love island season 7

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sooohunnie · 2 days ago

Note

Can you please write a fic w bethsheba x f reader (she’s so underrated im starved for content and i loved ur Betty fic sm 💘)

oh my God yes yes yes!! Here it is! hopefully it isn't too OOC (I unfortunately don't have the game and there's literally NO footage of her route that I can find) I'm working with the wiki and a prayer.

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Bath

paring: Bathsheba x fem!reader

summary: There's no WAY Bathsheba is jealous...so then why is she like this??

tags: established relationship, Fluffy fluff!!, sharing a bath (non-sexually) , insecurity/jealously?, reader comforting Bathsheba, F/F relationship

CW!!: suggestive ending??? OOC??

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“You know- it’s been ages since we’ve been like this?” Bathsheba whines petulantly. She clings to the arms that you have around her. Currently, the two of you are sharing a bath. It’s a weekly ritual you’ve adopted to be able to relax with one another. It was something intimate and yet fit for the queen you have in your arms right now.

“It’s only been about 5 days.” You giggle softly as you take hold of her hands.

“It needs to be more frequent.” She scoffs softly. Her head lays gently against your chest as she looks up at you. Her eyes are filled with a secluded warmth despite her fussing.

The way she yearns for your attention even unconsciously makes your head feel a bit lighter. Is it selfish of her to want you all to herself? Most certainly. But do you ever really complain? Not at all.

Your finger twirls a strand of her dark hair into a coil as you meet her gaze, “Don’t you think if we do this more often, it’ll spoil the magic?”

Bathsheba’s eyes shy away from yours, a blush finding itself against her rich brown skin, “I just can’t help—never mind...” She mumbles, moving to partially hide her face between your breasts.

Your eyes soften into concern as you squeeze her hand, “What's wrong?” you ask her lightly.

“There’s nothing wrong!” She mumbles, “After all, there shouldn’t be anything disturbing someone like me—not even something as petty as—” She cuts herself off before she can say anything else.

“What, like what?” your hands move to rub up and down her upper arms as if to warm her from her cold thoughts. She gives a sigh as she turns her body to be straddling you. Her hands are on your shoulders as she settles back down. She still looks hesitant to speak but she finally does.

“Like being…I can’t even describe—” She huffs softly.

“Well, try?” Your hand moves to hold her cheek.

Her eyes soften before she relents, “I hate that you take a shower most days. It makes me think that you prefer it to our dates.”

“‘Sheba…” You say gently, your thumb rubbing in a back-and-forth motion against her skin.

“Yes…yes! It’s petty.” She rolls her eyes, “And it’s not as if I'm jealous—god no! Not when my competition is Johnny!! Right–right?” The last part is said with a bit of uncertainty as if she didn’t know if she should be that confident.

You roll your eyes lovingly as you laugh, “No you shouldn’t be worried about me being into Johnny—not cause he’s any bad but— ‘Sheba.”

Her eyes focus back onto you, flecks of insecurity dancing in her eyes.

“You shouldn’t take my love in doubt…” you say to her gently, “I’d be a fool to waste someone like you. You know that.”

A smile forms on her lips, “Well if you insist.” She gives a flatter giggle, acting the tiniest bit shy. You cut off her giggle by pulling her into a tender kiss.

As you pull away, Bathsheba continues laughing.

“Now, how about I show you how special you are to me?” You say sweetly.

She nods swiftly, wrapping her arms around your neck as she whispers, “Can we try that one thing from the book I’ve been reading?”

“Anything you want, princess.”

----------------------------------

first request kinda nervous. heh. okay anyway- I hope you liked it anon!!

SANS REFERENCE SANS REFERENCE - Hunnithan !!!

#date everything #bathsheba #bathsheba date everything #bathsheba date everything x reader #date everything bathsheba #date everything bathsheba x reader #date everything x you #date everything x reader #date everything! x reader #fluff #ficlet #hun-requests

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mythals-whore · 2 days ago

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Ship Sleep Dynamics

thanks for the tag @basedonconjecture I feel like it's been a sec since I yapped about them. I will be passing the tag along to @gingervitus @sugar-peanut-cat @jouskaroo @pinayelf & @cute-ellyna if you would like (:

How often do they sleep together?

In the beginning? Almost never. But post-game they basically never spend a night apart. Taking "Wherever you are, there I am" very literal I'm afraid. Assan is also included in their sleep arrangements until he gets so big that he breaks the bed frame and from then on sleeps right next to the bed.

Where do they sleep?

At the Lighthouse they definitely sleep in the Guesthouse (duh) After, they get a Minrathous equivalent of a one-bedroom apartment where occasionally Cyri falls asleep on the sofa before being air-lifted to bed.

How do they prepare to sleep?

I think I'm legally required to include the drinking of whiskey into their bedtime ritual. I do think that at some point they trade this practice for like a chamomile or peppermint tea instead. When they really get into a routine, it includes making tea and then sitting in bed together while Davrin works on his monster manual and Cyri reads (sometimes she proofreads for him, most times she reads Tevinter serials, and when something especially ridiculous happens she'll gasp aloud and then immediately relay it to Davrin which results in a discussion about just how ridiculous it is). And when they've finished tea and are properly tired they have what I in my real life call "worm hours" which is, of course, where you are allowed to ask questions like "would you love still love me if I was a worm" but I think with Cyri it's "but if I had an endurance potion and flaming swords, don't you think that would be enough for me to defeat a hydra by myself?" and Davrin always sighs heavily and is like "I really wish you wouldn't." These discussions always conclude with ridiculous stakes that allow Cyri to take on whatever monster it is on her own but a promise that she'd never try it without him.

What do they wear to sleep?

Cyri is a "strip to my smallclothes and fall into bed" type girl. Davrin is basically the same. However, I think post canon Cyri gets ridiculously frilly silk nightgowns that she wears to bed (and rarely to sleep).

Do they cuddle?

I know in my heart that Davrin is a cuddler. For Cyri I think it depends how tired she is. If she's really tired, she can fall asleep in any position. But on a regular basis I think she's a cuddle before we sleep and then kick you to your side. Because Davrin is such a cuddler I think there are occasional middle-of-the-night snuggles but also in my heart I think Davrin runs very warm so Cyri is always kicking/elbowing him away.

How easy do they fall asleep?

In general, both fall asleep pretty easy. As much as I think they're both hyper-vigilant from being on their own, they've also both been part of a larger force (Wardens and Legion specifically) and are used to taking sleep when they need it. (As much as Cyri chooses not to sleep during the events og Veilguard, it's not because she can't, it's more because she doesn't want to/there are other things she feels she needs to do before she can)

Do they toss and turn a lot?

No, but Davrin's warden nightmares can sometimes cause him to move a lot in his sleep. But they sort of establish a rule of, if his tossing and turning wakes Cyri, she'll gently wake him so they fall back asleep together. Cyri only tosses and turns when she can't sleep, which usually means something is bothering her and she won't actually be able to sleep until she takes care of it.

Do they snore?

I have to be honest, Davrin looks like he snores. Not super loud or obnoxious but I think he's a soft rumbly snorer. And I really believe that. He knows it's true but if Cyri complains about it he claims to not know what she's talking about.

Who hogs the blanket?

Davrin. Because he'll try to cuddle Cyri and then wind up either stealing blankets or cuddling with Assan instead.

What do they dream about?

Davrin mostly has the standard Grey Warden dreams which range from 'vaguely unsettling' to 'cosmically horrifying'. On the occasion he has a nice dream, I think he dreams about being in Arlathan with Assan most of the time. Sometimes he has dreams about herding halla or about his mom singing to him. :')

Post-canon, I think Cyri has lots of unsettling regret-prison dreams. they're less nightmares that have her startling awake and more those kind of weird dreams that have her waking feeling like she hasn't slept. I think Cyri's dreams are the kind of dreams where she wakes up like "I dreamt that I was following a talking cat around docktown and he made me catch fish and then fry it for him even though I told him I could just take him to Hal's instead." They're odd but always charming.

How easily do they wake up?

I don't think Davrin is a particularly deep sleeper, which comes from all that time on his own + Warden nightmares. He can go back to sleep pretty easily.

Cyri was very similar to the above pre-Davrin, but is so much more of a deep sleeper now that she wakes for almost nothing except a particularly bad nightmare (from either of them)

How awake they are afterwards?

Davrin is a routine guy + he's the one who wakes to feed Assan. So he wakes at basically the same time every day, and when he opens his eyes he's awake-awake.

If Cyri is woken in emergency-mode, the adrenaline obviously curbs the sleepiness pretty quick. But on a regular basis, she's awake but moving slow until she's had (half of) a coffee. She rarely finishes a cup of coffee, but claims to really love it.

#ship sleep dynamics #tag game #davrilla #oc: Cyrilla Mercar #davrin #jess yaps

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nintastic94 · 3 hours ago

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Yikes. You are an absolute idiot on some things huh? It’s extremly upseting to me that you think pregnancy is allways beacuse “someone couldn’t keep their legs closed until they actually wanted a child.” Tell anybody who’s been forced into pregnancy that they “should have kept their legs closed” they will think you are fucking insane. Some people get their legs pryed open, they didn’t get to close them. And i did look through your profile. I think most the time you are spouting nonsense! Also ive never heard of a woman being pressured into an abortion (then again nobody i know in my life has gotten an abortion, at least to my knowledge!)… im sure its happened and that is a terrible thing. Allthough I still think people should have a CHOICE in what they do with their body/ what is in it. This goes for forceing someone into an abortion and also forcing someone to carry a child. Im not pro kill babys or whatever im pro choice, whatever that choice may be. And im sorry but like i said before, instead of complaining about unborn children please please take a look around and give some extra love to the ones that are already born!!!!! Pro lifers are not fighting for children they’re fighting to take away a literal medical procedure. Also once again i am going to remind you everyones situation is different, not everyone is going to be able to support a kid for a multitude of reasons. While material item’s and advice definitely would be helpfull it wouldn’t change the fact some people genuinely are unfit to have a baby. And I’m sure you don’t care but hello! I am one of those people living in a state that does not legally allow me to have an abortion. I did try and preform one on myself because i am not old enough to have a baby and i can barly take care of my siblings or myself. How am I supposed to take care of whole extra person? Anyways, it was extremely painfull. Scary, and unsuccessful. I am not saying abortion is a “great” thing. All im saying is that it should be an option that people have.

y’all know, most people don’t even know what goes down during an abortion. it’s horror movie level graphic, and it’s to a baby, an itty-bitty child who’s DNA will never be replicated.

#pro choice

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kerink · 22 hours ago

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No for REAL I am SO tired of reading an AU fic of Stan showing up to Ford and the story ends up being all about all the pain and suffering Stan is experiencing, meanwhile Ford is somehow all fine and dandy. I think there's one fic where Stan is brought to the hospital because of the shoulder burn and meanwhile Ford isn't getting any treatment. Like HELLO???? I get the appeal of fics where Ford learns about what Stan has been dealing with but literally any other time please! Like, sorry guys, it shouldn't be a competition but if it has to be, I think Ford is probably in way worse physical and mental pain than Stan is at the moment. Can we PLEASE stop downplaying it. it's like they took that exchange from the show, "F: you don't know what I've been up against. S: No, you don't know what I'VE been up against." and think Stan is totally in the right when in actuality it's a shining example of how much they're failing to communicate with each other. Cause YEAH SORRY I don't think anyone in Ford's situation is going to be concentrating on Stan's pain when OH GEE i'm vomiting up spiders, pulling a nail out of my hand, feeling bruises and potentially bone fractures from fights, the intense sleep deprivation and OH YEAH all the insane torture Bill put Ford through in his mind where there's no physical limitations?? Like, PLEASE GUYS. Any other time we can have Stan whump but NOT at this precise moment please!

i must be so insanely good at mentally filtering out fics, because so far every 80s era fic i've read has been either very equal for the stans or has been ford focused (pun not intended but welcome).

in my mind the main reason ford and stan don't communicate well in the 80s is because they both think the other has it better.

stan sees ford living in this huge house on a massive plot of land in a picturesque location and all he can think is wow, why did he never once reach out to help me. what a selfish asshole.

ford sees stan on TV selling his products, and yes he's pissed they're scams, but getting commercials on TV is expensive! why would ford have any reason to believe stan wasn't at the very least okay? ford thinking see, stanley was able to make something of himself, he just needed to be pushed out of the nest!

neither think to call the other during their 10 years apart because 1) stan doesn't feel worthy and 2) ford doesn't know stan needs it. i truly believe they both think the other will reach out when the time is right.

and they did! ford reached out and stan immediately came running.

and between ford's nightmare about stan and bill threatening stan with ford's suicide, what reason do we have to believe that if stan had reached out ford wouldn't have come running?

so the stans in the 80s in the show in canon. they don't communicate well because they fundamentally misunderstand each other's circumstances. both are starving and sleep deprived, ford is scared and stan is confused, and i can't imagine how unbelievably emotionally overwhelming their reunion must be even without all the bullshit.

i've been lucky that every 80s fic i've read has had some paranormal bullshit happen before ford goes through the portal that immediately clues stan into this being a not okay situation for ford, and immediately launching back into Ford's Protector mode.

just like i think that if rico and his gang had followed stan up to the shack, ford would have murdered them no problem. okay, well, at least incapacitated them.

both stan and ford are in really bad shape during their confrontation and i do think both of their pain deserves air to breathe, but i agree with what you said about how ford's circumstances are the more time-sensitive issue.

#BUT I DON'T NEED TO TELL YOU PEOPLE HATE ON FORD AND DON'T SEE HIM AS A FULL PERSON. HA. HA. HA. o_o #listen i looove stangst i do im in the stangst trenches on ao3 at this very moment #and i do think ford would jump thru hoops to protect and help him if he knew stan needed it #but the people who favor that over realizing that ford is literally trying to prevent the end of the world and the clock is ticking down #well i was going to say something else but it sounded mean. let's just say they have some odd priorities.#also too it's so disingenuous to their dynamic. like ford and stan are both at their lowest points #and are both running on fumes during their reunion #it's a lot easier for the brain to return to habit #and the habit is: stan protects ford #gravity falls

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mercury-is-indefinite · 2 days ago

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Bro's not as pale as he should be.

I finally finished my Zane Ro'Meave redesign. Design notes under the cut.

Zane was pretty fun to redesign. He's always been such an effeminate character, so of course I played into that!

There's the obvious stuff of course, the delicate features, the long hair. And also the clothing choices, the mask, the pinks and purples, the florals, the corset and heels/boots.

He's so different from his original design that he looks almost unrecognized. And that's on purpose.

Because in this rewrite of sorts, during his time as High Priest and as every High Priest did before him, he mimics Irene.

This is as much a religious practice as it is a personal one. He's grown up worshipping her, revering her and her power and it is all he wants for himself and more. Zane literally wants to be Irene, which is what leads him to his quest for the Relic and the Irene Dimension.

But this way of living, of rejecting who you are to be to become the facade of a broken god is stifling, and it was yet another thing I wanted to translate through Zane's clothes. Which is why even in his lighter, less ceremonial outfit, he has no less than three layers of clothing.

Anyway, Zane wearing his travel/more casual clothes for the wedding is a very pretty, very subtle 'fuck you' to the town of Phoenix Drop for winning over his brothers loyalty and love like O'Khasis never did (yes, the brothers all love eachother in their own fucked up ways in my rewrite).

As a bonus, Garroth would be the only one to notice the insult because he's the only one that has had a close enough proximity to the O'Khasis Church of the Matron to be able to tell how underdressed Zane is for the occasion.

And he's unable to do anything about the slight without revealing himself.

That's all I got for now.

#Confession time #Zane was never interesting or compelling to me as a kid #because I thought that acting crazy due to religion was normal #zane mcd #minecraft diaries #Minecraft diaries redesign #minecraft diaries rewrite #zane ro'meave #zane mcd rewrite #art #digital art #my art

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gyubakeries · 6 hours ago

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𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 | k.sy

a/n: i kid you not. this fic was busted out in like 24 hours. dont ask how im capable of this sorcery bcs idk myself. on a much more angsty note, soonyoung im so sorry ilysm :( writing angst is my default mode, and i had literally no other ideas. writing this fic was a wild journey, and a little part of me broke because of all this angst, but maybe im just dramatic

thank you ro ( @shinysobi ) for telling me i should twin with our fics, because writing angst is like second nature. thank you rae ( @nerdycheol ) and yuki ( @eclipsaria ) for jumping onto this shipwreck with me and helping me save it (also for being my personal google throughout this fic) major shout-out to kirsten ( @naniwatig3r ) for coming in clutch with the finishing touch i needed to end this monster of a fic.

lastly, thank you bella ( @bella-feed ), sana ( @sanaxo-o ) and catalina ( @dokyumms ) for hosting this event and giving me a chance to write this fic! im usually always writing mingyu, so this was a good challenge :)

word count: 7.8k contents: soonyoung x f!reader , idol!au , idol!soonyoung , designer!reader , inspired by the song if you leave me by seventeen , angst , lots of angst , two (2) angsty rain scenes because rae encouraged me , friends to maybe lovers to wtf is happening dawg , reader is not likable , reader lives in self destruct mode , hurt no comfort , no happy ending , sorry hoshi my tiger baby

soonyoung is never the first one to leave the practice room. he’s the one that stays back after everyone’s gone home, practicing every step of the choreography down to it’s finest details.

lately, however, jihoon has been noticing the way soonyoung is the first to pack his things and leave the practice room, and it confuses him.

he doesn’t probe into this unusual behaviour. the smile soonyoung has on his face as he runs out is something he hasn’t seen much of either, so he lets it slide.

today, too, jihoon sees seungcheol walk up to soonyoung to invite him over for dinner and drinks, but soonyoung barely gives much of an explanation before he’s shaking his head, grabbing his bag, and leaving the room.

“weird boy,” seungcheol mutters to himself, and jihoon couldn’t agree any less.

. . . . .

“y/n! wait up!” a loud yell stops you in your tracks, and you turn to see someone run towards you, their hair covered with a cap, and a mask hiding their face.

other people walking past you on the sidewalk wouldn’t be able to recognize the person, but you could easily tell from the worn-out pink flannel shirt and the expensive sneakers that it was kwon soonyoung, a.k.a hoshi from seventeen, calling out your name.

“you idiot! why are you yelling in the middle of the street,” you whisper-yell when soonyoung is close enough to hear you. “what if someone recognizes you?”

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of it,” he replies, as enthusiastic as ever. “i’m sorry i’m running late, dance practice took a lot of time to wrap up. shall we go?”

it takes you a split second too long to realize that soonyoung is now holding your wrist and gently tugging you along with him towards the restaurant you both are now very familiar with. any other day, you would’ve told him to stop instantly, but today for some reason, you let your hand be held by the person you want but can’t have.

seokmin is sure he’s never seen soonyoung like this: prescription glasses hanging off his nose, new tablet clutched in his hands, and his tired body sprawled across the couch in his apartment. even his flatmate, hansol, shrugs his shoulders when seokmin silently gestures towards soonyoung.

“dokyeom-ah, i need your help with something,” soonyoung calls out, and seokmin warily approaches him, taking a seat on the couch and leaning over soonyoung’s shoulder to take a look at his screen.

“what are you doing?” seokmin asks, thoroughly confused by the poster displayed on soonyoung’s screen. “don’t tell me you’re leaving seventeen to become a graphic designer.”

“and leave you in BSS with seungkwan? no chance,” soonyoung laughs. “you have a good eye for designs and stuff, so i needed your opinion on this. doesn’t it look like it’s missing something?”

“what is this even for?” seokmin questions, eyes running over the words on the poster. “do you have a side hustle at a magazine?”

“it’s…. for a friend,” soonyoung says, not revealing much. “i told them i’d help them out, and i need you for that. i’ll buy you dinner tomorrow if you help, please?”

seokmin agrees easily, but he can’t help but wonder which friend of soonyoung’s is so close to him that they have him designing posters. he also can’t stop thinking about how soonyoung’s face had turned pink at the mention of this ‘friend.’

seokmin wonders if soonyoung’s friend is just a friend.

. . . . .

“this is genius,” you say, looking at the file soonyoung sent you. in the seat across from you, soonyoung squirms with happiness, his chest swelling with pride. “you really didn’t have to do all this, soonyoung. i thought you said you were only going to look for inspo pictures on pinterest.”

“i just had a random stroke of creativity,” soonyoung shrugs. “it’s not that big of a deal. besides, i haven’t forgotten about our deal.”

your shoulders deflate with the sigh you let out. “soonyoung, i never agreed to that deal. you know we can’t— we can’t be like that. and if you’re getting the wrong idea from all this, we can’t keep meeting anymore.”

you don’t think you’ve seen this much fear in soonyoung’s eyes, not since his trainee days, when he wasn’t sure if he’d even debut. but today, he looks scared, almost desperate, when he places his hand over yours just as you’re about to leave the table.

“don’t. don’t leave,” he shakes his head. “i’ll stop with the deal and everything, i promise. just don’t say you won’t let me see you anymore.”

you don’t hesitate to agree, not when every muscle in your body keeps you rooted to the chair at the restaurant that has seen you more than your parents have.

when soonyoung walks you home later that night, you almost blurt out an apology, but you know that apologizing for your own cowardice only proves that it’s real.

“are you done taking what you need?” junhui asks, looking down the aisle to see soonyoung waddling towards him, arms full of snacks and drinks.

“yep! all done,” soonyoung nods, carefully placing all the items in his arms in the basket junhui is carrying.

“when i said i’d pay for you, i didn’t intend on buying out the entire snack aisle,” junhui sighs, carrying the basket over to the cashier and placing it on the counter with a loud thud.

“you love me, and so does your wallet,” soonyoung replies with a cheeky grin, making exaggerated pouty faces at junhui.

junhui only rolls his eyes at soonyoung. he watches the cashier scan every item, when he notices something unfamiliar.

“wait, did you accidentally get the sour lemon gummies? i thought you didn’t like sour stuff?” junhui asks, and soonyoung’s eyes widen like he’s been caught stealing food off mingyu’s plate.

“it’s not for me,” soonyoung replies awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. he’s saved from further questioning when the cashier reads out the total bill amount and junhui fishes his wallet out from his pocket.

later, when they’re outside the convenience store, junhui reaches into the grocery bag to retrieve the lemon gummies. “so, who is this for? is it your token of appreciation for me?”

“you wish,” soonyoung scoffs, snatching the packet out of junhui’s hands. “it’s for someone else.”

“and is this ‘someone’ the ‘friend’ you were helping out last week?” junhui raises an eyebrow at him. “seokmin told me about it.”

“how does it matter even if it is?” soonyoung crosses his arms defensively. “they’re just a friend, that’s all.”

the sigh that leaves soonyoung’s mouth after that sentence makes junhui think that maybe a friendship isn’t what soonyoung wants from his ‘friend.’

. . . . .

“wait, you remembered i like these?” you gasp, seeing the packet of lemon-flavoured jellies in soonyoung’s hands when he meets you at your usual restaurant.

“well, friends remember things about each other,” soonyoung states matter-of-factly. “good friends do at least, because you don’t seem to remember a thing about me.”

“i never said i was going to be a good friend to you,” you retort, holding back a laugh at soonyoung’s unconscious pout when you tease him. “anyway, i didn’t say i needed any help today. why did you ask me to meet you for dinner?”

“you came, didn’t you?” soonyoung challenges. “it’s a routine for me now, anyway, and i didn’t feel like breaking it.”

you feel taken aback momentarily, realizing that no matter how much you’re always shutting down soonyoung’s advances, you almost always say yes to him. clearing your throat, you say, “since you called me, it’s your treat.”

“i don’t mind paying,” soonyoung chuckles. “go on, order whatever you want.”

after dinner, and after soonyoung has walked you back to your house, you lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling. your phone is lazily clutched in your hand, fingers itching to pull up soonyoung’s contact and text him, i remember. i remember things about you. i remember the way you scrunch your nose when you want to stop yourself from sneezing, the way you push your hair back with your hands when you feel frustrated, the way you smile at someone when you’re in love with them.

—

to: kwon soonyoung

i remember how much i loved you| i remember how much|

i remember|

dinner on monday? need to design the monthly magazine’s cover page

sent at 2:46 a.m.

from: kwon soonyoung

i’ll be there :)

sent at 2:47 a.m.

“what are your dinner plans?” minghao asks soonyoung. the fitting for their upcoming tour outfits just got over, and all the members are leaving in groups for dinner.

“nothing much,” soonyoung shrugs. “want to go get kimchi jjigae?”

there’s a good restaurant at a walking distance from the hybe building, but the heavy rain pouring down when they’re about to exit the building makes minghao and soonyoung take one of the company cars to the restaurant instead.

they’re in the elevator alone, going down to the basement, when minghao decides that it’s a good time to interrogate soonyoung on his recent behaviour.

“you know, everyone’s been thinking you’re acting… different,” minghao starts casually, not wanting to alarm soonyoung abruptly. “is everything alright?”

“what? i’m still the same,” soonyoung laughs. “more importantly, why have you all been discussing me?”

“we’re not discussing,” minghao shakes his head, the elevator doors opening to the basement. “you’re just acting unusual, and we’re noticing it. if you wanna talk about it, you can—”

“wait, what date is it today?” soonyoung interrupts him just as they’re about to open the doors to the car.

“uh, the twenty-eighth,” minghao says, checking his phone, and he watches how soonyoung’s face drains of all color as he realizes something important.

“shit, i need to go,” soonyoung mutters to himself, pulling out his phone and rapidly typing something on his screen.

“go where? i’ll drop you off,” minghao offers, but his words fall on deaf ears. soonyoung is already running back to the elevators, which take him up to the lobby of the building, and out on the street.

the rain doesn’t let up in the slightest, but soonyoung doesn’t seem to care much about it as minghao watches him run like a madman when the car pulls out on the street.

he should lower his window and yell at soonyoung to get in the car, but he’s never seen him this frantic to get somewhere. minghao decides to trust soonyoung’s crazy antics this time, and silently shakes his head at the driver when he asks if soonyoung needs to be picked up.

. . . . .

“is this what good friends do?” a scoff from you has soonyoung’s heart crumbling. “you left me waiting here in the rain, on my birthday, and you couldn’t even call, or text—”

“it’s not like you’re waiting for it!” a cornered soonyoung isn’t a rational one, and the words leave him before he can process them. “you’re always telling me how i shouldn’t be meeting you, have feelings for you, or contact you, yet you’re the one giving me shit for not texting you?”

“i just—i assumed you’d show up,” your voice is considerably softer, now that you really understand what soonyoung is saying. the loud rain doesn’t do much to mask your voice, however, because soonyoung hears you loud and clear.

“well, that’s where you’re wrong,” soonyoung chuckles mirthlessly. “you’ve just taken me for granted all over again, y/n. you think that you can get me to do whatever you want just because i like you and you know i’ll never say no. i’m really fucking tired of all this.”

“soonyoung, it’s not like that—”

“i don’t want to hear another stupid explanation from you, not when you’re always deflecting whenever we get close to being something real,” soonyoung cuts you off. “you’re always the one making decisions for me, for us, and i’m done with that. my feelings for you are my own, and you can’t tell me i’m wrong or that i can’t have them.”

at this point, the salty tears running down your face can’t be differentiated from the raindrops hitting your skin, but you keep your head bowed down, so that soonyoung can’t see your tears. despite not looking at him, you can still tell that soonyoung himself is crying, if his choked voice and hurt tone are anything to go by.

“you’re not going to say anything?” soonyoung tries, and he sounds like he’s giving up now. “why can’t you just take the chance with me? why won’t you trust that i’ll do anything to keep you safe?”

“go home, soonyoung,” is all you say, gathering the courage to look him in the eye. “you’re going to get sick, and with the tour—”

“you don’t give a fuck about the tour, and you certainly don’t care for me either, so cut the crap,” soonyoung sounds angry, and you know he has all the right to. “if i go home now, without anything from you, it’s the last you’re going to see of or hear from me.”

those words have you snapping your head up. you look at soonyoung, fists clenched and teeth gritted together. the image of an younger, much happier soonyoung is superimposed on top of the version of soonyoung you see in front of you, and he looks entirely different.

you don’t see the carefree, happy, and silly soonyoung anymore. you see a man who you’ve managed to break with how much you’ve pushed him away. you see a man who’s scared to love you, even though that’s all he’s done for all these years.

you see the results of your own cowardice, and you know that the bravest thing you could do is end things, right then and there.

“goodnight, soonyoung,” you say, not caring that you’re letting your facade finally slip in front of him when your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. “i won’t bother you anymore.”

you don’t have to look at him to visualise the look of betrayal and heartbreak on his face, but you sneak a glance anyway, and it’s just as heart-wrenching as you expected it to be. still, despite every inch of your body wanting to stay here, with him, you force yourself to turn around and walk away.

you’re not sure if soonyoung sees the way your shoulders shake when you finally give in and sob loudly. you’re not sure if soonyoung hears the thousands of apologies leaving your lips in broken whispers. but you do hope that soonyoung doesn’t; you’ve already hurt him enough.

“where have you been?” seungkwan gasps when he sees soonyoung at his front door, soaked in water from head to toe. “minghao-hyung told me you suddenly ran away, and all of us have been trying your phone but you—”

“seungkwan-ah,” the tremble in soonyoung’s voice makes seungkwan pause his rant. “i’ve lost her for good, this time.”

“lost who?” seungkwan furrows his eyebrows. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, just come in quickly and shower. i’ll get you some dry clothes.”

within fifteen minutes, soonyoung is now seated on the couch, clean and dry, and seungkwan hands him a cup of warm milk. he sits down next to soonyoung and notices how soonyoung just stares off into space, eyes filled with a kind of sorrow he hasn’t seen before.

“is it her?” seungkwan asks, and soonyoung turns his head to meet his eyes. “the girl you were talking about when you came here?”

“y/n, yeah,” soonyoung nods. “i didn’t know you guys were talking again,” seungkwan says. “i mean, we all thought that during the break when we were trainees, she randomly disappeared without a trace.”

“i thought so too,” soonyoung admits. “but we happened to bump into each other a few months back, and—god, i feel like such an idiot for thinking that we could ever go back to the way we were before.”

“wait, backtrack,” seungkwan holds his hand up. “you’ve been seeing her for the last few months? is that why the members keep saying you’ve been acting different? tell me the whole story, kwon soonyoung.”

the last thing soonyoung wants to do is recount the details of everything that’s happened, but he doesn’t stand a chance against seungkwan’s inquisitive gaze, and so he caves.

. . . . .

you’re definitely going crazy. it’s the only rational explanation for the situation you’ve found yourself in.

three days ago, after you left soonyoung in the rain, you had received a text from an unknown number, which went like: this is seungkwan. hyung is down with a fever. i thought you should know.

you wanted to reply and argue that you shouldn’t know about soonyoung’s health, not when your heart and mind were both ready to drop everything at once and meet soonyoung, no matter how stupid the excuse. instead, you left the message on read and spent the next three days driving yourself crazy while contemplating if you should go and apologize to soonyoung.

in the end, the part of you that craved the comfort soonyoung brought you with just his presence won, and you found yourself in front of soonyoung’s house, plastic bag filled with medicine gripped tightly in your right hand.

you raise your left hand to ring the doorbell, but something in you makes you pause. what if soonyoung doesn’t want to see you? you wouldn’t blame him, after everything you’ve put him through, but seeing disgust or hatred for you in his eyes might just be the thing that shatters your heart for good.

the thoughts running in your head are chaotic, and you wish you just had the courage to knock on his door, face him, and apologize so that he actually hears you, but you’re a mere slave to the crippling fear that fills you at the thought of wanting something real with soonyoung.

you decide against facing him. you place the bag of medicine by the door, ring the doorbell, and run towards the end of the hallway as fast as you can, hiding behind the wall to make sure soonyoung won’t see you. it’s childish and immature, but you’ve come to realize that you’re never rational when it comes to soonyoung.

you need to cover your mouth to muffle the cries leaving you when you hear soonyoung open his door, step out, and call seungkwan to ask him if he sent him any medicine.

you take that as your sign to leave, but the burning question doesn’t leave you: what would soonyoung think if he ever finds out that you were the one who brought him medicine but didn’t even have the courage to hand it over to him yourself?

your relationship with soonyoung had started many years ago, when you both were still in middle school and trying to understand long division.

back then, soonyoung was your best friend. he was the boy who always asked for an extra serving of rice at lunch, because you were too shy to. he was the boy that made sure you walked on the sidewalk when you were going back home after school. he was the boy who choreographed silly dances to make you laugh whenever you were sad.

he was the first boy you fell in love with.

it all had happened very quickly; all the girls in your grade had started discussing crushes and boyfriends, and soonyoung was the only boy in your life who made you feel ‘butterflies in your stomach’ and ‘fireworks whenever he’d touch you.’

after that revelation, it felt like the entire world had become much sweeter. you had exchanged your glasses for rose-tinted ones, and with every moment you spent with your best friend, you only fell in deeper.

one evening, under a starry night sky, fifteen-year old you had taken the leap of faith and pressed your lips against his. it was clumsy, and his nose bumping into yours hurt, but it was the best thing to ever happen to you.

what had followed the kiss was the worst news you’d ever receive.

—

“i’m moving to seoul,” soonyoung says, his hand holding yours gently while he drops a bomb.

“what for?” you ask, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. although soonyoung hadn’t revealed much, you could tell from the way his eyes were welling up with tears that the news couldn’t be good.

“i’m leaving taekwondo for good,” he starts. “i recently got into dancing, and i love it. i want to get better at it.”

“there’s dance studios in namyangju,” you point out. “why seoul?”

“i…. i auditioned for a few companies,” soonyoung confesses, the words spilling out after weeks of being kept secret. “i got into some, and i want to…. train professionally.”

you might just get an award called ‘worst best friend in the world’ for your reaction to soonyoung’s words. you barely stop yourself from saying, “that wasn’t our plan. we were supposed to stick together, even if we got sick of each other.”

what you do say is, “oh. that’s… that’s really cool.”

“you don’t look too excited,” soonyoung��s smile falters a bit. “why aren’t you excited?”

“i mean, of course i’m happy for you,” you laugh, although there’s nothing you find funny in this situation.

“i feel like there’s a ‘but’ that’s going to follow,” soonyoung looks at you warily. “what is it?”

there’s so many things you want to say, but you bite your tongue. you just shake your head with a smile. “no ‘buts.’ i’m happy for you, i really am.”

“really?” soonyoung asks again, just to be sure, and you nod. he seems convinced with the act you’ve put up, because he smiles brightly at you, and your heart skips a beat.

you try to bring up the kiss, and what it would mean for the both of you, but soonyoung says, “i should go home, it’s getting late.”

“yeah, it is,” you reply, swallowing down the urge to tell him to stay. “goodnight, soonyoung.”

—

for years to come, you regretted everything you did that night. you regretted letting him go that easily, not telling him how you felt, even the fact that you kissed him.

this regret had such a chokehold on you, that after soonyoung had packed up his things and moved to seoul, you cut off all contact with him.

you didn’t reply to his emails and didn’t answer his calls. whenever his parents visited your house, you’d lock yourself in your room, scared that they’d ask you about soonyoung and you’d have nothing to say.

it was your first heartbreak, and it was messy and painful. you would cry yourself to sleep every night and wake up in the morning, fighting the urge to call soonyoung and ask how he’s doing.

you had managed to convince yourself that now that soonyoung had left, there was no chance of him coming back, much less to meet you. it took you a year to make peace with it, and another year to try and move on, but one night set you back on your progress and had all your walls breaking down.

—

it’s a rainy night and you’re alone at home. your parents are out of town for your dad’s colleague’s wedding, and you couldn’t be bothered to join them.

you’re on your phone, watching pixelated figures on your screen laugh and scream. you’d never admit this to anyone, but you had secretly kept up with soonyoung’s activities ever since he’d left for seoul. for the last few months, he’d been part of a tv show along with other trainees, practicing in a room with green walls and awaiting the day their names would be picked to be a part of a new boy-group.

seeing him dance and goof around with other trainees always made your heart sink a little, but you were glad that at least one of you were enjoying their youth.

you’re in the middle of a compilation of funny moments from said tv show, when your doorbell rings. you’re skeptical as to who would show up in front of your house in the middle of the pouring rain and this late in the evening, so you equip yourself with a tennis racket and head to the front door.

you slowly twist the door knob and pull the door open, but when you see who’s standing at the door, the tennis racket slips from your hands and clatters loudly against the floor.

“what—what are you doing here?” you ask, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.

“did i do something wrong?” soonyoung fires back. he’s completely drenched in rainwater, and his shoulders seem to droop, not just with the weight of the wet clothes clinging to his body.

“soonyoung, that’s ridiculous. what do you mean?” you sputter. “i think you should be telling me why you’re miles away from seoul, in front of my house, soaked in rain. what were you thinking?”

“it’s been two years, y/n,” soonyoung scoffs. “two years since i left and you never called, texted, nothing. did you really not care about me leaving?”

“i just got busy,” you lie, looking away from him. “school got tough, and unlike you, i need to actually focus on—”

“wait, pause,” soonyoung cuts you off, and you wish you could slap yourself for letting those words slip out. “what do you mean ‘unlike me’? what, you think you’re better than me because you’re going to school and i’m training to be an idol? is that why you cut off all contact with me?”

“i didn’t mean to say that, and you know i’d never do anything like that,” you deny.

“do i? do i know you anymore?” soonyoung runs a hand through his damp hair, just like he does whenever he’s annoyed. “i thought we were best friends, but all of a sudden, you go radio silent and give me no explanation at all.”

“i was having a hard time too, okay?” you raise your voice, and you hate how shaky it sounds. “it was tough for me to get used to living without you here, and—”

“don’t give me that bullshit,” he says, voice cracking near the end. “i needed you too, and you completely abandoned me. just like how you kissed me that night and never said anything afterwards. why do you always leave me in the dark?”

you’ve relived that first, innocent, clumsy kiss, multiple times in your head for the last two years, and hearing soonyoung bring it up makes the memory sting even more.

“soonyoung, i—i tried to, but i didn’t think that it was the right time to bring it up,” you sigh, defeated. soonyoung’s gaze softens at that, and he inches forward to be closer to you. he raises his right hand to cup your cheek, and the contrast of his icy fingers against your warm skin makes you shudder.

“you think too much,” he says, looking into your eyes. “it’s just me; you can tell me whatever you want the second the thought crosses your mind. you know i’d always listen.”

“i know,” you nod, and the air between you two feels charged with tension that has been simmering for the last two years. your brain is working at full speed, trying to decide what your next move should be, and soonyoung seems to pick up on the hesitance in your eyes, because of which he exhales loudly and whispers under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, “fuck it.”

before you can predict what he’s about to do, soonyoung leans forward to crash his lips onto yours. you can feel soonyoung shivering in his wet clothes, but the kiss feels warmer than anything you’ve felt before. you give into your temptations and kiss him back.

it’s not as awkward as last time, but it does take you a second to realize that in the time he’s been away, soonyoung has grown up from the lanky and lean boy he used to be. his shoulders seem to be broader, and arms considerably more firm from the constant, rigorous training he’s going through.

you take your time in running your hands up his arms, until they finally wrap around his neck, pulling him in close. the wet material of his hoodie meets your dry t-shirt, and the foreign cold sensation is what snaps you back into reality. you’re kissing the boy you tried so hard to move on from, and you’re kissing him despite knowing that you’ll never really have him.

pulling away from soonyoung hurts a lot more than you expected. he looks disoriented for a few seconds, but then his eyes focus on you, and he knows something has changed.

“we should talk about—”

“no,” you shake your head. “let’s just call this a weak moment, and forget about it.”

“are you being serious right now?” soonyoung huffs. “why are you doing this? am i just a mistake to you?”

if you were it wouldn’t hurt this much, you think to yourself. to soonyoung you say, “i think we’re better off as friends, soonyoung.”

soonyoung walks away again, but this time you’re the one who pushed him away, and he’s the one that wanted you to stay.

—

you didn’t think you’d ever meet soonyoung after that night. for months after, the pain you felt every time you thought of soonyoung was fresh and raw, but over the years, he moved to the back of your mind as you got busy with trying to cope with the real world.

you had decided to major in design in college, and with your degree, you managed to land a job at a famous magazine publisher as a designer, and you’re somewhat happy with it. it’s tough to get recognition in a creative field, especially as a new employee, but earning money easily outweighs the need for validation, which is why you gritted your teeth, plastered on a smile, and continued working for people who never acknowledge you.

that’s when life decided to give you another unexpected surprise.

—

you just got off work, and it’s almost midnight. you haven’t had much to eat the entire day, not when the company is downsizing and you need to work your ass off to keep your job.

your stomach grumbles loudly, and you feel frustrated too. you’re sick of eating convenience store food for most days of the week, but there’s not a single restaurant open at this hour in your area, and you may just have to settle for ramen again, when you stumble across your saviour.

it’s a hole-in-the-wall joint with a small LED sign outside it, displaying the name of the restaurant. there’s not more than four tables inside the restaurant, yet the aroma of delicious tteokbokki is enough to lure you in.

you push the door open, and an elderly lady with a kind smile welcomes you. “oh, my child, you look absolutely famished,” the lady coos. “come, take a seat, i’ll get you food.”

“thank you so much,” you gush, bowing deeply before sitting down at a table. while the lady brings you food, you take the time to rest your tired feet and exhausted eyes. you’re rubbing your aching forehead, when the door to the restaurant opens, indicating that another customer has entered.

out of curiosity, you look to the side to see the new customer, but when you see his face, you’re considering that the universe thinks you’re a joke. because, sitting at the table across from you is none other than kwon soonyoung.

memories from the past crash into you like a truck, and you’re almost ready to sacrifice a decent meal and flee from the restaurant, when the lady approaches your table with a huge tray in her hands.

“here you go, sweetheart,” she says, setting down bowl after bowl on your table. “enjoy your meal.”

you’re not sure how much of an appetite you’ve got left after you’ve literally faced your past. the shock on soonyoung’s face still hasn’t faded, and you’re debating if you should just avoid any further eye contact, finish your food, and leave the restaurant as quickly as possible.

it seems like that plan needs to be abandoned as well, because after a very awkward meal and paying for your food, the second you step out of the restaurant, soonyoung calls your name.

“y/n, wait,” you can tell that he feels awkward just from the way he’s fidgeting with his shirt, and it only makes you feel even more uncomfortable. “it’s… been a while.”

“it has,” you reply casually, as if he didn’t go on to become a worldwide sensation, while you’re stuck being mediocre. “it was great to see you again, but i really should—”

“let’s catch up some time?” he asks, chest heaving with anticipation.

“i don’t know if that would be a good idea, soonyoung,” you say, vaguely gesturing at the distance between the two of you. “after what happened last time…”

“you said we’d be better as friends, right?” he tries, still enthusiastic, and it makes you want to cry. “we should try again. to be friends, i mean. what do you think?”

—

agreeing with him had been simultaneously the best and worst decision of your life. meeting soonyoung nearly every night after work, eating dinner at the same table in the restaurant you both met at again, and spending hours listening to him talk about everything and nothing was something you never thought you’d get to experience again.

it had started to feel like he was your best friend all over again, just like all those years ago when you both were naive teenagers who could never imagine that their relationship would change this much.

the downside to all this was that your old feelings for soonyoung, feelings that never really faded away, had come to life again, and soonyoung smiling at you like an idiot in love, like an idiot who didn’t choose to run away from you the first time you hurt him, wasn’t helping either.

having to shut down his constant flirting, his abrupt confessions, ‘deals’ he’d strike with you to make you go on a date with him whenever he helped you with work, all of it was killing you slowly, and you didn’t know if you could tell soonyoung to back off without hurting him more than you already have.

as the weeks fly by, you started letting your guard down around soonyoung. he held your hand as he walked you home, carried your work bag even if you weren’t that tired, and even texted you first thing in the morning. you had promised to yourself that you wouldn’t let soonyoung get that close to you again, because dealing with the fallout was something you didn’t want to deal with again.

still, like icarus, you let yourself fly close to the sun that is soonyoung’s affections, selfishly hoping that the day your wings of wax melt didn’t come too soon.

it was all just wishful thinking, and the fragile bubble you had started to live in burst on the day of your twenty-ninth birthday. like every other day, you had expected soonyoung to meet you at your usual restaurant for dinner, but hours passed, and there was still no sign of soonyoung.

when soonyoung finally did show up, and after you left him alone in the rain, you couldn’t help but curse yourself for believing that something so flawed from the start could ever work out, no matter how much you tried.

“is it weird that i still feel nervous before concerts?” mingyu sighs, massaging his legs after their last rehearsal on the stage.

“i don’t think that feeling will ever fully go away,” wonwoo chuckles, panting as he lays sprawled out on the floor of the green room some of them are gathered in. its the day before the first concert on their world tour, and backstage is buzzing with various members of staff running around, making sure everything is perfect.

“i don’t think soonyoung gets nervous, though,” wonwoo teases, nudging soonyoung’s leg with his foot.

soonyoung, too engrossed in his own thoughts, doesn’t even hear the jab. he’s busy staring off into space, and it puzzles the other members.

“hey, what’s on your mind?” mingyu asks, shaking soonyoung’s shoulder to snap him out of his trance.

“i don’t know,” he sighs. “i have a bad feeling about today.”

“hey! don’t jinx our concert with your negativity,” seungcheol quips. “whatever has you distracted, you need to get it out of your head. we need tomorrow to be perfect.”

the restless feeling that has been bothering soonyoung all morning finally makes sense when his phone buzzes with a notification.

it’s a text from you, after radio silence since your birthday, and soonyoung hates how he’s sprinting out of the green room towards the company cars at the drop of a hat.

in his rush, soonyoung leaves his phone behind, and when mingyu picks it up from the couch, the text displayed on the screen reads, can we talk? one last time, i promise.

everyone has a feeling that soonyoung doesn’t want to be meeting you for the last time.

. . . . .

soonyoung feels a little foolish for standing outside the restaurant alone, frantically looking around. he’s forgotten his phone at the concert venue, leaving him with no way to contact you to find out if you were even coming to see him.

but when he sees your figure at the end of the street, walking towards him, the anxiety he’d been feeling gets multiplied by ten.

when you come to a halt in front of him, you seem a bit surprised. “i didn’t expect you to come. not after…”

“i know it was you who left the medicine outside my house that day,” he says. “i decided to come so i could thank you for that.”

“you don’t have to,” you shake your head. “i didn’t do that as an apology.”

“so, you’re not going to apologize for any of it?” soonyoung tilts his head. “why’d you call me here? for your own amusement?”

“i called you here to tell you that i’m leaving for good, soonyoung,” you have to force yourself to blurt the words out, because the lump forming in your throat is slowly starting to choke you. “i got a new job, and i’m leaving korea. i’m not coming back.”

“what?” soonyoung doesn’t sound like he believes you. “what do you mean you’re leaving?”

“i need a fresh start away from all this, away from you,” you can’t hold your tears back anymore, and the thought of never seeing soonyoung again is a comforting yet terrifying thought. “this thing we have, whatever we’ve had for all these years, it hurts to live with. i know i was the one who went and messed everything up, but i—i didn’t know how else to deal with you leaving. i do apologize, soonyoung, for every time i’ve made you feel like i hate you, or i don’t want you, and i want you to know i didn’t mean any of it.”

“if you didn’t mean it, why did you do it?” soonyoung’s face is red with anger and the look of realization that he can’t do anything to salvage this situation is heartbreaking. “i told you, y/n, you don’t have to think so much when you’re with me. you don’t need to worry about everything that can go wrong, not when i’ve got your back. why could i never earn your trust?”

“how could i trust in something that was doomed from the start?” you let out the thought that has been gnawing away at you for years. “the moment i realized i loved you, you left, and i couldn’t do anything about it.”

“is that what the first kiss was about?” soonyoung asks. “you loved me since then?”

“i did,” you nod. “and don’t you dare try to apologize for leaving, because it’s going to make me feel even worse. there was no way on earth i would’ve asked you to stay for me, and you wouldn’t have listened anyway.”

“what about after that?” soonyoung says, and you notice how it’s his left hand rising up to push his hair back. it used to be his right hand before, and you will every cell in your body to stop thinking about what the difference means. “i came back to you, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“you had enough on your plate back then, soonyoung,” you shake your head. “i’ve always kept up with your journey, since before your debut, and i know that expecting a relationship from you then wasn’t right of me. it would’ve made things worse.”

“why not now, y/n?” soonyoung yells, tears of frustration running down his face. “do you have an excuse for that too? what, i’d be too busy touring the world which is why you never said anything? if you love me, and i love you, why couldn’t we just let that be the reason? was love never enough for you?”

“i can’t—i can’t answer that, soonyoung,” you sob. “all i do is hurt you, don’t you see that?”

“there you go, making decisions for me again,” he scoffs. “you can’t be the one to decide if i want you, even if you’ve hurt me.”

“i’m deciding for myself,” you sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “we’re too far gone to fix things, and i don’t want you to get your hopes up for me. i don’t think i’ll ever be ready for anything real with you, and i feel like it’s the best way to leave things.”

“you’re leaving without even trying to fix anything,” soonyoung seethes. “your apology is just another slap to the face, and i can’t believe that i’d still do anything for you, no questions asked.”

“i’m asking you to let go, soonyoung,” you choke out. “it’s what’s best for us, and you know it too.”

“you make it sound easy,” soonyoung’s laugh is dry and hollow. “letting go of you means letting go of my heart. it’s not that easy, y/n.”

“i’m sorry,” you let your head hang low, too ashamed to look at soonyoung. you’re surprised once again when you feel his hands reaching forward to hold your trembling ones.

“is there nothing i can say to make you stay?” soonyoung tries again. his anger seems to have dissipated, and the look of desperation on his face matches the one on yours.

“i’m leaving tomorrow night,” you let yourself savor the feeling of his rough hands enveloping yours. “i can’t stay, you know that.”

“i’ll try anyway,” he exhales. “come to the concert tomorrow.”

“soonyoung, i can’t—”

“please.” he sounds dangerously close to begging. “i need to see you one last time, please. if it’s the last time i’m seeing you, i want it to be tomorrow.”

“i can’t make any promises, soonyoung,” you shut your eyes.

“don’t make any,” he says. “i’ll get you a ticket, but if you don’t want to come, don’t. just know that i’ll be looking for you in the crowd.”

“don’t expect me to be there,” you say, looking up at him. he’s close enough for you to see his eyes glittering with tears, and the knife in your chest twists in deeper.

“can’t make any promises,” his words come out in a whisper, and before you can remind soonyoung of the consequences of kissing in the middle of a street, where anyone can recognize him, he pulls you in.

the kiss doesn’t last long, but it makes you feel like your body is on fire. it makes your heart ache at the thought of losing this warmth forever, and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling soonyoung closer to you.

he pulls away first this time, and you can see it in his eyes that he knows you won’t be there tomorrow. still, he says, “come tomorrow, please.”

he leaves before you can respond. which might be better for him. because you don’t know if you can handle the fact that the last thing you’ll tell him is no.

the opening notes of the song play, and now that all the members are finally sitting down after hours of dancing, soonyoung takes a moment to scan the crowd.

he thinks about the ticket he’d sent you through text, and how the message hadn’t even delivered. he thinks about the flight that’s about to leave the airport soon, taking you far away from him.

if you leave in the distant future i probably won’t be able to live

he thinks of the last kiss, and it’s enough to make his eyes water.

chan finishes singing the first two lines, and with a shaky hand, soonyoung lifts his mic to his lips.

it’s not in the distant future i just don’t want to think about it

you’re not in the crowd tonight, and even though you didn’t make any promises, the last look he had at you felt like a promise in itself. a promise that said, i won’t be there, no matter how hard you look.

still, soonyoung feels like you’re watching. he wants to imagine that you’re in the waiting room at the airport, waiting to board your flight, clutching your phone and watching the livestream of this concert. he wants to imagine that the tears in his eyes make you want to cry too.

if you leave me (what can i do?) all my days (you’re the reason i’m alive and breathing)

fans recording clips of this concert are going to share this particular clip of soonyoung singing the chorus of the song with tears streaming down his face. they’re going to say things like, who hurt him? and soonyoung is really professional; he pours so much emotion into each song.

they don’t know the truth behind the tears. they don’t know that soonyoung was once a boy, who was, and still is, in love with a girl. and they’ll never know, neither will you, that soonyoung will always continue to love you, even if you’re oceans away from him.

soonyoung won’t ever know this: you do watch the livestream of the concert. you’re sitting in the airport lounge, and soonyoung’s eyes staring straight into the camera feels like he’s really looking at you, after he failed to spot you in the crowd.

he won’t ever know this, but ever since that first kiss at fifteen, you had doomed your own fate. even if you ever found love in any other person, you’d never love them as much as you love soonyoung, and you decide to continue being selfish and keep this secret locked away in your heart for good.

the airport speakers announce that passengers flying to new york may start boarding their flight, and you shut your phone just as the song ends.

i want to hold your hand, just stay with me.

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theatre-mqn · 5 hours ago

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More Separated AU content

Because this AU has been stuck in my head and this movie is taking over my life.

(For anyone who’s new here: this au is essentially just what if Gwi-ma got to Rumi before Celine did, and huntrix ended up never being formed because of it)

A very rough concept sketch for separated au Rumi:

Rumi:

"Raised" by Gwi-ma, though "raised" is a subjective term given the guy is not a good father, mentor or parental figure whatsoever. In fact he's probably the worst dad you could think of in-universe

Because she's half-human, Gwi-ma is constantly holding the fact that he let her live over her head — reminding her that she killed her own mother, and that she doesn't belong in the human world or the demon one — that she's a half-breed and a mistake, and he's the only person (demon?) gracious enough to let her belong.

She hears his voice in her head constantly. Most of the time when she slips up to the human realm, it’s just to distract herself from it and get away from him for a bit.

Zero self esteem. If you thought canon Rumi was bad, imagine her living in Actual Hell with every single demon present being completely ready to tell her that she's a mistake and they hate her at any given moment

She still has a natural connection to the Honmoon, and because she's half human she can sort of pass back and forth through it with relative ease (i say relative because the demon side of her does not have a fun time with it. Being on the wrong side of the Honmoon hurts). That's pretty much the only reason Gwi-ma didn't have her killed on the spot — he just needed a pawn that could walk freely amongst the humans without getting disintegrated, and he figured that if he could train a hunter to obey him and him alone, the Honmoon would have no chance of ever fully forming.

Despite her being sent off to the surface on multiple occasions, usually for scouting purposes/some random mission that usually involves fighting the one (1) single hunter who's still in operation, she's never really been able to convince herself to take anyone's soul, which is something Gwi-ma finds infuriating. She can't help it — her connection to the Honmoon already means she has a sort of gut instinct to protect, and she spends a lot of time amongst the humans because most of the demons frankly just don't want her around, which means she just can't bring herself to hurt any of them.

Jinu is a sort of older brother figure to her in this universe (in the context of this au the man would've literally watched her grow up. rujinu is out of the question i fear). He's the only person who sort of understands the shame that Rumi feels about her own identity, and one of the few demons who's actually willing to talk to her about it.

She looks relatively human on the surface compared to most of the demons, but she still has a few odd (?)/off-putting behaviours and traits that come through a lot more since she's been more exposed to the demon world than she has to the human one. She's terrifyingly silent all of the time, scares animals shitless because of the natural Uncanny :tm: air surrouinding her, purrs like a cat from time to time, and her eyes glow in the dark.

She's fought Mira on multiple occasions, usually because Gwi-ma keeps sending her on missions that usually end in her either distracting the hunter while the demons go do whatever it is they're meant to do now, or getting caught by her while wandering around and instantly engaging in battle.

She usually wears a Dokkaebi mask to hide her face, both from the demons and from the humans from time to time. She used to wear more traditional Korean clothing like a lot of the demons did when she was younger, but once she started slipping into the human world more often she starts dressing in more modern styles.

Jinu convinces her to buy him merch when she's on the surface. Nobody questions where she got the money from

Mechanical claws —> Gwi-ma won't let her use her hunter weapon, so she has a crudely-made clawed gauntlet that he bullied some demon that used to be a blacksmith into making for her.

Horrible wet cat creature I love her

Zoey:

She moves back to Korea a lot later in this AU, which is part of the reason why Celine wasn't able to find her while she was hosting the idol-auditions-that-were-actually-secretly-hunter-auditions.

She still loves writing and composing songs, but unlike in canon, this version of Zoey doesn't have the same found family/safety net that comes in the form of the other two hunters to support her.

The first time she works up the courage to post a song she wrote online she gets dogpiled, and without anyone to support or encourage her it ends up killing her self-confidence and her motivation to write/post new music. She does still write from time to time, but most of it ends up scrapped or hidden away in a notebook that she keeps under lock and key.

She has a hard time fitting in and finding friends when she first moves back to Korea, and essentially ends up living alone in an apartment watching marine biology documentaries all day and avoiding social interaction as much as possible because she's worried she'll mess it up again and make everyone hate her.

She does however instantly become enamoured with Mira's music and with Mira herself but shhhh. She listens to it on loop and has showed up to one of her signing events before

Unfortunately Mira had to run off to fight another pack of demons before she was able to realise that Zoey was also a hunter. That probably would've made things a lot less stressful

The first time she meets Rumi, it's while the latter is wandering around the human realm just to avoid having to deal with Gwi-ma for a few hours. They bump into each other at a convenience store, and Rumi seems oddly interested in hearing Zoey ramble about turtles and music theory.

They end up meeting up at that convenience store a couple times a week just to talk, and while Zoey does notice Rumi's… general weirdness that comes about as a result of being raised by demons, she doesn't really acknowledge it because. Well frankly she's too happy to finally have a friend to be complaining about why said friend has eyes that glow in the dark or suspiciously sharp teeth

Mira:

A somewhat popular indie singer/songwriter and the only one who's actually initially trained by Celine, because she's the only hunter that Celine is able to find.

She shows up at an audition that Celine holds in an attempt to find whoever the other two hunters are and gets clocked as a hunter almost instantly

She and Celine fight a lot. She's not exactly great with authority, and Celine still hasn't gotten over losing both her best friend and the only thing she had left of said best friend in the same night, so one is naturally rebellious and the other is somewhat passively resentful and overprotective.

They do not have a healthy dynamic at all — Mira is not well-adjusted enough to be going around killing demons, and Celine still hasn't gotten over her own failures so she ends up projecting them on the only hunter that she's been able to find and somewhat train.

Speaking of training — Mira doesn't really get as much time to learn to fight as she does in canon. Without the other two hunters present, the Honmoon is already tearing itself apart, so she kind of just has to figure out how to kill the demons through trial and error alone, hence why her fighting style is a lot more reckless and frankly somewhat unhinged.

She once hotwired a car and drove it directly into a water demon. Celine had to pay a couple thousand dollars in damages

She and Celine also usually have to go on hunts together purely because Mira alone isn't enough manpower to slay an entire pack of demons, which means that they usually end up shouting at each other over one thing or another while murdering every demonic entity within a five mile radius

She's also not having the easiest time coping with the responsibilities of being a hunter — she's the only one who's currently active, if we're not counting Celine, and because all three hunters are separated from each other, the Honmoon is essentially in shambles. Mira is holding it together through spite and spite alone.

It doesn't help that she's not nearly as successful as she is in canon (mostly because she's quite literally destined to be in a three-part harmony but is forced to do a solo act), because her parents will not stop bothering her about "getting a real job" and "giving up the starving artist act". They spam her comments and posts, relentlessly call and text her until she blocks them, and only reason they haven't shown up at her place of residence to harass her in person is because Celine's sanctuary is fairly out of the way and hard to find.

It also does not help that Celine sometimes reminds her of her parents.

Rumi essentially becomes her arch-nemesis at one point because Gwi-ma keeps sending her to keep Mira occupied and stop her from killing the demons that are taking people's souls. Or, well, Mira thinks Rumi is her arch-nemesis, Rumi is too busy having an identity crisis to notice.

#kpdh #jinu kpdh #rumi kpdh #zoey kpdh #mira kpdh #rumi kpop demon hunters #mira kpop demon hunters #zoey kpop demon hunters #huntrix #kpop demon hunters #separated au #polytrix

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bogkeep · 1 day ago

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good old-fashioned whining

i am gonna Try not to like. constantly complain about oslo girl on my blog. i am accepting that i have developed Bitch Eating Crackers syndrome about her and everything she says and does is gonna rub me the wrong way and i will vent my petty grudges to friends frequently. i think it's just that we're from fully opposite spheres - she's a straight party girl from the capital and i'm a queer bog creature who treasures solitude. it's not that these spheres cannot ever be bridged, but she and i are socially incompatible. i will do my best to be a mature adult about the fact that we have to share housing (and kitchen........ ahhhhhhhhhhggggg).

but there is one thing that is like... just bad etiquette and feankly baffling behavior, which is that she is talking shit about her boyfriend, Constantly, While He Is Present (sometimes in english, which he understands, sometimes in norwegian, which he does not. unsure which is worse). allegedgly her bf complains about her too, but i have not heard him speak NEARLY as much as oslo girl does. at first i worried this was a racism thing since he's Black, but the more this goes on I'm starting to think this is first and foremost The Heterosexuality Tar Pit. like, girl, if you are constantly talking about how worried you are about him being alone with other women... you can just break up? she's talking about the possibility of infidelity like it's something everyone in relationships worry about constantly and that's just the cost of dating. then she's constantly making fully unnecessary comments about everything he does like ommmggg he's so weird.... for singing while cooking. or omg he's so useless when he asked me about where to find a kitchen tool. GIRL DO YOU EVEN LIKE HIM OR IS THE STRAIGHT DATING SCENE IN OSLO JUST THAT FUCKING MISERABLE. actually it really might be from what i hear.

she was telling the czech couple about how Difficult and Challenging it is for a couple to work here together and how important it is for them to keep communicating... but czech couple has been really super chill and have clearly done stuff like this together before. there are several couples working at this place, some for several years in a row!! and they're ALL chill! even the gay couple that worked here last year came by to say hello and they're evidently: Still Together. one of my coworkers is here on her own while her bf is working in finland and there's no issues there either!! (people get so weird about even temporary long distance relationships so i am very thankful for coworker not making a big deal out of it.) i suspect oslo girl is just struggling to fathom the concept that not all of her experiences are universal.

i was hanging out with the czech couple this evening as we were doing a jigsaw puzzle together, which was an absolutely lovely, quiet time until of course, oslo girl sat down and conversed at us... i mentioned my uncle having children from his previous marriage, and she was like "that's just like [boyfriend].... would you ever date someone who already has kids????" and then she had to specify "having kids with random women" and not like, previous long term relationships... and just as i was about to say something like yeah sure if a guy is being irresponsible that's not a great sign she added "it's so uncomfortable to think about him having a child carried by ANOTHER WOMAN... he should have children ONLY WITH ME...." nevermind you lost me again. if this is such a dealbreaker to you juat break up. please

anyway we made great progress on the puzzle. unsure if it was worth all the oslo girl exposure to my psyche but it's difficult to walk away when you're in the Zone

editing to add ANOTHER THING SHE SAID TODAY - apparently she will never say anything about someone she's unwilling to say to their face, which explains the Talking Shit About Her BF While He's Literally Right There, maybe. i think it's a good skill to be able to confront people but. i don't think this trait is as virtuous as she thinks? like of course i am saying that while writing a venty blog post about how much i dislike her, but i think it's perfectly fine to save some commentary for different company, you know? i need to talk shit to people who are never gonna interact with her so i don't explode, but nothing good will come out of her potentially hearing all this. i will answer honestly if she ever takes me aside to ask if i've got a problem with her, but i won't be listing every silly thing she said that annoyed me. i think culturally it is seen as a Terribly Cruel Thing to talk about someone behind their back, and i do agree that it can be all that, but also like. i do NOT want to hear what my haters say about me. i think it's fine for my haters to complain about me in their private little group chats. i trust my friends to actually talk to me if there's any legitimate concerns! my friends are not my haters!

anyway ok now im done

#we need to dismantle heteronormativity PLEASE.

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voicesunified · 11 hours ago

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"Is that not his choice though?" Uriel replied, tilting his head at Lucid. It was a fair thing to point out, he honestly thought that it was up to Michael if he wanted to do that or not. If their elder brother had truly been against the idea of teaching Lucid the power of creation, he would have just said so. And unfortunately, aside from Lucifer himself? Michael was the only other Archangel with the power of creation. He was Lucid's only option, since they certainly weren't going to allow him down into Hell to take lessons from the literal devil.

"Besides, according to Michael himself? The only way for you to get home is to be able to control your own magic. On top of that, the next time this happens? If you don't have control? You could put yourself in a much more dangerous situation." For example, he could have dropped himself in Hell, in the middle of the River of Lava, with no way of getting himself out. He would have, worst case scenario, simply perished.

Which isn't what any of them wanted and was part of Michael's argument for Lucid needing to learn control over himself.

"Also, and I don't mean for this to upset you." Uriel leaned back in his chair and lowered his hands into his lap. He held Lucid's gaze when he spoke this time, ensuring that his point was gotten across. "There is the very real reality that an uncontrolled angel, no matter the kind, is an incredibly dangerous angel. Not having control over yourself makes you practically a ticking time bomb. The one moment you screw up to bad? You could become a danger to yourself and everyone around you. You could have hurt many people with that little display in the middle of Heaven. Do you actually understand that? You could have destroyed all of our Heaven if it simply didn't just pop you out."

Which was why Michael had been so upset. While it was good that nothing actually happened? There was the reality that something could have. And that was what had worried their brother so much. To Michael, Lucid was a reckless untrained angel who needed to learn both control and discipline before they allowed him to attempt to go home. It wasn't unreasonable for Michael to want that either. Just as Lucid should want to learn that control so that he doesn't hurt other people. It was in an angels base nature to be protective, Uriel knows he doesn't want to be an uncontrolled wild ticking bomb just waiting for the wrong moment to go off.

Uriel leaned forward again and lowered his voice a bit, attempting to seem as comforting as possible. The last thing he wanted was to make Lucid uncomfortable or feel like he was attacking him. He knows that's not fair to him.

"The only thing you should truly want in your current state? Is to learn control. If someone is willing to teach you? You should jump at the opportunity to. Michael is hard to work with, he's a very difficult person to understand and he won't hold your hand or baby you." A light shrug, they've all dealt with this throughout their entire lives. Their brother was the hardest teacher when it came to training them. He had high expectations and he held them accountable for every single mistake they made. But he was even harder on himself. Michael never expected anything from them that he wouldn't expect from himself. And he would teach Lucid the same exact way.

"But I am telling you, that by the time you do leave here? You will know every single inch of your magic and how to control it. Because Michael won't let you fail, and he won't let you out of here until your not a danger to yourself and everyone around you. And that's either a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it."

Uriel leaned back and pushed his chair away from the table, standing up and collecting the box of cookies from the desk. "Until then, you at least have a home here. Even if it is partly a prison too I suppose." It wasn't as if Michael was going to let Lucid leave here. But he had a roof over his house and people who would treat him kindly.

Uriel’s first question about his world made the angel sit up a little straighter, his laid back nature subtly becoming more tense. It was not that Lucid was surprised or not expecting such a question to arise eventually, oh nonono. In any Heavenly world, surely the topic of Lucifer would be brought up. His blue hues focused on the broken cookie in Uriel’s hand, understanding the representation and how Michael, Lucifer’s twin, was now no longer truly whole. Who would not be damaged with permanent scars upon their soul from such a traumatic loss?

It was the part that he would frighten Michael like Zadkiel that took him aback. His gaze flicked between the two archangels, listening attentively as to how one’s view of their eldest brother was interpreted as spite towards himself, and the other explaining that it was because the younger was just like Lucifer.” Lucid felt an ache in his heart for Zadkiel. He too could relate to believing his own Michael despised him. Oh it was no question with his own twin however. There was a level of malice in that angel, an ancient rage that recognized the source that sparked it now residing within Lucid.

“…So I am not just a danger physically to your Heaven with my unchecked powers…but…potentially a threat to Michael’s mental state.” Musing aloud, just above a whisper, Lucid cast his gaze downward at his mug of half drunken cocoa. Somehow it felt cold now to him, the warmth sapped away as his own temperature rose with stress. After a several tense seconds, he replied. “Yes. The Lucifer and Michael of my world are also twins. Crafted from the same stardust and star. And like this world, Lucifer was cast from Heaven for his actions and Pride by my Michael. And for a very long time, it remained as Michael the soul half of that star.”

Now Lucid had reached an impasse, a fork in the metaphorical road. All that was asked was if his Michael and Lucifer were twins. He owned no other answers, nothing about what happened after or how he himself came to possess the ability to create. It was then that the borage of haunting warnings flooded back to him. How he was never to interact with the Winner’s, for if they saw his face they may see the Devil. That he was limited to what abilities he was deemed allowed to use and the ones he was forbidden from. How he was reminded time and again that he was created to fill the empty seat left by the fallen traitor, but was equally at risk of meeting the same fate. The warnings to never become like Lucifer and keep the dreams to remain only dreams and illusions. Anything more, he risked serious discipline or even punishment depending on the severity of his disobedience.

Frozen in place, staring blankly into the cup he’s begun to clutch tighter to where his knuckles turned white, the sound of ceramic clinking the countertop as his hands began to shake drawing him out of the state at last. He released his hold on the mug, drawing his hands back into his lap and fidgeting. “…Michael should not teach me Creation Magic. Just because I have the gift, it doesn’t mean I should use it. Ever. I mustn’t. I’m not…I’m not supposed to use it beyond illusions and dreams. And coming here from m-my own world has clearly demonstrated that it is too dangerous for me to ever dabble with again and I promise I won’t use it.” Tension weighted itself upon his chest, like his soul was returning to the gilded cage that he’d forced his way out of. No, he had to subdue these curiosities, these dangerous yearnings. Eyes closed shut, all Lucid could see and hear was his own twin. His Brother’s Keeper. The half that existed not to compliment their opposites, but instead suppress it.

Outwardly, the seraphim trembled lightly in his seat, the halo above his head humming with an anxious pitch. Like the dream realm where he conducts and creates to whisk the subconsciousness away, the angel began to disappear within himself and clam up. The less he said and did, the less trouble we would bring to any and all around him. He’d do what Lucifer couldn’t: accept the limits and obey what was commanded of him.

#✞ — ⟨ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ⟩ ↬ saint michael.#brokendreamscreation

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ssaalexblake · 1 year ago

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i have channels on my tv and that is, to say, weird as hell. Never had that before. Even back when my little shitty tv had an embedded video player bc i begged for a way to watch my buffy video boxsets. It was literally just for the video boxsets.

#i've never even had the free ones on it #bc the aerial has been fucked #but lol #my dad has had the dirt basic sky package since... forever #and has not upgraded #refused all enticements #for literal years #to the point they offered it to him for free #which is hilarious #and also means I got a box and now i have channels #and can record tv shows!!!#literally never been able to do that before #everybody used to be like use a dvr!! never had one #and lbr with streaming as it is #i might as well just go back to watching tv channels #i only actually watch one show on tv but i Could add more

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bonnieandclaide · 3 days ago

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Wrote something real quick on this! Here’s my main text post if it’s easier to read there.

TW Suicide mention

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Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky stands there awkwardly in his rented tux, the starch of his shirt scratching irritatingly into his neck in the midst of his Top Gun graduation ceremony being hosted by Admiral Duke Mitchell’s fancy admiral house.

Actually, if Ice is to be honest, everything about everything here is making him feel itchy. He can tell by the pictures on the wall and the delicate looking sculptures that line the hall that this was money. True, expensive, luxurious money.

This shouldn’t be surprising to Ice, given that he had known from the minute Slider pointed him out that Pete Maverick Mitchell had been destined to be a trust fund kid.

A trust fund kid, who decided he wanted to be one of (not the best, that’s still Ice) the best pilots in the Navy.

And personally making it Ice’s problem.

Of course, Admiral Mitchell himself is a very respectable man. Ice knows, because Ice has literally read so many papers studying his leadership and heard so many stories about the Vietnam war hero, who was the only living pilot to have shot down four enemy fighters during combat.

Which was very respectable, and given that he had so graciously given Ice a friendly smile when he saw him, commenting on how well he kept up to pace with Maverick the past eight weeks, Ice is open to believing that Duke Mitchell is a respectable man in general.

It’s his son that Ice has a problem with.

Ice was twenty-eight and he had lived a life that most people called a tragedy when they found out. He had barely made it into the Naval Academy, and despite quickly proving that he was the best, many people just didn’t seem to take him seriously.

He was, after all, the son of two Polish immigrants who had passed away when he was young. He bounced around a foster care system that didn't really want a Soviet satellite state immigrant in their house, then was able to enlist in the Navy, then in the Naval Academy, because even though he was Polish he was damn good at his job. He fought and clawed his way up through the Academy, ignoring scoffs and weird looks as he kept his cool and showed them no weakness.

Iceman, they would call him, because he’s more ice than man, thus he gets the callsign, Iceman.

Maverick, on the other hand, got his call sign because even though he was being given everything on a silver platter, he still wanted to break the rules. And he got away with it every single time because nobody wanted to ground the decorated and respected admiral’s son for doing a few risky moves. They couldn’t even create much of a reason to, given that no matter what Mav did or how many times he disobeyed orders, his results were still the same: successful.

God Ice really hated him.

Ice is the best pilot in the Navy, he truly really is, and while someone like Maverick might be a great pilot now, someday he’s finally going to have to buckle down to the power of the Navy and follow the same path his father had. They wouldn’t accept anything else; Maverick would have to give up flying eventually.

Meanwhile, even though he’s got the skills and the drive, at this rate no one‘s going to even give Ice a chance to become something higher than a lower rear admiral.

And Ice knows that, between him and Maverick, he’s the one that can’t be a pilot forever. He loves flying, loves being up in the air and in control, but it’s not who he is to his core. He enjoys it because he enjoys the freedom, the control, but control laid with the rich Navy bred brats, not the kid with the first generation immigrant parents.

But crucially, Ice realizes that perhaps the tragedy of them both is that Maverick would have chosen to stay in the air for the rest of his life if he could. It was so obvious to everyone that he was happier when he was flying and free, with nothing to ground him. It was obvious to everyone including Ice, who had never even talked to the guy before the last eight weeks.

Pete Maverick Mitchell was born to be in the sky: he was destined to be the best pilot the Navy has ever seen, and he was destined to even one day outshine his dad without taking a single admiral position. And thus he was destined to fail, because it won’t be long before they try to take him down.

Sometimes Ice wonders if that’s why he keeps trying to mess up. Why Mav had looked at his father during the party a few feet away from him with wide eyes, and how Ice saw the way he pleaded with them.

Anyone else would see admiration, a son looking up at his beloved father, but Ice could see the truth: Pete just wanted his dad to look at him. He’s trying to get his father to look at him, really look at him, and hopefully one day set him free.

Speaking of Maverick, Ice saw plenty of him when he was shaking hands with people at the start of the party, his father standing behind him with pride as Maverick accepted the Top Gun trophy with his name on it.

Maverick did win it and he won it fair and square. He won it over Ice and Slider, with his friend Goose as his right hand man.

Ice had known Goose; they were friendly at the Academy. What he had known at the time was that Goose’s father himself was an admiral, and Goose had known Maverick since they were kids. They were best friends, and when Ice watches Maverick lean forward to hold Goose’s two year-old son in his arms, Ice knew that they would be friends for the rest of their life.

Maverick leans in to kiss Goose’s wife on the cheek. Carol, who had smiled kindly at Ice and told him that Goose had only good things to say about Ice’s flying.

She herself smiles up at Maverick with a fondness that could be nothing but genuine, and for a split second Maverick looks actually happy.

He stayed happy until he had to give Goose‘s son back, and go with his father to shake hands with everyone else in the room who wanted to congratulate him.

God, Ice would have killed himself to be able to stand where Maverick was standing.

Which was…somewhere Ice couldn’t see.

He shakes his head, realizing that the party has been continuing on around him as he stood in the corner and fidgeted, unsure who to talk to, or where to even begin.

And it’s a big house, but everyone was confined to the backyard space and not the house itself, so where could Maverick have gone?

Ice nervously starts to look for the only other people he knows.

Unfortunately, his best friend and RIO, Slider, was busy. He himself was the son of a Captain, and knew a bit more about what it was like to be part of the Naval family than Ice did. Still, they had become real friends and trusted partners in the air, and through that friendship came a devotion that Ice had never felt before, but was delighted at having.

Yet they were still different: Slider was still a respected Navy man while Ice wasn’t, so he was caught in a conversation with a couple other captains who worked with his dad, and couldn’t come to Ice's rescue.

Slider had been in the house a couple times before, so he could’ve perhaps went in to look for Maverick himself.

But still, a few feet behind Slider is an even better person to ask: Admiral Mitchell himself.

Before Ice can even stop himself, he’s walking up to the admiral and giving him a curt nod. “Admiral Mitchell, have you seen your son?”

At Admiral Mitchell's startled face, and everyone else turning to stare at Ice, he realizes that he’s just seconds away from committing a faux pas.

So instead he clears his throat and stands up straighter, looking less like someone trying to hunt a man down, and more as just another person who is a little struck by the admiral’s presence. “I, uh, wanted to congratulate him, sir. On winning the trophy.”

Admiral Mitchell‘s eyes light up and recognition, and he smiles and pat’s Ice’s shoulder. “Ah, it’s you.”

He turns to the other guests, who are now looking less scandalized and more intrigued. “This is the other pilot, Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, who I was telling you about. He almost beat Pete actually and put up a good fight. Pete said himself that this man is a fantastic pilot, and an even more amazing competition. Made him a better pilot.”

Suddenly, people are glancing at Ice with approval, with impressed looks in their eyes.

Duke Mitchell turns, and winks at Ice with a smile just like Maverick’s. “I got you, kid. “

He excuses them from the conversation and leads Ice over to the house, letting him inside. None of the guests turn to look at them as he pretends to ask Ice to help him out.

Once in the house, Admiral Mitchell turns to Ice with a serious face.

“Kazansky, I need you to help me find Pete.” he leads Ice up the stairs, where a complex maze of rooms sits. “I’ll check his room, can you start on the other end of the hall and meet me back here?”

“Yes sir.” He responds with a nod, turning towards the direction that the Admiral had nodded to.

He gets to the end of the hallway and starts to make another sweep back. He hadn’t really opened any of the doors, not super wide at least, unsure if he was allowed to go into the room or not and instead just tried to see if he could hear someone moving.

So he finishes pretty quickly, though maybe not as efficiently as he had hoped, and he makes it past the staircase and towards the wing where Maverick’s father had gone.

Then he finally gets to a door and frowns as he sees that it’s already open.

Curious if it would be the Admiral inside, he opens the door a little wider and suddenly spots Maverick standing there, staring straight into what Ice assumes is the private bathroom.

“Mitchell, is this where you’ve been the whole time?” Ice grins, feeling confidence and cockiness come back to him as he faces someone familiae. “Didn’t realize you were good enough to escape all those Admirals out there..”

Maverick startles, then looks towards him with spooked eyes.

Ice just continues to wait on him, and doesn’t say a word as Maverick’s eyes flicker between Ice and the bathroom. “I'll outmaneuver you any day, Ice.”

Maverick has never called Ice by his full call sign, and probably never will, even when he taunts him and adds to Ice’s growing annoyance with the man who still doesn’t take a step forward.

He steps into the room without thinking and puts a hand over Maverick's shoulder, trying to pull him out the door.

Maverick stumbles, and then whips away from Ice like he’s been shot. Like suddenly moving him was killing him.

“What?” Ice turns the look into the bathroom which has bright white tiles and bright white paint, clean and spotless. “It’s just a bathroom?”

He turns to look at Mav, who just shakes his head with horrified eyes.

“No, it’s not just the bathroom. It was my mom‘s bathroom.” Mav chokes out, still staring into the same spot he was looking at before.

Ice frowns. He knew Mav’s mom had died when Mav was young, but it was never publicly said what she died from. Maybe this was bringing up some bad memories.

Wait, when did Ice start calling Maverick…Mav?

“My mother, she-.” Mav whispers and Ice feels him freeze under Ice’s touch. “That’s where she-“

“-she what?” Ice asks again before he can close his goddamn mouth.

Mav’s eyes flicker over to his for a split second-

-before Mav’s dad steps in.

In an instant Duke Mitchell was grabbing at his son, pulling him out of the room.

Ice follows as he listens to Maverick sob, crying out as his dad spins him to stare deep into his eyes, something scared and angry in his voice.

“How many times did I tell you not to go in there?” He asks, then asks again as he shakes Mav a little with a rough grip. “Pete-“

“Mav?” Ice can’t help but ask, and Mav turns away from his father to stare at him with amazed eyes, who just seems to realize that Ice is still there.

The Admiral pauses then clears his throat. “Lieutenant Kazansky, thank you for your help. Now if you don’t mind going back to the party, I think I can handle it from here.”

Ice pauses, reading between the lines and nods, and watches his Mav’s eyes fall.

“I’ll congratulate you when you come back out, Mav.” He says, and while Duke Mitchell stares at him incredulously, all Ice notices is a small smile on Maverick‘s face.

“You’re too goddamn nice, Ice.” Mav says with his signature cocky smile. “Too professional.”

Ice smiles. “You know me.”

He walks away, turning the corner around to the staircase and heading back outside.

But not before hearing Mav turn to his father and say, “I hadn’t been back in that room since that night. It looked exactly the same as it had when she died, except for the bathroom.”

Outside, he spots Slider making his way towards the end of the patio near the house. Slider looks up and smiles when he sees him. Finally: a genuinely friendly face. “Hey Ice, where have you been?”

“Was just helping out Admiral Mitchell. I couldn’t find Maverick and you seemed busy, so I asked his father where he was.” Ice shrugs. “Then he told me to help him look in the house and I found Mav.”

“You found him? You mean, Mav’s father didn’t know where he was?” Slider's smile drops from his face, replaced by something a touch horrified. “Where did you find him?”

“In his mother‘s room?” Ice says, growing concerned at his friend’s paling face. “He was staring into his mother‘s bathroom, said he hadn’t been there in a while.”

Which made sense, why would anyone want to disturb their dead mother’s room?

“Oh. Oh god.” Slider looks over at the house with horrified eyes, and Ice frowns.

“What?” Ice asks, and Slider whips around with shock before realizing that it’s Ice. He blinks and shakes his head a bit.

“Sorry, I always forget you aren't from one of the Brass and wouldn’t have known.” Slider says, not realizing the pain it stabbed into Ice’s heart.

Because he was right, Ice wasn’t and Mav was.

He tries not to let it string.

“Mav’s mom, she died when Mav was seven.” Slider pauses and Ice nods, waiting for the crazy part. “She committed suicide, Ice, and they never officially said what happened but my dad told me that Mav was the one who found her.”

Holy shit.

That’s actually crazy, Ice thinks, realizing what had just happened.

Mav’s dad had never let him out of his sight. He would never let Pete be a pilot just to die young and leave him like his wife had. He was a war veteran, and he was an admiral; he knew that soon Mav would be in combat. Real actual combat where he could get killed.

Going to the Academy was Mav’s only way out from under his father and taking to the skies was the only way Mav would be free. The moment he had submitted his application and someone had taken a look at his name, Mav was already free. It was the admiral’s worst fears and Pete’s best dreams come true.

And throughout that, he had never let Pete look into his mother‘s room. The room where he had found his mother dead in the bathroom in a way that likely permanently altered his seven year-old brain forever.

Just like Ice’s parents’ death altered his twelve year old self.

He looks back up at the house, where Mav was, and stops.

Before he can do anything else, a man barks loudly into the air and starts to shout out commands, forcing Ice’s attention.

“Well unfortunately, we have to cut this celebration short today, ladies and gentlemen: our pilots have an urgent mission that they have to get to and they’ll have to go now. I have the list right here.”

He starts to read out names, calling on Wolfman and Hollywood who respond with a ‘Sir!’ before- “…Lieutenant Ron ‘Slider’ Kerner and Lieutenant Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky…”

Slider and Ice freezes when they say their names, both quickly chiming out a ‘Sir!’ instinctively.

“And Lieutenant Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw and Lieutenant Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell.”

Ice and Slider pause again as they listen to Goose shout out, but no other response follows.

Ice’s heart stops.

Then starts back up when he hears a “Sir!” from behind him, and turns to see Mav calling out with a small smile and red eyes.

Anyone looking at him would think that he had just got a kind word from his inspiring father, one that brought him to tears.

But Ice, who can really see Mav, seems to be the only one who can see his pain.

So as they head towards their mission, and as Mav stares blankly at the wall across from him the entire time, Ice wonders if he’ll be in a good enough headspace to fly with them all.

If Pete was going to fall apart or not.

Wait, when did Ice start calling him Pete?

—————————

Thirty Years Later

Mav is an instructor of Top Gun at the old age of fifty-five, an age no one except Ice expected him to live to become. He’s now a living Ace, having gotten one more killshot than his father, and despite many many attempts by many many people, Pete ‘Maverick’ Kazansky-Mitchell never becomes anything other than a Captain.

Ice on the other hand has been COMPACFLT for three years now, living in San Diego with Mav. And they never miss the tradition of being there on the first day of Top Gun classes ever since Mav took the job.

They make speeches because of course Ice always has to make a speech whenever he is in a place where his presence wasn’t expected. At this point, it was basically child’s play.

So when Ice stepped up to the podium, having asked Mav to let him speak first again, and got an ‘As long as you stick to the timetable’, knowing full well Ice would, he starts to speak.

“If you’re lucky like me, you’re about to go through Top Gun: the ten weeks that will change your career and your life forever if you let it.”

Wide eyes stare back at him and Ice know he’s captured every single person‘s attention.

He says the usual spiel, makes the usual remarks, something inspiring and intriguing, and reminiscing of his Top Gun days, and all the things he learned there.

Then he finally gets to the end of his speech, nothing written besides a final good luck on the paper in front of him.

He turns to look at Mav who’s smiling at him with wrinkles around his eyes and hints of gray at his temple that have been finally coming in fifteen years after Ice’s own hair started to gray, and sees the life they’ve had together: have made together.

He can’t help but continue speaking. Timetable be damned.

“It’s actually here where I met my husband-“ Ice says, having dreamed of being able to say ‘my husband’ for decades, and now saying them all the time in every speech. Even if only at the end. “-and he’s the one who changed my entire career and my entire life.”

“Your main instructor will be Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, a man who has dedicated himself to the Navy in a way no one else I’ve ever seen has. He became a pilot because of his love to fly, and his belief in putting himself in the line to protect all of us and our country.” Ice goes off script, knowing full well that he’s caught Mav by surprise and smiling to himself. “By the time you leave, you’ll have been proud to have been instructed by such a decorated pilot, such an experienced teacher, and one of the Navy’s longest active members we have ever seen who’s someone still only a Captain.

He gets some laughter at that, and Ice glances over at Mav who’s just shaking his head and grinning widely.

“I want you to know that first and foremost, Mav is an aviator, and none of you will be able to ever match his love for the sky. But he’s also my reminder that things can be amazing here on the ground too, as long as you fight for the right people and help your fellow soldiers in need.”

Ice looks at the trainees and sees pilots who were just as young as he and Mav were back in the day.

“Mav is the best trainer you can ask for and he’s the best pilot I’ve ever known. Don’t you believe him when he says I’m better, it’s the only thing about flying he’s wrong about.”

Ice finishes well over his timetable, and turns towards Mav as the pilots sit up a little straighter and give Mav the attention he deserves.

Mav walks past Ice with a chuckle, letting Ice pat his back before moving on with a twinkle in his eyes.

He turns to his students. “Well, I guess there’s no way for me to convince you to believe me over him, huh?”

He gets a round of laughter and Ice smiles at seeing Pete where he belongs, with people finally seeing him for the man he really is.

“So it’s true, this is Admiral Tom 'Iceman’ Kazansky, and he is your Commander of the Pacific fleet, and more importantly he’s also my husband.”

Ice laughs along despite himself, because he has always found Mav funny even when they first met and didn’t like each other. It had driven Slider crazy. Still does.

“And maybe I’m not going to be able to convince you guys that he’s the better pilot, but I think I can convince you that he is the best wingman a person could’ve asked for. Our entire partnership, he’s never let me down once, and he will never let you down either.” Mav looks over at the Ice and grins. “He’s the shining star or the Navy, and the best damn Admiral there is.”

Every word is filled with pride, pride for Ice, and Ice grins, because they’ve made it. They both found each other and through each other found everything they’ve ever wanted.

Thank you. He mouths to Mav, because that’s all Ice needs ever to say to the love of his life.

Mav smiles back.

Then it turns a touch playful, and Ice immediately knows that he’s about to start something as he turns towards the students once again.

“-and you will know him for the very famous and very daring Layton rescue of 1986.”

A few excited whispers of recognition start, and Mav looks back at Ice again, grinning from finding a way to get one up over Ice as he always does, challenging Ice to catch up.

Ice just grins back, because that’s alright with him: he can just keep trying to play catch-up with Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell for the rest of his life.

—————————

Hope yall liked it, I wrote it in a fevered state in the last 3 hours! :D

Notes:

- Fascinating stuff exploring Duke Mitchell, who I’ve never written alive before. Was he a good dad, we’ll never know, so here it’s sorta ambivalent. But hey, if my only child with the woman I loved was passively pursuing suicide through become a pilot, and he was so good at piloting that not a single other damn person noticed, I’d be pretty high strung about it too. Duke Mitchell is a man who grew up in the 50s/60s, how emotionally healthy could he have really been?

- I managed to flip the script a little on a couple things like the trophy and Goose surviving (I was not gonna kill him after I made Mav go through all that) and hope it works. They’re something so tragic about this but I want to assure you they’re happy in the end! Hope the ending made that clear :)

- IceMav always finds a way and so you can think about how they get together and all that, but I’ll leave that up to you for now. Either way, I love whenever in fics they come to an understanding and mutual respect, always need a good foundation for a timeless love, and this is the start of theirs!

If you made it to the end thanks for reading!!!

PS this is my headcanon of how they look in this fic and ohhhhh boy 🥵

I can't stop thinking of a reverse backstory IceMav AU.

Duke Mitchell lives and comes out of the Vietnam War a legend of Naval Aviation and an incredibly decorated pilot. He's promoted to the ranks quickly because of it and has a long and full career as one of the most trusted, well-respected, and powerful admirals. Maverick is raised a Navy brat with a powerful father and too much military and political for his son's good, something that Maverick uses to his advantage whenever his schemes get him into trouble.

When he invetiably goes to the Academy, becuase no one's denying admission to Admiral and Commander of the Atlantic Fleet Duke Mitchell's son, he's just as much of a troublemaker and a pain in the ass there as he's always been. He's late to every class at least once, he refuses to obey the rules even though he knows them, and he's the king of the campus prank scene.

Ice, on the other hand, is a first generation American turned foster kid. His parents are Polish immigrants who escaped from the Soviet Union as teenagers just after WWII, having him in their early-mid thirties after finally establishing a stable life, or so they thought? Because when Tom's five, they're killed in an 'accident' caused by anti-Soviet and anti-immigrant sentiment.

From then on, he's on his own. He's thrown into the foster care system, since his entire family's back in Poland, and it only gets worse from there. He's abused and thrown around by the system, no one in middle America wants a Polish whose parents they think were killed for being spies, and by the time he ages out of the sytem, he knows that there's only one way out of this.

He's known he was enlisting in the military in some form or another since he was sixteen, but he picks the Navy on a whim and ends up completing a full three year tour working as deck crew on an aircraft carrier before a pilot he worked with told him he needed to go to officer and flight school ASAP. So he does, and he's not just a passable or a good pilot, he's a great pilot.

He flies perfectly and by the book because he has to, because he can't afford to take the risks that other pilots can, so when he meets Maverick at Top Gun, he hates him. He hates this privileged little pretty boy with the powerful Admiral for a father who takes everything that's been handed to him for granted, who puts the rest of them in danger without even realizing that they don't all have the same cushion. And Maverick, well Maverick doesn't know what this blond prick's problem is and is determined to push until he finds out.

Anywho, thoughts?

#should i post this to AO3? maybe i will but not tonight i am not sober rn #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #my fic #writing #au #reserve top gun au #is that a thing? cause it should be more of a thing if not #holy shit it’s FUN #happy reading #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun au

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