#mickey is allowed feelings about it

[tequilaasquared]

So I totally agree with the sentiment that S6-9 was painful without Mickey because I almost gave up myself. But I’ll be an Ian Gallagher defender to the end and I really hate when his own stans dismiss his storyline because Mickey wasn’t there and they hated his love interests.

Him becoming an EMT was arguably one of his most important story arcs throughout the whole series and it was crucial to his character development. And more importantly (for me anyways) it was such positive representation of life after a bipolar diagnosis. Watching someone deal with a life changing diagnosis and not be villainised by the narrative and see them make something of their life and have a career and stability, was so inspirational to me.

(I’m not including the s8-9 gay jesus storyline in this rant because I acknowledge that it WAS objectively poorly written despite it having potential)

I totally understand if Mickey is your fave and you aren’t interested in Ian’s arc without him. I get that the show would be boring and a waste of your time if your fave is gone and none of the other characters are interesting enough for you to continue watching. But to see Gallavich stans call Ian’s development trash and outright invalidate it is always so disheartening to me. Especially when I’ve seen the same people praise the other Gallagher sibling storylines just to purposely dismiss Ian’s. Like you can just say you weren’t interested because Mickey wasn’t with him without shitting on him.

[spock-smokes-weed]

I need you to understand how much shit was robbed from us by the public domain and copyright laws being changed to favor companies

The longest amount of time a piece of media could be copyrighted before entering the public domain was 56 years

For reference, the first season of Star Trek TOS would have been public domain by now.

[geminiwritten]

could be me ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you've been in love with rooster since you were a kid, but a few years ago your father threatened to ruin rooster's career if you didn't get over your stupid crush and find an honourable man - so you date assholes to protect rooster, but it's getting harder to stay away from the boy you're in love with (loosely inspired by this song)

notes: okay, i admit defeat!!! i am in love with this man and it is consuming my life! i was so excited to write this, but i rewrote it and rewrote it, and it still doesn't feel right :( i hope it isn't too awful, but i promise i'm going to write something perfect for this boy, because wow, i love him... please let me know what you think! good or bad, i love feedback!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship/s (nothing detailed or major), negative father / daughter relationship, one brief mention of 'offing oneself', very little and most likely incorrect knowledge about the us navy, and some generally poor writing i'm sorry

word count: 10597

“That guy sucks,” Mickey mutters into the mouth of his beer bottle.

The whole squad is jammed into a booth on the beach-side of The Hard Deck bar, their necks craned and eyes fixed on the large blond man towering over their best friend at one of the tall tables beside the jukebox.

“He’s so rude,” Natasha states, ��and cold.”

The only one not blatantly staring across the bar is Bradley. He’s too busy picking at the soggy label on his half-drunk beer and sulking. The corners of his mouth have been turned down from the moment you walked through the door with that hulking mass of man muscle by your side.

“Rooster,” Reuben says, nudging his friend’s side and knocking him out of his imaginary pity party.

Bradley glances up, “Hm?”

“Move, I need to get another drink.”

Realising why he had been feeling pressure on his right side, Bradley sighs and slides out of the booth, allowing his friend to shuffle across to freedom.

“Do you want a drink?” Reuben asks.

Bradley shakes his head and slumps back into the booth, returning his attention to the beer bottle’s label.

“Why is she with him?” Mickey asks, his brows furrowed.

“He’s got money,” Bradley replies dryly, “and rank.”

Natasha shoots him a scowl. “Come on, Rooster. Y/N’s not that shallow.”

Bradley scoffs, “You want to bet?”

Her brown eyes glance toward you, watching as your hand grips the thick forearm of the blond boy toy standing over you. She grimaces and shakes her head. “No, not really.”

“Exactly,” Bradley sighs, leaning back in the booth and finally dragging his eyes up to look at his friends. “Her dad has high standards and apparently dating some stupid commander with more bicep than brain and more money than manhood is her idea of being the perfect daughter.”

“You sound jealous,” Jake states, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Bradley snorts a laugh, though there’s no amusement behind it. It’s dry. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Hangman?”

Before Jake can answer the rhetorical question, Mickey pipes up. “Who’s her dad, again?”

Natasha sighs, turning her head to face him. “The admiral,” she replies, “you know, Cyclone’s superior.”

“Shit, that’s right,” Mickey says. “He’s terrifying.”

Reuben returns to the table with wide eyes, gingerly setting four beers on the table before ushering at Bradley to scootch further into the booth. “Oh, my God,” he says as he sits down. “I just asked Y/N if she wanted to join us, and that dude basically growled at me.”

“Gross,” Natasha mutters, before taking a generous swig of her fresh beer.

“I did catch his name, though,” Reuben adds. “Johnny.”

Bradley scoffs, “Johnny.”

The squad spend the better part of the next hour making fun of the man whose arm is draped across your shoulders, all but Bradley. He’s too busy scratching the label off his beer bottle and shoving all thoughts of you and your newest Ken Doll out of his mind.

Across the bar, you pinch the stem of your wine glass between your thumb and forefinger and start moving it in small circles, making the yellowish liquid swirl. You hate white wine, but Johnny doesn’t seem to recall you mentioning that on your date last week. His arm is heavy on your shoulders, compressing your spine and making your neck ache as you try to maintain a decent posture on the uncomfortably high stool. You’ve never liked sitting at the tall bar tables, you prefer a booth.

It takes all your self-control not to gaze across the bar to where you’d rather be. It wasn’t that you hadn’t expected your friends to be in their usual booth at The Hard Deck on a Saturday afternoon, but when Johnny asked you to get drinks with him and meet his friends, you’d still hoped they wouldn’t be here. Especially Bradley.

You’ve known Bradley Bradshaw since you were ten years old. He was the first boy to ever make your heart skip a beat, and the only one you’ve ever truly fallen in love with. Not that you’ll willingly admit that last part to anyone but your own reflection, and even then, you need a considerable amount of liquid courage to do so.

When your father, the admiral, was assigned to assist in overseeing the TOPGUN programme at MCAS Miramar, he moved your family to San Diego, right next door to the Bradshaws. Your mother and Carole Bradshaw became quick and close friends, and you soon learnt all about Bradley’s late father and the man who had since stepped in to help raise Bradley.

Your father wasn’t subtle about disliking the Bradshaws, or more specifically, Pete Mitchell, but your mother couldn’t have cared less. You spent most of your weekends and summer days with Bradley, since your mothers were practically inseparable, and the same was soon said for the two of you. It didn’t matter that Bradley was a few years older, you simply matchedeach other’s energies. Soulmates, Carole would say.

Years passed and you both grew, but your crush never wavered. You were there the day his mother passed away, and the day he sent his application in to the Naval Academy. You were also there the day he found out that it was Pete who pulled his papers, and if you close your eyes and think back hard enough, you can still hear the screaming and shouting.

It got a little complicated after that. Bradley decided that he was going to study at UVA for the four years before he could reapply to the academy, and despite your heart’s protests, you helped him pack and promised to look after his family’s home while he was gone. Without the honey-eyed boy next door to spend all your time with, you focused on school and growing up. Bradley would call every now and then, mostly to let your mom know that he was doing okay, but he didn’t visit for two whole years.

It was the year you turned eighteenth that everything changed. You were in your front yard, wearing your favourite red bathing suit and trying to water the poor, sunburnt flowers back to life. When Bradley turned the Bronco into his driveway, he nearly drove right through the garage door, slamming the brakes on just in time. His jaw popped open and his eyes almost fell out of his head as he stared at you bopping along to whatever music was playing in your headphones.

It took you more than a minute to notice the car in the driveway next door, but once you did you dropped the hose and ran across the lawn, jumping over the short fence that divided your yards. Bradley didn’t move until you wrenched the driver’s side door open and asked if he was okay, and he certainly was not okay when you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your scantily clad body against his.

After that, he visited a lot more. Every break he could, he would fly across the country to see you, and if he couldn’t come to San Diego, you would fly to him. The two of you gave ‘inseparable’ a whole new meaning. You spoke every day, sent each other letters and packages containing thoughtful presents or silly gifts, and whenever you could, you would video chat for hours on end. There wasn’t a single day that went by that you didn’t feel a tug in your gut toward the boy across the country who you were head over heels in love with.

Eventually, he reapplied and was accepted into the Naval Academy. You were happy for him, of course, but the bubble in which you were living had to pop at some point. It was harder to see him while he was in the academy, and even harder when graduated and got deployed, but the hardest part was not knowing where he was.

One morning, when you were on your way out the door to work, your father stopped you. He told you that Bradley had been accepted into the TOPGUN programme and would be moving back to San Diego for a while, but the look on his face was a stark contrast to the excitement on yours. It was that morning that really burst your bubble. You’d created this imaginary little world where Bradley would eventually come home to you, kiss you, and tell you that it’s always been you, but your father wasn't going to let that happen.

He lectured you for twenty minutes about the fact that Bradley Bradshaw is not good enough for you. He told you that he’s been holding it in for long enough, because your mother had begged him not to interfere with your life and your choices, but he can’t take it anymore. He said that Bradley is a flighty boy from a mixed-up family, raised by a dishonourable man, and he isn’t wealthy or worthy enough for you. He told you to let go of your stupid crush and find an honourable who could make you happy, or else he would ruin Bradley’s career.

Any sane person would have told him to fuck off, but you were too young and too scared, and you loved Bradley too damn much to risk something he’s worked so hard for. So you simply nodded and slipped out the door, spending the next few weeks avoiding your father and mourning the loss of a relationship that never was.

It was about that time that you started dating assholes. You couldn’t live in a world without Bradley, but you had to protect him, so you always had an honourable commander or captain on your arm to distract your father. You stayed close with Bradley, even when he flew off around the world again. When he was called back to TOPGUN for a special detachment, you were over the moon, and everything seemed to fall into place after the uranium mission. The dagger squadron became a permanent unit based on North Island, and you quickly became friends with the whole group.

After years of distance and uncertainty, everything feels good. That is, except for your shitshow of a love life that is getting harder to maintain as you juggle keeping your father happy while also trying to assure your friends that you’re not a clinical masochist who enjoys toxic relationships.

“Babe,” Johnny’s voice knocks you back into reality. “You good?”

You blink a few times, trying to refocus on the man sitting beside you instead of the waves out the window. “Sorry,” you say. “Just daydreaming.”

He chuckles. “What could you possibly have to daydream about when I’m sitting right here.”

Your eyes betray you, casting their gaze across the bar toward your friends, landing on the boy with the golden-brown hair. Johnny sighs, as if exasperated by you. “If you want to go see your little friends so badly, then go.”

You force yourself to shake your head. “Don’t be silly. I’m here with you, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Except squished into that booth beside Bradley, breathing in his scent and feeling his thigh pressed firmly against your own.

Johnny smirks before leaning forward with puckered lips. You try not to seem awkward as you lean forward and give him a kiss, but you can’t help feeling uncomfortable under the hard stares of his friends.

“I’m just going to get another drink,” you say, slipping off the high bar stool. You hurry away from the table before he can point out that you haven’t touched your wine, beelining for the bathrooms.

Once safely in the fluorescent lit lavatory, you plant both hands on the vanity and stare at your red cheeks in the mirror. You’re not sure why, but it’s getting harder being with men like Johnny. It used to be easy to pretend, to flip your hair and bite your lip, and flirt until they believed that you were into them, but lately, all you can think about is Bradley.

His soft hair and tan skin. The way his mouth curls into a smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His broad shoulders, long legs, and the way that every move he makes is so sure. When you close your eyes, all you can see are his honey-brown irises staring back at you, making you blush even when you’re miles apart. It’s like there’s a rope anchored in your gut and the other end is tied to Bradley. It used to be loose and languid, giving and taking as needed, but now its taut. One end of the rope is being wound up, pulling you into his orbit whether you like it or not. You worry that one day you’re going to wake up unable to breathe without him near you.

“Fuck,” you sigh, smacking your left hand on the vanity. “This is ridiculous.” You look up at your reflection, raising your right hand to point at the mirror. “Pull yourself together.”

You wash your hands and fix your hair before exiting the bathroom. You keep your eyes trained on your destination as you walk toward the bar, finding a vacant space to lean your forearms against the dark wood.

“Hey gorgeous,” Penny says with a soft smile.

“Hey Penny, could I just get the usual, please?”

She laughs lightly. “Of course. I was a bit worried when I saw that commander hand you a white wine.”

You breathe a half-assed laugh through your nose. “He’s still in training.”

She grabs a beer from the fridge behind the bar before turning back to you with a knowing smirk. “Well, I don’t see why you keep fostering these disobedient dogs when you have a perfectly well-trained puppy at home.”

You frown, tilting your head as your mind races to decode the metaphor. Only when she glances over at the booth of your friends and back to you does it click.

Your eyes widen. “Penny!”

She laughs again before adding, “And that is a cute puppy, if I don't say so myself.”

You roll your lips to stop yourself from grinning, because yes, Bradley is an adorable puppy and you would love nothing more than to take him home with you. “Thanks for the beer, Penny,” you say before she turns away to serve another patron.

You take a long swig from the bottle before weaving your way back through the bar to Johnny and his friends. The night wears on, and you try as hard as you can to remember how to pretend but you just can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Bradley every few minutes. You know Johnny is getting annoyed too, you’re just glad that he can discern exactly which one of your friends it is who’s stealing your attention.

"Alright,” Johnny says, pushing off his stool. “Let’s get out of here.”

Your eyes snap back to him and you nod. “I just want to say hi to my friends first.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “I’m going to take a leak.”

You watch him walk across the bar and wait until the bathroom door closes behind him to roll your eyes. You slip off the stool and quickly squeeze through the groups of people standing between you and your friends, the grin on your face growing the closer you get.

“Hey!” Natasha greets you first, her face lighting up.

Your eyes scan the familiar faces of your friends. “Hi.”

The last to look up at you is Bradley, but the moment his honey-brown eyes meet yours, the corners of his lips start to curl up. You could never get tired of seeing that smile.

Mickey gasps dramatically. “Rooster, is that a smile?”

Reuben snorts a laugh. “I didn’t know your face made that expression.”

“Shut up,” Bradley mutters, flipping his friends the bird from where his hand is resting on the tabletop.

“Anyway,” Natasha says, turning from the boys to you. “How are you?”

You drag your eyes away from Bradley. “I’m good. Sorry I didn’t come over earlier. I was meeting some of Johnny’s friends for the first time and it was a bit awkward.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “We’re kind of glad you didn’t bring your new Ken doll over here.”

“Which model is this?” Mickey asks with a cheeky grin.

Reuben chuckles. “Ken on Steroids, comes with his own syringe.”

Laughter rumbles through your friends, and once again you roll and rub your lips together to stop yourself from joining in. You can’t let them know that you intentionally date douchebags, because then there will be more questions than you’re willing to answer and you're already struggling to keep those skeletons inside their closet.

“Very funny,” you sigh, before glancing over your shoulder. “I should go, but I’ll see you guys-”

“Babe!” Johnny hollers across the bar, earning a lot of confused looks. “Hurry up!”

You want to close your eyes and sink into the floor, totally embarrassed and utterly fed up with this stupid, disobedient dog. But when you glance back at your friends and your eyes easily find Bradley’s, you remember why you’re doing it.

You plaster on a smile. “Sorry, guys. I’ll see you later.”

You barely hear their goodbyes as you turn and hurry through the bar toward the door. You can’t help your body from recoiling when Johnny wraps an arm around you, but you play it off by pretending to be cold. The walk to his car is silent, as is the first half of the drive, until he takes two wrong turns in a row and you realise that he isn’t driving toward your house.

“Which way are you going?” you ask.

His Cartier bracelet twinkles under the passing streetlights. “What do you mean?”

“My place is back that way.”

He sighs and shifts a little in his seat, reaching out the Cartier arm to place a hand on your thigh. “I thought you could stay at mine tonight.”

“Oh.” Your stomach swirls nauseously. “I’m actually not feeling too well, I think I should-”

“Again?” he snaps.

You take a deep breath, your hand itching to find the door handle. “Yeah, again. I probably need to go to the doctors.”

The car screeches to a halt and your body strains against the seatbelt. “Good idea,” he says. “Why don’t you go right now?”

You frown. “Now?”

He nods at the door, and only then do you realise that your hand is gripping the handle. His face is cast in shadow and streetlight, making him look more menacing than he really is. You know he only acts tough, but you’re still not willing to push it given his significant size advantage over you.

You pop the door open. “Fine.”

You’ve barely got two feet on the asphalt before he hits the gas and takes off again, speeding down the dark street and leaving you behind.

“Fuck.”

You glance around and try to find something familiar. You might have grown up here, but you definitely don’t know the area as well as you should. You know your usual places and the direct routes to and from those places, but right now you’re standing on a street you’re fairly sure you’ve never been on before. It also doesn’t help that it’s dark, because everything is different in the dark.

You pull your phone out and open your maps, using two fingers to twist and turn the map on the screen until you can figure out how far off your usual route Johnny had driven. He lives further from the base and the bar than you do, in some schmancy mansion he inherited from his parents that you hope never to see in person.

“Fuck,” you groan again. The little blue dot showing your location is a good ten miles from either the bar or your house, and you’re definitely not doing a trek like that in the middle of the night.

You flick away the maps app and pull up Uber, your thumb hovering over the location box where you should type your home address and hit enter, but you can’t stop thinking about Bradley. Even the thought of him has an effect on you now, making your insides mushy and your brain foggy. The tug in your gut has you wandering across the street in the general direction that The Hard Deck would be, and you switch from the Uber app to your contacts list. You scroll to the top where your favourites are pinned and tap on Bradley’s name without a second thought.

It only rings once. “Hello?”

“Bradley,” you say, relief washing through you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you guys still at the bar?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “What happened?”

You lean against the nearest streetlight, guilt and anticipation warring inside of you. “You can say no, but I’m kind of lost.”

“Hang on,” he mutters. You can hear shuffling and distant voices, then the squeak of a door and the background noise dies down. “What do you mean you’re lost?”

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, “but like I said, you can say no-”

“Where are you?” he demands. “I’m coming to get you.”

Your chest aches. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he says, and then the background noise returns. There’s music and chatter, and you can hear the jingle of keys while Bradley quickly explains himself to the squad.

Then there’s Mickey’s voice, loud and clear. “Go, Prince Charming! Go!”

“Fuck off,” Bradley mutters, and you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up your throat.

There’s another few seconds of music and chatter before you hear a car door slam, and then it’s so quiet you can hear Bradley’s heavy breathing. “You still there?” he asks.

“Haven’t been kidnapped yet.”

He sighs. “Please don’t joke about that.”

You shift your shoulder against the light pole, trying to ignore the excitement in your stomach. “Don’t worry, they’d bring me back pretty quickly.”

Bradley chuckles dryly. “Not before I found you and killed them.”

Your heart thumps heavily in your chest, feeling swollen and ready to burst. “Why would you kill them?” you ask, even though you know the answer.

Maybe you are a masochist.

“Because I don’t like it when people take what’s mine,” he replies.

Your stomach does a somersault, and you wait for a laugh or a chuckle, but it doesn’t come. Bradley is dead serious right now, and somehow, he's managed to make you horny from ten miles away.

You clear your throat. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It looks like you’re near the old fire station.”

You pull the phone away from your ear and put it on speaker before flicking out of the call screen and tapping on the ‘Find My’ app. Bradley’s contact photo is floating on the map a small distance from your little blue dot, moving closer. You shared your locations with each other a few years ago, mostly because you wanted to see where Bradley was in the world, but it’s come in handy more than a few times. Like right now, for example.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “But you do have to tell me why.”

You frown, still watching his location. “Why what?”

“Why you’re suddenly stranded when I saw you leave with your boyf-” He hesitates and clears his throat. “Your boy toy.”

You sigh and roll your head back, staring up at the dark sky for a moment before looking back down at Bradley’s slowly moving contact photo. “We had a bit of an argument and-”

“And he kicked you out of his car and left you?”

“No, no, he-” Now you hesitate. “Well, yes, technically, but putting it like that sounds bad.”

“Because it is bad!” Bradley exclaims.

You take a deep breath of cold night air before sighing it out. “I know.”

A moment of silence stretches into a couple of minutes, but neither of you hang up the phone. You know it’s for safety, in case the worst were to happen, but you also like to hear Bradley’s soft breathing. As creepy as that might sound. It’s comforting to know that he’s there and he’s on his way. He might even be mad at you for being stupid and dating an asshole, but he could never let his anger get in the way of your safety.

“Are you speeding?” you ask him.

“Um, no?”

You scoff. “Okay, that was convincing.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? My best friend stranded in the middle of nowhere at midnight.”

Friend. You roll your eyes. “You’re supposed to make sure you get to her safely.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

You frown. “How did you know?”

He chuckles. “Because I know you.”

Your pulse thrums harder, filling your ears and making your breath come and go in quick gasps. You don’t know what to say, because it's true. He knows you, better than you know yourself sometimes, and that makes you wonder if he knows exactly what you’re hiding from him.

“I think I see you,” he says.

Your eyes snap up toward the headlights that appear half a mile down the street. “I think I see you too.”

Your heart beats faster the closer he gets, and you wait until you can clearly recognise the front of the Bronco before hanging up your call. The car rolls to a stop in front of you, and Bradley ducks his head to look at you from the driver’s side. “Need a ride?”

He is fucking breathtaking. All golden-brown tousles and soft eyes, his lips perfectly kissable and his cheeks a little flushed.

“Mom told me not to get in strangers’ cars.”

His face breaks into a grin, and you’re pretty sure your heart stops altogether. “I have candy,” he says.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

You pull the door open and fall into the seat, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket. For the first time tonight, you feel safe.

“Hey,” you breathe out, staring at the boy beside you like he hung the moon. You’ve been looking at Bradley this way since you were ten years old, and sometimes you try to hide it, but after the night you’ve had, you can’t find the strength to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “I’m a lot better now.”

The light inside the car is dim and his face is partially obscured by shadow, but you’re pretty sure you can see the colour in his cheeks deepen. You search each other’s eyes for a few too many seconds before he looks away, focusing on the street ahead as the car begins to roll forward.

The drive is silent, but not in the same way it had been with Johnny. This silence is thick with something unsaid, tangible and heavy as it hangs between the two of you. His right hand is resting on the gear stick out of habit, and your fingers itch to slide between his, feel his hot skin against yours in any way possible.

He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

You sigh. “Do I have to?”

He glances at you and shrugs a shoulder. “No, but it might feel good to talk to a friend.”

Friend. You turn your gaze out the windscreen, focusing hard on the road ahead to avoid rolling your eyes. Maybe you should talk to someone about the shit you’re dealing with. It might be self-inflicted shit but at least complaining to someone about it might relieve some of the frustration.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you begin. “After about ten minutes of driving, I noticed that he’d taken a couple of wrong turns, so I asked where he was going, and he said I should spend the night at his house tonight.”

The steering wheel squeaks in Bradley’s tight grip.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you this?”

“Yes,” he replies, using a tone of voice that leaves no room for argument.

“Okay,” you sigh, turning back toward the road before continuing. “I told him that I didn’t feel well and just wanted to go home, but he got a little annoyed because I’ve been sick for the past couple of weeks.”

“You haven’t been sick,” Bradley states, brows furrowed.

"Well, not really, but-”

“So, you’ve been lying to him?”

Your stomach twists nervously. “I guess.”

Bradley nods slowly, his expression unreadable.

“Well, anyway,” you continue, “I said that maybe I need to go to see a doctor, so he stopped the car and told me to go right now.”

Silence envelopes you both again. The only indication you have that Bradley actually heard you is the way his knuckles are turning white as he grips the steering wheel. His face is stoic, his eyes fixed on the road but still distant. You know this look, it's the look he gets when he’s stuck in his thoughts.

You don’t want to interrupt him for the fear of being scolded. You know Bradley would never belittle you or tell you that you're stupid because of the decisions you make, but there’s no doubt that he’s mad at you for putting your own safety at risk.

He doesn’t speak until the car stops in the garage beneath his apartment block, and only then do you realise that he hadn’t driven you to your place. He moved here when the dagger squad got their permanent placements on North Island, after finally deciding to sell his family home.

“I’ll sleep on the lounge,” he says, pulling the key from the ignition. “You can have my bed.”

You hate the way your stomach squeezes at the idea of being in his bed. “Don’t be stupid, I’ll take the lounge.”

“No, you won’t.”

Before you can argue, he pops the door and steps out of the car. You quickly fall out of the passenger’s side and hurry after him, almost bumping into his broad back when he stops abruptly at the elevator.

“Bradley,” you sigh, standing at his side. “Please don’t give me the silent treatment.”

“I just spoke to you, didn’t I?”

You huff. “Well, yes, but I don’t like how you’re talking to me.”

He scoffs, his brows shooting up toward his hairline. “Oh! You don’t like how I’m talking to you?”

The elevator doors open and you both step inside. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He crosses his arms and leans against the back wall of the cabin. “I just think it’s funny how you let those men treat you like shit and talk to you like crap, but as soon as I don’t feel like being playful, then you’ve got a problem.”

You frown at him, your breath coming and going much faster than before as anger bubbles in your stomach. You’re not sure what to say, because how can you defend yourself against fact. Silence stretches until the elevator dings and the doors part.

“I’m just not like those other guys, am I?” he says, brushing past you as he steps out of the cabin.

You follow him, doubling his steps to keep up. “No, you’re not like them. You’re better.”

He jams the key into his apartment door and laughs bitterly. “Better but not good enough, right?”

He shoves the door open and stalks inside, leaving you to catch the heavy door for yourself. You follow him in, quickly kicking your shoes off in the hall before stepping into the kitchen after him. He stands on one side of the island, both large hands planted on the countertop. You stop on the opposite side, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Bradley, what the fuck?”

He stares down at the bench. “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re with them!” he exclaims, head snapping up. “Why do you deal with that? Why do you choose those guys when you could have anyone you fucking want?”

Your chest aches as your heart starts slowly tearing itself apart. “Bradley, please don’t-”

“You date these assholes that don’t give a fuck about you, but then when you need someone, when you’re scared or alone, you call me.” He pauses, his shoulders rising and falling with laboured breath. “Why?”

You close your eyes, wishing once again that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. But it doesn’t, so you open your eyes to meet his intense honey-brown gaze. “Because I know you’ve got me.”

“No, I don’t,” he snaps. “I thought I did once, but I know now that I never will.”

“Bradley-”

“I’m not mad,” he quickly adds, his features softening slightly. “I could never be mad at you, and I will always be there for you, but I need you to know that it kills me to see you with these guys.”

You want to ask why, because you’re a masochist and you want to hear him say it, but you can’t speak. Your throat is too thick and your emotions too wired. You knew this argument was inevitable, but you hadn’t expected it tonight. Maybe it’s not just yourself that you’ve pushed too far, maybe you’ve pushed the limits of your friendship too.

“I need sleep,” he mutters, dropping his gaze before turning toward the short hallway.

You watch him disappear into his room, feet anchored to the floor despite how hard that rope in your gut is trying to pull you toward him. You’ve never wanted to touch him more in your life, hold him and kiss him and tell him that you’ve only ever loved him, but you can’t. Your father might be busier these days and less of a threat to you, but he’s still a threat to Bradley’s career.

After a couple of minutes, he reemerges in a pair of grey sweats. Only grey sweats. You’ve seen Bradley shirtless more times than you can count, but you’re never ready for effect that it has on you.

“Bed’s all yours,” he says, throwing a pillow and a blanket onto the lounge.

You want to argue. You want to stomp your feet and tell him everything you’ve held back for years, and then you want him to kiss you and take you to bed where the two of you will stay for the next month. But you can’t, and you’re about to burst into tears.

You nod once before shuffling into his bedroom, shutting the door most of the way before turning to face the bed. When you see a pair of boxers and an old shirt laid out for you, the floodgates burst and tears stream down your cheeks despite your efforts to choke them back. Your throat aches and your nose stings, your vision blurred as you slowly peel your clothes off and wrap yourself in the comfort of Bradley’s.

You wonder if Bradley can hear you crying quietly as you crawl into his bed. The apartment isn’t very big, but you’ve done your best to suppress your sniffles as you washed your face in the ensuite bathroom. Your head hits the pillow and his scent overwhelms you, filling you with the most conflicting mix of sadness and horniness. You’ve been in Bradley’s bed plenty of times before, but not often sober and never after he just almost confessed to being in love with you.

Eventually, you fall asleep and have the best sleep you’ve had in years. You wake to the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table and startle when you see the time in the top left corner of the screen; it’s almost midday. You hang up on Johnny’s call, only to see ten missed calls from earlier in the morning and a ridiculous number of texts. You roll your eyes and throw the covers back, rushing out the bedroom door and into the lounge room.

Your heart sinks when you see the lounge is empty and the blankets are folded neatly on one end. There are no missed calls or messages on your phone from Bradley, but you can vaguely recall him making plans with the squad earlier in the week to go to the beach today. You go back into the bedroom and change into your own clothes, dropping your borrowed pyjamas in the hamper by the ensuite door before walking back into the main space.

You’re about to leave the apartment when a folded piece of paper on the kitchen island catches your eye. You snatch it and open it up, quickly reading Bradley’s scrawl.

Had to go. Coffee is fresh.

I’m sorry about last night, I overstepped.

You’ve always got me. I love you.

Breath catches in your throat and tears fill your eyes. You thought you’d cried yourself dry last night, but apparently not. It isn’t as if Bradley has never told you that he loves you. He’s said it before deploying and he’s said it to save himself after some particularly snarky jokes, and you’ve said it back, but this feels different. This feels like a confession.

“Fuck,” you mutter, wiping the tears from your cheeks. You shove the note into your pocket and continue toward the door, making sure it’s locked before it falls closed behind you.

It’s only a ten-minute walk to your place, and you quietly wonder if Bradley intentionally chose an apartment not far from yours. You wait impatiently as the elevator ascends to your floor, slipping through the doors the second they part and half jogging toward your apartment door. Once inside, you shower and pull on some clean clothes before running right back out the door.

Your mind races as you drive to the beach, trying to come up with the right words to say to Bradley. You don’t want to make it awkward, but you know you can’t leave last night unresolved. You would have to act normally in front of the squad, maybe pull him aside and tell him that you’re the one who's sorry. Or perhaps you should act like nothing has happened and text him later tonight.

You bounce back and forth between different ideas the entire drive. The only thing you do know is that you’re not going to take those last three words too seriously. Bradley loves you and he’s told you that before, this note is no different.

You slide your sunnies up your nose and scan the beach, easily spotting Javy’s broad frame and Jake bouncing around like an energetic border collie.

Mickey sees you first as you jog toward them. “Hey!” he calls, waving his arms like a maniac.

“Hey.” You’re a little breathless by the time you reach them, your eyes searching for Bradley amongst the bodies playing volleyball. “Where’s Rooster?”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Mickey chuckles. “He���s not here.”

You frown. “What?”

“Hey!” Natasha jogs up to you, abandoning the game. “Are you okay? Rooster told us you were stranded last night.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You push your sunnies to the top of your head. “It’s a long story but Rooster helped me out. Do you know where he is?”

She cocks her head, confusion written across her face. “He messaged the group chat this morning saying he couldn't come because he had to see Mav.”

“Mav,” you echo. “He’s at Maverick’s?”

Mickey nods. “As far as we know.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you quickly pull it out, letting out a sigh when you see Johnny’s name across the screen. You look back up at your friends. “I’ve got to go see him, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“Everything okay?” Natasha asks.

You nod. “Of course, I just need Bradley.”

You turn and start jogging back toward your car, your legs burning as your feet sink into the soft sand. The drive to Maverick’s isn’t long, but you have to remind yourself several times to slow down and not be stupid. Your stomach sinks when you can’t spot the Bronco parked anywhere nearby, but you still climb the front porch and knock on the door.

Only a few seconds pass before Maverick answers. “Y/N?”

“Hey Mav, I’m sorry to bug you but-”

“Are you okay?” he interrupts, concern painting his face.

“Yeah, why?”

He leans a shoulder against the door frame. “Well, Rooster told me what happened last night and you’re looking a little flustered right now. That Johnny guy isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

“Oh, no,” you reply. “I mean, he’s been calling, but I haven’t answered. I was actually just looking for Bra- uh, Rooster.”

Maverick hesitates for a moment, his eyes reading you like you’re an open book with size forty-eight print. Every emotion on your face so easily distinguishable.

“He’s not here,” he finally says. “He left a little while ago. Not sure where he was headed, though,”

You take a deep breath to try and wrangle your nerves. You need to calm the fuck down. “Did he say anything to you?”

“About what?”

“Last night.”

The tiniest of smirks lifts the corner of Mav’s mouth. “He said that asshole you’re dating kicked you out of the car and left you stranded.”

You nod once, brows raised as if asking for more.

“He also said that he might have overstepped a little.”

You lift your hands to your face and groan into them, frustration and anxiety seeping from every pore in your body.

“I’m going to ask again,” Maverick says. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, face still hidden in your hands. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, trying to think of all the consequences that could possibly come from telling Maverick your problems. When you finally pull your hands away, they’re wet with tears.

You sniffle, looking up at the captain. “Yes please.”

He steps aside and ushers you in, offering you drinks and snacks as he guides you through to the back patio. You take a seat in the most comfortable looking wicker chair and catch a whiff of Bradley’s cologne, which only causes more tears to fill your eyes.

Maverick quickly joins you with a pitcher of water and two cups, and a box of tissues. “I’m going to start charging you kids for these therapy sessions,” he sighs.

A wet laugh leaves your lips as you press a few tissues to your face. “Sorry Mav.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be.”

After a minute, you manage to calm down enough to tell Maverick everything, even though he already knows a lot of it. You tell him about the first time you saw Bradley, the first time you realised why you felt a certain way around him, and the first time you had a feeling Bradley might feel the same. You fill in all the gaps about your family that Maverick missed when he was flying in and out on assignments, and you tell him all about the years that he and Bradley didn’t speak. You even tell him about your father, how he never liked Maverick and later threatened you with ruining Bradley’s career.

By the time you finish, you feel so light you could float. You’ve stopped crying, and you realise now that all the weight on your chest had been put there by your father. The same father who hasn’t given you more than a minute of his attention since the day he told you not to go near Bradley Bradshaw.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Maverick sighs at the ground. He has his elbows propped on his knees, his head in his hands as he stares at the deck beneath his feet.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “My dad is a dick.”

He looks up, frowning. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because he had no reason not to like you, but he did anyway.”

He chuckles. “I’m not a stranger to being disliked, especially by admirals.”

You laugh softly before taking a long swig of water.

“You’re right about him being a dick, though,” he says. “The fact that he ever thought he could tell you who to date is the worst example of parenting I’ve ever heard.”

You laugh again, but it’s more of a snort.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” Mav asks. “What about your mum?”

You shrug. “I was scared, and I loved Bradley too damn much to risk anything.”

His lip lifts into a smirk. “Be that as it may, your father has no right to threaten Bradley’s career.”

“What do you mean?”

Maverick chuckles now, elbows still leaning on his knees as he clasps his hands together. “Do you think that I would still be here if one admiral was able to do completely derail someone’s career?”

“Well, no,” you reply.

“Exactly.” He sits back now. “I don’t blame you for believing him, because that isn’t a threat that anyone would take lightly, but you really don’t need to worry. Bradley is a big boy now, he can stick up for himself, and if all else fails, he has a lot of other people on his side.”

You stare down at the empty cup in your hand, processing his words and letting them sink in, letting yourself believe them. “So, you’re saying-”

“You can love Bradley if you want to,” he says. “There might be other consequences for your relationship with your father, but as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t deserve a relationship with his daughter unless he changes his attitude.”

Your heart thuds heavily against your ribs. “Thanks Mav, for everything.”

He nods. “Any time."

“Just one more thing?”

He quirks a brow, waiting for your question.

“What else did Bradley tell you this morning?”

The laugh that escapes his lips startles you, a wide grin stretched across his face as he pushes to stand. “Well, sweetheart, I think you should just go talk to Bradley yourself.”

You roll your eyes and stand too. “Fine.”

You thank Mav again as he walks you out. He gives you a hug and promises not to tell anyone what you’ve told him, but assures you again that whatever happens, Bradley’s career is safe. You walk off his porch feeling a lot lighter than when you had walked in, and when you get in your car, you pull your phone out and type a text to Johnny.

‘Fuck off.’

Then you block his number and drive home. You decide to give Bradley a little space, because you need to school your own thoughts before you go letting the skeletons dance their way out of the closet. You need to figure out how you’re going to explain yourself, and you need to decide if you actually want to risk the friendship and tell him you’re in love with him.

Just because Maverick got all giddy when you told him you were head over heels for Bradley doesn’t mean he’s definitely in love with you. You were hoping Mav might give you a hint, but he was stubborn, focusing on you and your feelings instead of divulging anything about Bradley’s feelings.

You busy yourself for most of the day with random chores and errands. When the sun starts to set, you settle onto your sofa and take your phone out, typing out a text to Bradley that you’ve been workshopping all afternoon.

‘Thanks again for last night. I appreciate you. What are you doing after work tomorrow?’

You put your phone on silent and toss it across the lounge, nerves creeping across every inch of your skin as you sink into the cushions. You’ve never been nervous to talk to Bradley. In fact, he’s the number one recipient of your usual word vomiting, but right now, you feel like you’re standing on the ledge of a skyscraper wondering if he’ll be there to catch you when you jump. If you jump.

-

Five days. It’s been five fucking days since you messaged Bradley, and nothing. You’ve only ever gone this long without speaking when he was deployed without access to his phone or reception. To say you were nervous five days ago feels like a joke now. You’ve barely slept, you’ve barely eaten, and you’re pretty sure you’re starting to see things that aren’t there. Had you imagined Bradley this whole time?

“You look tired,” Natasha says the second you open your apartment door.

“Thanks.”

You step aside and allow her to walk in, which she does with a scrunched-up nose. “Do you not have any windows in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you here again?”

She spins on her heel and flashes you a smirk. “To make you feel better, obviously.”

“Doing a bang-up job so far,” you mumble sarcastically.

You move some of the blankets off the lounge to make room for her. You’ve been sleeping there the past few nights, falling in and out of consciousness while the TV plays reruns of old 90s sitcoms. You’re lucky you have the option to work from home, because you're not sure you’d have been able to drag yourself to work at all this week. Instead, you’ve been doing half-assed days at your desk while resisting the urge to put your phone in the blender.

Natasha sits on the lounge while you open your balcony door, letting in the brisk autumn air. “So,” she says, still smirking, “are you ready to feel better?”

You sit down beside her, curling your knees up to your chest. “I feel fine, actually.”

She raises her brows. “You do? Because the last time you missed pool night at The Hard Deck, someone had literally died.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about Wednesday night pool. In fact, you’ve forgotten about everything except Bradley, who has apparently forgotten about you.

“Did Rooster go?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“See,” she says, her smile widening, “you already feel better.”

You roll your eyes. “Again, I’m totally fine, just-”

“Cut the bullshit,” she interrupts you, her expression turning serious. “I’m not here because I think you’re going to off yourself. I know you’re a big girl who can deal with heartbreak when she has to, but the thing is, you don’t have to.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh,” she groans, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Do you know how painful it is to deal with the two of you when the answer is to all this tension is so simple?”

You wait a beat, letting her have her moment that she has clearly been waiting to have.

“I’m not going to tell you something that I don’t know for sure, but I am going to tell you that Rooster is miserable,” she says. “He’s obviously not sleeping, he’s barely eating, and he hasn't strung more than four words together all week. Now, I know something went down, we all do, but I also know that now you’re both just being stubborn.”

You frown and open your mouth, but she holds a hand up to stop you.

“I’m not done.”

You roll your lips and nod once.

“I know I haven’t known either of you nearly as long as you’ve known each other,” she continues, “but I think I know you both well enough to know that you’re better together than you are apart. Whether or not that means marriage and babies, I don’t care. All I care about is that two of the most important people in the world to me don’t lose each other, because it’s kind of fucking obvious that you two are soulmates… or whatever.” She tacks on that last part with a wave of her hand, clearly becoming uncomfortable with the mushy stuff.

You push your bottom lip into a pout. “Aw, Nat,” you coo. “Bob was wrong, you do have a heart.”

Her brows dip into a scowl. “What did that fucker say about my heart?”

You roll your eyes and ignore her question, leaning across the couch to wrap your arms around her. She hesitates but hugs you back, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades. Natasha isn’t the most affectionate person, but she knows how to be there for her friends.

“Wait.” You pull back. “It’s Friday, why aren’t you at work?”

“They needed someone to cover a weekend, so Mav gave me today off.”

“Oh,” you nod before falling back into the couch.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “Bradley might be miserable and all, but he’s still avoiding me. I’ve messaged him and called him, but he keeps ignoring me.”

Natasha hums thoughtfully. “I thought he might be. He’s been avoiding every conversation where your name comes up.”

You roll your eyes. Not that you blame him. From his point of view, you look like a pretty big idiot. You’ve been best friends for over a decade, flirting nonstop for half of that, and yet you keep dating assholes despite giving him all the signals that you’re actually into him.

“I have a plan,” Natasha says, her lips pulling back into a smirk. “You still have security clearance because of your dad, right?”

Twenty minutes and one hot shower later, you’re following Natasha out the door of your apartment and into the elevator. Your stomach flips nervously as the cabin descends, and you start to gnaw at your bottom on the way to her parked car. You haven’t been on the base in years. In fact, you try to avoid it, because you know that your father is there somewhere.

“Don’t be nervous,” Natasha says, glancing at you from behind her sunglasses.

Your eyes are fixed on the road ahead. “Bit hard not to be.”

You don’t live far from the base, and after barely ten minutes of Natasha’s questionable pep talking, the car rolls up to the main gate of North Island Naval Air Station. You both show your identification cards to the security guard in the booth while other guards inspect her vehicle. The butterflies in your stomach haven’t settled from the moment you stepped out of the shower, and now you’re starting to worry that the banana you managed to eat for breakfast isn’t going to stay down.

Natasha cruises through the familiar base, parking in one of the expansive staff lots before turning to you with an uncharacteristically wide grin. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good, let’s go.”

You force yourself to open the door and plant your feet on the tarmac. Step by step, you make it around the vehicle to where Natasha is impatiently waiting.

“Come on,” she sighs. “We have to get to there before they’re called in for the weekly debrief.”

You take a deep breath and force some confidence into your voice. “Okay, okay. Just a little anxious about doing the one thing I’ve spent a good chunk of my life specifically not doing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, very big deal. Now hurry up!”

Another deep breath has you feeling a little more human, more confident and grounded. You walk beside Natasha with a little more courage, gazing around at the huge buildings and looping roads. You haven’t been on the base in years because of your father. You’ve dated assholes for years because of your father. You’ve hurt the only boy you’ve ever loved because of your father.

Anger starts to bubble in your stomach as Natasha raises her wrist to check her watch. “Can you run?” she asks.

You nod. “Let’s run.”

The two of you break out into a sprint, shoes smacking against the concrete as Natasha leads the way. You don’t recognise much, not that you ever took special notice of the buildings when you visited with your father, but you do spot the Ford Bronco parked in one of the lots along the way.

“This way,” Natasha says.

You both slow to a jog as you approach one of the hangars. Natasha waves to a couple of the officers, greeting them with a vague explanation for her visit while you zone out and gaze up at the huge structure.

Through the hangar and on the other side where there are long stretches of tarmac and a line up of fighter jets, you find a familiar group. You have to squint to see them properly, all appearing in various states of exhaustion and one still on the ground doing push ups while Hondo counts beside him. The golden-brown head of hair makes your heart skip, and you trip on your own feet as you continue to approach the group.

Mickey notices the two of you first. He grins and waves before nodding once and walking up to each of the others, whispering something in their ears. They each give you a smile and a nod before slowly walking away from the boy doing push ups.

Hondo tips his head when you get closer, and winks. “194… 195… 195.”

“What?” Bradley gasps. “You just-”

“Quiet lieutenant,” Hondo snaps. “You’re going to make me lose count.”

Natasha gives you a subtle thumbs up before skipping off in the same direction as the rest of the squad.

Hondo inches away too, raising his voice to continue counting. “197… 198… 199.”

Your heart thunders within your chest, trying it’s hardest to break free as you watch Bradley sink into his final push up.

“200,” you say.

His arms wobble and his knees hit the concrete just in time to stop himself from falling on his face. When he glances up, sweaty and on all fours, you feel like you could faint.

“Hey,” he mutters. “What are you doing here?”

He sits back on his haunches and dusts his hands together, his eyes honey eyes sparkling under the setting sun.

“What do you think I’m doing here, Bradley?”

He glances around, noticing the absence of his squad. “Trespassing?”

You cross your arms and pop your hip. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” He pushes up and rises to his full height. “Last I checked, you were the one with a penchant for self-destructive behaviours.”

You narrow your eyes. “Define such behaviours.”

“Dating assholes for their money and rank.”

Anger sizzles through your veins, heating your skin and making your fists ball. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, before walking past you.

It takes you a moment to catch up, to find your voice and stamp down the angry monster rearing its horns. Bradley has a right to be angry. You expected him to be angry.

“Bradley,” you call after him.

He keeps walking.

“Rooster!”

He keeps walking.

“Bradshaw!”

His steps falter but he doesn’t stop.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw!” you exclaim. “For fuck’s sake!”

He halts and turns on his heel, his eyes stormy beneath furrowed brows. “You have no authority to pull rank. In fact, it’s kind of illegal and could get your father in some serious trouble.”

“Good!” You cover the ground between the two of you, stopping barely inches from him. “I hope he gets in shit, I hope he gets court martialled, or whatever the fuck it is that happens to you lot when you misbehave.”

His frown softens, curiosity taking over his expression. “What?”

You have to take a deep breath, because standing this close to him has your head spinning. “My dad is an asshole.”

Bradley tips his head. “Well, yeah, but why does that matter right now?”

“Because”– you take half a step back so you don’t hurt your neck looking up at him –“when we were younger, when you got accepted into the TOPGUN programme, he told me that you weren’t good enough for me.”

The muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth.

“I didn’t believe him,” you continue quickly, “but he threatened me. Well, he threatened you, your career. He said that if I didn’t get over my stupid crush, he would ruin your career, and I was young and stupid enough to believe that he could.”

His jaw relaxes and his expression softens. “He said he would ruin my career?”

You nod. “I couldn’t let him do that, but I couldn’t lose you either, so I did the only thing I could think of. I started dating assholes that dad would like, so I could stay friends with you. If he thought I was with these other guys, he wouldn’t question how much time I spent with you.”

His eyes go a little glassy. “You dated all those assholes so you could stay friends with me and protect me?”

You nod again, the bridge of your nose stinging as you stare up at the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. “I couldn’t risk him finding out that I’m in love with you.”

Despite the distant sounds of the ocean, the birds chirping, and the hum of machinery, you feel like the world has stopped spinning. You hold your breath, waiting for him to react, to say something.

“In love,” he whispers, “with me?”

You nod for the third time, your voice stuck in your throat with the last breath you’d captured.

“Fuck.” He rubs a hand up his jaw and through his hair, his eyes bouncing around the hangar before returning to yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You feel like the elephant sitting on your chest has finally moved, and you let out a long breath.

“Oh, thank God,” he mutters. “Because I am so in love with you, it-” He doesn’t finish his sentence before he dips his head and presses his mouth against yours, his hands holding your head.

His lips are as soft as you’d always imagined. They taste like mint and something sweet, and they move against yours in the most perfect way. Your fingers find the material of his flight suit and pull him closer, that rope in your gut demanding his body be against yours as you mouths move together. When he fits against you like he was made to be there, everything finally feels perfect.

“Hurts,” he whispers against your lips. “So in love with you, it hurts.”

“Does it still hurt?” you murmur into his mouth, not letting him more than an inch away from you.

You feel his lips curl into a smile. “A little less now, but you should keep kissing it better.”

He tilts your head back and deepens the kiss, making you gasp against his mouth. Your head spins and your knees give, but Bradley’s hands quickly fall to your waist and keep your body pressed to his.

He chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

“Always have,” you say.

He presses his forehead against yours as you both breathe. You know Bradley, you’ve known him since you were ten, and you know that he is doing exactly what you’re doing right now. He’s telling himself that this is real.

“Do you- um, do you want to come over tonight?” you ask.

In one swift move, his hands drop to the backs of your thighs and he crouches a little before hoisting you up off the ground. You yelp and wrap your legs around his waist, now looking down at his big, beautiful smile.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he says. “Do we have to wait until then or do you just want to do it in the Bronco?”

You giggle, your cheeks burning. “It’s really weird to hear you say shit like that.”

He chuckles. “Oh, baby, you better get used to it. You’re going to hear a whole lot more come out of my mouth tonight.”

END.

[jillgirlfriends]

live, love, ghostface!

pairing: billy loomis, stu macher, mickey altieri, roman bridger, charlie walker, jill roberts, ethan landry, quinn bailey x fem!reader

summary: only nsfw and nsfw headcanons! it's just my thoughts about ghostfaces and who is who

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ BILLY LOOMIS

dom

billy was very gentle with you at first, always asking about your comfort and safety. never hurt you, but you didn't know that he was actually just preparing you for his own cruel games.

when you had another session, you expected tenderness and kindness.. but, it was not there. your boyfriend was so rude and cruel to you. but, you liked it in the end.

billy doesn't like to use toys, he's against them.

your boyfriend always gives you so much pleasure. when he kisses your neck and bites it lightly, you feel like you're in heaven. you feel so good just feeling him next to you..

you can hardly hear anything from this guy, only rare sighs. try paying attention to his neck or giving him a good and long blowjob, you can hear very quiet moans from him that he holds back.

you don't have sex that often, mostly only at night when billy comes to you after the murders that you, of course, don't know about. billy needs to calm his ardor and then rest in the arms of his beloved girlfriend.

his favorite positions are missionary, doggy style and he will never admit it but he also likes cowgirl. it was only once and after that you never dominated

- «just look at yourself, how you always take my dick so well. you're just a real slut, my love» - said billy with a dark smile and he also pulled your hair.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ STU MACHER

dom

he just wants to please you and protect you because you are his first love he wants you to feel comfortable with him.

with stu you can talk about any topic during classes, he will still joke a lot and, as always, be a playful guy.

stu always asks you and always keeps you informed of his various ideas about your sex life. his ideas are quite.. unique.

he will naturally allow you to dominate him, he will even ask you about it. he also needs rest and besides, he has a great view of your whole body. this shameless guy will naturally touch you and your curves, especially your thighs. in general, he also loves your domination over him!

he is ready to have sex at any time, you can literally do it twice a day or almost absolutely ALL night.

stu, like billy, does not like toys, he likes to use only his strengths and, in rare cases, a knife.

his favorite positions are missionary and cowgirl. the second one is simply his favorite, the very favorite. very very very

«hey baby let's change» - said stu in a quiet and gentle voice, and began to kiss your entire face and pay attention to your lips

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ MICKEY ALTIERI

dom

mickey is just a huge experimenter, a sadist and a pervert

the first time you were all quite gentle, he took care of you properly and paid attention to you. it was the first and last time, he became literally very cruel and sadistic. constantly chooses those positions that are uncomfortable for you and also very perverted like this guy

doggy style lover, he just loves this position. he will beat, knead, bite and kiss your poor ass.

ready to have sex at any time, he has very good stamina and just a huge sexual desire. you often did this in the toilet of the college

mickey has definitely had many girls, but they were all just regular sluts. you are his favorite, and with you he finally found real pleasure and happiness

he is also ready to use a knife, but this time he will definitely ask you about it. If you agree, he can leave very small cuts.

mickey also uses toys on you, but very rarely. he will constantly tease you and call you a slut. he loves vibrators, and always uses the biggest ones.

«what a good girl, you take absolutely everything that I give you..» - mickey muttered, sliding his fingers deeper into your pussy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ROMAN BRIDGER

switch (mostly dom)

roman, to be honest, is not such a fan of sex, you have sex with him quite rarely. because of roman's work and also his dark work as a ghostface, which you don't know about, so the director simply doesn't have time for it, unfortunately

basically it's quite gentle and fast, you have a lot of fast rounds and basically always in the same position.

you both can do this in the on the set's bathroom, but it's pretty rare.

I honestly don't know what to write about this wonderful man

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CHARLIE WALKER

sub

God, this guy will beg to be controlled and dominated. he just needs it, he will be your obedient kitten.

you constantly dominate him and do whatever you want with him. and he, like an obedient boy, accepts everything and simply enjoys you. do you want to tie him up? yes. do you want to mock him? of course, he will not resist your will.

charlie just loves cowgirl, he will stare at you and get more and more excited. he especially loves it when you leave marks on him, marking him as yours. he is just in heaven, being next to his favorite girl

he is ready to make a sex video with you, naturally only with your consent. charlie will not show the video to anyone, because it is especially for him

it was you who took his virginity, he was so inept and worried all the time. all his knowledge from porn was forgotten, because a wave of embarrassment overwhelmed him like your breasts

charlie just loves it when you pull his hair or give him a head massage while he eats your pussy

you can fuck him whenever you want, everything is at your discretion and he has no right to vote, he will be for any idea

«oh please..! is too much..» - charlie is already losing his mind from your mouth, he has lost count of how many times he has cum

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ JILL ROBERTS

dom

this girl was also a virgin, she didn't have sex with charlie or even more so with trevor. she didn't give it to any of them, but she gave it to you. but after the first time she almost immediately became more skilled and professional

she practically humiliates and breaks you, she deliberately fucks you in uncomfortable positions and you have no right to arise

jill will control you all the time and not let you cum. If you cum before the appointed time, she will torture your poor pussy and ass with vibrators. she is a fan of toys.

you have sex VERY rarely, because jill roberts's entire sex life is a huge secret. she is an innocent and kind girl who wouldn't hurt a fly, and no one should know what you both do. she is very afraid that you both might get caught, so you have sex very rarely.

she will never have sex during these days, sex is completely prohibited during these days.

jill can tie you up and rape your pussy with her graceful little fingers and bring you to multiple orgasms, she can add her mouth or any toys

oh she loves to touch you and your body by accident when you are in public, she will accidentally touch your chest for a second, or she will deliberately squeeze your ass and pretend like she did nothing

this queen loves doggy style, just like mickey. she finds this position kinky, and it satisfies her.

«take it all like dirty slut you are, you want this? you're getting it» - jill says roughly and with a smirk, pushing the vibrator deeper into your pussy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ETHAN LANDRY

switch (mostly sub)

first things first, this man is 100% a complete and total sub

moans, groans, whines, pleas and begs; he does it all, and does it very well

ethan is literally made to eat pussy, in every session he will definitely eat your pussy. sit on his face, he will be just happy. he always listens to you and your instructions. add a finger, slow down, speed up, whatever. he always listens to you

If you want to be fucked like a whore, he will do it, if you want to humiliate him, he will do it too. whatever you ask, he will agree to it.

ethan loves the cowgirl, it's his favorite position. he'll accept everything like an obedient kitten, and only with your consent will he touch you. he loves it when your breasts bounce.

by the way about breasts, he loves your breasts. he is so gentle. almost every day he touches your breasts and feels them. often after your sex, your nipple is in his mouth

he can literally cum if you praise him, and his favorite thing is to call him: "good boy"

like any guy, ethan needs a good blowjob. he loves it when you take his cock in your mouth and jerk him off with your hand at the same time, he is just in heaven from it. ethan closes his eyes and these beautiful moans are heard from his beautiful mouth

you both don't have sex that often, you have quite a few quick rounds. he needs sex after kills.

«oh my good boy makes me feel so good..» - you moan sweetly and smile while he eats your pussy and you sit on his face

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ QUINN BAILEY

dom

of course quinn dominates. this beautiful woman has a huge sex drive, she is literally insatiable and wants sex all the time. she naturally had many sexual partners, as we know from the movie

you both have sex literally every day. It lasts for about 3-4 rounds, 15-20 minutes each.

quinn is more gentle with you than jill and she often praises you and reassures you. but, she can also be more rude.. she is such a big teaser!

this woman is number one in care after your sessions, she will calm you down and ask how you are. afterwards she can hug you for a few minutes, and then you take a shower with her where she carefully takes care of you.

she loves to seduce you with her short outfits and lift up her dress to tease you.

God she will rub your poor pussy and lick it all the time quinn often overstimulates you and you cum too much because of her

she, like jill, has toys that are safely hidden in her room. she always sticks the vibrator in so deep that it even hurts, but at these moments... caring quinn disappears and she becomes a real sadist.

queen of sex positive!

I think she had sex with a girl before.. but she probably didn't like it and promised herself she wouldn't do it with girls anymore. but you changed everything.

«come on baby, I know you can take more. It's only your third orgasm, slut.» - redhead has been rubbing your pussy for several minutes without stopping. you know that soon she will add fingers..

and by the way, don't ask me about a couple of freaks. I don't write anything with them.

[eternity-death]

Penacony Reactions to you spanking them

No TW’s I think. Just sillies being silly. Established relationship with Reader in all these hc’s.

—————

Hanabi

Head snaps 180° at you and you scream.

She’s traumatized you and now you will never do it again.

This doesn’t stop her from getting you back, though. And she’ll do it in public to make it worse. It’s not a one-and-done deal either, it becomes a regular thing.

You’ve just sentenced yourself to a life of sore-booty and humiliation. Was it really worth it?

Black Swan

Stares at you.

Her expression is a little hard to read and the longer she looks at you the more you feel implored to apologize.

She’s not mad though, she’s actually rather amused. And she’s getting even more entertainment by watching you squirm.

Eventually she gives and just chuckles. If you’ll allow her, then she’ll give you a nice tap on the butt too.

Sampo

He does that one goofy (Mickey mouse) scream.

Very animated reaction. Jumps 10 feet off the ground and covers his behind. He looks back at you like a kicked puppy but you know it’s all fake.

Sniffles and says smthn like, “How could you do this to your best bud, Sampo?”

Gets you back when you least expect it. Like you actually scream bloody murder because your guard is down and you can’t hear him sneak up on you bc he’s light on his feet. It doesn’t matter if you’re in public either. Be very afraid.

Aventurine

“Woah! Getting a little frisky, eh?”

If you’ve got something separating you two like a chair or a counter, he will chase you around it to reach you. Spanks you back, harder, with zero hesitation.

He starts tapping your butt as a regular thing afterwards. Almost like a greeting.

“Hey babe.” Then a light slap. When he feels extra mischievous he’ll grab it.

Acheron

You are unable to slap her booty because she catches your hand before it makes contact.

Just kind of looks at you and goes, “What are you doing.”

You explain to her that spanking is a sort of gesture between close companions. She doesn’t quite get it but decides to just go with it.

Later on, when she greets you, she strikes her hand down on your behind so hard that your teeth clatter. She asks if she did it right with such a hopeful tone, that you can’t find it in yourself to tell her that shattering someone’s pelvis is not part of the gesture. (When she does find out that she’s hurt you she apologizes deeply and coddles you)

Dr. Ratio

Lets out a high pitched yelp.

Gives you the most scandalized look and defensively rubs his tush.

“Did you really just do what I think you did?”

Strategizes a way to get you back. He has a blackboard with physics equations for the perfect angle and fall of his hand, pinned papers and calendars with your schedule and his, etc. He’s terrible at hiding his intentions too. When the time comes for his revenge you already anticipate it. What you didn’t anticipate was how strong he was. You guess those biceps aren’t just for show.

Firefly

Why would you ever? What kind of monster are you?

She yelps and just stares at you; hands covering her behind, face flushed, and her mouth agape.

Apologize.

Sam

You have a death wish.

Another one who catches your hand before you can spank. He just puts your hand back in your lap and goes, “No.”

He actually just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. His… butt… isn’t very soft, you see.

If you want him to, he’ll lightly tap yours back.

March 7nth

Gasps and launches herself at you with full intention of getting you back.

It turns into a chase, where you run in circles around the gazebo until she gets too tired and gives up.

You laugh about it but later forget. Little do you know, March has been scheming ever since.

“AHA!” You feel a harsh slap against your behind and yelp. The vendor you were talking to looks at you and your girlfriend as if you’ve both grown an extra head. She laughs victoriously, “See? I told you payback was coming!”

Robin

“Oh!!!” Gasps and covers herself. She’s a little freaked out at first but once she see’s it’s you she giggles.

You don’t really expect her to spank you back but she does. With the same amount of force that you used.

It kinda escalates into a competition where you two see who can land the most spanks in one day. Just don’t do it in front of her brother.

You’re losing btw.

Sunday

Do NOT spank him in public. He will be very crossed with you. Not funny did not laugh.

You may proceed with the spank if you are in private though.

He actually squeaks when you do. Then once the initial shock wears off he laughs, incredibly amused by you. Doesn’t say it but he plans on returning the favor.

When he does get you back you don’t expect it. You’re probably cooking or marking off the calendar when he passes you and goes, “Good morning, my love.” And then he slaps your butt. Moderate strength, enough to make you yelp but not enough to sting.

[boypied]

bet u wanna

mickey barnes x male reader

summary: mickey has just been cloned for the seventeenth time, and he ultimately can't hide his dark, lustfilled eyes whenever he sees you, mickey 17 wants nothing more than to please you.

requested by: anonymous

wc: 1.5k +

notes: MDNI, FDNI, oral sex (r!receiving), ass play, fingering, praising, pathetic!mickey, whimpering reader, thigh kink, cum swallowing (r!swallowing).

You slowly fall back against your bed, bouncing upwards ever so slightly hitting back against it once more as you press your hands over your eyes, submerging you into darkness. The knot in your stomach tightens as your cock soaks your underwear in your sweet tasting pre-cum, aching for a touch, a release that has been forced upon you from a pleasureful experience. You lay there fantasising about your co-working Mickey Barnes, the well-known disposable employee at your workplace. Throughout the workplace, Mickey comes across as quite submissive and pathetic, but you enjoy that about him. You find it so fucking sexy, almost orgasmic. You can imagine him right now, his perfectly chiselled face buried between your legs as he laps up your perfectly tight hole. You slowly slide your hand down your body and into your underwear, getting yourself ready to touch yourself until you're interrupted by a knock at your door. You let out a low grunt under your breath as you slip your hand out of your underwear. You adjust yourself ever so slightly, and you head towards your apartment door, pulling it open and being shocked at who is waiting behind it, "M-Mickey, what are you doing here?" You mumble out in pure shock as you swallow down a large amount of spit that you almost choked on the moment you opened up the door. Mickey smiles nervously as he scratches the back of his neck, "Can I come inside?" He says in his usual nervous tone. You nod your head and step to the side, allowing him to come inside your small apartment that was gifted to you when you took on the job.

You are completely shocked out of your mind that Mickey was here after the pure, smut filled fantasy that you were just about to blow a load over. "What made you stop by?" You ask him in a soft tone, stepping closer and closer to him, shutting the gap that was between the two of you. Mickey's face reddens with a deep blush as you slowly trace your fingers along his shoulder and then up his neck and down his jawline, you watch his eyes soften and he lets out a quiet whimper from your touch. You smirk as you notice how easy he folds for you, "Such a good boy.." You lean closer and mumble in his ear, which causes his eyes to soften even more, and a very obvious bulge begins to appear in his trousers. "Seems like someone is happy to see me." You say in a sultry tone with a cheeky smirk on your face as your hands travel down his body, feeling him until your finally reach what you've been waiting for; his huge fucking bulge. You gently grip at his bulge, causing him to let out a quiet whimper. You lean closer to him again and whisper in his ear, "Mickey... wanna come back to my roo-" but before you can even finish your sentence, Mickey eagerly nods his head with a huge eager smile on his face as he stares at you with his longing eyes wanting nothing more than to give you the best orgasm you've ever head. You take his hand and lead him into your bedroom, and suddenly, you feel Mickey grip at you from behind, and you hear his breath suddenly hitch when he whispers in your ear "I-I want to focus on you... all on you." He mumbles out in a soft tone, and your eyes flutter back as you reach your hand round to gently caress him.

Mickey's hands grip at your oversized t-shirt, and in one swift motion, he pulls it over your head, and he leans down ever so slightly covering the back of your neck and along your shoulder in soft and gentle kisses as you feel his raging boner pressed against your plump ass. Mickey's hands wrap around your waist from behind, and he grips at the hem of your joggers slowly pulling them down. He moves with it, dropping down onto his knees. Mickey slowly flutters his eyes open, and he's face to face with your bare asscheeks. His breath shudders as he reaches up, gripping at your hips as he pushes his face forward, your plump cheeks opening up to allow Mickey's mouth to reach in, his mouth coming into contact with your exposed asshole. Your body jolts, and your eyes widen at the sudden warmth and wet feeling of Mickey's tongue against your hole, "M-Mickey!" You gasp out in pure pleasureful bliss just from the sudden feeling of his tongue slowly lapping up your hole, coating it in his spit giving him the leverage to slip his tongue past your tight muscle ring and into the warmth of your ivory walls as they clamp around his tongue, you laugh out a breathy moan as you feel Mickey smirk around your asscheeks as he flicks his tongue back and forth getting closer and closer to your g-spot. You bite down onto your lower lip to keep you quiet.

Mickey pulls away from your asshole, his tongue slipping out and away from your tight muscle ring, and he looks up at your slightly arched back as you wobble back and forth. He places a gentle kiss on your asscheek before standing back up, "lay down." He mumbles into your ear as you walk over to your bed where you lay down onto your back and you open up your legs to see Mickey pulling his shirt off as he climbs onto the bed, his face inbetween your thighs. Mickey side smiles at you which causes your stomach to flip upside down and become riddled with butterflies, "fuck, he's never looked hotter." You think to yourself as he places a kiss on either side of your thigh until you grip at his hair pulling him down towards your cock where he takes your cock fully inside his mouth causing you to gasp out in pure bliss, "f-fuck!" You mumble out as you slowly fall back entirely and your eyes flutter back. "M-Mhm," you whimper out as Mickey works his head up and down, making sure that his lips are suctioned around your raging hard-on, that is all because of him. Mickey continues to work away at your cock, taking every inch of your cock into his mouth without taking his eyes off of your face that is so obviously full of ecstasy. Mickey's fingers travel up the bed and into his already full mouth as he coats his two fingers in his spit. Once they're covered in his own spit, he brings them down to your already tongue-worked asshole. He gently pushes his fingers against your hole, and without a doubt, your body allowed his fingers into you, "M-MICKEY!" You sharply moan out as you feel his tongue swirl around the tip of your dick as well as his fingers curling up inside your asshole, perfectly hitting your sweet spot that you've been dreaming of having Mickey touch.

You let out a sharp whimper as his fingers directly curl against your sweet spot, and once he hit that once, he continued to hit it over and over again. Mickey milks your sweet spot, which creates a ripple effect as your cock leaks like a facet in his mouth and Mickey is loving every moment of this. You slowly begin to run through his hair, gripping in against it, gently tugging on it, which causes Mickey to throw his head back and show off his extremely sexy smirk. "I love it when you whimper." Mickey mumbles out in a breathy moan as he continues to finger fuck you except with his other free hand that was gripped against your thighs, Mickey now wraps it around your slick wet cock and he slowly begins to pump your cock. "Cum for me baby, p-please cum for me... I've never wanted anything more then to watch you explode a fat load all for me." He says in a clear sultry tone which completely sends you over the edge, "M-Mickey! F-FUCK!" You gasp out in pure orgasmic bliss as with one more swift motion of Mickey's wrist and curl of his fingers, you get sent completely over the edge. The tip of your cock pulsates and your entire cock twitches until you spill your load, completely shooting rockets of cum all over the place. Mickey sticks his tongue out as he pumps the load out of you, "Good boy!" He whispers to you as some of your cum hits his face and lands all over his tongue. Your eyes flutter back as you try to stay focused on him, but the pure blissful delight of the orgasm that Mickey has just given you has caused you to see stars. Mickey climbs up closer to you as you take deep breaths to try and cool down from what just happened. You turn over and look directly at him, and you can't help but smile. You don't even have to say a word to Mickey for him to just pull you against his body. "You're perfect." You mumble out underneath your breath, thinking about all the things you can do together in the near future, but until then, you lay there in his warm embrace listening to the sound of Mickey breathing and hearing his heart beat... for you.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[ventique18]

Ok so I've been seeing complaints about Book 7's ending by a few minority not only here, but from other platforms as well. While everyone is of course allowed to dislike something, let's tackle a few points:

Malleus deserved a harsher punishment

Everyone witnessed Diasomnia's moment. Everybody knew he accidentally killed Lilia. Everyone knows how much Lilia means to Malleus. So everyone knows that there's no punishment harsher than the eternal scar of accidentally killing your own father.

And that's not enough, because he lost majority of his power. THIS is his prolonged punishment. We should remember that his entire life revolved around being the strongest, so all of his foundation hinged on that. If you're an artist, it's like losing your dominant hand and having to relearn how to draw with your other. Except in his case it's like losing both his hands so he needs to learn how to draw with his feet.

While it's true that he's far happier now than he was when he was strong, that doesn't mean he won't go through so much suffering as a consequence. For 200 years. 200 years of being weak means he's not fit to be king; no Dark Fae will follow a man akin to a common Fae. His nobles will not respect him. He's now a very easy target, since he's not indestructible anymore.

This basically means he's currently a pretty decoration to Briar Valley. An unemployed trust fund kid. Random people will likely mock him or treat him like an amusing animal in a zoo.

Which means he will have to build his reputation from the ground up, against all odds, as a disgraced prince.

Malleus tried to kill x and x

No he did not. He genuinely thought he found a breakthrough and was doing the world a service by making immortality accessible to everyone. Remember that he used to be the strongest; he thought nobody was just capable of this feat until he did.

He was quite literally insane at that moment. When he did accidentally kill Lilia, he snapped to his senses and immediately reacted like a small child. He doesn't want to believe it, because he would never do something like that. He simply doesn't want to kill anyone-- what he wanted was the opposite: that nobody needs to die anymore.

Everybody left him off the hook so easily

We get a lot of scenes explaining this. Sure maybe for you their reasons are bullshit, but the fact is that this is a Disney story. He would never be executed. But the following are from different accounts from different characters.

There were actually very few injured, because even though he was insane in dragon form, a part of his morality was there and he unconsciously avoided hurting people as much as possible. There are more injuries that happen in Spelldrive than who Malleus injured, according to Epel.

For the rest of the student body, they were simply having the best dreams of their lives. Many compared to it an amusement park and want to experience it again.

The other overblotters tried to protest, but were reminded that they too almost killed people. Some were genuinely out to kill people while Malleus wasn't.

Most people on Sage Island are actually good people, unlike NRC students. They embody the values of Fantasia Mickey, where the apprentice was given a second chance instead of being exiled because he showed actual remorse.

He is entitled and thinks he's always right

Yes he's entitled. But that's part of his character. He thought he was right, insisted he was right, but when he was defeated and told otherwise, he accepted it wholeheartedly. He was the only overblotter who actually apologized in public, recognized he did wrong, thanked everyone for helping him, and swore he will become a better man.

He literally can't take back anything that's happened. Kicking him further will not achieve anything.

Why didn't he talk it out with Yuu instead of immediately jumping to overblot

He doesn't even understand that he's feeling something negative. Nobody taught him to recognize his own feelings. He was raised to be strong and independent, so his first instinct was to deal with the problem himself.

He can't even talk it out with Lilia and Silver; there was no way he could talk it out to a friend he just met that year.

His power literally hurts his surroundings when he tries to feel things. He's likely afraid of accidentally striking someone with lightning or drowning them in storms if he admits that he's feeling down.

He didn't know too much negative feelings could lead to an overblot. He was already out of his mind before he knew it.

There could be more but these are off the top of my head.

[jesuistrestriste]

sage. my flight got delayed AGAIN. i’m not getting back to school til late, i have an assignment due tomorrow i haven’t finished…may i please request some Mickey 17 stuff? smut or fluff or angst idc i miss that little guy:(

⭑.ᐟ cw (18+) : dry humping, tiny bit of fluff —

mickey’s body is a mess.

he’s just been reprinted for the twelfth time, his limbs slimy and his blood whooshing erratically through his veins as he’s sat up on the cold table. the familiar scientists poke and prod at his skin while they scribble hurried little notes in their pads of paper. his head spins badly whenever he gets propped up fresh out of the machine, but he still manages to immediately think of you.

where you’re at right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

he can’t do anything until the people in the lab are ready to let him go though, releasing him until the next agonizing experiment needs his lungs or his heart or his brain. sometimes it’s funny because they’re ready to kick him out the door before his legs are ready to be used, like a mother bird kicking her baby out of the nest before its ready to fledge. regardless, they’re usually pretty quick about finishing their post-printing examinations. and he can use the spare minutes while they’re working on him to think about what he’s gonna do when he finally gets to see you again.

the sting of his new cells adjusting to the atmosphere is drowned out by thoughts of pressing his lips to yours, trying out one of the stupid sex positions you and him made up on one of the tablets, running his hands over your warm flesh. he sighs.

one time—a few bodies ago—you had sucked him off when it had only been about 30 minutes since the reprinting, and you’d told him that his come tasted like plastic and sterilized metal. (which was weird because his body was supposed to be biologically the same as the last, so shouldn’t he have tasted normal? whatever. didn’t matter. you had swallowed. you had licked the rest of it into his mouth afterwards. it did taste artificial.)

the people surrounding him eventually scampered off and he assumed his freedom, got dressed, and slinked off and out. he walked through the hallways and listened to the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the flooring. climbed the stairs to the rooms, then slid open your door to find you laid on your bed. his chest sags with relief.

you smile at him. god, that smile. he can’t help but shut the door in a hasty effort and crawl up on top of you. your guys’ dark colored jumpsuits slide together. its only a tiny spark of friction, but its enough.

his body is always extra sensitive after coming out of the machine; he always feels like a virgin again, not that he’s had much sex in general. he feels your hand over his hip, and he shudders.

“mmgh,” he breathes into your neck, stiff and shaky, “i missed you.”

“missed you too. it’s only been a day and a half, but i really, really missed you,” you whisper against his jaw.

he loves how you can be just as clingy as him sometimes. you even beat him at his own game on occasion, sticking to his side like a glob of glue, but he blames the fact that you only get to see him during select parts of the day. with your duties and his expendable work.. it’s tough. you both take what you can get, and as much of it as you’re allowed. and that usually also means getting handsy as soon as you’re together.

you feel him rock down against your thigh involuntarily, reflexively, chasing a brewing feeling in his stomach. your fingers run through his brown hair, and you bite your lip when it elicits a whimper from him.

“already, mick?” you hum teasingly, the tips of your digits scratching the back of his scalp, just the way he likes it, “don’t you wanna go down and eat first?”

he chokes around a moan when he starts to hump the most perfect spot on your leg, just enough muscle there to give him something to work against. his hands find fabric of your suit, slipping under your back next as he keens. he feels a rush of warmth coat his cock, and then he feels a dribble of something start to leak from his tip.

“don’t wanna eat.. not really hungry..” he gasps, his brow pinched up now in the shadows of the crook of your body, “this.. you.. this feels so good, i don’t wanna stop..”

you tilt your head slightly and then lift your leg under him to press it further against his bulging crotch. a sharp cry spills from his lips. you pet his hair again. he’s like a puppy sometimes—a needy, possessive dog that looks up to you like you’re something to be worshipped. you can’t get enough.

“okay, well, i snuck you some food anyways, its in my—“

mickey cuts you off, crashing his lips to yours with a hunger that’s almost unlike him. he usually wants you to lead (much preferring following your directions). his tongue seeks yours desperately, flattening over your own once he gets access. you have to swallow down all the little noises he’s making as he starts to thrust his clothed appendage against your body quicker. the movement of his snapping hips is building a warmth between all of the layers.. you wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he burned a hole right through with all the rubbing he’s doing. you lovingly slide a hand over his lower back in an attempt to soothe his frantic movements, but it doesn’t quite work. he breaks from the kiss, body jolting, to look down to your face and hiccup. expression all crumpled and contorted and flushed with an orgasm that he’s almost got clutched in the palm of his hand. eyes glazed over and jaw slacked like he’s high on pure oxy from timo. just a disaster of a man. and to think—a hunk of machinery and a brick of his memories brought him back to life less than an hour ago. birthed him, really. everything about him in this moment is so primal. you can’t shake the need to mark your territory, just in case he’s forgotten somehow.

“easy, easy.. you’re all mine for the rest of the night anyways.. i don’t care what they want, they’re not taking you from me tonight..”

and that’s all it takes.

just those sweet, possessive words pouring like thick honey into his ears, and then he’s gone. easy as that.

his eyes roll back, his head drops to your shoulder, his length spasms in his new underwear, then he’s coming. it happens as quick as you can blink.

“aah! im.. im—!”

he heaves through the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that bloom and spread throughout his nervous system, rendering him a trembling heap on top of you. if it weren’t for the remaining strength in his biceps, he’d collapse and probably fall like dead weight over your chest. he gives a few more shaky rolls of his hips as he rides out the prickling aftershocks of overstimulation. “f-fuck, ohh, ngh..”

then he really does slump over you. lowering himself slowly over your frame so as to not crush you. there’s something tender about the way he moves to ensure your comfort, even when he’s so wrecked, and it makes you instinctively wrap your arms around him. he sniffles while he catches his breath.

“s-sssorry,” the word broken up lazily as he struggles to bring himself back to the reality of your touch, “mmn.. jus’ felt so good, and you smell so nice, and i just couldn’t..” he trails off, shaking his head as he feels his body begin to overheat.

a little laugh bubbles up and out at his incoherency. then your hand over his upper back snakes down to playfully squeeze his rear. he sucks in a gasp and then chuckles into your skin as he squirms.

“s’fine, i like watching you finish like that.”

he chews the inside of his cheek like gum. you can almost feel his lashes flutter against your pulse point.

“felt like i wasn’t myself for a second..”

it’s a joke, one twinged with a bit of shame and guilt, you know that, but it doesn’t feel like one. each time he gets reprinted, a part of him changes—gets stripped away and plastered over with something new. you don’t always mind, but it does make you question which mickey you’ll get next time. will he be soft and kind? blunt and impulsive?

at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t matter much.

“you’ll always be my mickey.”

he lets out a weighted sigh of relief for the second time in the past thirty minutes since he’s been back in your presence, and it’s almost like you can feel the very last of the tension drain from his pores. he only whispers two more words against your ear before he finds his own hands wandering your body, eager to reciprocate and prove that he’s still useful. he owes it to you for loving him through it all.

“yeah.. yours.”

[withahappyrefrain]

The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It

Summary: You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

Warnings: Language, no y/n, female reader, reader has a callsign (Honey)

Thank you to @dissonannce for this amazing idea. Thank you @acewritesfics for the dividers!

"Your hands are so big."

It took Bob a moment to register that you were in fact, talking to him.

"Oh! Um yeah. My ma made me do piano because she felt I was given the hands for them," Bob wiggled his fingers for extra effect, "Y'know, since they're so long."

Yes, they were quite long. It was one of the first things you noticed about Bob. Well, after you noticed his beautiful blue eyes, his endearing lopsided smile, the way he was so considerate of everyone else, so gentle, and yet there was an underlying confidence about him. He was sure of himself, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

Who could blame you for falling head over heels for him?

You flashed him a smile, hand reaching towards his.

"It's just, your hand is so much bigger than mine. See?" You propped his arm up, allowing your palm to press against his, both your fingers spread out to showcase the difference in size.

"See? My hand is so small compared to yours," You giggled. Bob looked down at your hands. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching, dying to entwine with his.

"Yeah, there is quite a difference in size," Bob said, giving you that small smile you adored so much. That smile gave you the confidence to entwine your fingers with his.

"I think they fit pretty well together, see?" He wasn't letting go. He was still smiling as he looked down at your hand holding his.

Maybe this was finally it, he'd finally realized that you liked him and would-

"I'm gonna go get some more peanuts, can I get ya anything?"

You mustered up a smile, trying to cover up your disappointment, "I'll take a water. Thanks Robby."

As soon as he left, you shot Jake a dirty look, "Seresin, you said that shit would work!"

Jake, who had been pretending to play a game of pool with Bradley, Javy, and Mickey, put his hands up in defense, "Because it usually does! Everyone knows when a girl compares hand sizes it means she wants you!"

"Everyone but Bob apparently," Javy muttered.

"Maybe you just need to be more obvious?" Mickey suggested.

You sighed. You knew Bob. The last thing you wanted was to be so blunt it would overwhelm him. But at the same time, you two had been doing this whole 'friends but also more than that and I'm pretty sure we're flirting?' for the last month and you were getting annoyed with it how seemed to be going nowhere.

Perhaps Mickey was right. You were going to have to be a bit more obvious.

"Bee? You ready?" Bob called out from your living room. Bob's nickname of your callsign (Honey) always brought a smile to your face, as well as heat to your cheeks.

"Almost! Can I get your thoughts on this top?" You asked as you walked in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you look-oh." Bob's eyes widened as he took in the green top you were wearing.

It was tighter than the shirts you normally wore, highlighting your breasts. The fabric stopped right at the end of your rib cage, showing off your stomach and bringing attention to your high waisted jeans, which according to Jake "did wonders for your ass".

"What do you think?" You clasped your hands together, the action causing your breasts to stick out even further.

"Um the uh, the color is really great on you. B-brings out your eyes," Bob said, his eyes looking everywhere except you.

With the way his cheeks were bright red, it gave you confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his, "I was hoping it would bring out something else besides my eyes Robby."

"I mean you you look great in everything you wear! So mission accomplished," Bob said quickly, his hands fidgeting with his car keys.

"Anything else you want to say about the outfit Robby? I really value your opinion." You stood on the tips of your toes, bringing your chest closer to Bob's face.

It was the first time since you walked in that his eyes landed on your chest. He cleared his throat, as if he was gathering up the courage to say it.

"You should grab a jacket, it's supposed to go down to the low sixties tonight," He said, turning around to head out the door.

God damn it.

You grabbed your phone, quickly texting the group.

Honey: We need to go to Plan C.

Rooster: Plan C?! You're saying the top didn't work?

Bagman: Dude, your tits were like out.

Rooster: Maybe they weren't out enough?

Coyote: If they were out any more, Honey would be getting a public indecency charge.

Phoenix: Maybe we shouldn't use clothes to express our feelings? Just a thought 🤦🏽

Fanboy: Yeah Nat, that's plan C.

Payback: Can we not blow up the group chat tonight? The finale of Insecure is on.

Your right leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation, your eyes never leaving the entrance to the Hard Deck.

"You don't think this is too much, is it?" You asked your friends/coworkers.

"Nah, it'll be perfect!" Mickey reassured you.

"You and Bob are going to walk out of here holding hands by the end of the night, guarantee it," Jake commented as he lined up the balls for a round of pool.

It took all your strength not to jump out of your seat when you saw Bob walk in. His iridescent blue eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He always seemed to search for you, which had to be a sign that he wanted more, that he felt the same way as you did.

You greeted him with a smile, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Hey Robby! I got something for you!" You called out.

Bob just smiled as he sat down, "I see you got my signature: water and peanuts. Thanks Bee!"

You giggled, shaking your head, "Yes, but that's not just it. These are for you!"

Bob stared at the bouquet of flowers you were holding out for him.

"For me? These are for me?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes! I was just thinking, like why is giving guys flowers not a thing? Because it totally should be! And no one deserves these flowers more than you Robby," You explained, a hopeful smile adorning your face.

Bob gently took the bouquet, admiring each flower.

"I thought they would go well with your eyes-that's why a most of them are yellow," you explained, trying to hide how nervous you were.

"These are perfect," Bob said before leaning down to smell the flowers.

"Really? Each flower has a different meaning," you began, hoping that by fidgeting with your hands, you'd be able to conceal your nerves.

Bob simply smiled, his face the epitome of saccharine, "Oh, I already know."

Your breath hitched, "You do?"

Bob nodded, "Oh yeah! Alstroemerias symbolize support, sunflowers are for loyalty, and violets stand for intuition!"

He wasn't wrong. You couldn't tell if you were upset by that or the fact that Mickey forgot flowers can have more than one meaning.

Time for Plan D.

"Hey Robby! You ready to watch hot people make poor decisions?"

"Ready as I'll ever-that's new," Bob said softly, taking in the new loungewear you had on for your biweekly Love Island watch.

"Oh this? I think I got it last week," you said as you let Bob into your apartment, "It's super comfy and it has pockets!"

It also was cut low, showing off your cleavage, as well as the tops of your thigh.

"Yeah, the uh, color looks really good on you Bee," Bob commented. The compliment brought a smile to your face. He noticed you, noticed you were wearing something new, and seemed to be noticing your now exposed skin.

"Well, let's go see if these folks gain any common sense," you grabbed his hand, practically beaming at how your hand fit perfectly in his.

"Somehow I doubt it," Bob chuckled.

When he offered to hold the popcorn for while you two watched, you weren't disappointed. Sure, it meant you weren't able to hold his hand. But it did mean you could move closer to him, your thighs practically touching.

"I really hope he doesn't take her back," Bob muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

"He will. They always do," you sighed, gently moving your head so it rested against one of his broad shoulders.

If your action had any effect on Bob, he didn't show it. Which was the problem.

"I would pick you in the recoupling," You revealed, hoping that would be enough, would finally be enough.

Bob smiled, placing a hand on your knee, "That's kind of you Bee. But I think friendship couples go against the nature of the show."

It took everything in you not to scream.

The rest of the night was just a typical Love Island watch night, no touching, no initiating, no declarations of love, and ending with Bob giving you a friendly hug goodbye.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed to check your messages.

Bagman: Bee, please tell us it worked and you're marking sweet love to baby on board

Phoenix: you're disgusting Seresin.

Rooster: why would they stop fucking just to text you Bagman?

Bagman: so we can pop some champagne to celebrate

Fanboy: Why the fuck is would we do that?

Coyote: It's a big event! Bee told Bob how she feels AND Bob's getting laid!

Payback: Can I just get one night of peace? Just one night?

You: No one's doing anything bc it didn't work!

Rooster: Not trying to be rude, but weren't you like almost naked?

Bagman: Like 52% nude.

Phoenix: JFC, we're going to plan E folks.

Coyote: Is that when we just lock them in a closet?

Bagman: No that's plan G

"Hey Bee!"

The cheerful, charming voice always brought a smile to your face.

"Hi Robby!" You greeted him with a hug, the comforting scent of rosemary filling your nostrils, "You smell really nice."

"Oh um thanks," A hand flew to the back of Bob's neck, a nervous (and also adorable) habit, "Wanted to smell nice after doing all those pushups out in the sun."

"Well it worked, you smell great," One of your hands reached up to the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that had curled at the end, "Look great too."

The tops of Bob's cheeks were now a dusty pink, "It's just a white Tshirt."

You took a step forward, placing your hands on his chest, "It's a good look Robby. Shows off your muscles. I like it on you.

Bob's lips parted, then promptly closed.

"Uh, t-thanks Bee." He had to know now that you were flirting with him. It was clear as day.

Feeling confident, your hands trailed down to his, grasping them, "We should dance!"

You didn't wait for Bob to answer, dragging him out to the middle of the floor. The sounds of Bradley covering Frankie Valli (begrudgingly, as apparently Jerry Lee Lewis was better) filled the bar.

After a few minutes, Bob's shoulders visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. You threw your head back laughing as he bust out a goofy dance move.

Everyone thought Bob was shy, but that wasn't the case. He was observant, determined to get a good read on someone so he knew how to approach the situation accordingly. Once he was comfortable, his personality shined and he was a sweet, goofy man who you adored with all your heart.

The grin you had was so wide, your cheeks were beginning to hurt. But you couldn't stop, not when he was twirling you around.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" You asked, having to say it into his ear so he could hear your voice above the music.

Bob shrugged, "I come from a big family. When you know you're going to a lot of weddings, knowing how to dance helps. That and my mom made me do cotillion."

"Well, all that practice paid off. You're a great dance partner Robby." You rested your chin against his broad chest, looking up to meet eyes bluer than the ocean.

In that moment, all you could do was focus on him. The way the corner of his eyes creased when he truly smiled, his comforting scent, his pink, thin lips that you were dying to feel on yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, if he could feel it since your body was practically on his.

His hands found their way to your arms, gently placing themselves on your biceps. Was this it? It had to be.

So you stood on the tips of your toes, your lips now closer to his. Your eyes began to close as you leaned in to-

"I gotta go. Jake stuck his foot in his mouth again."

This wasn't a lie. But it still didn't dull your disappointment. Nor did it sedate your growing frustration at this whole situation.

Perhaps you didn't need Plan G or H Perhaps it was time to go with your original plan.

The next time you saw Bob was when Nat threw a small get together to celebrate the end of a long week.

He was wearing that damn white Tshirt again. Whenever he brought his cup of water to his mouth, the fabric stretched across his bicep.

Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know? Consciously or not, that you had fallen for him ever since you two first met at training?

Either way, you were tired of this game you had been playing for the past month.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

You simply nodded before taking a shot of vodka. A little liquid courage was always nice.

"Nat, he's oblivious. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't do this the first time," Jake commented as he took the shot glass out of your hand.

"Because we didn't expect him to be that oblivious," Mickey countered.

"Well everyone, wish me luck." You walked out of the kitchen to find Bob still sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a smile sweeter than honey. Your legs began to wobble, whether it was from that smile or your nerves, you couldn't say.

You walked over, making a beeline for him. Bob's eyes widened, his fingers gripping his cup. Your gaze was so intense.

"Hey Bee-oh!" Bob froze as you sat down in his lap, your thighs straddling his lithe hips.

"Hey Robby," your hands found his shoulders, fingers toying with the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Uh Bee, there's um, there's a seat right there," Bob weakly pointed to the empty space next to him.

"I don't want that," you leaned forward, your forehead grazing his, "I want you Robby."

His eyes widened once more, as if he just saw an incoming train, "M-me?"

"Yes. Wanted you ever since that first day of training, when you offered me a mint," you told him.

"I uh, you looked sleepy and mint is known to wake you up and," Bob paused, "Did you say since the first day of training?"

You nodded, smiling at how you were able to see him process this information.

"The first day of training?" He repeated.

"Yes Bob, all you did was offer me a mint and smile to make me fall head over heels for ya," your fingers now went up to the back of his neck, twirling the curled ends of his hair, "Been trying to tell you that for the last month."

Bob opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, his brain still processing everything.

"You good Rob-" You never got to finish your sentence, as Bob decided right then was the best time to press his lips against yours.

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla, no doubt from the chapstick you watched him reapply. His touch was gentle, his thick fingers ghosting over your thighs, trailing up to your waist. Every move, no matter how small, made your heart fluttered.

Being so close to him, you could smell his aftershave, a mix of eucalyptus and sage. It was intoxicating and you wanted to be surrounded by it all the time, wanted to kiss him all the time.

When he broke away for air, you had to hold back a whimper, your lips desperate for more.

"FINALLY!"

You turned your head to find Bradley, along with Mickey, Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Reuben standing by the doorframe, in perfect view of you and Bob.

You smiled and opened your mouth, ready to make a quick remark. But Bob's fingers hooked underneath your chin, turning your head back to meet his lips again.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was bolder. His lips moved against yours with more confidence. Your whole body felt warm, as if you were floating. His hands now cupped your jawline, which is how you learned that Bob's hands practically covered your whole neck, a discovery that sent you reeling.

Your hands trailed up to his head, desperate to feel his sun kissed locks, desperate to find out if they were as soft as they looked. But just before you could, Bob broke away.

"What?" Anxiety came rushing back, dragging you away from Cloud Nine, your previous location. Did he regret it?

"Let's go."

He moved your body to the empty space on the couch, quickly getting up. You took his hands, allowing him to help you get up. You held onto one hand as he led you to the front door.

"Bob! What are you doing with my backseater?" Javy called out.

"Making up for lost time!"

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed. But how could you? You had finally kissed the man of your dreams, he kissed you back. He wanted to leave with you.

The sounds of the house party fainted, becoming soft background noise as you went outside.

Bob stopped, turning around to face you. Before you could get out a sound, his lips were on you again. His hands pulled your body to his, closing the gap in-between.

You couldn't help but moan when you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, immediately granting him entrance. You could hear Bob's breath hitch, his hands roaming across your body, touching your soft skin.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

"Why do you keep doing that?!"

"I...." His face was flushed, "I meant to ask you if if you drove yourself here. But you looked so kissable. You still do, God I just wanna kiss you again."

"I'm not stopping you Robby," you grinned, stepping towards him, "I'm not stopping you at all."

"Oh don't tell me that darlin'" his Midwestern upbringing laced his words. You always loved his accent, having found it not just unique but also comforting.

Somehow, despite his lips pressed against yours, Bob was able to walk you back to his car, your back meeting the cool metal.

His broad body draped over yours, his tongue frantically exploring your mouth. Your fingers reached up, grasping his hair. It was soft and much thicker than you expected.

What else was there about Bob you had yet to learn? What kind of toothpaste he used, if he drank tea or coffee in the morning. Did he fall asleep to rain sounds or silence? How many pillows were on his bed?

You wanted to know everything.

But right now, you just wanted to kiss Bob.

Your fingers tugged on his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. Despite his chest being pressed against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted all of him.

"We should get in the car," He said, voice breathless. With the way his chest was rising, one would think he had just ran ten miles.

Bob began moving towards the driver's side of his truck, but he stopped, turning back to you.

"I want to take you home," He stated. It sounded like a confession with the way guilt laced his eyes.

"I would love that Robby."

Instead, he just shook his head, "But I shouldn't because you deserve more than that. You deserve a nice date, like that Italian restaurant we always pass when we go to Bradley's. You deserve that and flowers and a lovely dinner with candles and wine that's older than both of us-"

You cut him off by gently pecking his lips, "It's okay Bob. You could take me to that diner up the room from your place tomorrow morning and I'd be elated because I would be with you."

He shook his head, clearly torn between continuing to talk and continuing to kiss you, "But....it's the least I should do. I mean, after all the hints you were dropping. I thought you were just being friendly and-"

"What friend asks another friend to look at their chest?" You asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe we were just really close! That you were really comfortable around me, which is why I didn't think anything regarding what you wore when we watched Love Island. I mean," his face reddened, "I did think about it. Um I thought about it a lot and if you ever want to wear it again, I would not mind-"

"Bob," you stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest.

"I mean, you got me Violets! Those mean loyalty and devotion, as well as delicate love! And believe me I wanted to kiss you at the Hard Deck, but that is entirely Jake's fault-"

"As most things are."

"And looking back it was so obvious and I can't believe I didn't pick up on it," He paused, "Sorry, I I had to get that out. I can take you home or back to my place, whatever you want."

You giggled, delighted by his ramblings. You wanted to hear more of it.

"And now I just want to kiss you. Like all the time," He confessed, his lips moving closer to yours.

"Robby, get in the car," you instructed.

"Oh, um, okay," Bob unlocked his car, moving towards the driver seat.

"No Bob. Get in the back of the car," you instructed.

Bob's brows knitted together in confusion, "But then how will I drive-oh!"

Who knows if you were going to make it back to his place or yours. All you cared about was getting your lips and hands back on Bob Floyd.

[rjalker]

I feel like a whole lot of people only learned the words "public domain" yesterday because there is a shit ton of misinformation and fearmongering being spread about Mickey Mouse now that he's public domain. And the only people being helped by this are Disney executives.

Yes, you can call him Mickey Mouse. The name Mickey Mouse is now Public Domain. He's literally named in the title card for Steamboat Willie and the other animations and promotional posters that are Public Domain.

Yes, you can give him gloves. There are multiple Public Domain versions of him wearing gloves.

Yes, you can draw him in color. First of all, there are Public Domain versions of him drawn in color. Second of all, the entire point of the Public Domain is that you are free to transform and update the subject. That means you can give Mickey Mouse any outfit or combinations of outfits you want as long as the ones you use aren't already copyrighted by Disney.

And more but my laptop is overheating. Feel free to add on more corrections to misinformation being spread.

Edit to add:

Yes, you can have him talk! Just because The versions in Steamboat Willie, The Galloping Gaucho and Plane Crazy don't talk doesn't mean that Disney is the only one allowed to make him talk. That's not how the public domain works. It just means you have to create your own voice for him.

Edit again to add:

Yes, you can sell art of him. Yes, you can put him on a shirt and sell it. Yes, you can sell paintings of him. As long as you are not using a design still protected by Disney's copyright, and are not deceiving people into thinking it's official Disney merch, you can sell it! That's the whole point of the Public Domain!

And no, people, for Pete's sake. It is not and never has been illegal to draw modern Mickey Mouse. That's fair use. You can draw anything you want. Copyright stops you from selling things. You have always been allowed to draw any Mickey Mouse you want. Disney will not appear out of thin air and arrest you and your family because you have "pie slices on the pupil". That is literally not how any of this works, especially not how the Public Domain works!

[leviafin]

Exotrauma

Having exotrauma from a "cringe" or "silly" source sucks. It feels like you're taken infinitely less seriously than those who have trauma from grittier, adult-geared and/or "acceptable" sources. Which in and of itself just isolates you and makes it worse.

I'm not just a silly little thing from your silly little Roblox game that could never show signs of trauma because it's 'just a kids game'--and I'm not your blorbo either. It feels like there's 2 common options for how people treat fictionkind with exotrauma:

Oh my poor little scrunkly, my little cardboard box meow meow.... Going to hold you because I love babying you and treating you like you're not even a person because I see you only as my favourite character. (Mind you, this is distinctly SEPARATE from actual friendly support, you can tell the difference.)

You're not a fictional character, get over it lmao. Yeah I know you are them but like you didn't ACTUALLY live through that, stop claiming it, it's disrespectful. Why are you upset at my memes about your death lol. Get a life.

So like... Maybe fictionkind are people. Maybe I don't want to think about the worse parts of my source. Maybe I don't want my trauma shoved in my face as a little funny joke, even if the context is changed. Maybe, just maybe... Leave alterhumans with fictional sources alone. Even if their source is lighthearted, even if it's for kids, even if it's the most "cringe" media you can think of.

Sonic the Hedgehog might've seemed fine in-source but maybe he's fucked up from all that he's been through. That warrior cat alterhuman isn't just being edgy, maybe they're suffering from the memories of fighting to survive day in and day out. Bluey is allowed to be not okay, and their source shouldn't dictate their experiences. Do you ever think that some Pokemon or trainers don't have amazing, adventurous lives travelling around with their best friends? Mario might have nightmares and flashbacks from his source. Mickey Mouse is allowed to be hurt, and allowed to express that. That MLP alterhuman isn't always going to be just a happy colourful magic pony with no issues whatsoever.

We are PEOPLE, and our sources being "happy", "for kids", "light-hearted", "fun" or anything of the sort should NOT dictate how we are treated here, what our experiences are "allowed" to be, or how we are expected to act. Treat fictionkind--of all sorts--like PEOPLE.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : the fever

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : blurb based on this request!!!! or hamzah takes care of reader while she's sick

mickey speaks : i hope u enjoyyyy, more of my hamzah works can be found here <3 also i’m updating my tag list so pls lmk if you’d liked to be tagged in any fics in the future

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

there's no worse way to start your morning than in a pool of your own sweat and reading a thermometer displaying 101.2°F.

without any strength to attempt to leave your bed and no appetite to drive you to perseverance, you're left slumped lazily against your hot pillow.

just as your blinks begin to slow and your eyes droop low, an irritating sequence of vibrations beam from your phone. you pinch your eyes and let out a slightly dramatic but definitely necessary whine that turns into a groan as you stretch your arms far above your head.

you take your time, hoping whoever is waiting on the other line takes the hint by the forth ring that you’re busy drowning in your misery. you open your eyes just a peek before the ringing completely stops.

a relieved sigh comes over you as you lift your plush comforter over your head in hopes of reducing any natural light your windows allow to shine into your cluttered room.

it rings once more.

“fuck!” you let a blip of rage slip out in a seething tone, kicking your feet against your mattress harshly (an immature way of expressing yourself which makes you feel fifteen again; annoyed by your old obnoxious alarm clock).

you pull the oversized covers from your face and lean over to fiddle and grab your phone from its charging dock on your jagged, wooden night stand.

your tight expression is slightly shattered when you see the large text and tiny image in the corner of the facetime call displaying your boyfriend’s name and face.

you swipe to answer, falling back onto your pillow and covering your torso with the comforter once more (after having stripped of any clothing throughout the sleepless night).

your pouty face goes to the corner of the call as hamzah displays largely across your screen. he’s set his phone on top of his dashboard, still focused on actively driving when you answer.

“heyy, whatcha’ doing? haven’t responded to my texts at all, i was gettin’ worried..” his tongue plays with the gum in his mouth, popping multiple tiny bubbles at once.

your voice gives an unexpected voice crack, “i’m doing terrible,” hamzah’s a bit thrown off by your response but you don’t acknowledge his facial expression, instead you rub your eyes, “where are you going?”

“what happened?!” he arrives at a red light and looks at you while he’s stopped, “did you not sleep well? i was on my way to get you- thought we were playin’ pickleball today with martin and mandy.”

“eughhhh, i totally forgot about that- i’ll have to text and tell them i can’t anymore i’m like dyinggg, h. my temperature’s over 100.” you sniffle and groan.

“nah, don’t worry about that i’ll tell ‘em we can’t make it. you just stay put and i’ll be over in like- just a sec, okay?” he keeps glancing over to look at you which you appreciate, though you prefer for him to pay attention- but you don’t necessarily feel like getting into a back in forth with him over his driving habits right now.

“m’kayyyy you’re the best, love you.” you thank him gently, blowing a kiss towards the camera.

“mmm i like hearing that. you’re my favorite.” he smiles to himself, “yeah, um, i’ll see you in a bit- maybe try and get some sleep though, girl?”

“i’ll try,” you whisper.

“okay, be right there, love you.”

✧₊⁺

you’re not sure how long hamzah’s been at your side when you eventually wake up again to him sat next to you, looking through one of your many 2000s magazines.

you tap his knee silently, seemingly in a better mood after some well needed rest and the comfort of waking up in hamzah’s presence.

he displays a faux since of shock, “wow and she’s somehow even prettier when awake!”

you smile and slip your hand under your cheek as you lay and look at him, “hi, when’d you get here?”

he places your magazine down next to him, "got here maybe two hours ago? i stopped by a store and grabbed you some medicine to take and some other essentials like kitkats and iced tea- did you know hilary duff and lindsay lohan had hella back and forth beef??"

you nod, "duh, of course i do! and getting me snacks wowwww you're so perfect, huh?"

hamzah playfully shrugs his arms up and down, "a little somethin' like thattt, just for you."

you laugh but begin to cough uncontrollably, to which hamzah screws his face up in faux disgust; you stare, "thanks."

“nahh i’m playing,” he grabs one of your hands and kisses the back of it, “do you need me to do anything?”

“can you come brush my teeth with me?”

he nods immediately, standing up and picking your body (wrapped delicately in your covers) up and carrying you bridal-style into the bathroom down your skinny hallway.

on the way there you laugh again which leads to another coughing fit which you cover as much as you possibly can. hamzah teasingly stretches you away from him whining out an “eeuuuhhhh!!!” but you are quick to give him a glare that has him giggling and apologizing by curling you back into his broad chest smacking a few million kisses onto your cheek.

you push his face away in warning, “stop it you’re gonna get sick, stupid!!!!”

✧₊⁺

hamzah stands between your legs as you sit on the counter and brush your teeth. he thinks you look like an angel- or maybe a tooth fairy with the suds elegantly surrounding your mouth. despite your runny nose, hot, clammy skin and sleepy eyes, the white comforter manages to compliment your complexion in the most beautiful of ways. the sight in front of him was weirdly so angelic… “so pretty…” he lets his thoughts trickle into the air.

you pause your movements and look up at him starting to grin before scooting to the side and spitting into the sink. he grins and decides to joke with you a bit, scratching the back of his neck and blowing a raspberry into the air next to him, “did i say pretty?? i meant so ….sickly??” he squints his eyes a little trying to figure out where exactly he’s going with this, “because you’ve come down with something…. bad.”

you roll your eyes and shake your head, “it sounds like you want to call me beautiful…” you bat your eyelashes as you quote him through a mouthful of toothpaste and an insane urge to laugh.

hamzah laughs for you and wipes his eyes exclaiming, “enough! let’s wrap this up.”

✧₊⁺

hamzah made you take medicine and eat top ramen with him before you lay back down in bed. now you're lying up against your headboard watching reruns of sabrina the teenage witch with blankets curled up to your chin.

when hamzah finally comes back into your room he knocks twice before stepping into the space; he’s adorned with an arrangement of white tiger lilies in his hand and a small smile on his face.

you’re absolutely shocked, “what the fuck??? h, when’s you have time to get those?!” you prop yourself up and he hands them to you.

“i saw a little shop that was closing up when i was on my way back to my place just now; it’s cute you’d like it,” he moves to lay next to you.

“thank you,” you look at him lovingly, “for everything today; you treat me so well. how were the kitties doin’?”

“mhmm, they’re fine missin’ you though.” hamzah feels a since of pride from your words, taking the flowers from your hand and setting them on your nightstand (next to a roll of toilet paper you’ve used for your runny nose and a few empty water bottles). he turns back to you and brings his hand up to hold your face, “you’re so easy to treat well.” he leans closer to your face and your eyes shift down to his lips before you’re pulling away.

you playfully scoff and shake your head no, “nuh uh, i’m not getting you sick!”

“baby i’ve been around you all day and feel fine!! my immune system is the best there is, ‘promise.” he traces your lips with his thumb gently.

“you’re sooo…” you mumble the scold, turn on your side to move away from him.

he leans over you giggling, “amazing?” he kisses your cheek. “perfect?” another closer to your lips, “you’ve said them all before!” he sets a sweet kiss to your pouty lips before retreating back lie against the pillow next to you.

“i was gonna say needy but those work as well…” you grumble and smile to your self, “hold me?” you ask a bit louder, peeking over your shoulder to see hamzah drop his phone and immediately give you the attention you want from him, nuzzling you close and kissing your neck softly.

✧₊⁺

a few weeks later via Out of Character on YouTube

martin: yeah, and you’ve been freaking sick the past week and a half! how was that?

hamzah: very whimsical and magical. i’m kidding obviously it sucks and y/n was actually the one to give it to me! i’m not blaming but i am.

martin: i think that’s the worst part about having a girlfriend like if she’s sick you’re gonna get sick too- mandy’s like a freaking warrior though she’s never sick. it’s actually really odd.

hamzah: it’s because she’s a nurse, i think

martin: actually dude?

hamzah: yeah i read about it (he’s lying)

[yuri-is-online]

A really stupid idea I had and I can't even decide where I want it to go 😩

Anyone of the first years heard from a guy in their club that their boyfriends bestfriends roommates cousins friend has a thing for Yuu and a bad reputation for using love potions, suddenly first year of your choice is taking his bodyguard duties for Yuu even more seriously than ever and watching them like a Hawk until one day Yuu seemingly receives a nice gift package from an "secret admirer" and the boys panic, snatching the treat from Yuu's hand and chowing down themselves because they're dumb and impulsive and in love.

What follows is either;

A. The "secret admirer" was actually Grim who wanted to do something nice for his Henchhuman by making them tuna filled muffins as thanks for their service and now not only did they inhale the worst cake ever, got a tantrum throwing Grim to appease.

B. There was a love potion in those cookies, but whoever laced them is actually kinda bad at potionology and they're "Puppy love" potions, cue our freshman acting like The Prince from Mirror Mirror (2012) when he had a puppy love potion. His reputation at school will never recover from this but its worth it because Yuu now looks at him like he's the sunrise itself for taking that bullet for him.

C. There was no love potion. No shady business. Just normal brownies and now a very upset Yuu. Even if they understood his concerns, do you think between their allowance and Grim's appetite they want to hear excuses for them stealing food from Yuu!? He promises he'll make it up to them just stop hitting him! 💦💦

D. There was no love potion.2 but man. These pretzels...really suck. The freshman almost feels bad for whoever sent them because if this was their pickup attempt then they lost before they even began. Wait, what? Yuu made these to send as a secret admirer to their crush!? Now he's got even more complicated feelings about this whole ordeal while Yuu sulks about how the guy they wanted to give these to just said they suck to their face.

E. There was no love potion.3 but Yuu doesn't have to know that. Now the Freshman is free to "pretend" all his flirting and affection is thanks to those croissants AND play the hero. Its full proof! Until Ortho runs a diagnostic to find a cure for him and reveals that there was no potion that is. Hey, he can always try and claim a placebo effect, right?💦

F. The love potion was actually an aphrodisiac and now Yuu has t[I AM BEATEN TO DEATH BY KING MICKEYS KEYBLADE]

So the problem with this ask is that I really love all of these options and they could all work for a small fic for each of the options. That being said, there are specific ones that suit certain first years more than others.

A. The Great Grim's Perfect Surprise- Ace

Floyd is the one who gives Ace the heads up that someone with a bad reputation was interested in Yuu. And hey that was technically true! It's just that Floyd also over heard Grim bragging about the cupcakes he made and had a brilliant idea.

It's the worst possible case scenario for Ace, the cake tasted horrible, Grim is throwing a tantrum, Floyd is there and he brought Jamil to laugh at him too. This fucking sucks he hates his life man. Well until you shoo everyone out and shush Grim with some praise before turning your focus to him.

You're so concerned about him it makes his heart hurt. You get him something to drink and fuss over him for the rest of the day in a way that makes him fall in love with you all over again. Those half hearted scolds about there being better ways to get rid of poison don't land at all, doesn't matter how he does it he'll keep you safe and that's a promise.

B. Puppy Love Potion- Jack

The captain of the track team tells Jack and Deuce together, he knows the two of them are your friends and that they'll make sure you stay safe. Unfortunately he's not fully aware of how... delusional Jack is about how not into you he is.

The puppy love potion has him acting like even more of a puppy than usual. His tail won't stop wagging and he is actually smiling at you, thank the seven he's so willing to listen to what you have to say so you can keep him in Ramshackle until the potion wears off. He manages to reclaim his reputation just fine, Jack's a scary fucking guy when he tries to be and you'd have to be really stupid to mess with him when he's in a mood.

... not that you can really tell the difference between puppy love Jack and normal Jack when the Ramshackle Prefect insists on looking at him like that. He must really hate his tail.

C. How Dare You Eat my Food- Deuce

Same as before: captain gives the heads up, Jack and Deuce are really concerned, and Deuce decides to do something about it because he's in love and doesn't want to see you get hurt.

He doesn't realize there was nothing wrong with them until you point it out and he's beyond heartbroken. Please you have to understand he didn't mean it! Sure those brownies were really good and yeah maybe he should have realized that they were normal about half way through the pan but- he's so sorry! He's not above getting on his knees to beg for forgiveness and especially not from you.

There is a rule in Heartslabyul about returning things after you take them, so as soon as Deuce learns he took your food he's already planning on replacing it. Maybe you would let him borrow your kitchen? He won't let you help since he's fixing his own mistake but he doesn't see why you can't hang out. You'll get fresh brownies out of it and he gets to look cool Task failed successfully?

D. This is... Adequate I Suppose- Sebek

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this sort of plan in Riddle's presence. He's screaming, the paddock is on fire, and no one is really stopping him because hey idiot deserves it and also has anyone seen where Sebek went? Would have thought he'd have something to say too given that whole "crush he has on the prefect thing"

Well that's because he's too busy eating your pretzels with a trademark look of disgust as he tells you about what happened at Equestrian club today. These suck, he has such high standards for what you are worthy of and if it weren't for the potential danger posed to you he never would have-

Your wry disappointment silences him immediately, his look of concern and shock is really cute so it sort of makes up for how much his words hurt. He's aghast, you have someone you... admire? Someone you are too shy to confess to? And you made them something with your own two hands, he actually wants to cry he's so embarrassed, jealous, and in love all at the same time.

"You shouldn't have to do this. You- You are the one who deserves to be pursed. But if it is something you wish to do-" He draws himself up into a proper knight's stance, stiff as board and deeply determined to be seen as reliable. Safe. A... friend if you will allow it and something more if he could be so blessed. "-then we shall begin training immediately! Back to the kitchen, human!"

E. Placebo Effect- Epel

Only someone with an actual death wish would come up with this plan pt. 2 except Leona is a lot more reasonable than Riddle with how he handles it. He tells Epel to go check on Yuu while he goes to dump the guy on Crewel. That way he doesn't have to be the one to fill out all of the annoying disciplinary paperwork.

So he knows by the time he shows up at Ramshackle that there really is no threat to your safety but still... this sort of opportunity is just too good to pass up. And he's such a good actor too, if this wouldn't get him in trouble with Vil he'd rub it in his dorm leader's face.

See Vil! He doesn't need no fancy manners or etiquette, Yuu's flushed and charmed by his old fashioned gentlemanly behavior. He's holding doors, pulling out your chair, giving you all of the compliments he thinks about but never says for fear of looking uncool. He even gets to bake apple pie with you until Ortho calls his bluff. Sure, he should have some shame, but this is Epel we're talking about. He claims the placebo effect and pretends to be super embarrassed while gauging your reaction for any trace of disappointment.

If he's satisfied with how sad you are he just might make it up to you with a real date~

Like I was saying all of these prompts could really work for any of them and- huh could have sworn there was a sixth one. Weird anyway thanks for the ask!

...

....

..... ok so now that the coast is clear:

First thing's first, they're all mad as hell that someone tried to drug you with an aphrodisiac. That's so beyond disgusting, who does this guy think he is?

Ace's focus is entirely on you. He doesn't outright admit what's wrong, he actively teases you for being into him when you express concern as if it doesn't send a painful pang of arousal through him when you don't deny it. You have to make a move, he'll ask for it half serious half joke, but he wants you to do this because you want him and not as some sort of favor please don't say it like that- He starts taking shots at the other guy when he regains enough of his ego to flip you on your back and start taking the lead. Really, how stupid was that guy to think he had a chance when you only have eyes for him, prefect? Now don't you dare try to hide your cute expressions from him, he's been looking forward to this.

Jack is convinced he can just lock himself in his room and endure. He tries thinking of it as a training exercise, sure he might have had some... similar feelings before. Similar thoughts, painful dreams that felt real until he woke up alone, drenched in sweat, painfully unfulfilled and deeply embarrassed. But nothing can compare to the real you, he's almost angry that he ever thought that at all now that you're underneath him. He's so lucky that you're his mate, that he can bite into your neck and thrust into your body and have you accept him even as he locks you together in a sticky mess of sweat and slick. He's beyond embarrassed when he wakes up still balls deep with your fingers running through his matted hair. This would be the worst if he didn't have a cute, very human, bite of his own on his neck.

Deuce's anger is made so much worse by him being horny. The other guy is terrified, everyone around him is terrified Deuce is aware he's gone full delinquent and he can't seem to stop. By the time you find him his knuckles are bruised, he's sweaty, with rumpled clothes, and taking great heaving breaths unable to deny the effects he's feeling and asking you to forgive him. Deuce has an idea of what he wanted your first time to be like. He wanted to take you out on a real date, he wanted to be honorable with you. He didn't expect you to be the one to push him back against the shower stall and take him just as quick and dirty as he feels. You're so beautiful, he's so powerless in the face of your naked desire and very eager to please. Just tell him what you want him to do; he's all yours.

Sebek can't lie about how he feels to save his life. All of NRC knows he's horny because he's screaming about how not horny he is right now and how much he doesn't think your flesh looks super supple, bitable even seven he just wants to- Lilia doesn't let him ignore those feelings after confirming you aren't the slightest bit uncomfortable being the center of Sebek's attention. He's shy, in denial. He is proud of his honorable intent and self control. But he is in love with you and with that love comes a deep, fathomless desire edged with obsessive devotion that all fae pride themselves in. He needs your guidance, he's unused to this. That obsessive attention hangs on your every gasp and moan, when he finds a noise he likes he hammers at the source again and again until you reward him with the most wonderful noise of all. When the potion has worked its way through his system the hunger still remains; his appetite is voracious. A potion is nothing compared to his own desires, hopefully this little accident left you prepared.

Epel's anger is also made so much worse by being horny. But Leona already dealt with the scumbag so it's not like he can work out his aggression on the creep... so won't you let him take it out on you? He's completely serious, the drug has gone straight to his dick and he's not interested in pretending like he doesn't want you prefect. No taking care of it himself won't work, no don't be shy it really can't be anyone else. You want a real man? Well he's right here and he wants you something fierce. Epel wouldn't be this confident if he didn't have so much adrenaline running through him, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed when he comes to his senses and sees you bent over your desk and much more out of breath than him. He's going to be riding this high for the rest of the year, and he's going to make sure you feel it for just as long too.

[ohimsummer]

I’LL WORSHIP LIKE A DOG .ᐟ

♯ minors dni, oral [ m. receiving ], idolization, cult leader! suguru x reader, manipulation?

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ hi mickey thank u for helping proofread i love you :3 @teddybeartoji

the cult leader has set his sights on you.

on the surface, there is nothing really notable about you. having tagged alongside a big group recruited by some of his current worshippers, you were at first regarded with suspicion—as all the newcomers were—but, eventually, you blended well with the rest of geto suguru's devout followers.

...you thought so, anyway. apparently, you were mistaken. apparently, something about you has caught his eye.

this is the handsome cult leader's den. a temple where he so graciously allows all of his humble and obedient followers to reside. with this in mind, you try not to think too highly of yourself, but you can't help but wonder if there is something about you that intrigues him. there must be.

there's a quiet call of your name on occasion, where master geto leads you to his private room. not every night, but often enough for it to feel routine. you always kneel before him quickly, wordlessly, head bowed. geto doesn't even have to open his mouth. though, if he does, it's to send you away, and the realization that you've both disappointed and disrespected the cult's leader almost makes your heart shatter. it makes you worry if this will be your last time in his room, and that anxiety builds and builds with each passing second until a week later, when he once against whispers the command for you to follow him.

once you've lowered yourself at his feet, geto takes in the sight of you. the seconds feel like minutes, hours, an eternity, but you don't dare move nor even look up at him, instead keeping your eyes closed and head lowered. only when you feel his warm caress, thumb glazing over the fat of your cheek, do you gamble a glance. whether or not he sends you away afterwards or accepts your appreciative gaze is entirely up to master geto's mood.

he thumbs over the smoothness of your skin: cheeks, chin, and then mouth, sticking the finger between your lips. pressing down on your tongue until there's a pool of drool, he soaks the digit to his satisfaction, and then makes you suck it dry. and, of course, you do so without question.

then, he's pulling off his robes, and wow, do you want to really worship the body he hides underneath. but, that is an act of adoration that you will only ever dream of. you're not nearly of enough importance for master geto to allow you such a luxury. not even a glance to the godlike features on his body, which will remain blurry visions in your peripherals, but you're satisfied with that, after all. as far as you know, the rest of his followers don't even get that. and this assumption makes you giddy. master geto must think you're special, gracing you with such a view.

you never break eye contact with him, ignoring the hands that trail to the last trace of his undergarments. even now, with his length literally inches from your face, you hold his steady stare, but your mouth waters and heart races when he pumps himself in front of you.

he begins pushing the fat, leaking tip of his cock up to your lips, glossing them up in a heavy sheen of precum. you sit still, obediently, perfectly like his little pet, as he continues to make a mess of you. geto presses his length forward until it just slips through your lips, before pulling back to smear his sticky substance over your cheeks and chin.

“open.”, he commands, and the corners of his mouth twitch up into a contemptuous smirk at the speed in which your jaw falls slack for him.

suguru pumps himself once, twice, then rubs the head again over your soft, glistening lips before tapping it on your tongue and granting you your first taste.

his hips thrust forward to enter the warm embrace of your mouth. your lips close around suguru's length automatically, and he gives a pleased hum as he uses you like a toy.

your eager eyes continue to meet his own, a lively shade of purple with a silent warning written in the hues—they dare you to disobey, to make even the slightest error and risk the fullest extent of geto suguru’s wrath. but he doesn't need to worry. he never does. you only ever act when your dearest leader instructs you, and that's just the way master geto likes it. he tells his little plaything to sit and open their mouth wide, and he knows that not a single thought will grace your head, not a word will leave your lips besides “yes, sir”.

the deeper he sinks into your throat, the harder it is to hold back a gag. regardless, you will force your body to comply and be good a worshipper. constantly under the heavy gaze of the beloved cult leader, you are instilled with a fear that showing him any amount of incompetence will disappoint geto enough to clear himself of your presence, perhaps even get rid of you entirely if he feels even a second of displeasure. but, you do your best to make sure that never happens. your life depends on it.

it doesn't take long before the cult leader pulls from the depths of your throat. you try not to show disappointment that he's chosen again not to cum inside, but it is quickly overrun by a determination to do better. surely if you were exceeding his expectations, he'd feel the need to reward you with a steady stream of his cum down your throat.

he graces you with a low grunt before shooting ropes of seed all over your face. it's warm and sticky. you wonder about the flavor, but don't risk a taste in front of him.

master geto disappears into what you know is his bathroom, before returning with a damp rag. he holds it out in his hand for you to take, and then sits on the bed and watches as you wipe down every inch of your face. when you're done, he extends the same hand, one which you place the used cloth in, and then dismisses you from his private quarters. geto never keeps you long, usually less than an hour, but it's time you deeply treasure, regardless.

you give him one last bow, and then make your quiet exit. your heart thuds in your chest in excitement for the next time. maybe it will be in a day. maybe a week. maybe a month. whatever he thinks you are worthy of. either way, you will wait faithfully in anticipation for master geto's call.

🪽: @anthoosies @teddybeartoji @blkkizzat @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @soraya-daydreams @starlightanyaaa @domainexpansionmypants @sobbangchan @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @getouolgy @sataraxia @leialilox @babytoshiii @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @triviahct @reiluvr @venzlenes @lovesickliyue @kisstoru @blindbabycadder @roronoaism @itztamar

[oblique-lane]

"RED and BLU mercs look the same because of the game mechanic! They represent different people while using the same models! YOU are the player, so YOU are the mercenary too!"

Fair, but. Even if it is just a game limitation... I can't help but be confused as to WHY those game characters are SO UNIQUE IN PERSONALITIES if they are meant to be a representative mass?

I have to questions to hl1 scientist. No question no hl2 citizens. To CS characters. They are plain and faceless, they are meant to be background masses.

Tf2 mercs, however? SO unique and distinct. Their shapes and bodies, their movements, their voicelines - even with no particular story about them, there's SO MUCH personality! They have to be heroes! Not JUST classes!

I've never understood the explanation "they are different people who look similar to eachother" because eeehh... Have fun as you want, but I'm personally not convinced. Even with a rhetoric "Heavies have to be strong af and scouts have to be fast and small and all medics are insane and Germans" that's still not it.

Obviously I don't think about it while playing the game, but when it's time to think about the lore... The comics never answered the question of who the teams are - retconed and ignored.

I was surprised and confused as to why it was never brought up anywhere in canon. Maybe because this case is so exceptional and unique to tf2, it was actually cursed by it's own greatness?

Let's be real, tf2 characters are heroes. Yet unlike Overwatch and such, players ARE allowed to have as many repeating classes as they want. Moreso - the opposite team is designed to be the same characters.

What the fuck.

Tf2 mercs exist in a superposition where they are more than just classes but not enough humans to be heroes.

And that brings us to my other point...

Now you might say "but the lore is goofy, they WOULD hire people with very specific features –" shhhhh. Don't you see? That's part of the issue.

The mercs are constantly dehumanized.

For whatever reason people think is useful. In the comics they are shown to be absolute idiots for comedic effect, sometimes flanderizing them even, reducing any human feature that isn't funny enough.

In fandom it's enough to just dress a merc in different clothes for people to start calling them OCs. Even if you didn't mean to make an oc.

With the goddamn clone theory I've seen people often saying that since BLU are clones, they are subhuman/unworthy - authors thoughts, not just in-univrse rhetoric.

It's almost as... Tf2 mercs are not human but a species??? Creatures without autonomy?

Always been like this?

Maybe I'm the only one bothered by this, but... You know me, I'm a no fun who loves taking this kind of shit seriously.

...

I started from talking about why they look identical on different teams. I think the clone theory is very probable, even though many people say it's cringe. The clone theory would make so much sense if it was real.

Recently I've watched Mickey 17. It felt so good to be finally understood. Every point of this film is all the things I feel towards tf2.

Respawn makes you less human. And corporations treat you as expendable, always. If they find a way to dehumanize you, it will be easier to convince everyone that you deserve violence/it's not a big deal.

If in tf2 the two identical megacorps fight with eachother over power (tf2 wiki/ original game setting), it would make all the sense for them to just clone the 9 mercs and make them expendable. It's cheaper. Emesis Blue did it right.

And since everyone thinks that the mercs are subhuman, because they are stereotypes, because stupid illiterate criminals, because they're psychopaths, because they're clones, because they're expendable... No one ever thinks to look behind it and see them as people.

Cloning is inherently a horror. When I just entered the fandom, I was convinced there will be some horror level lore underneath the silly game. It made sense.

But there was none of it.

I might be the one stupid here for thinking about tf2 that way. But I can't change my perspective now. To me the whole tf2 lore situation is just a recursive mirror on itself: the whole thing almost begs to be analyzed existentially but isn't because the goofy part of it is so sacred, it cannot be destroyed. As if taking tf2 seriously is almost a taboo.

"Don't look there, there's nothing there, don't think about it, they're silly, it's just a game" then why do I keep seeing holes on this curtain???

Purposefully not thinking about the lore is constant effort. It cannot be truly silly at least because it's war. If there's no respawn, it's scary because they can die anytime. If there is respawn - it's triple scary, because they don't belong to themselves.

In-game voicelines suggest that respawn does exist. Even if they love fighting and treat it like we treat videogames - since they are practically immortal - it's still inherently horror. Even if it's a comedy, ignoring the basic technical aspects of the world and covering up with "everything is unserious and stupid" agenda... Is ironically suspicious. For me.

It's almost as if they're trying to hide something underneath all this silliness. I know they don't. But it feels like it. It feels like a propaganda so people don't dare to try explaining how this world logically works.

A second you try to dissect the lore and it crumbles apart. It contradicts itself and it overcompensates for what it's not. It crumbles. I've stumbled upon it a hundred times for all these years in the fandom...

When you play the game you see so much environmental storytelling - the coverups of spy tech, the cold war, nukes and stuff... The early wiki info told us about megacorps who want to rule the world. It's realistic and pragmatic and so fun. Close to earth. When I play on the older maps I keep wondering what it was really about. I wonder about who the characters are, how did they get on this war?

But what I got was "the mercs are very stupid, and everything in this world is stupid because old people fight over nothing, and once they die everyone lives happily ever after AFTER SACRIFICING NOTHING". The mercs aren't even the main characters. We still know fucking nothing about them, about why they fight– they don't even fight for the same thing as in game. Everything is retconed.

I feel so conflicted. I know people love the comics but I can't help but hate it, I'm sorry. The same questions I had joining the fandom almost 2 years ago - I still have them now. It's itching, it's uncomfortable to stand in a lore which is a mess and will never be explained.

I looked at the lore with a suspicious squint, trying to compromise: maybe there IS something about the worldbuilding that I've missed that would make sense. I've analysed left and right– no. There's nothing of my interest. I had to explain things myself and it only started make sense once I stopped relying on the comics, like, at all.

And once you strip away the comics, there's barely anything left. Just the game, the bits and crumbs from the wiki...

The tf2 I enjoy now is the tf2 50% of which I created in my head to overcompensate. But who am I? I'm not Valve. I'm uncomfortable with that. Because while the lore now makes sense in my head, it's still just headcanons.

People don't know it.

I feel pretty lonely in this situation.

(This post should've been be just about dehumanization in the context of tf2, but I've noticed that everything I hurt about this media is a one big thing and one doesn't go without another. Someday I will let go.)

[sadesluvr]

FEEL. — mickey 17

somewhat inspired by @darkoies doctor c.ai! (NSFW)

w/c: 2.3K

As he felt his body temperature slowly begin to drop, Mickey knew that he’d been cloned again.  

He’d grown to accept that there was nothing like climatising to the perfect 20°C of the lab, sometimes laying there for hours with nothing but a sheet to cover his modesty – only if he’d been lucky enough to be attended to that quickly. Mickey seemed to be reborn in a lab full of people, yet he was always alone. 

Blinking, he fought to adjust himself to the sterile curing lights, expecting to be faced with Dorothy or one of the other scientists. Instead, he was met with warmth; rounder, fuller features staring down at him with a curious look and a gentle smile. He'd certainly never seen you before.

“...Vitals are surprisingly low,” the voice spoke. “Is this normal?” 

Instinctively Mickey opened his mouth to answer, clamping it shut once he realised you weren’t speaking to him, but a fellow doctor across the lab. He hoped you hadn’t noticed. He felt a bit silly. 

“I’m just going to put this in, ok? It’s a small chip to help us track your endocrine system, hormones, endorphins – those kinds of things. You shouldn’t feel a thing, it’s virtually weightless.” You spoke again, eyes occasionally making contact as you glanced down to reassure him, but more focused on dabbing at his skin with a wipe.

Mickey took a short breath, having not particularly grown accustomed to needles throughout any of his seventeen iterations. 

“Uh-huh... Why do I -” 

“All done.” You grinned, withdrawing the tool with a smile.

He couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed, selfishly wishing a flare up of some kind, anything that could get him to spend just a few more minutes longer with you. Anything was better than a meaningless afternoon within the four walls of his room. Pursing his lips, he pushed himself to sit upright, allowing for him to get a better view of you.  

“How do you feel?”  

“Fine...” he began, wringing his hands. “Though in my position I’ve learned that’s not much.” 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be an Expendable. I admire your bravery,” you began, leaning in, your faces a few centimetres apart. “Chin up.” 

Goosebumps peppered his skin as he felt your breath on his cheek, the warmth of your hands felt even through your plastic gloves as you held his face in place, running a torch over his eyes. 

“It’s not all bad,” he chuckled nervously. “I get to keep my memories.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. There are definitely a few things I’d like to forget...” 

“Like what?” he questioned, hoping that you wouldn't find his prying weird. He’d never get this far with any other doctor on the team. 

“Bad hairstyles for one,” you said with a soft sigh, stepping away from the man to enter something into a computer. "My entire college years, amongst other things.” 

“I bet they weren’t that bad,” he shrugged, brushing a wet, messy strand of his mousy brown hair from his eyes. “Nice girls like you definitely had a better time than me.” 

The statement seemed to illicit a smile.  

“Well,” you huffed as you scribbled something down on a clipboard. “Nice girls tend to finish last. That’s why I’m here. Other than the pay, being a doctor on Earth is pretty shit.” 

Mickey grinned, and this time let out a genuine, audible laugh, so unrestrained that his voice broke in the process. You hummed in amusement, presumably at the fact that the man had taken such glee in an offhand comment, before going back to your job and listing some rather important things about the tests being run.  

By that point Mickey had naturally zoned out, having heard all the doctors’ spiel before. What did it matter if hypertension could cause blackouts, heart attacks or death – he would just be reprinted anyway. In a fucked-up way, nothing really mattered... In what he thought would’ve been basic empathy, he hoped you could see him for who he was - less of a crash dummy and more of a human.  

- 

Marshall was fuming.

And by that nature, the whole lab was pissed off with you. 

The past few experiments had been complete failures – not due to misguided hypothesises, but because Mickey was a shitty lab rat. If you could even call him that.  

Over the few weeks that 17 had been cloned, nothing had gone to plan. Half the time, he’d passed out before research could begin, or hadn’t even been deemed fit to work. You’d only seen him in passing, being wheeled about on a table or through plexiglass – but you knew something was wrong…the numbers told you so. 

It was difficult. On Earth there were too many patients for you to really care about them in the way your cared for Mickey, but reading his past files and listening here-say from the other workers was enough to sympathise with him. From what Dorothy had told you, his past iterations had never been so stubborn, which was why it didn’t make sense for him to act up now. 

Arkady thought it to be a fault in the tech, that somehow he’d reprinted wrong…but you knew better.  

It was obvious he’d grown fond of you. You’d caught him staring multiple times, a distant smile dotted across his face as he carved out your visage through the haze of the testing room. Sometimes, he’d even wave. Discreetly, you did back. 

To be fair, you liked him too.

Naturally, it made sense for you to ‘deal’ with him. You clutched your clipboard to your chest as you walked down the empty corridors to a distant room, curtly waving away the guards as you entered. 

The brown haired man perked up, and if you weren’t facing expulsion – or death – from Marshall himself then you would’ve made a quip about it. 

“Oh - I, uh...They just shoved me in here, I have no idea what’s this all about —“ Mickey stammered, eyes glancing around the room frantically as if to search for a source of reason himself. You watched as he shrunk in on himself, seemingly realising from your crossed arms and pursed lips that you weren’t in a generous mood. 

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You haven’t been eating as much. Or sleeping,” you began, shoes tapping against the floor as you strolled towards him. He seemed to be trying (and failing) to divert his gaze from you, eyes as wide and watery as ever, and it occurred to you that it felt like a mean teacher punishing a schoolboy. “They wanted to throw you in the cell, but I convinced them to lend you to me under the name of science.” 

He nodded shyly and peered up at you from his bangs. 

“Our research is compromised if you go into a mission on two hours of sleep and low blood sugar. Then we look bad, and Marshall blows his gasket.” 

Mickey itched uncomfortably, contemplating something before the edges of his lips curved up into a small, jaunty smile. “...Isn’t there some kind of shot for that?” 

“That isn’t the point, Mickey,” you chided, ignoring his silly attempt at a joke. “Not everything can be fixed by a drug. We may be miles away from Earth, but most things are still down to basic biology. You’re still human.” 

The man sighed and cast his gaze to the floor, so much so that you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with Marshall. If you let me out of here, I’ll tell him it’s my fault.” 

You fought to hold back a small smile. Here he was, essentially a complete stranger – a literal lab experiment - and yet was ready to take a bullet for you. It baffled you as to why nobody else saw the gentleness of humanity in Mickey – probably because no one was willing to give him a chance. Being labelled ‘Expendable’ would do that, all too ironic that he was the most important on the ship. To the whole regime, really.  

“There’s no need to do that...” you hummed. “I’m just annoyed I’ve overlooked things.” 

“…Like?” 

“Happiness, for one,” you began, slowly striding around the room to place your clipboard on a small table. “And attention. We tend to forget that we need it.” 

Mickey swayed his head, seemingly taking in what you were saying as he watched you like a hawk. As if his body had been pulled taught with a string, his back visibly straightened as you stopped in-front of him, your shins touching the tips of his thigh. Swallowing, he angled his head to look up at you, and your gazes met. 

“Be honest with me, Mickey…Did you stop eating just so you could see me?” 

He swallowed again, briefly diverting his gaze before looking back at you, running his tongue over his lips. Mickey was always cute, but he looked especially delectable in this angle. 

“Y-yeah…” he stammered. “I really didn’t mean to get you in trouble —“ 

“Why did you do that? Did you want my attention?” 

“Uh –“ 

“Do you like me?” 

His answered came in the form of a shy nod and an uneasy grip on your legs. In the best way, you were going to ruin him.  

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “You can touch me. I want you to.” 

Reaching out to embrace your torso, Mickey found himself softly stunned as you pulled away, comforted with the sight of you removing your lab coat and aptly peeling off your jumpsuit, discarding it across the cold floor. 

The man wasted no time in latching onto you, rubbing his face over your bare skin as he pressed wet, impassioned kisses against your stomach, making his way passed your bellybutton and towards your underwear.  

You threw your head back as you pulled him closer, placing your hands on top of his as he roamed your body, lithe fingers kneading the shape of your thighs and ass. In any other circumstance, you would’ve been trying to pleasure Mickey – and you were sure you would eventually – but you got the feeling that he only ever wanted to make you happy. 

Your pleasure was his pleasure. He was useful that way. 

Mickey let out a soft whistle from his nose, momentarily pulling away from getting his fix. 

“You smell like strawberries…” he murmured before nestling into you. Who would’ve thought that the perfume you’d grabbed from Earth right before jumping on this metal container would awaken something in him? 

Grinning, a purr escaped your lips as you lowered yourself onto Mickey’s thighs, one hand on his chest as you gently pushed him onto the bed, his back springing up ever so slightly from the recoil. He looked so beautiful like this; all desperate and wanting, eager to taste your lips. 

Pressing your lips against his, you gave him what he wanted. Though you’d never underestimated him, you were rather surprised by how skilfully his lips moved against your own, barely missing a beat as his hands worked your way up to your breasts. 

He let out a moan as he gave them a squeeze through your bra, eyes darting frantically between your chest and the sight below him – your ass grinding perfectly against his bulge. 

“You’re so sweet, Mickey, do you know that?” you teased, popping up to quickly push down his pants. “I hate the way they treat you.” 

“You aren’t like them…” he murmured. “You’re perfect.” 

If it wasn’t for hormones clouding your judgment, your heart would’ve stopped upon questioning the melancholy statement. You’d only treated him as any good doctor would – with respect – and yet he was comparing you to some kind of deity. 

Mickey stopped you with a firm grasp on your forearm, just as you began to reach down into his boxers. You were mildly shocked, almost expecting him to be completely passive in the act, but wasn’t adverse to the offer. In fact you rather liked it. 

“Let me.” He whispered. 

You obliged. 

Mickey let out a loud whimper as he sunk into you, his cock bottoming out in you nicely. He was average sized, but it completed you. You felt every pulse and twitch as you moved your hips along him, coating pink cock in a shiny film. 

He’d pawed at your chest now, popping a breast from inside the material and putting it into his mouth, sucking and licking at your nipple. You moaned at the contact, though quickly but down on your lip to suppress any more noises. At the end of the day, you were still technically a doctor on duty. 

Then again, Marshall was so weird that he’d probably enjoy your gratuitous display – limbs flailing and Mickey’s hair clung to his forehead from ecstasy. The ship was cold, but heat filled your body, tingling from your loins and rising through to your cheeks.  

You were so preoccupied with Mickey’s visual proof of euphoria that you’d barely noticed that his hands had made their way to your lower body, his hands holding the sides of your ass in position as you writhed against him. 

“Shit…” you stammered. “You’re so good…Don’t stop…” 

Naively, the man shook his head, staring up at you with puppy eyes. In an effort to impress you, he bucked his hips up into your wet pussy, squelching sounds louder and prominent than before. He seemed to be hitting your spot effortlessly. 

“Beautiful. God, you’re an angel…” he sighed, his squeaky, yet raspy accent as prominent as ever. He sounded like he was from New York. 

You’d ask him about it some day. 

As Mickey’s pace slowed, and your walls clenched around him, you could tell that you were both close. Honestly, you didn’t know whether you’d flop into his arms or if he would cave in on you, but somehow, even millions of miles from Earth, you grounded each-other.