#✦ NOW THIS IS A STORY ALL ABOUT HOW … ✦ 「 ic 」

[moonchildstyles]

the white cat

the swan part two: opening night inches closer and y/n doesn't realize just how close she's growing to harry until others notice.

wordcount: 12.4k+

—————

"... Just, thank you to everyone. It's been so fun getting to retry this production with such an awesome team. This time tomorrow, we'll be bringing the story to life." Ms. Ariel raised her champagne flute in a toast, the rest of the long banquet table full of the cast and members of production doing the same. "To Tchaikovsky—for giving us something to dance to." 

Quiet laughter filtered through the space, accompanied by the clicking of glasses. 

It took real effort for (Y/N) to direct her attention to the faces of her friends sitting around her, and not at Harry who was quietly sitting among the rest of the more senior members of the production. Not once, at any of the few other productions (Y/N) has been a part of has he ever shown up to one of these family dinners. From the sneaking looks being shot in his direction, she had a feeling this was a surprising sight for everyone. 

"Now, let's eat!" 

With that, Ms Ariel, dramatically raised her arms with a flourish as if presenting the rest of the night before them. It didn't take long before the dancers taking over over the second half of the table to rush towards the open sushi bar. Tonight was the last night of fun, eating and drinking being encouraged amongst the cast before tomorrow night begins the chaos schedule of the new production. 

With little resistance, (Y/N) was pulled along behind Kingston and Siobhan to the sushi bar. The dancers, swans and alike, had taken over the bar first, the rest of the department heads hanging back with their smoky drinks and amused glances. It felt silly, (Y/N) though, as she loaded up with the different rolls with various cups of the offered sauces. While there was an option of having a specialty roll made specifically for her, she steered towards the more simple options. 

Making it back to her seat, the second half of the dining table was full of everyone's options. It was clear the offer of free food and drinks was being taken full advantage of. Mini dishes of soy sauce and sriracha were being shared around with shots of sake being taken between the bubbly conversation erupting through the room. 

Listening in while the more experienced members of the cast shared stories about previous productions—about family dinners like these—(Y/N) was happy to become a wallflower. While this wasn't the first ballet company she had joined, this was one that she could see herself calling her home until she retired from the dance. 

She wanted to take in every moment, seeing all of these people that were integral parts of realizing one of her biggest dreams in becoming Odette. She wanted to memorize the sound of Siobhan's snorting laughter, Lydia's chittering, and Kingston's urging of more shots to be remembered for as long as she lived. 

With a quiet smile on her lips, she cast her gaze around the room, memorizing every detail. 

Especially so, when she grazed over the opposite end of the table where Ms. Ariel was holding court, Harry was stealing his own glance right at her. 

Cheeks pink, he quickly looked away, dropping his gaze to the avocado roll on his plate. 

(Y/N)'s smile only grew. 

—————

"I'm going to get another drink," (Y/M) murmured to Kingston, standing from her spot when he gave her an absent nod. Sasha was currently sharing stories from her visit back home to Russia and the supposed "ruffians" she found herself tangled with. 

(If her memory served her well, (Y/N) was ninety-eight percent sure that the last time Sasha had been plastered off of Long Island Iced Teas, she had spilled that these Russia stories were full of it. She only visited to see her grandmother for a week before heading back home—a trek she hadn't made in a handful of years anyway). 

The bar was clear of a waiting line as (Y/N) approached, though the bartender was busy with a different guest. 

One with mussed brown curls and broad shoulders huddled down as if attempting not to take up too much space. Despite having the whole length of the makeshift bar to himself. 

There was a pattering in her chest when she realized it was Harry. The chambers of her heart fluttered like a butterfly's wings against the ladder of her ribs. 

Coming up to the space at his side, (Y/N) hoped the quiet smile on her lips hid just how suddenly giddy she was at the sight of him. Once close enough, she could feel the warmth that seemed to radiate from his skin, the smoky sweet scent she caught in the theater now wafting over her. From over his shoulder, she caught the whiskey drink being poured in a short glass for him. He moved swiftly as he grabbed the drink, making a movement to turn away from the bar before he stopped short of bumping right into (Y/N). 

He started where he stood, rearing back to keep from spilling the alcohol all over her mini dress. 

"Sorry," he breathed, "I didn't realize y'were there." 

"It's okay," she smiled, suddenly feeling warm under her skin now that his eyes were grazing over her. "I should have said something, maybe." 

"No, no," Harry immediately brushed off, "it was m'fault." 

He wasn't going to let her win, she realized. He was far too sweet, too sheepish to give away any responsibility for something he decided was his fault. Even something as small as not watching where he was going. 

"What can I get for you?" the bartender piped up, looking across the top with a pleasant smile in (Y/N)'s direction . 

"Um," she sounded, having forgotten what drink she was wanting to try. Instead, she was aware of the way Harry had no reason to stick around and keep talking with her unless she said something more to him. She glanced at the small chalkboard sign with the different cocktail options, zeroing in on one. "The Yuzu Martini, please." 

The bartender muttered a promise of the drink being up quickly before he turned to collect the ingredients and start mixing. By the time she turned to look at Harry, he was obviously beginning to awkwardly edge away. 

"Are you having fun?" she blurted out, the shock of her voice much louder than she anticipated. 

Harry stopped in his tracks, though. Exactly as she hoped. 

"Yeah, yeah," Harry responded, a pleasant smile molding his features. "A little bit more rowdy than I was expecting, but very fun." 

At that moment, they both glanced to the back half of the room, where the stark difference between the department heads and the cast was marked with the boisterous laughter and Lydia standing over the table to recreate some moment from a story she was telling. On the other end, Ms. Ariel was holding court over the other heads, including the direction and head of production, their faces turned towards her as if the sun. 

"Definitely," (Y/N) laughed, suddenly feeling a bit silly now, wondering if he considered her to be rowdy. If that was a bad thing to be to someone as reserved as him. 

Though, she reminded herself, it didn't really matter much what he liked. Whether or not he liked her outside of believing her to be a competent dancer. 

"Are you?" Harry questioned, taking a sip from the slim black cocktail straw in his glass. "Having fun, I mean." 

"Oh yeah," she breathed out a laugh, reaching for her martini as soon as it touched the bartop. "It's helping me forget how nervous I am." 

It was posed as a joke, some throwaway comment to fill the air while she fished out a tip for the bartender. Though Harry didn't seem to think of it in the same way, his brows knitting into a furrow, his head tilting with a swirl of his hair dropping down his forehead. 

"What do y'mean?" 

"Just everything with tomorrow and all." She flipped her hand through her hair nonchalantly, hoping he doesn't pick up the granules of truth sprinkled through the words. 

His expression softened then. "I understand," he shared, a solemn nod of his head being given, "But, I hope you know how amazing y'are. There's nothing to be nervous about—you've worked hard, and I know 's going to be perfect." 

She felt that warmth again, bubbling under her skin. She dropped her eyes from him with a flutter of her lashes, watching the yuzu peel float along the top of her cocktail instead of counting the flecks of gold in his eyes. 

"Thank you," she muttered, less immune to his praises than that of anyone else, "I've never been a lead before—especially not for what's technically two roles. I don't want to forget anything, and freeze or cry or something." 

Ending on an airy laugh, her words hung between them as Harry met her eyes with sincerity swimming through his irises. 

"Even if something does go wrong, I know you'll know how to handle it. I've got no doubts in what you'll be able to do up there." 

A shy smile softened her face, looking at him from through the fan of her lashes. She wondered if he could also feel the warmth radiating from her skin, her blood simmering through her veins. "Thank you," she muttered, taking a sip of her martini before shifting gears, "Did you get to see our last rehearsal this morning, with all the lights and makeup and everything?" 

"No," he shook his head, sipping his own smokey drink, "I was a bit busy at the office today, but I think it'll make for a fun surprise for tomorrow." 

"I hope so," she smiled, "I think it turned out really nice from where I was standing." 

Harry, with his mouth open and ready to answer, was cut off by the sound of Siobhan's slurred shout from the table, "(Y/N), are you done yet?" 

It was the gloss covering her eyes and the red flush that was creeping its way up her neck and into her hairline, that had (Y/N) far from feeling offended at the interruption. Siobhan usually forgot the notion of inside volume after a few good drinks and the knowledge of knowing she didn't have the responsibility of driving or walking home. 

She only shook her head with a bubbly laugh before looking to Harry once more. He had his eyes on Siobhan and the rest of dancers for a lingering moment, sweeping across the faces that he barely had a chance to know. Something gloomy passed over the planes of his face. There was a pinch that appeared between his brows, one that was quickly swept away before he caught her looking at him. 

(Y/N) couldn't say why she felt this way, what exactly she saw in his features that made her think he was sad, but she did. It was a split decision, one she made before her better sense could catch up with her mouth. 

"Do you want to come sit with us?" (Y/N) asked, quick to shove her straw to her lips as a distraction. 

Harry hesitated, his eyes widening just barely before he dropped his gaze to the whiskey in his hand. "I—uh—I don't know. I don't want to make any of them uncomfortable or anything. I know I don't really hang out much with you all." 

"It's okay," (Y/N) bubbled, surprised by her own level of enthusiasm as she pushed back against that sullen demeanor he shared, "I'll introduce you to everyone. Just the last thing you need to do before opening night, right?" 

Her giddiness only rose when Harry finally gave a small nod of his head, already sheepish before they'd even approached the cast. Instinctively, she reached out her hand to tug him along with her. Luckily, the martini and the previous sips of sake hadn't gone to her head just yet, leaving her to stop short of grabbing for him. Instead, she reached for the skirt of her dress instead, fingers pushing against the stitching. 

She muttered a quiet C'mon, smiling when Harry started following without a second thought. The others at the table didn't seem to notice who (Y/N) was bringing along as they drew away from the bar, only Kingston's eyes seemed to recognize what had caught her up. 

Sliding into her seat, Harry took the empty one on her other side silently. Sasha stalled on her words, lingering a bit too long on a syllable that signaled to anyone else that something was different around the table. It was then that some eyes started wandering around, spotting Harry with unconcealed surprise. Lashes fluttered, eyes widened, lips thinned. 

(Y/N) hoped he didn't notice those reactions, sure that those looks were part of the reason he didn't interact much with majority of the company.

Sasha continued her story, leaving (Y/N) grateful for her keeping the party swept up and their attention off of Harry. Glancing at her lap as she adjusted her skirt, she could see the way his free hand fiddled in his lap, his rings being twisted around his fingers. He was far from comfortable at the moment, but he was trying. 

Leaning toward him, she murmured, "Sasha likes to pretend she goes to Russia every summer for a week, but I think she just goes to the Hamptons with her sister." 

"Yeah?" Harry questioned, a light flitting through his eyes as he let out a small laugh, "She is really Russian though, right?" 

(Y/N) shrugged, sharing a smile with him like they had their own inside joke. "Who knows?" 

The smile he gave her was broad, with dimples denting his cheeks. She could feel her heart fluttering at the base of her throat at the sight. He was always so carefully reserved, never giving too much away if you weren't paying attention. Let alone such a bright smile—all while he was looking right to her. 

Before she could do anything stupid, she tucked the straw of her drink between her lips and took a big sip as she turned back towards Sasha. Though she had her eyes forward, her attention was still stationed at her back. 

She took another gulp of her drink. 

Suddenly, interrupting her attempt to focus ahead, Harry's voice piped up: 

"You're from Belgorod?" 

Sasha blinked. Soibhan and Kingston both turned around just the way (Y/N) did to look at Harry. He didn't pay the extra eyes any mind, keeping forward on Sasha, though (Y/N) could still spot the way his rings were being twisted around his fingers. He was trying. Even if his pronunciation wasn't as smooth as Sasha's, and everyone looked at him with such prying eyes, he was trying. 

Sasha nodded after a beat, the motion wooden. "Yeah," she answered, "I moved here when I was ten." 

Harry gave a small smile, eyes flicking to (Y/N)'s for a fleeting moment. Talking to Sasha, he said something in Russian with that slight disjointed accent. Though Sasha's face still lit up. 

"I love that place! You've been?" 

Taking the last vestiges of her martini, (Y/N) could only smile around the rim of her glass. Sasha's face lit up over getting the chance to talk to someone who knew her hometown, with the rest of the table visibly relaxing now that they realized that they weren't sitting at the lunch table with the teacher. Kingston knocked her foot from under the table, a sly smile on his lips. 

Harry was trying, even if it scared him.

—————

The streetlights blurred outside the Uber windows. (Y/N) stitched her eyes to the moon, following its journey over the buildings as it followed her home. 

Next to her, Lydia knocked her shoulder. Tearing her eyes from the moon, (Y/N) turned to face her with a sluggish movement. The alcohol had definitely made its way through her system and had settled in her muscles. Lydia was in the same boat it seemed, with glossy eyes and mussed hair. 

"I didn't know you were like that with Harry," she murmured, her words holding a slur. In the back row of the car, the rest of the group sharing the Uber—Siobhan, Sasha, and Kingston—were too busy with their own conversation to listen in. 

"What do you mean?" (Y/N) pressed, canting her head. 

Lydia knocked her shoulder again. "You know," she drawled, giving her a pointed look, "sitting with him and all. I saw you guys whispering, too."

"Oh," she sounded, giving a half-hearted shrug, "I mean, we talk sometimes. But, I wouldn't say we're like that." 

Dipping her head conspiratorially, Lydia gave a raise of her brows. "Has he ever talked about that... stuff that Siobhan told you about?" 

(Y/N) blinked. "Um," she started, unsure of what Lydia was wanting to hear, "No. I've never really asked or anything either, so." 

"Well after talking to him then, do you think—oh, bye Siobhan!" 

Whirling towards the seats in front of them, (Y/N) saw Siobhan climbing out of the car for the first drop off of the night. Rounds of goodbyes were shared as Siobhan trundled up to her apartment, looking back more than once to wave at the remainders in the car. 

It was a relief to have an interruption to the impromptu questioning. With any luck, Lydia would forget what she was trying to get at. 

Settling back into her spot, (Y/N) was already looking out the window as the car pulled away from the curb. The moon, full and bright, was now being blocked by a string of thin clouds. 

"(Y/N), are you asleep?" 

Before she could think better of it, (Y/N) whirled around with a laugh at Lydia's whispered question. "No," she smiled, "I'm just looking outside." 

"Oh," Lydia sounded, looking a bit confused at her own assumption, "I think I'm drunk." 

"A little." 

Lydia let out a loud laugh at (Y/N)'s teasing, leaning into her side. She sighed, laying her head on (Y/N)'s shoulder as she herself began to fall asleep. 

"Do you like Harry, though? Even with all the stuff Siobhan said?" Lydia asked, words stringing together in a drawl. 

(Y/N) stalled, mouth open like a guppy. If only she'd have pretended to be asleep when Lydia asked.

"He's really nice, yeah. I like him—he's fun to talk to." 

"So you don't think any of it's true?" 

"No," (Y/N) responded instantly, "I really don't. I don't think Ms. Ariel would let him around us if there was anything true about it. He's too... gentle, I think." 

A beat passed. No response from Lydia.

Looking at where Lydia's head was resting on her shoulder, (Y/N) saw her slack jawed with her eyes closed. 

A small smile bloomed on (Y/N)'s features as she turned towards the window once more. She watched as the clouds before the moon floated on.

—————

Through the walls of her dressing room, (Y/N) could hear the prerecorded prologue playing out on stage. The theater was silent as the orchestra played the lilting notes alongside the projection. With the amount of times she had practiced the scene, watched the recording, listened to the music while she worked, she knew exactly what moments were playing out for the audience.

While they were watching her fall away under Rothbart's spell only to have her return as a swan, she saw her own transformation in the mirror. After having one of the girls from the costume department help her into her corset, her hair slicked back, and feathers sewn into the ribbons of her pointe shoes, she had become Odette. In the reflection of the mirror, she could see the black shadow of the Odile costume—matching every layer of tulle and sparkling bead of the white swan, only bathed in black. Just looking at the costume had her out of breath, anticipating the fouettés that had her core aching every day after rehearsal. 

Out on stage, she could hear the flow of the music changing. The prologue was coming to an end now, with Kingston surely waiting in the wings to start the real show. 

Soon it would be her turn. Opening night for her dream ballet. 

Taking a step back from the mirror, (Y/N) gave herself one last look. The white set against her skin looked like a halo, drawing in the light until she shone like the moon she followed the night before. The beading and crystals danced under the light. Rainbows were going to be thrown over the audience when she stepped out on stage. She could already feel the fluff of the feathers draped over her bodice, the quills crowning her head, tickling her skin. 

She met her own bright eyes in the reflection. Long false lashes grazed her brow bone, fluttering with every blink. Heavy blush painted her cheeks, though there was a real warmth bubbling under her skin. A soft shimmer was dusted over her chest and shoulders, matching that on her eyelids. 

She was the swan princess. Finally. 

Outside of her dressing room, she could hear the transition into the first real scene of the ballet. Kingston and the dancer playing the queen were no doubt already on the stage. 

Underneath her bodice, her heart rate rose to a flutter at the base of her throat. With a deep breath, she left her dressing room behind. She was welcomed backstage to the bustle of the production team. Ms. Ariel was there, dressed in all black with her chignon, razor eyed on the stage. Costume and set designers were there, ready for the next moment that the scene would need to change. Dancers with half on tights, dangling pointe shoes and loose feathers were halted in the wings, watching the stage.

Inaudible under the sound of the music, (Y/N) padded on the flat of her pointe shoes to Ms. Ariel's side. 

On the boards was Kingston, sitting in a throne as strings of dancers performed for him. He placed the part of disinterested prince, unconcerned with the people before him, setting the perfect stage for the swan that he would later be entranced by. 

Every dancer moved in perfect unison. They mirrored one another, costumes shining under the lights. Every detail—from the set, to the point of the toes, to every hair laid in place—was just as (Y/N) envisioned. From the look on Ms. Ariel's face, it was just as she pictured as well. 

"Are you ready?" Ms. Ariel's voice sounded right next to (Y/N)'s ear. 

Unable to tear her eyes off the stage, the draw of the spotlight that would soon be shining on her, (Y/N) felt her heart beat hard against her chest. 

"I think so." 

"You'll be perfect," Ms. Ariel encouraged, "If anything goes wrong, I know you'll be able to handle it." 

Her words rang in her head, reminding her of the similar sentiment Harry shared with her only the night before. 

The thought had her gaze drifting from the stage and to the audience. The faces were bathed in a haze, barely visible from where she was standing through the stage lights. 

Just where she had reserved were the familiar faces of the few friends she had from outside of the company. A small smile cracked her features. Casting her gaze high, on one of the balconies on the side of the stage, in an isolated box, was Harry. 

As usual, a suit was fitted to his body, hair pushed away from his face in curling waves. A light shadow covered his jawline. As he peered down at the stage, he held his body in softened shapes, losing the rigidity he walked around the studio with. (Y/N) couldn't remember if she'd ever seen him so relaxed before. 

She didn't want to think about how the sight of Harry had the small smile on her lips cracking into a full grin. Bubbling excitement filled her stomach. 

A hand landing on the small of her back brought her down to the boards once more. Ms. Ariel dipped her head until she was level with (Y/N)'s ear. 

"Go," she muttered, pushing her forward.

(Y/N) didn't think before she swept onto the stage for her first counts. The toes of her shoes tapped against the boards, the thuds hidden under the music. Her tutu bounced over her hips, following every pose she cast. She felt like the feathers adorning her costume, light and pliable despite the strong forms of her legs and the stiff set in her core. 

Just as expected, she could see the small prisms of color being reflected across the audience. She couldn't help but to follow the light to the familiar balcony. 

There, she saw a smile on Harry's face. It was a serene expression, complete with the dimples she was growing fond of.

She'd definitely never seen him like this before. 

—————

The curtain dropped as (Y/N) clutched Kingston, Siegfried and Odette in the afterlife. The orchestra buckled under the ethereal crescendo, falling silent just as the velvet curtain touched the boards. 

The tears of her character became her own then. She melted against Kingston, dropping to the flat of her feet as she buried her face into his shoulder. Tears fell down her cheeks, streaking through her makeup. 

Kingston held her as she had her meltdown, squeezing her as the rest of the production came to halt for the moment. 

"Alright?" he muttered, untangling from her hold to show that he had his own tear stained cheeks to match hers. 

"Yeah," she nodded, a wide grin on her lips, "I'm good. Are you?" 

He reciprocated her bright smile. "We did it." 

(Y/N) couldn't help the boisterous laugh that fell from her. They really did it. 

Ms. Ariel approached them, her heel clicking over the boards. Though she held her always serene expression, (Y/N) could see the emotion welling in her eyes. 

"Ready for curtain call, guys?" she asked, voice low as the rest of the members of production brought in the lake set for the final stage moments. 

"Yeah, yeah," (Y/N) sighed, carefully wiping her fingers under her eyes. "I'm ready." 

It felt like a whirlwind after Kingston muttered his own agreement. The set was changed in a matter of moments, the cast herded together in a big lump of feathers, tutus, and tights. Murmured congratulations were shared alongside the hugs and kisses. More than one face had running mascara and flushed cheeks. (Y/N) wasn't the only one that had worked hard to learn the techniques and fall into the story. 

Scuttling out to the wings, Kingston and (Y/N) stuck together as curtain call began. Groups of performers walked out together, pausing for the applause and flowers that were tossed onto the boards. She held onto Kingston's hand as it was finally their turn, prancing out with him as the applause rose in decibels. 

Kingston took his bows first, bathing in the attention with a beaming smile before he stepped back. With a flourish, he presented (Y/N) to the crowd. 

(Y/N) swore her heart just about beat out of her chest as the applause directed at her reached new heights. Her bottom lip trembled as she attempted to keep the smile on her face. She bowed in hopes of keeping the emotion swelling out of her from being so clear for the audience to see. Roses landed at her feet, a glowing red against the pristine white of her pointe shoes. 

Standing up straight, she found the familiar faces in the audience clapping for her. She couldn't help herself as she directed her gaze upwards, right towards that balcony. 

Except, now the seat was empty. 

Before she could dwell on the missing patron, (Y/N) stepped back and joined Kingston once more. Ms. Ariel and the other department heads were called on stage for their own rounds of applause, leaving she and Kingston to step back and see the audience as a whole.  

(Y/N) made a point to keep her eyes from that balcony until the curtain dropped for the final time that night. 

—————

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fast. I'll just leave my makeup on, so I'll be out in a second." 

The other swans took (Y/N)'s rushed answer before she disappeared into her dressing room. Closing the door behind her, she was sealed away from the bustle of backstage and the muffled sound of the audience shuffling out of the theater. 

She slumped against the door, her eyes falling closed as she took in the quiet after the storm. 

She did it. She made it through her first show as Odette without a single mistake. 

Every move came on instinct for her, muscle memory to the point of just the notes of the song or the look on another performer's face told her what was coming next. Her muscles were burning, sore in places she didn't even know existed until tonight. Even her hair hurt, as if she'd never had it slicked back like this before. 

It was all perfect. The sore muscles and bruised hips were a testament to a wonderful show. 

Taking in a deep breath, she pushed off of the door and began the process of unlacing her costume. Maybe after the next shows she might start asking for help, but tonight she wanted this moment for herself. 

Her fingers stalled in the lacing of her bodice when she realized there was a large bouquet sitting on her vanity table, complete with an iridescent crystal vase. The roses were black and white, interspersed with feathers in matching hues. The petals were velvet soft, shimmering the closer (Y/N) got to the flora. Now that she was paying attention, every breath she took was scented with the rosy scent of fresh flowers. 

Tucked right in the middle was a card, her name written across in curling calligraphy. Inside was a message written in blocky marker script, different from the professional lettering on the front.  

Congratulations, Odette. 

In the same marker was a rudimentary drawing of a smiling swan. She let out an airy laugh at the drawing, endeared by the wonky lines. 

But, there was no signature. 

There was a tucked away idea in the back of her mind, one that made her feel a bit delusional, but couldn't be completely silenced. 

None of the other performers would have left them, Ms. Ariel already handed out bouquets before the show even started, and she wasn't established enough to be garnering any kind of admirers. 

But there was one person. Who knew how nervous she was about this night. Who would have been able to sneak away for a moment to drop off these flowers. 

A knock on her door interrupted her speculating. 

Siobhan's voice rang through, "Do you need help, (Y/N)? I think Kingston's going to order the Uber in a minute." 

Glancing at the note once more, she made a hasty decision to tuck the card into her purse.

"No, I'm alright," (Y/N) called, hustling out of her costume, "Tell Kingston to order it, I'll be right out." 

"Okay," Siobhan responded after a beat, "We'll be out back." 

It didn't take long before (Y/N) had her costumes returned to the wardrobe department, and her flowers tucked safely away for her to take home with her tomorrow. 

With the note still in her purse. 

—————

"Oh, thank you!" (Y/N) chirped, a beaming smile on her face. She was quickly brought into the arms of one of the alternate swans, the cold glass of her cocktail hanging over the girl's back.

"You're welcome—I can't wait to see the show again tomorrow," the swan laughed, releasing (Y/N) from her hug. 

Before anything else could be shared between them, (Y/N) was floated off to another round of chatter. She had parroted her gratitude over and over again since walking into the bar, her skin only growing warmer and smile growing bigger with every line of praise and cocktail shoved her way. 

Catching sight of herself in the mirror lining the back of the bar, (Y/N) couldn't help the grin on her face. Feathers were still pinned to her slicked back hair, shimmer covering her chest and neck. Even though she had shed her feathery bodice and bouncy tutu, she hadn't quite shed the feeling of the lights bathing her skin and the flowers that had been poured over her feet at the end of the show. Hearing all of the kind words from members of the company, friends of her costars, and audience members that had found themselves at the same bar afterwards was enough to keep her light as a feather through the rest of the evening. 

Earlier in the night, Ms. Ariel and the director and department heads had come by and shared their own praises. It was clear each of them were exhausted in their own way—the backstage production hands particularly—though they still took the time to let (Y/N) and the rest of her costars know just how spectacular this first showing was. 

Though, even while talking to one of the production hands, (Y/N) couldn't help but to notice the one person she hadn't seen make an appearance for the night. 

Harry had never come by. Even with the rest of the more executive members of the team. 

All she had was the note she was assuming had come from him. 

"Yes, thank you—I'll see you tomorrow!" (Y/N) bubbled, tuning back into reality as the production hand gave their goodnights for the evening. 

(Y/N) gave one last wave before turning back to the remainder of her costars. It was easy to spot Kingston's head of long dreads amongst the stragglers, the view a beacon as she crossed the room towards him and the swans. 

"Hey, you," Kingston smiled as (Y/N) slinked her way into the circle, laying her head on her shoulder with his arm circling her waist. The conversation between Siobhan and Lydia was loud enough that neither them or Sasha noticed his muffled voice. "Tired?" 

"Oh yeah," (Y/N) sighed, leaning against him until he was supporting half of her weight, "Aren't you?" 

"Yeah," he agreed, yawning as he nodded his head, "After this drink, I'm getting my Uber and going home. Do you want to come with?" 

"Probably," she mirrored his yawn, infected by the sight. "Especially if we're supposed to do this again tomorrow." 

"Don't remind me—" 

Before Kingston could say much more, the girls' faces changed. Lydia's voice skipped as she cast her gaze over (Y/N)'s shoulder, her recovery taking a second before she was back to her story—though decidedly distracted. 

A furrow perched in between her brows, the crease only deepening when both Sasha and Siobhan have similar reactions when glancing in the same direction as Lydia. Kingston shared her confusion as he muttered What? under his breath. 

As if on cue, an accented voice sounded from behind her. Just where the girls had peeked over her shoulder.

"(Y/N)?" 

Her breath stuttered in her chest. She could feel eyes on her as she straightened up, looking over her shoulder to find Harry standing there with folded hands behind his back and a reserved smile on his face. His hair sat in a loping waves over his head, a rogue strand having separated from the pack and was now balancing precariously on the top of his head. The dusty shadow she had sworn she had seen from the wings was confirmed to be a layer of stubble across his cheeks. 

Harry's eyes dropped from hers to Kingston's arm slipping from around (Y/N)'s waist, the corners of his lips wavering before flicking back up to match her eyes. 

"Harry, hi," she smiled, stepping away from her costars as she met him halfway. 

"Hi," he breathed, ducking his head under the weight of her attention, "Sorry I'm late—I wasn't sure you'd still be here. I figured it'd be an early night for you." 

"I think we're just about to call it a night actually," she said, glancing back to Kingston and the rest of the cast as they pretended that they were straining to hear every word, "You made it just in time. I kind of figured you weren't going to make it at all tonight when I didn't see you with Ms. Ariel and everyone." 

He pinched his shoulder in a shrug, surely aware of how everyone was more than aware that he typically didn't come to these opening night get togethers. At least for as long as (Y/N) had been here, this was the first he'd ever met the cast after the first performance.

"I got a little caught up with a few last minute things," he played off, offering a dim smile before dropping his eyes to his feet for a moment. He met her gaze with intensity as he spoke, keeping her just where she was as if she ever had any other choice. "I—uh—I jus' wanted to congratulate you. Y'were amazing up there. I think this is going to become a really special run." 

A warmth spread throughout her system, loosening her even further than what the one and a half cocktails have done for her. She didn't think before she reached out, placing her hand on his arm and giving a squeeze. 

The fine fabric of his suit jacket conformed to the muscles corded around his arm. (Y/N) blinked back at the feel, wondering what exactly he was hiding under all of his tailored suits and buttoned up pieces. 

"Thank you," she murmured, recovering from the glimpse of Harry under his reserved nature, "That really means a lot." 

A blush worked its way over the apples of his cheeks and dusted the bridge of his nose, warm and rosy as he dropped his gaze from hers. "Of course." 

She reluctantly dropped her hand from his arm, though she could still feel the ghost of his warmth against her palm and see the imprint of her grip in the folds of his jacket. 

Harry wasn't particularly talkative anyway, but was decidedly even less so now that it felt like the whole company was around them. She didn't want him to leave just yet, especially when he made what looked like a sidelong glance towards the door. 

"Did you want a drink or something? I think there's still appetizers and stuff at the booth if you were hungry." She couldn't help the way the words tumbled out of her, though she hoped Harry didn't catch the desperate edge she could hear in her voice. 

"I can't stay, unfortunately," he said, an apologetic smile on his face, "I've got an early morning tomorrow, I jus' wanted to—um—see you. Thank you for the offer, though." 

That desperation melted out of her at that moment. Despite him rejecting her offer to stick around, she figured there was no reason to be desperate for his company when he just said he'd come all this way through the city just to see her. 

I jus' want to see you. 

A vision of a clumsily drawn swan came to the forefront of her mind. 

She could feel the bright grin on her face stretching her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. Are you coming to the show tomorrow?" 

(Y/N) wanted to cringe as soon as she heard her own words. Harry, as far as she knew, never saw the same production more than once. Opening night he was always there, then he would disappear until the closing performance if he had the time to make it. He had fulfilled his patronage just by showing up tonight, there was no reason for him to return again when his own life needed tending to.

She watched as a smile bloomed on his features, shy with the way he bit into his bottom lip. "Well, of course," he said, "It's what I paid for, isn't it?" 

A bubbling laugh escaped from her, surprised at the response she had garnered. He was supposed to have politely declined any more viewings of the show, not look at her with his smiling raspberry lips and promise to see her the following night. "I guess so, huh?" 

"It's an expensive ticket, but well worth it," he shared, his features warm and rounded. She watched as he glanced over her shoulder, surely finding the faces of her friends and cast who were far from discreet as they listened in. 

She followed his gaze just for Kingston to match her eyes, widening just so to let her know there were plenty of questions he was going to share with her as soon as he had a chance. Siobhan and Lydia were stuck looking right at Harry, though Sasha tried her best to act nonchalant about it all. The other swans, feathers pinned in their hair with shimmer draped over their chests, busied themselves with the appetizers (Y/N) had just offered up to Harry. 

"Congratulations everyone. You put on a beautiful show—thank you for your hard work," Harry offered, decidedly distanced from the way he had offered her praise. "I look forward to tomorrow night's performance." 

Appreciation for his kind words were shared amongst the cast, everyone jut a bit too chipper to be natural. (Y/N) didn't blame them; many of the more seasoned dancers could hardly conceal their shock that he was here at all, let alone getting involved with the cast. 

"I'll see you tomorrow night, (Y/N)," he murmured once the rest of the company settled. "Get home safe tonight." 

"I'll try," she smiled, unconsciously shifting her weight as he began inching towards the door, "You'll be in the balcony again?" 

Dimples dented his cheeks, his skin flushing a warm pink as he nodded. "You'll be on stage?" 

"Fingers crossed," she teased, giving him one last wave goodbye as he left for the night.

Once again she was left to watch his retreating from, broad shoulders and back concealed under his suit. 

"What was that?" Kingston whispered, stepping into (Y/N)'s space only a beat later. 

She felt almost dazed when she looked back to him, rejoining the rest of the bar. 

"I don't know." 

—————

(Y/N), on her stomach with her feet in the air and crossed at the ankles, was just short of squealing like a teenager as she read the review on her phone. 

Just like this any show, she was aware that there was going to be a few critics in the audience, but it wasn't something she wanted to focus on. Whatever any of them said was going to be their opinion, good or bad. She didn't want to waste her time as Odette worrying about what any of their articles would say.

Though, that didn't mean that if something positive came through that she wouldn't eat it all up. 

Ms. Ariel had texted the link to both she and Kingston in a shared group chat. She hadn't offered any of her own commentary, just the link itself for them to look at as they pleased. 

The article, published by a critic who had never come to any of their previous shows, was complete with photos of the performance, influencer videos of an experience of the night, and a quote from Ms. Ariel and the show's director.

The review itself was glowing. Commending the use of the pre-recorded prologue, the costuming, and the slight variations that defined the company's unique perspective on the tale. 

And the casting. 

The principle casting was deemed perfect. Kingston and (Y/N) described as feathers dancing along on a fluid breeze. The swans were in perfect sync, never out of beat with one another, even when a poorly secured feather dripped from one of the girl's costumes. 

The double role of Odette/Odile was labeled as stunning. A video was attached to this section, provided by the company, of (Y/N) performing the thirty-two fouettés in her shadowed Odile costume. The spotlight stayed perfectly still on her, every gem and sparkle dancing over her as if she were a dewy swan. 

Beautiful, she was called. A perfect fit. A well earned standing ovation. 

(Y/N) didn't stop the video as it replayed. Of course there was always room for improvement, but it was something magical to see herself during her first performance. 

It was during the third play that she saw the rest of the scene around her. With the angle of the video, there were some audience faces that could be seen with their features in awe. 

Including a familiar face in the balcony. 

There, with his chin propped up on his chin, elbow on his armrest, was Harry with his dimpled smile and waving hair. Alone in his balcony seat, he watched her with sparkling eyes. 

Seeing him now, her face broke out into a wide smile. Her chest warmed, toes curling from where her feet were kicked up behind her. She was lucky she hadn't seen him during the performance, otherwise she would have broken the severe presentation of Odile with a sparkly smile and moony eyes. 

It was that shot alone that had (Y/N) dismissing every single rumor that had been passed her way, the probing questions that were concluded with the declaration that everyone around her just wanted her to be safe. Safe from what, they couldn't detail out, but it was intense enough to warrant more than one conversation.

She was well aware that she hadn't been with the company during the breakdown that happened with Harry and the dancer. She never met the woman and didn't see the effects of whatever it was that had gone on behind the scenes. She didn't know anything other than rumors about that time frame.

But, she liked to think she knew Harry. 

As much as she tried, she couldn't reconcile those rumors with the man she knew now. Not when Harry was so obviously shy—painfully at times. He had taken the time to come see her after opening night, sat with her and the cast at family dinner. He'd never been anything but incredibly kind, even though she was sure that he was more than aware of all of the titterings about him through the years. 

It's been special getting to know him these few times she'd had a chance to talk with him. It made everything negative that much harder to believe.

—————

"I'm pulling in right now—Tell her I'm pulling in right now. I don't know what happened, I'm so sorry." 

Kingston let out a string of reassurances, the sound of the backstage workings sounding in the background. "I'll see you in a second, it's okay. Bye." 

Finding a space, (Y/N) didn't even have time to cringe at her sloppy parking job before she was rushing into the theater with her tote bag banging against her side. This day had been her worst in a while, complete with missed alarms, a forgotten deadline on a manuscript, and her car deciding to shit the bed when she was already running five minutes late to call time. That left her with frantic calls from Ms. Ariel and the rest of the cast, wondering if she was on her way (yes, when the engine finally stopped sputtering and stayed ignited for longer than ten seconds), if they would need to call in for the alternate (no, it was only the sixth performance, she wasn't missing anything), or how quickly an Uber could be called to her place (quick but not quick enough). 

Walking through the backstage door was enough to have (Y/N) breathing out a sigh of relief. She was still going to need to hustle to get into costume and warm up and everything that the others already had time to do, but at least she was here. 

"There you are! I was getting so worried," Ms Ariel called, crossing the boards until she was in step with (Y/N)'s hustling gait. "Is your car okay?" 

"I don't know," (Y/N) sighed, "I just got it a couple of years ago, I don't know what's happening." 

A furrow was perched on Ms. Ariel's dark brow. "If anything else happens, let me know and we'll work something out if we need to. I know you're feeling rushed, but warm up and stretch first, then we'll get you into makeup. If we miss show time by a few minutes, we'll make it work." 

A tight smile molded (Y/N)'s features as she nodded to Ms. Ariel, beelining it straight to her dressing room. 

There was no way she was going to be putting the show behind, even by a few minutes. She just would have to cut a couple of stretches, she thought. And warm up wasn't that important, not when her heartbeat was already skyrocketing and her limbs restless. Maybe, if she started slicking her hair back herself, that could cut some time off the costuming department.

Yes, that is what she'll do. She wasn't going to ruin anyone's night because she couldn't keep herself together for the evening. 

(Y/N) was like a tornado ripping through her dressing room until she sat at the vanity, determined to get a start on her hair and makeup. 

There, above the trifold mirror, was a bouquet of flowers hung upside down to dry. The black and white florets had already dimmed to shades of gray and cream, leaving the feathers to shine bright amongst the petals. The tightest buds still clung to life as much as they could, velvet softness lingering. 

The flowers that Harry hadn't claimed, but (Y/N) refused to believe could have come from anyone else. Not when every other person in her life had directly given her bouquets or signed notes with their name.

His faith in her echoed in her head. 

Even if something goes wrong, she would be able to handle it, he'd said. He didn't doubt her for a second. 

It felt so lame, but just the reminder that Harry believed in her and would soon be sitting in the audience on his balcony seat, calmed her. 

She was going to give a performance that earned her another set of flowers she decided. There was no point in cutting stretches or warm ups when she was the only one so flustered. 

When she seemed to be the only one lacking faith in how the night would turn out. 

Everything was going to be just fine. 

—————

(Y/N)'s tutu flopped against her thighs as she hopped over the stage, the music bobbing in time with the sound of her pointe shoes tapping the boards. The swans at her side danced in unison, flowing like a single unit across the boards.

She twirled and spun, moving like the feathers decorating her costume. She and the swans performed a bourree across the stage, their arms extended high like swan wings, chins tipped up high in elegant form as they looked across the audience. 

It happened on instinct, the way she cast her gaze up to the balcony. 

Just as she pictured was Harry. Three weeks into the production with three performances each week, and he hadn't missed a single one. 

The details were blurry as the stage lights shown in her eyes, but she was getting used to spotting his smile. 

Only when she turned her back on the crowd, did she mirror him with her own grin. 

—————

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. Text me when you get home." 

Siobhan smiled and waved goodbye as she headed towards the exit while (Y/N) went for her dressing room. That was something she envied about the swans. They were clear to start cleaning up and getting unready as soon as the final bows were shared and the curtains had dropped to the floor. She, Kingston, and Kaleb—playing Rothbart—were always corralled to talk with the director and the orchestra and Ms. Ariel about the night's performance. All while they were still in their pointes. 

She fell into her chair in front of her vanity as soon as she was free from her costume and pointes. All that was left was dealing with the pile of stage makeup on her face and the gel taming her hair back. At least this was easier than the quick wash of the Odile in between the acts. 

Once her vanity was littered with soiled makeup wipes and false lashes, (Y/N) started on her hair. Only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Much of the production team was still with her to break down sets, alongside the other principals as they also washed off the performance. But, usually, they didn't bother one another until she and Kingston were planning on heading home together—something that was decidedly not a part of the agenda considering no one wanted to ride in her car for the time being. 

Nonetheless, she hurried to the door. She pulled it open only to reveal Harry.

With a bouquet of flowers and sparkling eyes that widened when he saw her. As if he couldn't believe she actually answered the door to her dressing room. 

"Harry," she smiled, leaning against the door now that the idea of Ms. Ariel coming back for more debriefing had been blown away. "What are you doing here?" 

"Sorry to bother you," he started, "I know you're getting ready to go home, but I just wanted to drop these off for you before I leave for the night." 

He offered the flowers in her direction, the bouquet one of spring wildflowers, opposite to the greyscale flowers that were now sitting in a vase at her home. These were vibrant and lackadaisical in the way they were presented in the wax paper, though the branding on the parchment was the exact same as the bouquet she received the first night. 

"Wow, thank you," she beamed, graciously taking them into her hands. A whiff of lilac wafted up to her nose, perfuming her whole dressing room despite there only being a couple of bubbles to do the job. "These are beautiful, gosh." 

"Of course, you're welcome," he smiled, looking genuinely pleased with himself over her reaction. "I jus' wanted you to know that y'looked amazing tonight—did amazing. 'S only getting better and better every night. I hope you know that." 

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, just a beat away from melting into the floor, "Thank you. It really means a lot that you've been coming to all of the shows. I know you're busy, so thank you for being there with us every night." 

"I mean," he started, looking rather with that teasing edge to his smile, "I've been reading all these reviews, and there's no way I could miss the best show in the city, right?" 

She felt a warmth creeping up her skin at the reminder of the outpouring of positive reviews that keep coming in about the show. Her being named as one of the most spectacular parts of the production in each article definitely didn't hurt either. 

"One of these days, I'll have to go see it," (Y/N) joking, attempting to play along despite suddenly feeling sheepish. She hoped Harry agreed with those praises he read. She hoped he was proud of her. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she did her best to keep her voice steady as she said, "I'm actually heading out in a second too. If you're alright with waiting, we could walk out together, if you want." 

This felt loaded, the simple question. A purposeful moment together, not just running into one another when they were in the same place. When there was something to be done with the ballet. 

He didn't even hesitate when he answered.

"I can wait for you." 

—————

"Good night, guys!" (Y/N) shouted to the members of the production team still breaking down and organizing the set pieces. The costume department was still rushing racks around, ensuring all outfits were sealed away until the next show. 

Various hands reached up to wave goodbye to her, others even popping their heads around to see just who she was leaving with for the night. Though nothing more than a few good nights and promises to see her next week were shared among the bunch. 

"Thanks for waiting," she smiled up at him, free of the feathers and shimmer she had greeted him with. "I hope I didn't keep you from whatever your plans were." 

He shook his head as he opened the stage door for her. "Jus' some work things I've been pushing off for a little too long."

(Y/N) hummed, stepping out into the cold spring night. The moon hung high in the sky, carving out a sliver in the deep blue of the night. A chilled breeze swept over the city, rustling the paper wrapping her flowers and lifting the strands of hair framing her face. "I don't think I've ever actually asked what you do for work."

The streetlamps left yellow spotlights across the car lot. Only a handful of cars were still parked across the pavement. Including one with the sloppiest parking job that (Y/N) hoped Harry didn't notice. 

"I own a few galleries in the city," he shared, absently following her as she started in the direction of her car, "So, lots of paperwork and things." 

"Like art galleries?" she pressed, looking up at him as they fell into step. 

A smile touched his features as he nodded. "I try to get some archival clothes in there too when they're available, but, yeah, mostly paintings and sculptures." 

"That's really cool," (Y/N) awed. She could barely handle her own deadlines, let alone manage multiple galleries and all of the paperwork involved. "No wonder you're so busy." 

"I make time. M'schedule's up to me unless anyone needs me." 

"You've earned it, I'm sure," she said, slowing as they approached her car. She turned to face him with the driver's door at her back. "Thanks for walking with me." 

"Of course," he said, a reserved smile on his features. Another sweeping breeze caressed over them, lifting curls of Harry's hair. The light from the lamps and the sliver of the moon reflected around him like a dusky halo shining through his hair. "Get home safe, yeah?" 

Blinking, (Y/N) tore her eyes away from him, looking for her keys in a needed distraction to get her head back on straight. "You too. I'll see you next week?" 

Harry took a step back as she pulled open her door, dropping his gaze with a small nod. "Definitely. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," she smiled, slipping into the driver's seat as he started for his own car across the lot. He had parked much better than she had—backed in, even. 

Her chest loosened now that she was alone, no longer on the edge of drowning in the layers of attention he gave her. With her flowers safe in her passenger seat, she attempted to start her car only for the nightmare from earlier in the evening to make an ugly comeback. 

The engine sputtered, a horrendous grinding noise rearing just before completely dying. 

She heaved a sigh as she closed her eyes. How could she have forgotten the mess that had transpired before she even made it to the theater? 

Her hands began to shake as she twisted the key again. She perked up when the engine actually caught this time, her car humming a little louder than normal, but working. 

The relief only lasted long enough for her to attempt to put the car in drive when the engine died once more. 

This was a real problem now, she thought. Much more so than it had been earlier in the day when she was outside her building and there was still daylight. If her car wouldn't start, she was going to be stuck in this parking lot. Even calling an Uber felt a little more risky considering she was here in the dark without anyone to account for her whereabouts.

And she was going to have to take her car in.

At least the show had gone well.

She tried a few more times, the engine never turning long enough for her to go anywhere. Acceptance started to sink in, leaving her to reach for her phone and see if any of her costars might still be in the area to pick her up. Kingston didn't live by her, but he could still be close enough to pick her up and she could crash at his place if he didn't want to go too far out of his way. Or even, Siobhan—she was probably home by now, but she didn't live too far from her, so it would be too far out of her way maybe. Unless she had plans or—

A tapping on her window shocked her out of her skin. 

Whipping her head around, she saw Harry, an apologetic smile on his lips as he crouched to be level with her. 

"Sorry," he mouthed through the glass.

Fuck. She had hoped he had already left before this embarrassing mess started. 

She could feel the blood under her cheeks beginning to simmer, warming down her neck and chest. It took a reminder to keep her breathing as she rolled down her window. 

"Hi, Harry," she shyly greeted, "You scared me." 

"Sorry," he parroted, concern marking his features, "Is everything okay?" 

"Oh yeah," she lied, voice pitched a bit too high, "I've been having some problems with it today, but I'll be fine. I got the battery replaced like a year ago, so I should be okay in a second—just needs to warm up." She could feel herself rambling, offering more information than he asked for with every syllable. 

Harry nodded thoughtfully as he peered around to the bonnet of her car. "Okay. Have y'been having problems for a while now?" 

"No, just today," she sighed, shaking her head with her hands tightening around the wheel as if she could go anywhere. "I barely got it to start long enough for me to make it here today."

His lips thinned at her admittance. "Do you have any other way to get home?" 

"Um," she sounded, rolling her lips between her teeth, "I don't know. I was thinking about asking Kingston or someone if they were still nearby—or I could wait for one of the production girls to finish up. I don't really want to call an Uber since it's a little late to be by myself, but I might have to if I don't want to wait forever." 

She went for lighthearted with an airy laugh and a lilt to her voice, but she doubted it came off that way. Not when she was restless with her fingers hovering over her phone screen, a million ideas fluttering through her mind that she couldn't act on a single one before moving onto the next. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry bit down on his bottom lip, a furrow pinching his brow as he looked out to the empty parking lot. The production crew worked much later than any of the other cast; (Y/N) didn't expect to see any of their faces exit for at least the next hour. 

"I-I could take y'home, if y'wanted," Harry mused, looking to her with softened eyes, "If not, that's fine, I jus'... I don't want y'to be waiting out here by yourself for someone to pick y'up." 

There was clear worry on his face in the way his eyes flicked to the hood of her car and back to her. His hands folded at his middle were restless, fingers curling together before unfurling only to do the same thing a moment later. 

His proposition held room to decline with no repercussions, but she wasn't blind to how sincere he was in the offer. 

Nonetheless, she hadn't forgotten the fact that he had shared the plans he had to take care of tonight. The paperwork he had been putting off when coming here tonight. 

"I don't want to make you go out of your way," she started, "I know you said you have things to take care of.

 He didn't hesitate before he answered: "They can wait." 

All it took was a glance in his eyes, meeting the lilypads of his irises head on, feeling the genuine concern swimming in his gaze before she was nodding her head. 

"As long as you don't mind," she started, a short smile touching her lips, "That would be really nice actually. Thank you." 

It didn't take long before she was retracing her steps through the lot, heading towards the sparkling SUV tucked under the branches of a flowering tree. Harry had her tote on his shoulder this time after he insisted on carrying it for her, leaving her own arms to wrap around her middle against the breeze of the night. 

He held the door open for her, letting her slide into the leather interior with her tote at her feet. (Y/N) sunk into the luxurious spot, feeling the leather glide against the back of her legs through her tights. Without it even being on, the car felt warm. The fragrance that clung to Harry was now soaked around her, even smokier than normal with the vanilla notes reaching a rich amber undertone. Everything was so clean, immaculately so, as if there hadn't been a single rider within the vehicle. 

Though, the harder she looked, there was a grey sweatshirt tucked in the backseat, and a tiny frog figurine tacked to the dashboard behind the wheel. 

A small smile had snuck onto her lips by the time Harry took his spot on the driver's side. Shutting the door behind him, he sealed away the chill of the outside and left them alone together. 

"Do y'mind putting your address in my phone? Jus' so I can get it mapped out," he said once the engine was turned on. While (Y/N) knew his car was much nicer than hers—Mr. "I own a few galleries" here—it was almost jarring to hear just how quiet his was compared to the mess of grinding gears and sputtering pistons that made up hers. If not for the fact that the headlights turned on, she could have been fooled into assuming he hadn't turned the ignition yet. 

"Of course," she muttered, taking his offered phone. 

He didn't start pulling out of the space until she had her apartment building mapped in his phone, the GPS immediately translating to the vivid screen that took up a large chunk of his dashboard. 

"I hope this isn't too far out of your way," (Y/N) said, breaking the silence. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, resisting the urge to reach for her phone. It didn't feel right to start up the bright screen in the middle of the low light. 

Harry only glanced at the final destination of her apartment. "Don't worry about it. It'll only add a few minutes to m'drive." 

"Oh, really? I didn't know you lived that close to me. I would have called you earlier if I had known." 

He shrugged, a small smile illuminated by the light of the screens. "Jus' a couple a streets down, but 'm rarely home, I feel like. I spend a lot of time going back and forth between all of the galleries and everything." 

Angling her body towards him, she laid the full of her attention on Harry as he spoke. "Do you like taking care of the galleries, though? Or is it busy, and  lame?" 

He let out a laugh at her joking. "I do like it, yeah. I'd say busy and cool, if anything." 

"That's good," she said, "It's good that you like what you do. Not a lot of people can say that." 

The city passed by the windows as the theater became only an outline behind them. The mess with her car being left behind now that there was something much more fun to concentrate on—something heart-fluttering. 

"When I was younger, I thought I would be the one making the art instead of managing it," he shared, his voice a low rumble rivaling that of the engine. 

She perked up at the tidbit of information, remembering the sketchy swan drawn on her card from opening night. Interesting how everyone shared all of these rumors about him instead of something like this. 

"Really? What did you want to make?" 

"Well, I thought of m'self as a painter—doing portraits and landscapes and that kind of thing. Until m'sister had a bad day and was the first person to be honest about everything."

"What happened?" 

"Helped me realize I can't draw for shit. She pointed out this drawing I did of my mum's cat, and it was... horrendous. It was cute in the way that I love my mum and her cat, but not good by any artist's standard. Especially since I was going for realism." Harry told the story with a broad grin on his face, as if recalling the time his dream came to a halt was nothing more than a fond memory. 

"It couldn't have been that bad," (Y/N) laughed. Truthfully, if she was able to deduce his drawing was that of a swan, she couldn't imagine the cat portrait was as horrendous as he said. 

"It was, trust me. Besides, I've found 'm much better at taking care of the business side of things than my original plan." He paused as she turned down the block before hers, his hands sliding over the circumference of the steering wheel. "Have you always wanted to be a dancer?" 

"Pretty much, yeah," she shared. "I had different little ideas here and there—like a fairy, a vet, and a mermaid briefly. But I came back to ballerina every time." 

"Jus' like Barbie," he teased, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Something like that," she smiled, feeling a bit more flattered than she should being compared to a doll, "I still have a day job, which I don't think Barbie has, but close enough." 

"Yeah? What else do you do?" 

"One of my other brief dreams was being an author. I found I didn't have the patience for all of the drafting, and editing, and the fact that publishing a book means people will read it. But, I did find I actually enjoyed editing other people's work, so I do some freelance editing for different authors and publishing houses."

Harry raised his brows as he turned down to her street, the estimated arrival time ticking closer to the time on the clock. "Wow. And I was complaining about m'paperwork." 

She laughed at his teasing. "I don't know, I'm sure it's easier than the kind of stuff you have to go through. All I do is read books all day and then go and dance—I don't think it can get much easier than that." 

Pulling up to the curb outside her building, Harry idled the car as he turned to look at her. The dim light from the dash cut shadows across his face, showing off the line of his jaw and edge of his nose. The length of his lashes left curling shadows reaching over his cheekbones, the reflection of the blue screen bringing out the golden flecks in his green eyes. 

"I wouldn't say that," he mused, "I know y'work hard—harder than a lot of other people, 'm sure. Y'wouldn't be the star of the city if y'hadn't worked hard to get there." 

(Y/N) felt her cheeks heat at his praises. It became harder and harder every day attempting to contend with that first impression she gained about him with all of the rumors. 

"Thank you," she smiled, looking over his shoulder to the front door of her building. "I should probably go—let you get to your boring paperwork while I go finish mine." 

"Probably," he mused, following her eyes to her building before looking back to her, "Do y'have a plan for your car?" 

"Not yet," she sighed, reaching down to collect her tote, "But I'll have to get something figured out until it's fixed at least. If it's another battery though, I might have to sue my last mechanic or something." 

Harry laughed at her words. "It might be the only way. But, um,"—he grew a bit tongue tied then, his dimples slipping from his face—"if y'need help getting to the studio or the theater, jus' let me know. Now that know we're not too far from one another, we could work something out if y'need." 

It was another one of those forgiving propositions. She could reject him and she only saw Harry as being understanding. Besides, it was endearing to be able to see the pink bluish on his nose even in the dark like this. 

"That would be really nice, Harry. Thank you," she smiled, reaching for her phone in her bag, "If it's alright, you can put your number in my phone and I'll text you?" 

She had to keep herself from giggling when he looked to her with wide eyes for a beat, as if he couldn't believe she had heard his offer and was taking him up on it. 

"Oh—um—yeah. Sounds good." 

He reached for her phone clumsily, bumping her own fingers before getting a solid grip. She sat in the warmth of his car as he input his number with shaky thumbs before handing it back. 

"Thank you again, Harry," she murmured, dropping her phone back into her bag. "This was definitely a lot better than hiding in the parking lot for someone from production to finish up." 

She watched as he nodded thoughtfully, not quite playing along to the teasing joke she made. "'M happy you're safe, (Y/N). I'll see y'at the next show, but if y'need anything before then, jus' text me. I'll be there." 

She didn't doubt that for a second. 

—————

the white cat is a character in the classic ballet, sleeping beauty.

:))))) thank u sm for reading! sososos sorry for any mistakes but please feel free to let me know what youre excited about for the next part!

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 15

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 17 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

"In two weeks, I'll be away on training camp. For a week."

You and Sukuna sit on the couch after a long day, both in sweatpants and matching Tigers hoodies, cuddled up in front of the TV, where a cooking show plays, when he announces the news. You turn your head to look at his tattooed face, pouting a bit when you reply,

"A whole week? And I guess you won't come home in the evenings?"

Sukuna grins at you, that boyish playful grin that makes him look too damn attractive,

"Aww, are you gonna miss me?"

You sigh and stretch, putting your legs in his lap. And Sukuna immediately grabs one of your socked feet and gives you a foot massage, making you hum before you tell him with a mischievous grin,

"Maybe a little. I'll miss your cooking skills..."

"Only my cooking skills?"

"Yeah, and it will be a bit of an inconvenience that I'll have to carry my books to class all by myself."

You smile and make a show of inspecting your fingernails boredly before you lift your head to look into Sukuna's eyes again and ask,

"What about you? Are you gonna miss me, baby?"

The grin on Sukuna's face is downright evil by now, and his eyes sparkle with devilish amusement. He huffs and shrugs cooly,

"I don't know. Maybe a tiny little bit. I might be the slightest bit bored without your unqualified statements when I watch hockey vids."

You snort and try to kick him with your socked feet, but Sukuna just grabs them tighter with his large hands and gives them a squeeze while he raises an amused eyebrow at you, asking with a smug smirk,

"What, princess?"

You glare playfully at him but get distracted by how beautiful Sukuna looks with his handsome face and all the tattoos, those long black lashes framing his maroon eyes. Eyes that are filled with far too much smugness. You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms in front of your chest.

"I love you, asshole."

Sukuna's smirk grows even bigger.

"I love you too, brat."

The two of you stare into each other's eyes for a long moment, neither wanting to look away first and then both of you burst out laughing at the same time. Sukuna cocks his head, grinning at you,

"Come here, give me a kiss, princess."

He makes a kissy face that makes you laugh even louder before you pull your feet out of his hands and crawl over to him, smiling when you feel Sukuna's strong arms immediately wrap around you and pull you in his lap, right before your lips find his in a sweet kiss.

You never thought being apart from Sukuna for a week would be so hard.

Considering how this whole thing between the two of you started with the whole fuckbuddies thing, it should be absolutely easy peasy to spend a few days apart.

But what you learn in those seven days is that a week can be very long when you miss your boyfriend.

It makes you realize how used you have become to spend almost all day with Sukuna. You even sleep in his bed, or he in yours every night. You have breakfast together and walk to class together, and meet for lunchtime and study dates in the library, and you drop by his practice all the time now, and have dinner at his place and have overly competitive Mario Kart matches with Yuuji, and watch hockey videos in bed until you fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

Now you feel like a piece of your soul is missing when you walk to class on your own, and lunch isn't the same without making fun of Sukuna's daily chicken and rice and listening to him shit-talking about a rival team.

The weirdest things are the nights, though. It's kind of embarrassing how fast you got used to feeling Sukuna's tall, buff body behind you, and somehow, you feel cold in your bed now even though your room isn't cold at all.

The nightly phone calls with Sukuna help a little, and either he is also unwilling to hang up, or he knows you well enough to know you can fall asleep more easily when you hear his soothing low voice talk to you, so he always stays on the phone with you until you have drifted off to sleep.

Of course, he teases you endlessly about how loud you snore or how he saw you drooling onto the pillow, but he always murmurs the sweetest little nothings to you late at night, too tired to play it cool or wear a mask. So you could easily tease him too about being such a huge simp for you, but you stay nice and just smile and listen to his low murmurs.

Those nights on the phone aren't able to replace Sukuna's physical presence in your bed, though, so you seem to be in a constant state of withdrawal, which makes you restless and grumpy.

So when the week has finally passed, and you hear the long-awaited loud knock on your door, you are off the couch in an instant. You yank open the door impatiently, smiling when you see Sukuna's tall figure with his sports bag slung casually over his broad shoulder and that attractive boyish smirk on his tattooed face that always makes your knees weak.

"Hey, princess. I'm home."

His low voice sounds smooth and warm, and you practically fling yourself at him, wrapping your arms around Sukuna's tall, muscular body, hugging him tightly as you tilt your head to smile up at him,

"Welcome home, champion."

Sukuna laughs, one strong arm immediately wrapping around your waist where it seems to naturally belong. His lips brush over your forehead, murmuring the exact words you were just thinking,

"Damn, I didn't know a week could be that long."

But now he is finally back home, standing in front of you, tall and broad, looking so good in his soft white hoodie with the team logo embroidered on the front.

Before you can reply, Sukuna drops his heavy sports bag and wraps both of his strong arms around you, pulling you against him and making you gasp when his lips instantly claim yours in a hungry kiss.

Your surprised gasp turns into a happy sigh as you practically melt against your boyfriend's muscular body, hugging him tightly and letting him pull you on your tiptoes so he can deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth and kissing you with those sexy deep French kisses that drive you a little crazy each time.

You are both breathing heavily when you finally part, hazy eyes looking into each other for a long moment before Sukuna starts to grin again, and you chuckle softly while your thumbs brush over the short hair of his undercut.

"You played so well, baby. I'm so proud of you."

You're referring to the game Sukuna's team played at the end of the training camp. You saw most of it thanks to Yuuji, who was sitting on the bench with a sprained ankle and face-timed you to show you his brother scoring goal after goal. Sukuna even skated over to grab his brother's phone to blow you a kiss and dedicate the victory to you.

Sukuna's large hands sprawl over your waist as he laughs and raises a cocky eyebrow at you, but you can see that he is basking in your praise.

"I would have scored even more goals if you were in the arena. I would have destroyed those losers completely if my girl was there cheering me on in the stands."

You laugh too and shake your head, snuggling against Sukuna, resting your cheek against his chest and inhaling his scent, the sexy cologne he always wears, his cherry-scented hairspray, and faint traces of cigarette smoke, meaning he managed to sneak away from his coach to smoke in secret despite the constant lectures about how athletes shouldn't smoke.

"Oh, I think you already ruined their chances for the championship enough. You didn't really need me there."

Sukuna huffs and a long tattooed finger touches your chin and makes you lift your head. Those beautiful maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours, and his lips lift in that attractive lopsided smirk.

"And that's where you are wrong. I always need you by my side."

Sukuna's voice is velvety and low, with that teasing, flirty tone you love so much. That tone of voice that always reminds you of nights spent tangled in soft sheets, your sweaty bodies moving against each other while soft moans and breathy love confessions fill your bedroom.

And you know that Sukuna means those words, no matter how teasing he sounds. You can see it in how soft his eyes are when he looks at you right now. And you know your eyes must give away how smitten you are with him, too.

Your hands come to rest on Sukuna's broad chest, gently brushing your fingers over the soft cotton of his white hoodie, feeling the swell of his buff pecs and his strong heartbeat even through the thick fabric of the warm sweater.

"Then I'll try to sneak onto the team bus next time."

Sukuna chuckles and captures your lips in another slow and deep kiss. He's so tender with you that it makes your heart throb.

It's one of those secret, soft moments that most people don't expect a rough guy like Sukuna to be capable of. He is feared by his opponents. Gets called The King of Curses because he is like a curse coming over rival teams, making their most important players drop like flies, spending weeks on the bench with various injuries caused by your boyfriend. Even his own teammates are scared of him.

But when it comes to you, Sukuna is always sweet.

And you are sweet to him, too.

Your hands slip under Sukuna's soft white hoodie and find his smooth, warm skin and firm muscles, caressing his abs and pecs while you kiss him sweetly, showing him how happy you are to have him back.

You're both breathing heavily when Sukuna whispers against your lips,

"I missed you, princess."

Right at the same moment as you murmur,

"I missed you, baby."

Sukuna laughs softly, and then he smiles. That dazzling, beautiful smile he only reserves for you.

"I got something for you."

He leans down to unzip the side pocket of his sports bag, and when he straightens up again, there's a small gift package sitting in the palm of his calloused hand. You blink at Sukuna's hand and the gift and then look at him with suspiciously moist eyes,

"Oh... Kuna. You... you didn't have to buy me something..."

He smiles at you, shrugging seemingly casually, but you can see the tips of his ears turn slightly pink, and it's one of the most endearing things you ever saw. Sukuna watches as you take the gift package and slowly unwrap it, murmuring in his low voice,

"When we went to dinner, we walked past a shop, and I saw it in the window, and thought of you. Had to get back the next day to get it for you."

The wrapping paper opens and reveals a rectangular box. You lift the lid under Sukuna's watchful gaze and gasp softly when you see a delicate gold necklace with a pretty charm in the shape of a pair of hockey skates adorned with a small diamond that sparkles prettily in the light.

You clap a hand over your mouth, blinking up at Sukuna, and this time, you can't hide the tears in your eyes anymore. You reach up to wipe them away at the same moment as Sukuna cups your cheek with his large hand to brush his thumb over a stray tear running down your left cheek. You smile up at Sukuna, voice soft,

"That's so pretty. Thank you so much, baby."

Sukuna laughs softly, sounding pleased, when he tells you,

"And you haven't even seen all of it yet. Turn it around."

You bite your lip as you carefully take the small ice skates pendant and turn it around. Your smile grows even bigger when you see the small engraving on the back of the charm. Sukuna, it says in a filigree font next to a small heart.

Your pulse races. Sukuna got you a necklace with his name on it. It's so intimate somehow and possessive as if he is staking his claim, and it makes butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach. You like the thought of Sukuna wanting to mark you as his.

"I love it!"

You beam up at Sukuna, smiling brightly, and Sukuna's cat-like gaze travels slowly over you, lips lifted in a proud smile.

"Let me put it on you."

He makes a circular gesture with his long, tattooed fingers, and you nod and turn around right when Sukuna adds, in a low, seductive voice,

"Take your sweater off first. I wanna see how the necklace looks against your skin."

Your heart is beating wildly as you take off your sweater and let it drop to the floor, leaving you in your bra, standing with your back to Sukuna, feeling your breath quicken as he steps closer, and you can feel his tall body brush lightly against your skin. His large fingers are surprisingly skilled in fastening the delicate gold chain around your neck. His breath is warm on your shoulder as he leans down to whisper to you,

"I love you."

The words are followed by a tender kiss getting pressed onto your shoulder. And your eyelashes flutter, your whole body feeling so warm. Butterflies flutter not only in your stomach but also in your pussy when Sukuna trails more teasing kisses over your shoulder and neck.

He makes you so weak, makes you tremble in his strong arms. Makes you yearn for him.

Sukuna's warm hands come to rest on your waist, long, tattooed fingers sprawling possessively over your skin, fingertips dipping into the waistband of your sweatpants teasingly.

Your voice sounds shaky when you reply,

"I love you too. And I love having your name on me all the time now."

You are answered by a low growl and a tightening of those strong hands on your waist.

"Fuck, do you know how crazy it drives me when you say stuff like that?"

You can feel Sukuna smile against your naked shoulder, and you turn around in his arms, hugging him again, moaning softly when your half-exposed breasts press against his soft hoodie.

There's a hunger in Sukuna's eyes when your gaze meets his, and before you know it, you get scooped up into your boyfriend's strong arms.

"Let's celebrate my goals properly. I missed my victory fuck. How am I supposed to ever score again under these conditions?"

You roll your eyes and grin playfully at Sukuna while letting your fingers play with his undercut,

"In that case, I guess I have to take one for the team, huh?"

You both laugh, but the laughter soon gets replaced by heavy breathing and soft groans while you kiss and undress each other impatiently and tumble down onto your bed.

You whimper needily when Sukuna lets his hard cock glide through your wet pussy lips, his swollen tip caressing your clit while he kisses you deeply. And then he pushes inside you for the first time after a week apart, claiming you again and moaning your name softly when he is fully buried in your warm pussy.

He takes his sweet time with you, fucking you slow and deep as if he needs to cherish every second of it after being apart from you the whole week. It's not so much a victory fuck, as he claimed, but slow lovemaking instead.

Sukuna is pressing you down into the soft sheets with his tall, athletic body, making you mewl with every slow roll of his hips. The necklace he gifted to you is the only thing you are wearing, the small charm resting between your breasts, gliding over your skin with every thrust of Sukuna's cock.

You hug Sukuna tightly while his warm mouth is on your neck, kissing and sucking on your sensitive skin, making you moan his name even louder than his cock alone already does.

You feel so taken care of like this when Sukuna is covering your whole body with his broad figure. All big and strong and muscular on top of you, pressing you down, making sure you go nowhere and stay right where he wants you.

Sukuna's skin is so warm against yours, his naked body deliciously heavy on top of you, moving slowly but powerfully against you. He is everything you see and feel. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, needing more of him, babbling incoherently, begging him to take you, to fuck you, to love you as thoroughly as he can.

Your hands are wandering aimlessly over Sukuna's broad back, digging your nails into his beefy muscles, caressing his warm tattooed skin, tracing all the scars from various hockey injuries before they finally come to rest on his flexed biceps, marveling at how good those strong arms feel under your hands.

Sukuna's cock is so deep in you, long and thick, making you almost delirious with how full and good he makes you feel. You can't help but whimper, and Sukuna answers you with a low, sexy moan before his lips capture yours in a hungry but loving kiss.

You both get lost in your sweet lovemaking. Sukuna's low groans make your head spin, and his velvety voice sounds thick with desire when he murmurs against your neck,

"Fuck yeah, my beautiful girl. Feels so right to fuck you again. Your pretty pussy missed me, too, huh? So wet and warm for me."

You sob his name shakily, feeling your pussy tightening around Sukuna's cock, while he slowly fucks you into the mattress.

"I missed you so much, Kuna. Need you, baby."

"Fuck... I missed you too, princess."

Sukuna grabs your hands, captures them tightly in his much larger hands, and brings them up beside your head, fixing them there by interlacing his fingers with yours. A gesture so tender for a rough boy like him that it makes you sob loudly, overcome by how much you love him. It makes you clench around him and arch up against his heavy body, a breathless moan of his name falling from your lips.

Your legs are wrapped tightly around Sukuna's narrow hips, clinging to him, pulling him even closer, needing him so bad. The slight adjustment of positions makes him rest more of his weight on you, and it feels perfect. You are moaning his name anytime Sukuna lifts his hips ever so slightly and then rolls them against yours again, fucking you with those slow, gentle thrusts that feel so intimate.

He is so close to you, as close as possible, filling you so good, loving you so good that it makes you feel drunk. Drunk on his dick, drunk on his love. His thick mushroom head is kissing your sweet spot with every move, fucking you closer and closer to a toe-curling orgasm that you can already feel building up in your core.

"S... Sukuna...."

You sound desperate when you sob his name, your hands clutching Sukuna's tightly, your fingernails digging into the back of his large hands, surely leaving their crescent moon-shaped marks on his skin. And Sukuna's lips are on your neck, surprisingly tender and sweet. He groans in your ear, sounding almost like a purr, and whispers to you,

"Yeah, I know, angel, I know. Feels so fucking good."

Sukuna's large hands tighten around yours as he stills on top of you, ramming his thick cock as deep as possible into you.

And you watch him with love-drunk eyes. Watch his beautiful tattooed face while he cums. Your heart swells at the love and trust Sukuna has for you to let you see him like this. To let you see him give you his all. His cheeks are flushed slightly with arousal, his maroon eyes heavy-lidded with lust, closing fully as his orgasm washes over him, his lips parted as those sexy low moans spill from them.

Sukuna's hips twitch against you as he cums. And you press yourself against him, taking his cock even deeper, wanting all he has to give you. You mewl his name brokenly as you drown in the heavenly, warm waves of your own orgasm.

You tremble under Sukuna's heavy body, your pussy spasming around his cock, while Sukuna rocks slowly against you until he has spilled his full load in your pussy.

He finally lets out a long breath and opens his eyes again, gazing down at you with unveiled affection, smirking that sexy, boyish smirk at you while he is still inside you, making more butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Your hands slip out of Sukuna's grasp, and you hug him again, trailing your fingers slowly up and down his muscular back, caressing his tattooed skin tenderly. And Sukuna's lips wander over your neck, leaving a trail of kisses before he slumps on top of you with a contented sigh.

His head is resting on your naked breasts, his breathing in sync with yours. You can't stop smiling, feeling elated after the sex, and because you have your boyfriend back in your arms. Everything feels as it should again. You reach up to run a hand slowly through Sukuna's soft pink hair, and he hums happily. His voice has that sexy, sleepy drawl when he murmurs against your skin,

"I hate training camp. A week away from you is far too long. Honestly, the whole week, I just thought, let me be back in bed with my girl and watch videos on my phone with her and have my back scratched and my hair petted. I am growing so fucking soft."

You chuckle and let your nails slowly run up and down Sukuna's broad back,

"Is that a bad thing?"

You can feel Sukuna's grin against your skin when he answers,

"Nah, I wouldn't change it for the world."

Guys, what can I say? I am horribly in love with him AAHHH 😭💗 Writing this chapter made me so happy. It's SO SOFT. Can you imagine big, bad Sukuna acting all tough and being an overly ambitious asshole towards his teammates all day during training camp, but then lying in his bed at night simping for us and almost going crazy because he misses us? That boy is down bad for us, and it makes my life complete uwu.

I hope you liked the update! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

As always, thank you so much for still reading this story, which became so much longer than I thought. I am so happy to be on this journey with y'all! 💗

[p0orbaby]

i wrote this in an attempt to get my juices flowing again

a secret relationship between a track athlete and a footballer, leah pushing her luck, and some sexy time to top it off

-

You don’t mean to say anything. You were going to let it go. Just get off and ignore it. Do what you usually do when she starts this game again. Pretend it doesn’t get to you. Pretend it isn’t constant. Pretend you don’t check who liked what before you even brush your teeth in the morning. You do that every day. Wake up, turn your phone face-down again because the screen lights up too bright too fast, but unlock it anyway. Instagram first, before emails, before missed calls, even before messages about contracts from your agent. Tap the post. Scan the likes. Find her name. Tap through to her profile. Check if she’s online.

Every time, you say you’re not going to bring it up. That it’s too small to matter. That it’ll make you sound like you care too much. That she’ll think she’s won.

But then her hand slides under the hem of your hoodie, and you can feel the heat of her hand against your waist. She’s barely touched you. The tag of your knickers digs into your tailbone because you’re lying half-wrong, and her thumb is resting on the band, like she’s measuring something. And it slips out before you stop it.

“You’re doing it again.”

She doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even miss a beat. Just says, “Doing what again?”

Her tone’s easy. Light. She knows exactly what. You watch her face for tension—there’s none. She’s calm. Comfortable. The kind of comfortable that gets under your skin, because she never gets flustered the way you do. You inhale through your nose.

“Liking my posts.”

Now she blinks at you. Nothing sharp. Nothing defensive. No shift in her breathing or hand or jaw. Her hand’s already low enough to make your stomach tense and your thighs twitch, but she hasn’t moved. She’s still. She knows how to wait you out.

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“No,” she says, voice flat. “You said I shouldn’t.” She leans down, not kissing you. Just hovering. Mouth near your jaw, her breath warm. “I never said I’d stop.”

You pull your head back slightly, just enough to look her in the eye. You keep your voice low. Sharp. “You knew what I meant.”

“I did.” Her thumb slides across the line of your stomach, just under your navel. “I just didn’t agree.”

You laugh, but it sounds thin in your throat. “You didn’t agree.”

“Nope, and I still don’t.” Her hand slips lower. Her knuckles trace the waistband of your knickers again, just lazy contact. She’s not checking to see if you’re wet yet. She knows you’re not. She’s building the space for it. Making you wait. “They’re not obvious likes.”

“They’re so obvious.”

“They’re not.” Her voice drops a little, still casual. She’s using her calm tone now. The one she uses when she’s talking to the press or to brand reps she doesn’t rate. “We’re both Nike girls. Could be support. Could be algorithm. Could be anything.”

“They’re all on photos where I’m half-naked.”

“So?” Her mouth finds your neck, lips grazing just under your ear. You feel the shape of them. She speaks against your skin. “I like you half-naked.”

You stiffen. Jaw tight. “You promised you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

She kisses the corner of your jaw. “And you said you wanted to keep us private.” Her hand shifts. She’s not pressing, not stroking. Just there. “But you’ve got a million followers and your last story was you in a crop top licking an ice lolly with ‘track girl summer’ as the caption.”

“That was for my sponsor—”

“Right,” she says, her grin brushing your throat. “So why can’t my likes be for mine?”

You shove her. Not hard, but not playful either. She doesn’t move. You say, “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so wet.”

“I’m not.”

She lifts her head, eyes flicking down your body. Then she presses. Just the heel of her palm, firm between your legs. Through your knickers. No movement. No teasing. Just enough contact to prove her point.

“Stop being silly,” she says, and her voice is flat again. Not smug. Not cruel. Just patient.

You swallow. Hard.

She doesn’t gloat. She doesn’t say anything. Just keeps her hand there, the weight of it steady. Your breath changes. You feel it before she does.

“I want people to know,” she says quietly. “That you’re mine.”

You stare at her. You don’t blink.

“Why?”

“Because you are.”

“Yeah,” you say, dry. “But what’s in it for me?”

You don’t mean it to come out like that. You mean to sound cold. Detached. You don’t. You sound like you want her to prove it.

She doesn’t answer.

She slides two fingers into you.

No warning. No warm-up. Just smooth contact, strong, confident. You gasp. It’s too fast but not painful, just jarring—like falling into hot water. Like a sudden drop. Your thighs jerk. Her hand steadies you at the waist.

You’re soaked. You know it. You didn’t notice when it happened. That’s what pisses you off. You were supposed to be in control.

She curls her fingers once. Not deep. Just angled. Your stomach lifts. Your legs stiffen.

She looks at you. Her voice is low. “What’s in it for you?”

You nod, already breathless. “Yeah.”

She leans in close. Kisses you once, soft, middle of your mouth. Then again, longer, with her tongue. Her free hand finds your jaw, thumb pressing against your cheekbone, anchoring you there like she thinks you’ll drift away.

“Everything.”

Her fingers push deeper. The rhythm’s steady, slow, exact. She watches your face. You hate being watched. You can’t look away.

“You get everything.”

You grip the back of her neck. Your palm’s slick with sweat. You try to move your hips but she’s got you trapped—one thigh across yours, hand under your spine, the kind of positioning that says I’m not letting go until you come.

“You get me.”

She curls. Presses. Curls again.

You whimper. Not a real sound. Just broken breath and pressure.

You hate it. You love it.

She smiles against your mouth. “And they get to know they never had a chance.”

You try to speak. You think about saying something clever. Something brutal. Something that makes you sound less completely owned. You think about reminding her you’re the one who gets photographed alone, always alone, slipping into hotels at night and out of them in the morning with your hood up and your face down. You think about saying no one’s ever made you their profile picture. That you don’t belong to anyone. That you’ve never needed to.

But then she adds a third finger.

And all that comes out is a moan.

[applecaviar]

Hiii, you've become one of my favorite Lads writers and I absolutely love when you come across my feed, even with your reblogged recs. So firstly, thank you for all you do and practically spoiling us 🥹💖🫶🏾🫶🏾.

I think one of my favorites was your Unholy Trinity story (I read it like 4 times and even shared it with my best friend), and I was wondering if it would be possible to do another story with them but they all plan a night for MC or reader without her knowing? Like MC falls into their trap almost as if they're hunting and cornering her (consensually), leading to a long night of fun? I hope this makes sense 😅

Ten out of ten 🍎❄️🐦‍⬛

The (un)holy Trinity Part #2

Sorry this took me such a long time. I've been really busy and requests are taking longer. 😮‍💨😮‍💨.

I hope this is what you were looking for, if it isn't send me a message and I'll see what I can do. 😀

"In the name of the doctor, the crow and the unholy step bro."

TW:Smut

Art: omi-resources

Ps. Pls don't send hate messages 🙏🏻.

Lost in thought, your mind drifts back to that night four months ago. The memory of being with Caleb, Sylus, and Zayne simultaneously, of feeling their hands on your body and their lips on your skin, sends a shiver down your spine. It was a night of raw passion and intimacy that you can't seem to forget.

So you sit there, contemplating the logistics of broaching the subject of a repeat performance, but you realize that it's not as simple as just coming out and saying it. How do you put into words the desire to feel that intoxicating mix of jealousy, possessiveness, and insatiable lust all over again? How do you express the craving to be the center of attention for three strong, dominant men, without sounding shameless?

You know all too well the personalities that come with each of them. Caleb's jealousy, a side of him that he rarely shows but becomes so evident in the bedroom. Zayne's possessiveness, his need to claim and own every inch of you. And Sylus, with his insatiable libido and ability to turn even the simplest of touches into a sensual experience. Putting them all together is like mixing fire, ice, and electricity, it's dangerous, but the thrill of it all is impossible to resist.

No, you can't just come out and say "Hey, God gave me three holes for a reason, let's fuck." That would be too crass. Besides, their individual personalities would likely complicate matters.

For the past month, you've been going on separate dates with them, all of which were pleasant enough, but left you wanting so much more. The sexual tension that once crackled between you was replaced by polite conversation and gentle hand holding. It was maddening.

Zayne, he'd take you out, treat you to delicious meals at posh restaurants, and engage you in witty banter, only to drop you off at home with a quick peck on the cheek. It was as if he was teasing you, dangling the carrot of his touch, only to snatch it away at the last second.

Caleb, you met him for a couple of lunch dates, his uniform crisp and sharp, that damn, sexy uniform always present. You'd tried to focus on his words, on the conversation, but your mind kept drifting to the strength of his hands, the power they held as they gripped the utensils, or as you imagined them gripping your hips, your thighs, your...damnit. He always seemed oblivious to your internal turmoil, chatting away about his duties.

Sylus, too, had been a fleeting presence, always rushing, always distracted by the chaos in the N109 zone. He'd catch you when he could, stealing a quick kiss in the hallways of his home, his hands gripping your waist with a desperation that spoke of his own frustration.

In the privacy of your own space, you found yourself turning to synthetic companionship, your vibrator becoming a familiar friend as you laid awake at night, your body crying out for their touch. The toy left you satisfied enough to sleep, but always craving more, always yearning for the real thing.

Right now, feeling the weight of four weeks worth of pent up desire, you make a decision as you stand up from your bed. Your body thrums with determination to put an end to your sexual misery. You stride over to your drawer, rummaging through the delicate fabrics until you find the most shameless set of lingerie you own, one that screams sin and indulgence.

You slip it on, the cool lace sending tingles across your heated skin. You take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, noting how the black contrast against your skin makes you look like a dark fantasy come to life. You're not usually one for such bold displays, but today feels different, urgent. 

Your hands tremble slightly as you apply your makeup, going for a smoky eye that emphasizes the desire burning in your eyes. You paint your lips a deep red the color of seduction. By the time you're done, you hardly recognize yourself. Gone is the usually put together, reserved you. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the night ahead as you grab your coat and head for the door.

As you settle into the passenger seat of Zayne's car, you feel a thrill of anticipation. Tonight, he's taking you back to his place. Fucking finally! (No pun intended lol)

You're wearing a dress a shade shorter than usual, and as you sit, the fabric rides up, exposing a teasing glimpse of your thighs. Zayne's eyes flicker to your exposed skin before he starts the engine and the whole drive to his home you catch him stealing glances, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as if trying to maintain focus.

When you arrive at his house and the front door closes behind you, you waste no time, unable to contain yourself any longer, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Your lips move against his with a fervor that takes your breath away, a few seconds stretching into an eternity of blissful connection.

Just as you're losing yourself in the sensation, a voice cuts through the haze, Calebs voice, laced with a joking tone that can't quite mask the tension.

"If you guys needed some time alone, you could have just said so, Zayne"

There's a sharpness to his words, a possessive edge that makes it clear he's not amused by the sight of you kissing Zayne. 

You reluctantly break away from Zayne's embrace, the heat of his lips still tingling on yours as you turn to face Caleb. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you not happy to see me, Pips?"

"It's not that, I just didn't expect to see you here" you admit, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

"Well then, I guess she won't be happy to see me either."

You recognize that voice instantly, the rich, velvety timbre unmistakable. Your eyes widen as you turn to see Sylus leaning casually against the wall.

You look from one man to the next, your brow furrowed in confusion as you try to make sense of this unexpected gathering.

"I must be missing something here, was there supposed to be a party going on tonight? Because no one mentioned anything about this to me."

You direct your question at all three of them, but your eyes linger on Caleb and Sylus. A part of you can't help but wonder if this was planned, if they conspired to catch you off guard. And if so, to what end?

Zayne steps forward, breaking the silence that followed your question. He places a comforting hand on the small of your back.

"They came over to spend some time with us"

"Unless you wanted to spend the night with just Zayne..." Caleb says, a hint of accusation coloring his words.

You quickly cut him off, not wanting to entertain that particular line of thought. You take a deep breath, looking at each of them in turn before settling your eyes on Caleb. "It's fine, we've all been pretty busy, so I guess we can all spend a few hours together... in peace."

You emphasize the last word, a silent plea for the tension to dissipate. Despite the unexpected turn of events, you're hopeful that these precious moments can still be enjoyed by all of you.

The evening proved to be enjoyable despite the rocky start. Caleb showcased his culinary skills, preparing a delicious meal that had everyone savoring each bite. To complement the food, Sylus contributed one of his finest wines, one of your personal favorites. As the night wore on, laughter and conversation flowed freely, the initial tension melting away into a warm, fuzzy atmosphere.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, and it was nearly midnight when you decided to call it a night. You stood up from the sofa in front of them, stretching slightly as you prepared to retire to the guest bedroom. The three handsome men in the living room with you, combined with the alcohol coursing through your system, made the temptation to linger almost irresistible.

But as you took a step towards the hallway, Sylus's voice stopped you in your tracks. "So you're really not going to tell us what you want?"

His words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken meaning crystal clear to everyone present.

You turned around slowly, your heart pounding as you found yourself the center of attention. All eyes were fixed on you, three pairs of intense gazes boring into your very soul.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice coming out softer than intended. Inside, you knew exactly what Sylus was implying, but a part of you couldn't believe he was being so blatant about it.

Zayne and Caleb exchanged glances, chuckles escaping their lips as they watched the exchange unfold.

"You have been eye fucking us all night, kitten. And if I were to slip my hand under that dress of yours and touch your pretty little pussy right now, I'd bet my life it's absolutely soaking wet. So the real question is, why are you leaving?"

His words were crude, vulgar even, but the way he said them, the desire dripping from every syllable, made your knees feel weak. You gripped the back of a nearby chair for support, suddenly feeling like you needed something solid to keep you upright. The room spun slightly, and you weren't sure if it was from the wine or Sylus's words.

"Why don't you sit back down and tell us what you want, Pips? We're here to give you what you want, all you need to do is ask"

Feeling like you were in a trance, you took a few steps towards the sofa "I don't know what you guys are talking about..." 

Zayne cut through your hesitation "Sit... down" he ordered, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. It was the same tone he used when he needed you to focus on something important, and it worked just as well now.

As if pulled by an invisible string, you sank back into the sofa, the plush cushions enveloping you. The sensation of sinking down felt like surrender, like giving in to the inevitable.

Sylus's voice drifted over to you, his praise making your heart flutter. "Good girl" he said, his words dripping with approval. You felt a rush of warmth spread through you at his words, your core clenching at the simple praise.

Zayne drained the last of the wine from his glass and set the empty tumbler down on the small table beside the sofa. He leaned back, his posture relaxed yet attentive as he fixed his eyes on you.

"Now," he began, "how long have you been craving the three of us again? And why didn't you say anything?"

You felt your cheeks burn as you processed Zayne's question. A wave of embarrassment crashed over you, realizing you had walked straight into their trap. It was so obvious now, the way they had been watching you, the loaded comments and the charged atmosphere. You cursed yourself for not seeing it sooner.

Trying to hide your flustered expression, you averted your eyes, turning your face away from their stares. A pretty blush colored your cheeks a deep pink, mirroring the wine you had enjoyed throughout the night.

"How did you...?" You asked, but you already knew the answer. The way you had been eyeing them all evening, the lingering glances, the flushed cheeks, it was all the evidence they needed to put the pieces together.

"Tsk, don't try to act so shy, sweety. Answer the question." There was no use pretending anymore, no more feigning innocence. You were well and truly caught.

Your voice came out as a breathy whisper " A while..."

"We've ruined you forever, haven't we?" Sylus asked, and there was a note of smugness in his tone. He knew the power they held over you, the effect their presence had on your senses and your desires.

Unable to deny it any longer, you nodded slowly, the movement almost imperceptible. 

Zayne, never one to miss an opportunity to take control, leaned in and voiced the unspoken desire that hung heavy in the room. "Take off your dress Y/N" he ordered. It was a demand for you to bare yourself to them, to offer yourself up willingly.

You stood again and reached for the zipper at the back of the dress, the metal tab cool against your fingertips. You could feel all three pairs of eyes watching your every move, their attention a physical weight that made your skin prickle. Slowly, you dragged the zipper down, the sound of the teeth parting echoing in the stillness of the room.

The dress loosened around you as the zipper reached the bottom, and with a gentle shrug of your shoulders, you let the garment slip off your body. The soft fabric whispered as it slid down your curves, the dress pooling at your feet.

As the dress hit the floor with a soft rustle, a united groan echoed through the room. It was as if they had been so in sync, so attuned to each other's thoughts and desires, that they reacted as one.

Suddenly self conscious, a surge of heat rushed to your face, painting your cheeks a deeper, more vivid shade of red. You remembered the lingerie you had chosen to wear beneath the dress, a lacy set of delicate fabric and provocative design. The matching bra and panties were made of a thin material, the lace so sheer that it left little to the imagination. They were a secret indulgence, a private fantasy that you had dared to wear, hoping that perhaps, just maybe, one of them might catch a glimpse and appreciate the effort.

The way their eyes moved over your nearly naked body, taking in every curve, made your heart race. You could see the effect your near nudity was having on them, the way their pupils dilated, the slight parting of their lips as they drank in the sight of you.

 You sank back down onto the plush sofa, the soft fabric cool against your newly exposed skin. The weight of their eyes made you acutely aware of every inch of your body and you hugged your arms around yourself, a instinctive gesture of modesty that only served to draw their attention to the swell of your breasts

Just as you settled into the cushions, you saw Zayne rise from his seat with fluid grace. He moved towards you, each step purposeful until he stood before you, close enough that you could feel the tension radiating off his body. Then he knelt down on one knee, bringing himself to your level, his eyes never leaving yours.

He posed his question softly, politely, ever the gentleman despite the charged atmosphere. "May I?"

In response, you nodded, a small movement, but one that held a world of unspoken permission.

Slowly, he gathered your long hair in one fist, his fingers sifting through the strands until he had a handful. He pulled it to the side, baring the column of your neck and shoulder, and granting himself access to the skin of your chest.

You felt his warm fingers reach for the delicate lace of your bra. With a gentle tug, he peeled the cups down, the material slipping away to reveal the soft, rounded curves of your breasts. A soft gasp escaped your lips at the sensation, your nipples pebbling in the cooler air.

His hands were warm and sure as he cupped the weight of your breasts, his long, elegant fingers easily enveloping the soft mounds. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, the fleeting touch making you arch into his hands instinctively. Then he began to tease your nipples, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers.

Each pinch, each tug, each gentle twist sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body, making your back arch and your toes curl.

The sensation was glorious, it was as if every nerve ending in your breasts had come alive firing with electric pleasure as he played your body like an instrument.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of the sofa cushion, gripping the soft material as you struggled to anchor yourself against the overwhelming onslaught of sensation. Your chest heaved with each breath, your breasts pushing into Zayne's palms as if begging for more of his touch. The heat between your legs intensified, your core clenching and fluttering around nothing as the ache for fulfillment grew more urgent with each passing second.

"We have a little bit of time to do this the way we wanted to from the beginning," he murmured as his fingers found the clasp of your bra, and with a single flick, he unhooked it, allowing the delicate garment to fall away.

But just as suddenly, he paused, a flicker of sense amidst the haze of lust. His eyes met yours, and with a decisive movement, he scooped you up into his arms, your body molding against the hard planes of his chest. The sudden shift in position made you gasp, your arms instinctively looping around his neck for support.

He stood, holding you effortlessly against him. With a nod towards the others, a silent communication passing between the three men, he began to carry you towards his bedroom.

He shouldered open the door to his bedroom, the heavy wood swinging inward to reveal the spacious, dimly lit room. The bed loomed before you, the dark sheets inviting and enticing. He carried you to the edge of the mattress, his fingers tightening on your thighs as he slowly lowered you down. Your body sank into the soft comforter, the luxurious fabric a sensual caress against your bare skin.

"Wrap your legs around my shoulders"

You hesitated, a sudden wave of shyness washing over you. Your legs remained draped over the edge of the bed, your ankles crossed as you resisted his silent command.

"What's wrong, kitten? If I remember well, you really like it when he eats your pussy," Sylus remarked, a smirk on his lips as he leaned back against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

But that wasn't the reason for your hesitation. Far from it. 

Rising to his feet, Zayne adjusted your position, gently maneuvering you until you were straddling his face. Your hips hovered just above his mouth, close enough to feel his warm breath ghosting over your folds.

"Oh...oh, I see," Zayne murmured, his fingers tightened on your hips, tugging you a little closer. "They're crotchless."

"Naughty kitten," Sylus purred and moved closer, drawn by the sight of you poised above Zayne. "You ready to let her fuck your face, Zayne?" 

You cried out as Zayne tugged you down, pressing your nearly bare pussy against his mouth. Throwing your head back, you instinctively raised your hips, overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

Caleb was quick to intervene, using his evol he pulled you down slightly "Don't pull away from him, princess. Smother him, sit on his face."

Zayne, his head now resting flat on the mattress, looked up at you "Sweet girl, I've got you, now stop hovering and sit on my damn face." His fingers moved impatiently as he urged you to take full advantage of your position.

The moment your hips settled against his mouth, he set to work, his tongue swiping hot and firm over your sensitive clit. You couldn't hold back the sharp gasp that escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively reached out behind you, grasping at the firm muscles of Zayne's chest for support.

Your hips began to move on their own, undulating and grinding against Zayne's mouth as waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your core throb and ache with a desperate need for release.

Zayne's hands gripped your buttocks tightly, spreading your cheeks apart as he delved deeper, his tongue plunging into your dripping entrance.

You felt Sylus settle in behind you. Somehow, in your haze, you didn't notice he was undressing. Now, his naked body pressed against your back and his stiff cock nestled between your ass.

His hands came around to cup your breasts. His thumbs and forefingers rolling and tugging at your nipples until they stiffened into peaks. Pleasure sparked from your breasts, adding to the growing inferno building between your thighs.

You leaned back against Sylus, resting your head on his chest as he toyed with your breasts. Your body was a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending alight and singing with bliss. Sylus's lips brushed your ear as he spoke.

"Did you know, Colonel, that our girl here is a messy squirter? You just have to press the right buttons at the same time. Our sweet kitten is sensitive to our touch, in all the right places." 

As if to demonstrate his point, Sylus's hands left your breast, trailing down the valley of your spine until it reached the apex of your thighs. His fingers brushed against your folds, parting them gently to allow the thick head of his cock to nestle between them. The heat of him radiated against your sensitive flesh, making your walls clench and flutter in anticipation.

Zayne's mouth shifted its focus, his tongue working that aching, throbbing bud at the apex of your sex. He suckled it gently, drawing it into his mouth as he laved it with the flat of his tongue.

Sylus let out an appreciative groan as he began to slowly sink himself inside you "Biiiiig stretch, baby," he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure "Fuck sweety, how are you still this fucking tight?"

A moan spilled from your lips as you felt Sylus bottom out inside you, his hips flush against your ass. The stretch was intense, your body struggling to accommodate his impressive size, even as your slick walls pulsed and rippled around him, trying to draw him deeper.

Lost in the exquisite sensation of being so utterly filled, your eyes had drifted shut. But as the pleasure crested, your lids fluttered open, and you found yourself staring into Caleb's intense, dark eyes. He stood before you, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his jaw and the prominent bulge straining against his pants.

Caleb couldn't look away, he watched the way you moved your hips shamelessly, chasing your pleasure without restraint. He saw the way Zayne's flat tongue licked Sylus's heavy balls, before continuing its journey to lave over your puffy clit. The lewd display hinted at a familiarity, a practiced ease between the two men. It was clear they had done this before, had pleasured and been pleasured by each other in countless intimate ways.

Sylus let out a sharp, breathy curse, his hips jerking involuntarily as he felt the slick glide of Zayne's tongue over his sensitive sack again. "Fuck, Zayne!"

Caleb moved closer to your side, drawn by the bounce and sway of your breasts. Unable to resist the alluring sight, he leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive peak of your nipple before he took it into his mouth.

His tongue swirled around the stiff bud, twisting and flicking in a way that sent electric sparks straight to your cunt. The added stimulation was too much, and with a sharp cry, your orgasm crashed over you.

You felt Sylus's fat cock head slam into that spot deep inside your core, and your body responded with a gush of fluid. Your walls clamped down viciously around his length, rippling and squeezing as your arousal gushed out around his shaft.

"Shit, she squirts so hard," Caleb groaned, pulling back to watch with hooded, appreciative eyes.

"Told you, she is a messy squirter" said sylus as he pulled out.

Blinking away the haze of pleasure, you found Caleb no longer beside you, but sitting back against the headboard of the large bed. To your surprise and delight, you saw that his cock had been freed from the confines of his pants. He was stroking it slowly, his fingers wrapped around it, the movement deliberate and enticing.

"Come here, princess" The timbre of his tone left no doubt that he wanted...no, needed you.

Still trembling slightly from your recent climax, you crawled towards Caleb without hesitation. Your body moved on instinct, already knowing what he craved, what he was silently begging for. You nestled yourself between his spread legs, your hands grasping his thighs as you leaned in, taking his thick, hard length into your mouth.

His head fell back against the headboard with a guttural moan. "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you close.

"Your mouth feels like a goddamn dream..."

You loved the way his hips twitched, his body responding instinctively to the feel of your tongue swirling around the sensitive crown of his cock.

Suddenly, a sharp slap rang out, the sound of skin connecting with skin echoing through the room. The stinging slap on your ass made you gasp around Caleb's shaft, the sound muffled and choppy.

"Ass up, love," Zayne ordered

Your body tensed for a moment when you felt Zayne's hard, heavy cock press against your cunt, anticipating the impending intrusion, before you felt him thrust forward, sheathing himself inside you with one powerful stroke.

"Fuck, you clench me like you were made for me," he rasped, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he began to move.

At first, his thrusts were fast and shallow, you felt yourself starting to adjust, your body falling into sync with his urgent pace, when suddenly, he changed tactics.

His thrusts slowed to a deep, sensual roll that had you seeing stars. The glide of his thick cock along your walls was exquisite torture, stoking the embers of your arousal into a raging inferno once more. Unable to help yourself, you let out a desperate, muffled plea around Caleb's cock.

"Pleaseeee..."

The sound was garbled, barely intelligible, but the meaning was clear. You needed more, craved the stimulation of his hard flesh splitting you open.

"That's it, Pips," He fisted a hand in your hair, guiding your head as he began to use your mouth "Take it deeper, baby. You love having your throat fucked, don't you?"

You could only nod, your jaw relaxing, allowing Caleb to sink even deeper into your mouth. Drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips as you gagged and sputtered around his thick cock, tears springing to your eyes from the intensity of the deep throat fucking.

His dick pulsed and throbbed against your tongue, the thick vein on the underside catching your attention. You ran the flat of your tongue along the ridged flesh, feeling it jump and twitch in response

Caleb let out a strangled curse, his head thrown back against the headboard as your mouth worked wonders on his cock. "Goddamn it!" he growled "Who taught her this?

"Who do you think, colonel?" Sylus asked, a note of pride evident in his tone. "Our feisty little kitten has had plenty of one on one lessons from yours truly."

You moved your head down, taking Caleb's thick cock deep into your throat until your nose pressed against his pelvis. The musky scent of his arousal filled your nostrils as you swallowed around his length, your throat constricting deliciously around him.

His reaction was immediate and intense. His arms shot up to the headboard above him, grasping the wood as if seeking an anchor amidst the storm of sensation.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut.

You began to bob your head up and down in the same relentless rhythm that Zayne was pounding into your core from behind. 

"Is it too much for you, sweety? You look like you're drowning in cock, kitten."

You tried valiantly to continue sucking Caleb, to bring him the same pleasure Zayne was giving you. But your orgasm crested and your body seized. The scream that tore from your throat was muffled by the thick cock lodged deep in your throat, your voice vibrating deliciously around Caleb's flesh.

The way your pussy clenched and rippled around Zayne was too much for him to resist. He slammed into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he found his release. His hot cum flooded your core, painting your walls as he ground his pelvis against your ass, pushing his cock as deep as it would go.

Sylus watched as Zayne continued to move, his cum dripping out of your pussy. "Would you look at that, she takes you beautifully, doesn't she, doctor?"

Before either of you could say something, Sylus was in moving. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all. He positioned you to straddle Caleb's hips, your back pressed against his chest, your ass hovering just above his cock.

And then he moved to kneel between your splayed thighs, his fingers gripping your pussy lips and spreading them wide. He watched as Zayne's release began to dribble out of your puffy hole.

Your head lolled back against Caleb's chest, your hair tickling his chin as you gasped for breath. Suddenly you felt something soft and silky being wrapped around your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

"Do you think she'll be able to take us both just as well, Colonel?"

Your other senses, already heightened from the intense pleasure, seemed to sharpen in response, your skin tingling with anticipation.

"This is my favorite part, when you give me that little gasp and then you squeeze me sooo tight" Caleb was thrusting his hips upward, his rigid cock sinking slowly into your core.

Your body instinctively reacted, your walls clenching around the thick shaft stretching you open. A gasp escaped your lips and your back arched slightly.

"That's it, baby. Just like that," Caleb praised you as he began to move beneath you.

Just as you were losing yourself in the delicious friction of Caleb's thrusts, you felt Sylus's fingers tighten on your hips, holding you in place. Your breath hitched as you felt the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, still slick with Zayne's release.

"Not so fast, I have to get in there too" 

"Are you fucking crazy?" Caleb asked, his body going rigid beneath you at the thought of Sylus joining in.

Zayne's calm voice cut through the air, reassuring Caleb  "She can handle it, she has done it before."

Before anyone could argue further, you took matters into your own hands, literally. Sylus had barely begun to speak when you reached down, your fingers wrapping around his cock. With a determined grip, you guided him to your entrance, the swollen head pushing insistently against your stretched folds.

Caleb gasped, his body tensing beneath you as he felt Sylus's cock nestle against his own. He bit back a curse, his fingers digging into the soft globes of your ass as he struggled to process the intense sensation. "I don't think we'll both fit," he said, his voice strained with concern.

But Sylus was already in motion, your eager guidance spurring him on. He began to push forward and your body yielded to the pressure, your walls stretching even wider to accommodate the thick intrusion.

Your arms moved back automatically, wrapping around Caleb's neck as you braced yourself for what was about to come.

It was pure bliss. As Sylus's cock sank deeper, you felt a rush of sensation that stole your breath away. The stimulation of having both men inside you, their cocks rubbing and throbbing against each other was indescribable.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against Caleb's shoulder as Sylus's hips met yours. In that moment, you knew you had found a new level of ecstasy, a feeling you would be chasing for the rest of your life. These men had ruined you for anyone else, had set a new standard for pleasure that you knew you could never do without.

"Yes," you hissed. "Use me. Fill me up. I want to feel you both." Your words were a breathless plea, a desperate demand for more of this exquisite torture.

Sylus flicked his gaze up to meet Caleb's hooded eyes. He found Caleb staring back at him, his chest heaving with labored breaths, his expression a mirror of the overwhelming pleasure etched on Sylus's own face.

Without a word spoken between them, the two men seemed to reach an unspoken agreement. They began to move in tandem, their hips rolling in a devastating rhythm that had your mind reeling. Sylus would pull back slowly, his cock dragging against Caleb's as he retreated, only to surge forward once more.

Caleb matched him, stroke for stroke, the two men working in perfect sync. The feeling of having not one, but two cocks pumping in and out of your was almost too much to bear. Your body was no longer your own, but a vessel for their shared desire, a playground for them to use for their mutual pleasure.

As they moved, their thick lengths rubbed and slid against each other. The drag of skin on skin, the press of their shafts pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of a mind shattering climax.

Just as you thought you might shatter from the sheer intensity, Caleb surged forward particularly hard and fast, his cock driving into you with a force that stole your breath away.

"Ooooh my god..." you moaned, your back arching as you clung desperately to Caleb's shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"Gods, kitten," he purred, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "There are two of us fucking you right now."

Your arms remained wrapped tightly around Caleb's shoulders and neck, anchoring yourself to him as your body rocked and bounced with the force of their thrusts. 

"You were made for this, love. Made for us," Zayne murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His words confirmed what your body already knew, that you were destined to be the center of their shared desire.

Even as your world narrowed down to the exquisite sensations assaulting your senses, you somehow managed to turn your head towards Zayne's voice. Guided by instinct and the heat of his breath, you found his lips in the darkness, your mouth fusing with his in a desperate, hungry kiss. He drank your moans of pleasure like a man starved, his tongue delving deep.

The stimulation of Sylus's fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing and circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, and Caleb's fingers pinching and tugging your nipples, sent you hurtling towards a devastating climax.. But it was the feeling of Zayne's lips wrapped around the tip of your tongue, suckling gently, that finally pushed you over the edge.

The orgasm that crashed over you was so intense, that you swore you lost consciousness for a few precious seconds. Your vision went white, your mind blanking out as undiluted ecstasy flooded every nerve ending. Pleasure so intense that it temporarily stole your grip on reality.

Caleb was the first to succumb, his hips slamming forward one last time before he stilled, buried to the hilt inside your clutching heat. A guttural, almost feral growl tore from his throat as his cock jerked and pulsed, spilling thick ropes of his hot seed deep into your core. The sensation of his release triggered Sylus's own, and he followed suit a few seconds later, his shaft throbbing and twitching as he emptied himself inside you, his release mixing with Caleb's.

The silk blindfold was removed from your eyes, and you blinked in the sudden light, your vision slowly adjusting as they pulled their softening cocks from your thoroughly used and dripping pussy,

You instinctively tried to close your legs, feeling a sudden surge of sensitivity and vulnerability. The movement caused a gush of their releases to spill out, the pearly fluid trickling down the curve of your ass and on the sheets beneath you.

But before you could find any relief in the soothing warmth of your own thighs pressed together, you felt Zayne's firm grip on your knees. He held your legs spread wide, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he kept you exposed.

"Oh no, Y/N," Zayne said  "Keep those legs spread open. We aren't done with you yet."

[ablobwhowrites]

Yandere dc, jinx y/n stuff

(everyone here is platonic but for the first idea of this y/n is here.)

I like to image sometimes Batman takes y/n to the justice league sometimes for 'good examples' as y/n is becoming a hero and I totally image just y/n wandering around the place bored because they thought hero stuff was more exciting but the same shit with the hero speeches and all but when a real problem happens, y/n isn't allowed to go because it's dangerous but y/n snuck to the mission and helped a bit because have you seen how jinx fights in the show. That's how y/n fights but jinx y/n was also bored so they used their little gimmick gadgets they had on them, They got in trouble after.

Also totally image that Diana likes having y/n around as she sees how they make some light of situations and she does question about y/n's 'hero costume' (it's basically the regular clothes jinx wears in the show but for this it's y/n's hero costume or something) and y/n likes Diana cause she bought them ice cream after Batman got mad at them and scolded them after sneaking around to do a mission that went well.

Duke: "wait so your hero name is jinx? That's it?"

Y/n: "yeah cause like if you think I won't be there, I'll be there like you jinxed yourself. You know?"

Duke: "...You know that's actually kinda good."

Y/n: "RIGHT!"

I imagine Duke and y/n just goofing off a lot cause y/n feels more comfortable around Duke and Alfred but everyone else, y/n has a weird list of people they trust as on the very very top is kinda Bruce don't ask y/n why because they won't tell you. Duke, Alfred, also kinda Stephanie again don't ask why and then second is basically every hero and bat family member except for the ones y/n has put on the top but the lost gets weird from there as is all the villains in Gotham that y/n considers friends because when y/n was kinda kid (I watched to much of the original Batman animated series so I'm kinda going with those kind of characters but mixed in with other kinds of batman media and stuff.)

Y/n also forgets that they have on their goggles they wear when making or repairing gadgets and when they take them off it's just the red lines on their face for about a hour from how long they have it on for. Also they once convinced superman to throw them through a window to get into a building and they successfully got into the building but had so many scars and glasses on them but they are alright now.

(that's it for my yapping session. If you guys like this and want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[formulafanfics13]

Not His Toy - LH44 🔥

masterlist

The latest article used a photo of her laughing. Not even a scandalous one, no kiss, no hand-holding, no drunk stumbles or exposed thighs, just her, caught mid-laugh outside a hotel lobby in Monaco, hair up, sunglasses low, wearing one of Lewis’s oversized shirts and sipping iced coffee like she didn’t know she was already a headline.

“Lewis Hamilton’s new toy?” “Mystery woman spotted with F1’s most eligible bachelor — is this just another fling?” “Hamilton seen leaving the same hotel three mornings in a row… playboy strikes again?”

She scrolled with trembling fingers, heart somewhere between rage and hollowness, her stomach curdling as each word sunk deeper. The captions weren’t even creative anymore. Just recycled poison. Same format, same misogyny, same faceless media voice pinning her down like she was a silhouette, no name, no past, no personality. Just a body in his orbit. A toy to be picked up, played with, discarded.

And Lewis said nothing. No denial, no confirmation. No soft photos posted on his story. No subtle caption to hint that she was anything more than a placeholder in his penthouse. Not even a fucking like. She was drowning in the silence.

The bedroom was dim, golden hour painting the walls in soft peach light. One of his jumpers hung off her body, loose and low enough to make her feel naked. The smell of his cologne lingered on the collar, a quiet, cruel reminder of the last time he’d kissed her neck from behind and whispered, "You smell like mine." It had felt so real then. So fucking real. Now it felt like a lie stretched across her skin.

She heard the shower shut off. Water off. Silence. His bare feet padding down the hallway. Her heart slammed harder. She stood up. Swallowed the scream in her throat and told herself this is the moment. The only way she could claw herself back from the humiliation. If he wouldn’t love her out loud, she wouldn’t let him love her at all.

The bathroom door opened. Lewis stepped out wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his waist, steam curling around him like smoke. His skin glowed warm from the heat, muscles slick, chest rising slow with every breath. His locs were wet and pulled back loosely, a few strands sticking to his temples. He looked perfect. Devastating. Familiar.

She could barely look at him.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft, eyes lighting up when he saw her standing there. “Did you-?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He blinked.

“I can’t do this,” she repeated, slower this time. Her voice cracked and she hated it. “Not like this.”

Lewis didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His entire expression shifted, the softness gone, replaced with something tense, guarded, unreadable. He stepped forward one pace, towel still clinging to his hips, steam still drifting off his skin. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, though his jaw was tightening by the second.

She swallowed hard. Her fingers clenched into fists. “I’m not your toy, Lewis.”

He flinched.

“I’m not your secret. I’m not some girl you can sneak around with and pretend doesn’t exist the second you step in front of a mic. I’m not some blurry tabloid extra that they get to name however they want because you won’t.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed something heavy. His eyes never left hers.

“Do you know what it feels like,” she whispered, “to wake up every morning and see my face under a headline calling me your ‘latest fling’? Do you have any idea how fucking humiliating it is to have people send me screenshots with laughing emojis? To get DMs saying I’m just your phase-of-the-month, and that when you're done with me, someone prettier will take my place? And you just… let it happen.”

“Stop,” he said sharply, low and cold.

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to tell me to stop when you never fucking started. You never corrected them. You never said my name. You never posted a single photo. You keep me in this, this limbo where we sleep in the same bed and say I love you in the dark, but I don’t exist in the light.”

“I’ve never said I love you in the dark,” he growled. “I said it like I meant it.”

She blinked, stunned by the venom in his voice. He took another step toward her. She backed away, like instinct, like survival.

“Don’t twist this,” he said, voice rough and rising. “Don’t twist the silence into something it’s not. You think I don’t love you because I haven’t made it official on Instagram? You think this isn’t real because I didn’t post a fucking selfie?”

“I think it’s not real because you never told the world I was yours,” she said, hollow, eyes burning. “You let them think I’m just another girl you’re fucking.”

His hands balled into fists at his sides. “I was protecting you.”

“From what?”

“From them.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” she asked, voice breaking again. “Why didn’t you ever just tell me?”

His mouth opened, and for the first time in years, Lewis Hamilton had no answer. That was the worst part. Not the silence. Not the media. Not even the comments. It was him not fighting for her in this moment. Not begging. Not fixing. Just… nothing.

She bent to grab her bag from the floor. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

Her spine stiffened. She looked up. He was in front of her now, fast, chest heaving.

“Move,” she said, her voice shaking.

He didn’t.

“Lewis-”

“Say it again,” he rasped, dark eyes locking with hers. “Say you’re leaving me.”

“I am.”

A pause. Then chaos. His hands were on her like a storm. Fast, rough, claiming. One at her jaw, tilting her face to him. The other wrapping around her waist, dragging her back into him like he’d die if she took another step away. “You have no idea what you mean to me,” he breathed. “You think I let them say that shit about you because I don’t care? I let them say it because if they knew who you really were, they’d destroy you.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, lip trembling. “I’d rather be destroyed than feel invisible.”

He looked like she’d punched him in the chest. “Don’t ever say that again,” he said, and his voice was wrecked now, not angry, not cold, just broken. “Don’t ever say you’d rather be destroyed than be safe with me. I’m trying to keep you alive in this fucking world.”

“I don’t want to be kept,” she said. “I want to be loved.”

Then he snapped. He kissed her like he was furious with her mouth. Like it had betrayed him. Like it was the last place he could be safe. Tongue and teeth, breath hot, hands shaking. She melted and fought at the same time, pushing at his shoulders even as her body betrayed her and kissed him back with everything she had.

“You want the truth?” he growled, mouth dragging down her throat. “I’ve wanted to go public since the day you fell asleep in my hoodie. But I’ve watched every girlfriend I’ve ever had get doxxed. Hunted. Threatened. People went after their families. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought hiding you was love.”

She whimpered as he grabbed the hem of the hoodie and yanked it over her head.

“But it wasn’t love,” he whispered. “It was fear. And I’m not fucking afraid anymore.”

He shoved her onto the bed, towel gone, his body flush against hers before she could speak. When he entered her, it was raw, desperate, unfiltered. No protection. No patience. Just a man trying to carve himself into the one thing he couldn’t lose.

She sobbed out his name, fingers gripping his shoulders as he slammed into her over and over again, each thrust brutal and wild and laced with everything he’d never said. “I love you,” he whispered, over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

She broke. Came undone around him. Tears streaked her cheeks. He chased her over the edge and came with a sound that was pure surrender, collapsing into her arms like he’d finally found peace. Minutes later, still trembling, he reached for his phone. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice small. He didn’t answer. Just pulled up Instagram, found the photo of her sleeping on his chest, her face half-hidden in his t-shirt, one hand curled around his neck.

He typed: "She’s not a mystery. She’s my home."

Then posted it. No filter. No warning. He turned the phone so she could see it. “Now let them fucking try me.”

[thestraybunny]

Vacation with Joshua

Pairing: Joshua Hong x AFAB!Reader Summary: You tried to enjoy your time by the pool on vacation, your favorite romance book open on your tablet, but it's hard to pay attention when your fiancé is a full distraction on his own. Especially wet. Word Count: 2652 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ Warning: Wet Joshua (a warning of itself), smut, unprotected sex A/N: I've had this in my saved fics for probably almost two months now? It meant to be a quick drabble but it turned into a small one shot. Its not really edited, i guess its okay. Just trying to get myself posting and writing again more. Enjoy.

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This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair at all. No one should look as good as Joshua did emerging from under the water, pushing his wet dark hair out of his face in the process. Giving you a perfect view of his beautiful, sculpted body, water still clinging to his skin as he waded toward the side of the pool. His eyes fixed on something.

You.

He was going to the side of the pool where you were lounging under one of the umbrellas, shielding you from the sun but relished in the way the summer weather was warming your exposed skin. Large dark sunglasses resting on your nose, hiding away your hungry gaze, and a tablet resting in your hands; opened to the newest installment of your favorite romance stories. Two drinks sweating next to you, ice quickly melting into the liquid from the heat and the glass slick with condensation.

You both had quickly did away with the little umbrellas that was included, with them tossed haphazardly in your bag though you didn’t have intentions on keeping them at all. Just something done out of habit probably.

“How’s your book?” He asked, but from how intently you were watching him, it was clear you were not reading a single word on the screen. Too bad though, it was a particularly spicy scene that your loving fiancé had distracted you from, but you weren’t complaining. You had a better scene before you.

“It’s good. I thought I was going to finish it today, but I keep getting distracted.” You dramatically sigh, resting the tablet on your lap to grab your drink. “How’s swimming?”

“Distracted huh? I didn’t know someone could tear you from the reverse harem and the orgies came with it.” He teased, his large hands planting on the hot concrete to lift himself out of the pool and sat himself right on the edge. His body twisted so he was still giving you his attention. “It’s fun, but it would be more fun with you in there with me.”

“I think we have established Mr. Hong, that you are one of the leading causes of any distraction of mine. While I love reading about Lady Hart and her several lovers, the view of you dripping wet is much better.” You answer, this time closing your tablet and slipping it into your bag. If him just swimming around got you distracted, you might as well give up now that he was giving you attention. Shirtless and wet. “And I told you, I wasn’t in the mood to get wet…”

Joshua arched a brow, and your dark glasses hid how hard you rolled your eyes.

“In the pool at least.” You add, moving to hand him his drink. Which he took and smirked at you from behind the rim. “I do have to shower you know.”

“Haha very funny.” He remarks, taking generous gulp of the mixed drink. Watered down now, but it didn’t matter to either of you. The whole point of the weekend was to not worry so much. Who cares if the ice melted so the sweet drinks were nothing more than alcohol and juice flavored waters, or if you both ignored important calls from work.

Who cares if you both had sex at least three times that day, including riding him on the balcony of your hotel room right before the sun came up. Who cares that this was the first time you left the room too, just to go to the pool and eat lunch, and who cares that you now want to be back in the hotel room. Joshua can order you both room service after you milk him dry.

The thought already was making you wet again, and your cunt clenched around nothing at the mere idea of him inside you. Who cares that you wanted him to absolutely ruin you this weekend, and that he wanted to absolutely ruin you too.

Which from the way his eyes were running over you, knowing full well that you were watching him behind those glasses. Catching the way your thighs were shifting slightly and how your bathing suit top didn’t hide your nipples pressing against the fabric. He knew the signs all too well.

You don’t remember what excuse Joshua made to have you both leave the pool and go back to your room, just that he handed you his t-shirt to throw on while he grabbed your bag. He nearly made you trip over your sandals pulling you back into the hotel. After that, the trip back up was a blur, your brain was already on what you were going to do once in the room.

The door barely closed behind you when he had you pulled flushed against him, his plush lips pressed against yours in a fever. Tongue pressing eagerly against the seams of your own lips, and you were quick to let him deepen the kiss. Your hands pushing through his dark hair, still wet from the pool, while his own were already trying to pull off the shirt and your bathing suit. Your sunglasses were already lost somewhere near the door.

“There was no point of you wearing this,” Joshua growled between heated kisses, and this time he could see you roll your eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t going to go in a burka or be naked at the pool. Unless you wanted me to give everyone a show..” you couldn’t finish the sentence when his mouth pressed back against yours. A hand now grasping your hair in his fists, while the other was holding you against him. The offending material that was your bathing suit now lost in ether of your hotel room, and you were naked.

“The only show you’re going to give is to me. As you come apart on my cock so many times you’re crying,” You had to bite back the moan with the way his words would just change when you were alone. Please, do not get this wrong, one of the things you adored about Joshua was that he was such a gentleman and polite with his words. It was one of the things that made you fall in love with him. But there was just something about how that all disappears when you smart off to him in bed, and those polite words are replaced with filth. His knee finds its way between your thighs, pushing them apart to give enough room for his hand. Fingers barely brushing the slick folds, smirking that you were already so wet for him already.

“Shua…”

“Oh, my sweet angel.” It was almost condescending sounding, with the way he breathed it out, his mouth quickly moving from your lips to your breast. Stopping you from pushing his swim trunks down, to free his hard cock that was straining against the material, “you can’t say my name like that…”

“Joshua…” You spoke again this time adding a whimper that was going to be his undoing. He was always the type that would like to take his time with you, make sure you are near a mess before he finally gives you want you want, make you beg for it. Only he didn’t need to do all that other work right now, you were already begging for him. “Just fuck me.. please…”

“Fuck,” There was a groan to his words, and you were right to add that whimper. Even if you lost the feeling his fingers starting to circle your clit, ready to tease you until you were cumming on his fingers. Or almost. “How can I say no to that?”

Joshua then let you push his still wet trunks off him, finally letting his thick hard cock free. His skin was flush and hot, so it briefly made you wonder if he was still damp from the pool, or if this was already a thin layer of sweat from his worked up state. Your hand found its way around his shaft, feeling it twitch under your touch as you gave it a gentle pump before letting go. Your own fingers brushing against the sensitive member as you did like he had with his own.

You went to crawl onto the bed when you felt his hands grasp your hips, holding you to the edge of the bed. Joshua deciding how he wanted you instead of letting you decide. You wanted to skip right to it, and he gave you that, but he was going to fuck you in the position he wanted and that was on the edge of the bed.

He helped adjust so you were comfortable on the edge of the bed, your legs spread just enough to leave you completely open to him and ready for him to take you. Cunt glistening for him without him needing to do anything else but emerge from the water the way he did. A siren luring you in and bringing you to your death.

Luckily for your case, it wasn’t your death that he was going to bring you to. Though it wasn’t a bad way to go.

“You sure you don’t want me to work you some baby,” He murmured, his thumb running over your clit briefly before pushing it into you. Feeling the muscles clench tightly around the thick digit, “Or have I fucked you so much this weekend that you are ready for me any time? Hmmm?”

“Yes… fuck me..” You nod, pushing your hips back against his thumb despite your words, earning a clear chuckle from him. He didn’t remove his thumb right away, instead leaning forward to plant several kisses over your shoulder.

“God I love you,” the words fell his lips that was accompanied with a throaty moan, pressing an open mouth kiss over your shoulder. Then your head was pressed against the mattress, right as his thumb left your needy cunt. Your inner walls clenching desperately now around nothing.

He kept your head down when he slide the tip of his cock through your soaked lips, coating it with your slick. You went to return the words, tell him that you loved him back when he caught your entrance, and the mattress captured the words he pushes forward. You tried to wiggle your hips back, but he grabbed you at the waist and you were suddenly completely full of his cock.

A wanton cry left your lips as a clear moan leaves him, not allowing you a moment to adjust before he started to fuck into you. His hips slapping into you with brutal force, and you were grabbing at anything to try and level you. Your inner walls were already spasming around his cock, feeling every inch of him drag quickly through. Filling you over and over.

You could hear his grunt and breathy moans behind you, mixing with your own. He was taking your request exactly the way you wanted it. Just for him to fuck you the way he was, fingers massaging the flesh that he pressed into, his cock filling you completely. Words also started to fill the air, asking if this was exactly what you wanted.

“You like being treated like a fuck toy, don’t you?” He asked, grinding himself into you, watching as you nod pathetically. Then you were empty of him, and you nearly started crying because you could feel the pressure of release starting to build. You didn’t want to lose that momentum, you didn’t want to lose the build, and he did exactly like that to you. Feeling one of his hands on your thigh, you gasped when he easily flipped you onto your back.

Letting you see the way Joshua looked right then. His skin still hot and flushed, pupils blown, and mouth dropped from pleasure. His damp hair falling over his face, sticking to parts of his forehead. His eyes trailed over your own body, watching the way your breasts bounced with each panting breath, your own skin hot to the touch, and your own face rivalling his own. You were a perfect sight to him as he was to you.

Grasping his cock in his hands, he stroked himself as he leaned back over you. His other running flat over your body, through the valleys of your breast toward your neck. As his fingers light grasped your throat, you could feel the head of his cock returning to your entrance.

“Maybe, I should use you like this more often…” He muses, applying expert pressure on your throat, just enough to make it hard to catch your breath. “Would you like that, my angel?”

“Shua…” You managed out, feeling him push back into you as he kept the pressure. It was impossible to not let your eyes roll at the pleasure, not wanting to look away from the smile that plays over his lips. He knew the answer, you didn’t need to tell him. “Please…”

Dropping over you, Joshua hooked one leg as his mouth found yours. Pulling and capturing your moans with everything he was doing. The way he was teasing you with kisses, the pressure on your throat, and his cock pounding into you. Finally angled just right to press against the wall that house the bundle of nerves that was making you see stars.

The pressure starting to build in way you couldn’t imagine. He kept his hand where it was on your neck, but his mouth had moved from yours down to tease one of your breasts briefly. You were nothing but a mess under him, gasping, moaning his name, begging him to let you cum. That release was right there and all he needed was to push you just right and you were falling apart for him.

You would try to move your own hand down there, start circling your clit to help push you further, but Joshua wouldn’t let you. When he was fucking you like this, he wanted to be the sole reason you were falling apart. He didn’t need you to help him in any way. Joshua knew your body well enough to know just what to do, and when to do it. Even if he took his time sometimes.

Like now.

“Joshua… please… Let me…” You begged pathetically, and he only laughed before going back to sucking a bruise into your shoulder.

“Let you what, angel?” He asks, his hand already snaking between you, trying to not show that he was also very close to the edge. You felt so good, squeezing him, sounding so sweet. The sounds leaving your mouth and of how wet you were for him still. It was the closest to heaven he felt he could get at this moment.

“Let me cum!” You cry out, and of course, Joshua couldn’t refuse. His fingers tracing your clit, teasing it before finally touching it, right when you needed it the most. It was like everything around you exploded. Your vision blurred, your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your body shaking and muscles spasming, hands gripping his shoulders, and cunt clenching around him.

It was like a waterfall of curses started to fall out of Joshua, unable to stop them as his quickly followed. Filling your cunt with everything he had. His own eyes squeezed shut, and his own mouth opened with several words falling from his lips. Different things like curses, names that never left the bedroom, and sweet praises.

You both didn’t move for a moment, soreness finally taking over you both. The need to eat to regain your energy was what finally tore you apart. Only Joshua didn’t let you get up right away. Holding your legs as he watched his cum slowly drip out of you. A proud smirk playing over his face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and then lets order food.” He spoke slipping onto his knees, ready to get you cleaned up.

[bonnieandclaide]

Making this its own post, cause why the hell not!

Just wrote something real quick on this text post by @judeval! A reserve backstory IceMav AU where Mav is the son of Admiral Duke Mitchell with a tragic backstory and Ice is a nobody up-and-comer determined to climb up the ranks.

TW Suicide Mention

—————————

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.”

Wait hang on. Maverick had said that?

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 🥵

[camficdiner]

I am absolutely LOVING your fic diner works! Can I request 1.5 (age gap, older woman), 2.14, 3.2, 4.3, where the Sharks lost, and Will took it personally because he played "bad" and thought reader deserved better so she surprises him the next morning in his jersey? Please and thank you

☕️Cam’s fic diner - order 061

🍓 thank you for dining with us at Cam’s Fic Diner.

Whether it’s slow burn or fast smut, jealous stares or whispered confessions, one bed or one big misunderstanding — we’re here to feed your heart and your hormones.

Order as much as you want. There’s always room for more love stories here. 💞

 💬” Lost Without You”  

✨description and prompts

Character: Will Smith

Prompt: a slow, sleepy morning in his kitchen, wearing his jersey

type: romantic smut

wc ~ 1.1k

additional trope: older reader 

✨🛼🍒🧁

⸻

He doesn’t sleep much after the game.

You hear him pacing sometime around 2am. Floorboards creaking. A shower turning on, then off. By the time you wake up, the bed is cold and empty, and he’s gone.

You find him in the kitchen.

Still in boxers. Hair damp from the shower. Slouched against the counter, staring into a half-empty mug like it might give him the answers he didn’t find on the ice.

“Will?”

He doesn’t look at you.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You walk in slowly, bare feet on tile, hands curled into the hem of the jersey you pulled on the moment you noticed he wasn’t beside you.

It’s his jersey.

Hangs off your frame. Swallows your thighs. Smells like cold air and fabric softener and him.

He finally looks up — and the way his jaw tightens nearly breaks you.

“Baby…” His voice cracks. “What’re you doing in that?”

“Thought maybe you forgot how good it looks on me.”

You’re smiling, but it’s soft. Fragile. Because you see it now — the tension in his shoulders, the guilt in his eyes.

He shakes his head and looks away.

“You shouldn’t have come to that game.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I played like shit.”

“You didn’t.”

“We lost.”

You step closer. He doesn’t stop you. Just lets you come into his space, press your hands to his chest.

“Will. Look at me.”

He does.

And he looks wrecked.

“You think I care about the score?” you whisper. “You think I want you for the win column?”

“You deserve better.”

“You are better.”

You reach up and cup his jaw. His hands finally find your waist — fingers curling into the fabric of his own name across your chest.

“You’re twenty. You’re brilliant. You’re already so much more than they see. And you’re mine."

He exhales shakily.

You kiss him.

Soft at first. Barely-there. Just your mouth on his. Then deeper, warmer. Your arms around his neck. His hands gripping your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting you onto the counter.

You smile against his mouth. “Right here?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Right here. Don’t wanna let go.”

You wrap your legs around him, bare skin against the cool tile, and he presses his forehead to yours.

“You look so good in this,” he says, voice low. “Fuck, I think I fell in love the first time I saw you in my jersey.”

You kiss his cheek. “Then take it off me.”

He pulls the jersey up — just enough. Just over your hips. Leaves it pooled around your arms and shoulders like he wants to keep part of it on you.

His hands are warm and slow. He touches you like he’s trying to forget every mistake, every missed pass, every time he thought he wasn’t enough.

And you let him.

You guide him in with a soft gasp. Let him fuck you slow — no rush, no edge — just hips rolling into yours, his mouth on your neck, your hands in his hair.

“You feel so good,” he whispers. “Every time. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

“Me,” you murmur. “You get me. That’s all you ever had to do.”

He moans into your skin and fucks you deeper, slower — like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

You come with your name on his lips, his praise in your ear, and his hoodie still wrapped around your waist. He follows right after — buried deep, breath shaking, arms tight around your body like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

And when it’s over?

He just holds you.

Silent. Soft. Pressing kisses to your hair.

“You were always enough, Will,” you whisper. “Even when you don’t see it. I do.”

He carries you to bed without saying a word.

One arm under your thighs, the other around your back — like you’re something delicate, like he can’t risk dropping you even for a second.

The sheets are still warm from where you left them. He settles you down gently, follows you under the covers, and pulls you into his chest like it’s the only place he ever wants to be.

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet that comes after something vulnerable. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… full.

His fingers trail up and down your spine. Slow. Thoughtful. Like he needs to keep touching you just to remind himself you’re still here.

“I hate when I get like this,” he whispers.

You press a kiss to his collarbone.

“Like what?”

“Like… like I forget I’m allowed to feel things. Like I have to be the one who shakes it off faster.”

You shift, hand coming up to rest gently against his cheek.

“You’re allowed to care,” you murmur. “You’re allowed to feel heavy. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

He exhales into your hair.

“You’re so good to me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you,” you reply, simple and certain

He closes his eyes.

“I think I’d be lost without you.”

You don’t say anything.

You just hold him tighter.

Because it’s okay. You have him. And you’ll keep having him — on the bad nights, on the heavy mornings, on the quiet Sundays in bed.

Always.

[bnhaobservation]

Ultra Age bits: the Q&A (Part 1)

I've split in two parts the Q&A section in the fanbook so that I can add to it the images.

Horikoshi-sensei gives you the “plus ultra” best answers to the questions he received from readers from all over the world!!

"MY HERO ACADEMIA"

READERS' QUESTIONS BOX

The answers to questions submitted to Horikoshi-sensei to celebrate the completion of My Hero Academia have arrived! Behind-the-scenes stories of the production and character backgrounds are also revealed!

Q. 01 Who is your favorite character?

A. 01 I like them all. On that note, I don't usually prioritize my own preferences when deciding the progression of characters, but when it came to Tokoyami, I made him quite strong and portrayed him doing great things.

Q. 02 Who was the most fun character to draw?

A. 02 It depends on what kind of fun we’re talking about, but in terms of difficulty, it was Deku and Katsuki. Katsuki is especially difficult to balance, and I think he is a character that is hard to recreate. In terms of being easy to draw, it was Mirko. She was fun because her character was one that just fought without any restrictions or limitations.

Q. 03 There are a lot of characters in the series. What do you pay attention to when drawing them?

A. 03 I set the bar so that I can consider it a success that, even if readers can't remember their names, they would still be able to talk with their friends at school on Friday of the week that Jump was released, remembering them as "the one with the arm that turns into a gun" or "the one with the cellophane tape" and so on.

Q. 04 Was there anything you often ate or drank while writing your manuscript?

A. 04 I drank Craft Boss drinks* as if they were water. They’re delicious. I think I bought several boxes and drank 5-7 bottles every day. It’s delicious, but I'm refraining from drinking it now because excess is bad. Please don't try this at home.

* Craft Boss is a brand of RTD beverages by Suntory Foods. Their first product was a bottled coffee drink called "Craft Boss Black", and since then, the company has expanded to include beverages other than coffee.

Q. 05 I want to be a manga artist because I admire Horikoshi-sensei! Is there anything important to know in order to become a manga artist?

A. 05 I think it's important to keep going. Once you stop, it becomes harder to get back into it as time goes by. Also, it's just a feeling, but I feel like I was able to grasp how to draw when I thought of each character as a "person" rather than a "character". I didn't realize it until my second serialization was canceled. I think it was quite late, but I was able to grasp it even if it was late, so I'm sure you'll figure it out as well if you keep doing it.

Q. 06 Was there anything that you kept in mind when writing "My Hero Academia"?

A. 06 There are many things, but I was especially conscious of what I think is cool. I broke down what it was that moved me when I read shonen manga, and tried to put it into words. I was drawn in by the overwhelming strength, the pretentiousness, the unprecedented extravagance, the surprising developments, and the amazing special moves, but what I liked and was moved by most of all was how a character kept getting back up even when he was in tatters. Ever since I was a kid, I've loved how Goku's gi* was in tatters. I felt like I could do something as long as I kept this in mind.

* Gi, or to be exact, 'dōgi' (道着) or 'keikogi' (稽古着) is a traditional uniform worn for training in Japanese martial arts and their derivatives and it's what Son Goku from "Dragon Ball" wears almost all the time.

Q.07 What art materials do you use when drawing manuscripts and color illustrations?

A.07 For manuscripts, I use 110kg IC*. If you have normal to weak pen pressure, I think 135kg is better. For color, I import analog manuscripts and color them in Photoshop. I still don't understand the tools, so I color steadily like I would with analog.

* IC INC. was a Japanese manufacturer that used to plan, manufacture, and sell manga art supplies, stationery, and instructional books.

Q.08 Tell us the most memorable color illustration you drew for “My Hero Academia”!

A. 08 The cover of volume 35 left a strong impression on me. It was originally an illustration that became the cover of Jump, and with Jump covers, you get instructions in advance like “I want the cover to have this kind of image, so please draw it like this.” I felt the passion in the instructions at that time, “I want it to be really cool.” So I tried my best and I came up with a really cool design, and it really made me feel like we were a team.

Q. 09 I would like to know the secret and thoughts that allowed you to continue drawing “My Hero Academia” for such a long period of time!

A. 09 It all comes down to one thing: living up to the expectations of the people who continue to read it. There have been countless times when this feeling has gone to waste, but without it, I would never have been able to draw it. The longer the series went on, the bigger it got, and it was hard on my body, but when it was over, I thought it was fun.

Q. 10 What was Horikoshi-sensei’s daily schedule while serializing it?

A. 10 First of all, when I wake up, I sit down at my desk and think straight. If I still can’t think of anything, I’ll take the plunge and sleep or do something else, then sit down at my desk and persist.

Q.11 What did you do on your days off?

A. 11 I either slept or played games.

Q. 12 What was the happiest thing during the serialization?

A. 12 I can’t decide! If I had to pick one, it would be that the survey results for the second chapter were good. You can usually tell whether the initial reaction is good or bad by the second chapter, so the results were clearly different from the previous two serializations, and I was excited, thinking, “Did I do this?”

Q. 13 What subject will Izuku be teaching now that he’s become a teacher?

A. 13 History, Hero history.

Q. 14 Which functions does the armor that Izuku received from All Might and Class A have?

A. 14 It has functions that simulate the abilities of OFA, such as the “Black Whip” made of elastic cables and cables with tensile strength, and it also has functions that are subdivided and expanded from Armored All Might and Hercules. It is very multifunctional because it also serves as a combined test.

Q. 15 Was Bakugou able to get All Might’s autograph?

A. 15 He did get his autograph. Normally, All Might’s autograph is completed with a mark, but Katsuki said “I don’t need a mark” as proof that it was given to him by All Might in his true form. I think he cherishes the memories of receiving the remains of the armor after the battle with AFO.

Q. 16 After his debut as a pro hero, did Bakugo make his mark on the list of high-income taxpayers?

A.16 He’s not number one, but he’s ranked in.

Q. 17 What kind of “awkward but equal fan service” does Todoroki do now that he’s a pro hero?

This may be rude, but I’m a big fan of a certain pro soccer player, so I wrote this with his fan service in mind. The way he waves is cute, and instead of just waving randomly, it feels like he’s waving to you personally. Also, when signing autographs, he always looks you in the eye. It’s the player Mitoma Kaoru, isn’t he really cool?

Q. 18 Is Todoroki still as naïve* as he is now an adult?

A. 18 I feel a bit uncomfortable saying he’s naive, but I think he hasn’t changed in the sense that he takes what people say at face value, for better or worse.

* ‘Tennen no mama’ (天然のまま) actually translates as “in its natural state” or “as is”. It can also mean “unprocessed” or “untouched”. The meaning depends on the context, but it generally refers to something not altered or treated by humans, remaining in its original, natural condition. Since in this contest it refers to him taking things at face value we might assume in this contest it means “naive”.

Q. 19 Did Ochako confess her feelings to Izuku?

A. 19 Please read volume 42 and just imagine it.

Q. 20 What is Iida's eyesight? When he's in his hero suit, he has no glasses, but does he wear contact lenses?

A. 20 It's 0.8. When he's in his costume, the lenses in his helmet adjust his eyesight.

Q. 21 Tsuyu's room is described as "slightly ethnic," but what kind of things are displayed there?

A.21 It may not be strictly ethnic, but it seems to have a lot of paludarium-like plants and moss.

Q.22 Do Kirishima's classmates in Class A know about his high school debut?

A. 22 They know. After the second battle, he talked about it in casual conversation without any particular hesitation. And after going Pro, he proudly spoke about it in the media. It's hinted at a little in chapter 430.

Q.23 What is Yaoyorozu’s favorite brand of tea?

A. 23 She apparently often drinks Makaibari tea.

Q. 24 Have Tokoyami and Kurokage been together since they were little? Did they ever fight?

A. 24 They’ve always been together. When they were little, Kurokage would get violent when they went to sleep, so they would turn the lights on at evening. It was a nightly ritual for Tokoyami to say “good night” and “sorry for the bright lights,” and Kurokage would reply “good night” and “it’s okay.” There’s only one flashback panel in volume 38, but I drew it because I had that background in mind. I think it would have been better if it had more panels.

Q.25 Mineta’s “mogi mogi”* looks like grapes and looks delicious, but can you eat them?

A. 25 You can’t. You’ll die.

* Mineta’s Quirk in Japanese isn’t called “pop off” but ‘mogimogi’ (もぎもぎ), same as the Mogi Mogi Fruit Gummies (もぎもぎフルーツグミ), which are gummy candies that look like grapes attached to vines and that, just like the real fruits, one can pick from the connected vine shaped gummy candy. They come in three flavors: grape, muscat, and melon soda. Due to this I let the Japanese name instead than translating it as “pop off”.

Q.26 In the final episode, there was a scene where a building with a lightning mark that reminded me of Kaminari and a building that resembled an amplifier that reminded me of Jiro were drawn. Are those their offices?

A. 26 Yes. It’s just as they said in volume 41. Kaminari was the one who became independent later.

Q.27 Now that she has become a Pro Hero, is Jiro still continuing with music?

A. 27 She’s still doing it. In fact, with the hero now finding himself with more free time on his hands, she’s become more active in music. When she has time, she sometimes teaches Eri how to play the guitar or bass.

Q.28 Was there a reason why Sero has a beard 8 years later?

A. 28 He grew it because it’s fashionable. I have an image of people who dress in ethnic fashion having beards, so that's why he grew it.

Q. 29 Did Aoyama transfer to another high school after he dropped out of U.A. High School?

A. 29 After turning himself in to the judicial system, he re-entered.

Q.30 In the last panel of the last episode, Ashido’s horns look like they’re growing, but how much do they grow in a year?

A. 30 The rate of growth may change as she grows. They may grow even more in five years.

Q.31 Did Shoji have any contact with the girl he saved in volume 37 after that?

A.31 I was planning to draw it as an interlude in the comics, but I forgot about it and left it as it was. During the sports festival in Shoji’s first year, she realized that Shoji was at U.A. She thought about contacting him, but she felt that her existence was a painful thing from the past for Shoji, and she shouldn’t dampen Shoji’s mood as he was working hard and looking at the future. After the second war, he apparently received a letter of thanks from that girl saying “I’m fine” and a photo of her smiling.

Q. 32 Does Ojiro’s “tail” move depending on his emotions?

A. 32 Yes. It has been confirmed by Class A that when he is happy, he stands up straight and wags his tail.

Q. 33 Hagakure’s Quirk sometimes had bugs and made her appear, but after 8 years, was it possible for her to turn her Quirk on and off?

A. 33 That was a bug in the Quirk, so it couldn’t be turned on and off. However, since the bug was found, it was decided that her being naked wasn’t okay, so she developed a special suit and began to wear it. The bug did not appear again after that, but 8 years later, during activities with Aoyama as his sidekick, the bug occurred again and her figure was captured on camera for the first time. Since then, her charts have skyrocketed.

Q. 34 Did Sato-kun learn how to cook by himself, such as reading recipe books? Or did he learn from someone?

A. 34 At first, he followed the recipe, but I gradually added more and more adjustments and evolved his cooking into something original. That's how it is with everything.

Q. 35 What is Koda-kun’s favorite animal?

A. 35 Rabbits. But Mirko seems a bit scary.

Q.36 Shinso-kun had long hair in the final chapter. Is that because he admired Eraser Head and is growing it out?

A. 36 It’s a sign of respect for Aizawa. Actually, I was planning to have him with his hair down when he reappeared in volume 34, but I wanted to draw him hanging upside down, and as a result I wasn’t sure in what state his hair would be in, so I left it as it was.

[tortoisebore]

I would love to see sirius telling james about how he told remus that he loves him please!! I loveee their friendship and i would love to see them being super gossipy and cute!! 😊😊😊

i feel like they were definitely dishing pretty immediately bc they talk so often 👯‍♂️ like they were most certainly texting that same night & it was probably like:

james at exactly 12:00am: Happy new year !!!!!!!!!!

sirius: happy new year!!

james: How’s Boston?? Is she still standing without me Tell her I’ll be back soon 🫶

sirius: she’s still here still cold as fuck she said she missed me more 🫶 

james: You laugh but that will genuinely make me cry 

sirius: dw she misses u lots did u guys go out

james: We did !!!  Found a rooftop bar without a cover to watch the park fireworks

sirius: gorgeous!!

james: Reg’s friends bailed last second so he tagged along They had a $10 champagne special!! So fun We should go next year!!

sirius: fucking excuse me don’t hang out with reg what the fuck betrayal </3

james: How’s Remus !!

sirius: extremely unsubtle  i hate u he’s great very stunning very sweet he loves me like actually this time it was a whole thing fucked me very beautifully  and now we are enjoying ice cream on his couch watching movies also he's coming to nyc for school next summer so i don't have to fuck off to colorado forever very successful day overall!!

james: Huh!!!!!! Pause!!!!!

sirius: pausing which part

james: You really said it??? Sirius 🥹

sirius: i did 🥹 so did he but i did it first!!

James: You did it first!!!!! I’m gonna cry

sirius: stop it  don’t 

james: It’s happening It’s so happening I’m so happy for you

sirius: be cool jamie come on it’s nbd just the most wonderful person on earth loves me just me being capable of loving him back without combusting every 30 seconds no big

james: There are tears streaming down my face How did you say it??

sirius: oh i blurted big time blurted while we were on a walk

james: Of course you did This is the happiest day of my life Lily’s concerned about the emotion of it all so this has to stop now I can’t think about it anymore or we’ll have to go home But I’ll call tomorrow for the whole story don’t worry!!!

sirius: of course ❤️ i love u ❤️ happy new year ❤️ don’t call before noon

james: Well I’m not an idiot Love you ❤️ Tell Remus too Happy new year ❤️

and then:

lily: Happy New Year!! Please tell me why my boyfriend is crying

sirius: he’s fine don’t worry happy new year ❤️

[littlepinkbirdie]

Coffee Grounds & Clear Skies — Part Two

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader Setting: A cozy off-base café, then a walk under the stars Vibe: Sweet, gentle, tentative first date warmth Word Count: ~1,600

You spent the rest of the day at work replaying his smile over and over — the way his glasses slid down when he got nervous, how he ducked his head when he asked you out, like he half-expected you to laugh. You didn’t, of course. You said yes. You said yes so quickly it made him blush all the way up to his ears.

By the time you step into the little café just off the beach, the sun’s dipping low, painting the sky in soft pastels that match the soft flutter in your chest. Bob’s already there — of course he is — standing awkwardly by the counter with two drinks in hand, like he couldn’t decide which you’d like better.

When he sees you, he straightens up so fast he almost spills both.

“You’re here! Hey — hi. Um, I — I wasn’t sure if you’d want something warm or cold, so I got both, but you don’t have to —”

You laugh, stepping closer to rescue one of the cups. “Bob. Breathe.”

He huffs out a shy laugh of his own, shoulders relaxing a little as he hands you the iced latte. “Thanks. I’m — I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” you say honestly. And you mean it more than he probably knows.

You find a corner table tucked by a big window that looks out at the ocean. The café is small and quiet, the hum of conversation and low music filling the comfortable gaps when neither of you quite knows what to say next.

For a while, you just talk about nothing — movies you both love, a book he’s been trying to finish, the best diner near base for pancakes at 2 a.m. Every now and then, Bob says something that makes you laugh so hard you have to hide your face behind your cup — and every time, he looks so proud and flustered at the same time.

He tells you about growing up in Kansas — how his mom still sends him homemade cookies when she knows he’s stressed about a mission. You tell him about the time you got stuck on a layover in Denver for twelve hours and made friends with a stray cat at the airport. He listens like it’s the most fascinating story in the world.

At some point, he notices the sky turning from pink to indigo through the window. He glances over, then back at you, like he’s working up the courage for something.

“Would you — um — would you maybe want to take a walk? Along the beach? If you’re not too cold, I mean.”

You grin, finishing the last sip of your drink. “I’d love that.”

Outside, the air is cool but not cold, the waves rolling up the sand in gentle hushes. Bob walks beside you, close enough that your arms brush every so often. You think about just grabbing his hand — but you wait, because part of you wants to see if he’ll do it first.

He does. After a few false starts — one brush, then another — he finally slides his pinky against yours, then his whole hand, fingers threading so carefully with yours it makes your chest ache. His palm is warm, a little clammy with nerves. You squeeze it, just so he knows he’s doing fine.

You talk about everything and nothing again — about the constellations overhead, about how much he loves the quiet after a long flight. He tells you he likes this beach because it’s always a little empty at night, so you don’t have to share it with the world.

When you reach a driftwood log halfway up the shore, you sit down, shoulders touching. Bob leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking out at the dark ocean like it’s something he needs to memorize.

“I’m really glad you said yes,” he says after a minute. His voice is softer than the waves. “I was — I was so sure you’d say no.”

“Why would I say no?” You tilt your head, nudging your shoulder against his. “Bob, you’re — you’re one of the best parts of my day.”

He looks at you then, really looks, like he’s trying to find the joke — and when he sees there isn’t one, he blushes again. You’re pretty sure you could live off that sight for weeks.

Before either of you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss him. It’s shy at first, a gentle brush of lips, and then he exhales like he’s been holding his breath forever. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, careful and warm.

When you pull back, his eyes are wide behind his glasses, mouth curved in a smile you want to bottle up and keep forever.

“Can I — can I take you out again?” he asks, like you could ever say no.

You laugh, pressing your forehead to his. “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

And when you walk back, shoes dangling from your hands, sand sticking to your ankles, Bob’s hand never leaves yours — steady and sure as the moon climbing higher in the sky.

Author note: HAII HERE IS PART TWO HOPE U ENJOY @sunflowrhaze

[bonnieandclaide]

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

TW Suicide mention

—————————

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?

[notbecauseofvictories]

I've seen that "the immortal loses their loved one but not their loved one's family; what if the immortal stayed close, followed them down the generations?" post a dozen times, and I understand it's intended to be sweet---but every single time I see it, all I can think is that it's straight-up the beginning of a horror story.

[mossfeed]

hope everyone’s ready for 4 more years of infograph posting on ig

[crossbackpoke-check]

philadelphia where love goes to…..be reborn?? crazy stuff happening here!!

i-

yeah you know what, that narrative makes sense, continue 🤝 philly