#300 followers celebration

[yuri-is-online]

Hi! Congratulations on getting more followers! You totally deserve it:)

Can I ask for prompt 5 with Floyd, Idia and Leona?

Thank you<3

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

（＾ワ＾） thank you annon, your words mean a lot. Of course you can! how did i know Floyd was gonna get this prompt

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, miscommunication and jealousy but everything ends happy. Check out the rest of the event requests here.

Floyd

Floyd unceremoniously dumps you off his in a secluded corner of the gymnasium hallway.   “Shrimpy…" he whines, yanking on the hem of the used gym shirt you are wearing as he uses his other arm to cage you against the wall "where did you get that shirt?” “From the laundry basket in your room this morning?”  He had stolen your blazer a few days ago to as a joke so you had impulsively decided to pay him back by snatching something of his. He's always whining about wanting you to wear is clothes anyway, why is he so upset? “It’s yours isn’t it?” “Nah.” Floyd's lips purse in displeasure.  “Nah, that's Jade’s not mine.  If ya look, he has his name written in stupid little letters on the tag.”  Oh.  OH.  Well, now you just feel stupid and fix your eyes firmly on his shoes. How could you be so stupid? Of course, some of Jade's clothes would be in the room's ONE laundry basket. Hell, you aren't actually sure Floyd uses the hamper now that you think about it. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the teasing as you look up prepared to apologize, only to completely lose your train of thought at the sight of Floyd yanking his jersey over his head. “FLOYD!”

“Huh?  What’s wrong lil shrimpy?" A very sharp grin emerges from the cloth, though he doesn't bother to take his arms out of the shirt just yet. "I'm on the bench aaaaaaaany way ‘s not like I need it.” “You’ll be cold!” It's the wrong argument to make when he practically has you pinned to the wall. “No I won’t,” he giggles, good mood blown back to life by the flames of your embarrassment “and if you’re that worried just stay here and squeeze me.”

Idia

"You're seriously too unaware for your own good." Idia mutters, wrapping himself further into Jack's jacket as you try to hide yourself in his hoodie. The outline of his hair flickers a gentle pink as the two of you try your best to avoid looking at each other.

"He was just worried about me being cold because I wouldn't stop sneezing during class." Idia's sweatshirt smells surprisingly nice, and once you get the courage to look up at your boyfriend he doesn't look bad in the regular uniform jacket either. Though you have to admit, he is at his cutest when he is comfortable and he definitely is not right now.

"We aren't in the same classes so I miss out on time limited quests like that, huh." He mutters, reaching up to fidget with his headphones while you wonder if touching him would spook him too much. "It's almost like everyone forgets we're together."

"I'd never let them do that!" You decide to risk it, wrapping your arms around Idia's torso in a loose embrace he can escape if he needs to. It forces him to really look you over, taking in the full sight of you in his hoodie and a deep, deep breath.

It makes his hair explode into a beautiful hot pink display.

"On second thought take it off." He squeaks, jumping back from your hug and burying his face in his hands.

"Idia-"

"Quick, I can't handle this much agrro!"

Leona

There is an angel at rest in the furthest corner of the NRC library. Their head is firmly smashed against a text book, leaving a clear dent in their cheek that is threatening to turn into a series of paper cuts. Anyone would look at them and be drawn in...

Which was precisely the problem. Someone had forgotten they had a much more comfortable place to nap and a much more comfortable partner than a stack of old books, and hadn't gone looking for him, forcing Leona to do some work for once. And good thing he decided to go on patrol too, some small brained herbivore had decided to try and push in on his territory. As if sensing his presence, you stir in your sleep slightly and Leona suppresses a smile. Barely.

"Oy." Leona bats the offending jacket off from around your shoulders, resisting the urge to turn it to sand, reminding himself that would be petty and beneath him.

Exactly where that jacket was right now.

"Leona?" You murmur sleepily, trying to resist the temptation to rub your eyes. His heart clenches painfully in denial of how cute you are.

"What are you some sort of cub? Making me come looking for you like this." His insults make you smile for some reason as you reach to shove your books back into your bag blissfully unaware of the jealousy storming behind them.

"Let's go take a nap," you hum, well aware those are some of Leona's favorite words "I had a really nice dream about you, wanna actually wake up in your arms next time." Well now, Leona certainly isn't going to argue with that.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #idia shroud x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #300 followers celebration #i attempted to draw a bunny this time #thank you very much!

[valmare]

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

Mare, I’m so happy for you—finally, you reached 300 followers!!!

Congratulations!!!!

🩷🍾 🩷

How about a fluffy, fluffy story of the night before the wedding with Ice?

I’d love to read your take on this!!

Not going to lie, I had so much trouble with this one. After restarting it and restarting it one more time, I love how it turned out. Enjoy, babe!

But You Love Me

Long shadows dance across the hardwood of the foyer, soft yellow light strobing in through the panes of a full-glass door. The porch light hanging overhead is almost dejected, looking sad and alone as you pull the door open. A rush of breeze off the ocean is nearly dizzying, tunneling into the space like your home is the last stop on a long line of destinations for the night. 

Sliding through the door on your socked feet, the wood of the porch thunks a little as you hurry down the front steps to the drive, seeking the sedan parked in front of the garage space. Less than perfect, you’d barely had time to hit the brake before you’d flown out of the passenger seat, arms full of whatever last minute details the wedding coordinator had thrown at you before leaving the bar. 

How there could be so many things that need your attention you don’t understand—you’ve been planning this wedding for months. There couldn’t be much left you hadn’t touched. Certainly not everyone in the history of getting married made such a big fuss over these things—right? Maybe. People are fickle, especially about weddings. Your mother had been dieting on goldfish crackers and salad for nearly three weeks, now. 

Marge, your obsessive wedding planner, had suggested a juice cleanse for you, to really make your skin shine. Your skin didn’t shine. It never had. And some half-baked diet recommendation form your wedding coordinator wouldn’t cure what twenty-something years had already written in your fine, Viking genetics. 

Looking at her sideways, you’d added that the only juice cleanse you could even begin to fathom involved orange juice and copious amounts of vodka. While you’d snorted into your whiskey sour, and your fiance had all but glared at the backhanded comment. Marge had not found it nearly as funny as you did. 

You’d been shit-grinning like the rebellious little goblin you were, sitting at the bar where she had tracked you down like she was Indiana Jones on the mission of Time’s Lost Wedding or something equally ridiculous. Trying not to titter as she’d simply rolled her eyes and marched out of the O Club to “make calls” (an ambiguously, ever-present reality) you’d nearly choked on the whiskey sour. With the amount of calls she handled, you’d thought she was managing the presidential motorcade. 

“You should take it easy on her,” the gentle little nudge at your elbow matched the amused chortle lingering over your ear as your fiance knuckled his glass across the lacquered counter, gesturing to the barkeep for another with a singular, pointed nod. 

Swiveling to face him on the barstool, your elbow knocked his lightly. The bar is bursting at the seams like always; there’s barely room to take five steps without brushing up against a stranger or a familiar face. Music practically bleeds from the open wounds of an aged jukebox, throwbacks that are familiar, foot-tapping.

But It’s Friday night. Of course everyone’s here— half the Pacific Fleet knows your wedding is tomorrow. Sending the two of you off after a thrilling day of rehearsal dinners, last-minute details, a final flyby fit. Running across Fightertown trying to find last-minute shoes, because Iceman Kazansky, somehow, has managed to forget he needs dress shoes for this event. 

To say the entire bar knows is generalizing, really. Every pilot here counts down to tomorrow, more accurately, but pilots do make up a majority of the bodies milling about this place. On the wrong side of tipsy and warm and giggly, the generalization is alright with you as you drown the day’s event in whiskey sours and screwdrivers at Tom’s side. 

Gently edging to lean against his arm a little, it’s always close quarters with the two of you. His warmth brushes against your arm and sends a zing of electricity through your blood, like he never fails to. The butterflies it sent into your stomach make you beam a little. He’s never far from a touch, a greedy hand as your fingers found his bicep. Curl against the rock solid muscle just so.

Actually, Tom Kazansky has lingered by your side like a shadow the last two years—a shadow, or persnickety and stubborn cat, you haven’t really decided which imagery fits better. 

“Mmmm—spoken like a man who hasn’t been taking calls from Marge the wedding planner from hell for the last six months,” chin rested on his shoulder, he angles a little, allows his light eyes to snap to yours. The corner of his mouth lifted with an amused smirk, “She mentions one more thing about flowers and I won’t be responsible for my own actions, Tommy.” 

His hand found yours, gently slipping his thick, calloused fingers through yours. “I think you’ll survive,” then the statement had been coy. He deliberately pushed at your buttons, with damnable ease. Like always. 

It hadn’t been what you wanted to hear. He was yours. Supposed to be on your side, fighting your battles for you. With you, whatever. His smile is blade sharp when you frown at him, lazily pushing him away as you righted on your stool. 

“You’re an ass sometimes, you know that, Kazansky?” 

Hand moving to brush at some of the hair curled behind your ear, he angled to face you. Elbow on the lacquered wood, his weight leaeds into the bar as megawatt eyes skim over you, drinking in details you can’t see. His fingers are bonelessly gentle, the look on his pace then a placid mask of pleasantry that sends you keening in your seat. 

A ghost of amusement ticks up the corner of his mouth in a smug smile. “Yeah. But you love it.” Leaned in, his words had vibrated against the smooth skin behind your ear. Chased the pout right out of you, your hot blood running the best kind of cold as his mouth teased the lobe of your ear.

Shut up and quieted, you’d forgotten the bite of whiskey in the back of your mouth, only able to focus on the oak and caramel tones on his breath from his own drink. 

Hours ago and you could still smell his cologne on your skin, your clothes.

Still on the wrong side of tipsy and the day in every ounce of color spread across your face, you reach for the day planner and your purse, both abandoned in the backseat of your little car when Ice had parked it here hours ago. Kneeing the door closed, you reach for the wisp of paper peeking out of the pages, head canting to the side a little as you read the ticket booking. Plane tickets. For Sunday afternoon, your honeymoon.

The first official day you will be Ice’s wife. A Kazansky. 

The idea rips a little squeak from the back of your throat. Breath whistling when you suck it in sharply, the idea sends you up on your toes as your spine seems to simmer with the bolt of lightning that zings through bone. San Diego is crisp tonight, the rush of air off the ocean enough to dizzy you a little as you glance down at the ticket again. 

Finger playing with the dog-ear corner of the paper, you barely notice the bounce of headlights turn down your street, the low growl of an engine. The sound is familiar, not unrecognized. But, it’s only until the growl dies, the lights kill, and the creak of an opening door at the curb pulls your attention to the street.

Batting the door closed with a lazy hand, the sight of Tom stepping up onto the curb and crossing through the small patch of blitzed and fried grass in your yard buoys you a little. He’s still wearing his aviators, even though the stars are out. Even still the force of his alive eyes knocks you in the gut. Mouth shifting in an attempt to withhold a smile you know won’t last, he approaches you, spinning keys on his finger. 

Slipping shades out of place, he comes up to the back of your car, gently resting fists on the back lid. His smile is disarming, lidded eyes all but sending you into a spiral at his feet as he considers you, standing out here, in your favorite oversized sweatshirt and jean shorts. Barefooted, tipsy, with color still on your face. Blithely unaware of the time, unable to sleep. Thrill sends through you a little as you slip the dayplanner into the crook of your arm, adjust the strap of your purse over your shoulder. 

For some reason you can’t place, nervousness stirs in the stew of your belly. “Ice.” You acknowledge with a goofy little grin, head tipped to the side in exaggerated disinterest at his arrival. He’s come back to your place, for some reason or another. Which is odd. He doesn’t live here. Had dropped you off a few hours ago, kissed your forehead goodnight. 

“What brings you back to my door, aviator?” 

The question at face value is simple, though everything about your tone isn’t as the ball of your barefoot twists lightly against the pavement of your driveway. Rough concrete bites into your skin, but you don’t really care. Beads of sweat chase down your spine beneath the sweater, the ocean breeze isn’t enough to kill the heat this man rises in your blood.  

Your wedding is tomorrow. He should be sleeping, or out getting his last tastes of freedom in the delicate hours of morning with Slider and Mitchell, at the very least. Talking things over with Jack Daniels. Preparing. But Ice is always ready for anything, and a wedding isn’t the kind of thing you’d think would rattle his cage. 

Your confusion is a wild thing, blowing like a tornado in your chest, spinning down your spine as you try to think of a reason he’s here. It’s probably the booze. Honestly, you’re glad to see him—it’s good that he’s here. Obviously, the quicksilver smile on his face says so.

Dropping his keys on the lid of the sedan’s trunk, his feet lazily carve a path to you, perfect hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans. He stops, far into your personal space, his chest nearly brushing yours as he stares down into your face. 

“Do I need a reason?” His eyes are fierce, nearly pointed as he searches yours. He has magnificent eyes. Between the two of you, whatever children you may bring into the world do not have a prayer for any kind of dark, magical eyes. Yours are icy blues on the best day, dark sapphires on the worst. But the weight of his stare? 

That’s enough to make you swallow a nervous little breath that seems to shake you all the way down. 

His words rumble through your chest, probably too much. Probing a smile from you, you peer up at him through your lashes, purposefully. God, he sets off your bells and whistles in the most welcome way, you feel every one of them bolt across your nerves when he just smiles at you. Like he is, right now, looking superior and coy. Flirty. 

“Well I’d normally say no not really,” you hum, taking a half step back from him, “but Marge? She reminded me it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.” Wrinkling your nose, you tuck some of your hair behind your ear as you pop a step back, Ice matching you pace for pace, “And, since you were so ready to take her side earlier, it begs the question—-why are you here, Ice?” 

It’s not a serious question. And he knows that, the look on his face says so. Maybe he does. But suddenly the way his brow avalanches on his face and he rushes to close the distance between you, hand reaching for the front of your sweater to pull you to a short stop says that it isn’t a question he will leave unanswered. Has a meaning you may not have anticipated, could change the electricity cracking like a whip between the two of you. 

Angled back a little so that the sweatshirt material between his fingers it taut, neither of you moves. Another bead of sweat snakes down the valley of your spine, your heart begins to flutter a little more seriously behind your ribs. He takes you apart slowly, like it’s on purpose, and you wonder how long you’re just going to hang back in the air when he tugs you forward. It sends you off kilter enough that your feet tango against the concrete and into his chest, prompting a yelp. 

“Not so fast, killer.” In the time it takes to blink he crowds you up against the car. Now inches from your face, the back of your thighs kiss the warm steel of the door. The glint behind gray eyes tells you he’s prepared to answer the question, but that you may not like it.

He’s a whisper from grinning at you, you can tell by the way the muscle in his jaw ticks as his tongue shifts over his front teeth. Power move—always a power move with him. “Still on the wrong side of drunk, sweetheart?” The words are nearly chortled out. Blatantly antagonistic. 

Your brows skyrocket off your face, surprise all but written in the flush dusting your cheeks. He knows you’re still tipsy. You’ve always been a lightweight. Your only prayer for sobriety is to knock out in bed and pray there’s no hangover. Your mother will kill you if you’re hung over for the hair salon tomorrow, something you didn’t really stop to consider when Ice had asked you to come down the O Club for dinner and drinks. 

You want to ask him what he thinks. Instead, “And if I am?” 

He chuckles, amused, before he angles to press a deceptively soft kiss at the spot where your jaw meets the long line of your neck. Head canting to allow him the task, you suck in a short breath through your nose when one of Ice’s hands moves to grab you by the back of your neck, thumb gently stroking through the curls at the base of your hairline. He hasn’t moved from softly kissing the smooth skin of your neck, but you can feel in his posture he is on the hairline trigger of keeping it together.

His lips skim up your neck to behind your ear, and he hums like he’s considering his next words carefully. You can feel his smile dusting your skin, the steady thrum of his heart against your ribs as his chest brushes with yours perfectly.

“Then your answer to my next question could be interesting.” He draws back a breath to look you in the eye. 

Crowded back against your clunky little sedan, you’re nearly arched over it with him pressing into you, his other hand moving to grab the belt loops of your shorts with sure, strong fingers. Your empty hand moves to pull at his dog tags, twisting them in your first to draw him forward. He resists a little, until the chain pulls into the back of his neck, bright eyes flicking down to consider your pouty, drunk-swollen lips. All you can focus on is the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his hair is so Hollywood. 

His hand moves to gently skip down your jawline, fingertips fanning over the whisky heat in your cheeks. Nearly foaming beneath your sweatshirt, the front of his legs nudge yours, and you open yours a little, allowing him closer. There’s not a whisper of daylight between the two of you and that’s perfect, your head tipping back just a little in anticipation of a kiss that doesn’t find you. 

“Why do you want to marry me?” 

Heat explodes behind your ribs, every nerve within your body igniting with nervous fire that leaps through your core like a dragon. Spinning out, the question circles your brain like a screeching vulture, waiting for death, and the swallow you manage burns the back of your throat. Releasing his dog tags, you fall nearly slack against the sedan, sensuality that has kept you wired falling to your feet. 

It feels like a trap. Nothing on his face says it is, but it feels like it. And three whiskey sours in, you’re not sure you can read the disturbing blankness on his face anymore. Head spinning with six months—six months—of preparation, of endless decisions and stress and wanting to beat Marge’s head in with a frying pan on the line, you can’t help the small breath that escapes through your nose. 

“Wh—what?” you manage. The question has left you stupid. “W—what? Why? Ice, are you—” shaking your head a little, you push at his shoulder in an attempt to back him off. Doesn’t budge. “Why do you want to marry me?” Throwing it back in his face won’t earn you brownie points, but you’re reeling. 

Turning slightly to drop the day planner on the roof of your sedan, your arms fold over your chest. Almost in a pout, but, you try to manage a neutral expression. And he doesn’t move, his face doesn’t change. He just stands there, his expression stony but wholly unreadable, watching you as you squirm.

All too quickly you want to disappear, to move. Heat licks up at the back of your neck from beneath the hooded sweatshirt, and you’re not sure you can hold back the tears threatening to track down your face. 

Ice says nothing for a few beats. And you’re unable to fight back tears anymore. Will bludgeoned thanks to the alcohol ramping up your emotions, you cover your face with your hands and exhale roughly, your breath more than potent as it bounces back into your face from your palms. Hot tears drip to the lenses of your glasses, the heat of your hands fogging them as you rally the determination not to blubber right in Ice’s face. 

This can’t be happening. And it doesn’t feel real, not even close, until one of his hands moves to tug lightly at the hood of your sweater. “Look at me.” His other brushes your hands away from your face.

You huff and your eyes cut away, and he chuckles amusedly. “Look at me, sweetheart.” And it’s admonishing, even though the sentiment is soft. 

Ice crowds you again, his weight pushing against yours at the hips in a way that sends a pleasurable zing up your spinal cord. The sensation sounds off at the base of your neck, buzzing through your muscles and nerves at a dizzying rate. Your eyes slip back to him again, you can’t help it. He’s magnetic, you’re but a star revolving around the sun of him. And you always have been, ever since the very first time he’d slipped up beside you at the O Club, asking to buy you a drink. 

His fingers hook your chin, his smile all but a little wolfish. “Good girl.” With the pad of his thumb he gently pushes your glasses up a little on your nose, his fingers tracing down the temples until they fan behind your ear. Inexplicably his fingertips move to affectionately rub your earlobe and the stud earrings there, toying with them a bit. “Answer my question.” 

Rapid fire blinks, then, “Answer mine.” 

“Quit being a brat,” he bites, the words dominant. “I asked first.” 

He’s got you there and he knows it. Your bottom lip rolls inward a little for you to gnaw on. The question isn’t lost on you. Ice will keep you standing here all night until he gets what he wants, he’s stubborn and driven like that. Hand moving to grab the waistband of your shorts, he pops you forward until you’re flush up against him, the weight of his hand keeps you there. From falling back against the sedan. From falling away. 

Maybe the action is intentional. But your gut twists a little. Almost hanging in midair, he’s nonplussed and can stand here all day holding you forward. Like he wants you close. Swallowing a little nervously, you rally some of the courage you know will carry you down the aisle tomorrow—you hope will carry you to him, anyway. 

Lidding your eyes, you offer him the best expression of smug you can muster. “You know why I want to marry you, Ice.” 

The chuckle he releases is warningly, like you’re in trouble. The glint in his eye tells you you are.  “That’s not what I asked.” 

Huffing again, this earns him something of a smile from you. It’s more out of irritation with him than anything, but it’s a fair statement. Being a brat pulls something from him that you can’t quite put a finger on, something that sends your senses spinning. Maybe it’s the dominance. Maybe it’s the cat and mouse that sends both of your stubborn selves around and around—but whatever it is, you love the chase. You know he’ll chase you around the sun, anywhere. Forever, probably.

That’s why he’s standing in your driveway at almost two in the morning, when you have to be up in four hours to marry his ass. 

“You’re such a prick,” 

“Yeah, but you love it,” his fist tightens in the band of your shorts again, “answer me.” 

“Because I love you, you asshole,” you attempt to pull back, but he pulls you closer. Leans in to brush his lips against the pulse in your neck. Reminding you to whom you belong, even if you’re name isn’t Kazansky yet. But it always has been. You’ve always been his, even before he knew your name. He’d captured you with that first look. “You’re a good man. Tenacious and fierce, but you understand me and care about the stupid things that make me—me. You’re kind, when you’re not an asshole. Challenge me, make me feel good and stupid and lucky like I haven’t ever felt before. But mostly I’m marrying you because I can’t live without you, and don’t wanna.”

Shoving at his shoulder, attempting to try and force his hand away from where he’s conjoined you, he hums pleasurably. You tack on smartly, “Let go of me.” 

His smile grows against your skin as he presses a thick, burning kiss to the vein in your neck. You try to angle away, huffing and attempting to convey that you don’t want his mark in all of your wedding photos. And it’s futile, because he’s unmovable, and your squirming only plants him more flat-footed in place. His hand grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, one that leaves you breathless and skips your heart like a stone behind your ribs. 

His other hand guides your arms around his neck, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. Biting a little, he grabs your hair and pulls back until you’re craned back to stare up at him, arched forward into his chest. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a superior smile, and his tongue clicks off the inner wall of his cheek in a tsking sound.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” 

“You’re such a prick,” you seethe. 

“But you love me.” He pulls back a little harder until your face shows it, his smile growing into a pleased one. Keening as he shuffles you back against the sedan again, Ice bends to kiss at the hollow of your throat, his tongue lathing a little at the perspiration that’s began to seep forward there. “You love me.” 

“I do, against my better judgment at the moment.” 

“And I love you, even if you are a spoiled brat.” His tongue skips up the length of your throat before he slants his mouth against your kiss-swollen lips. Releasing your hair, he instead smooths his hand over it, and wraps his thick arms around you in a tight, hard embrace. Smiling against his mouth, you break from him with a pop, and look up at him through your lashes. “You ready to get married tomorrow?” 

“Only if you are, Ice.” 

You’d like to smack the smirk off his face. And you would, if it wasn’t so pretty. Pressing a light kiss over your mouth, he takes your face between his thick hands, calluses all but delightful against your creamy skin as his thumbs breeze over the apples of your flushed cheeks. It’s a thousand degrees out here, suddenly. How it happened you don’t know. Don’t care, as long as he doesn’t let you go. 

“That’s good, sweetheart. That’s so good.” 

Taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady

#tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky #iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #valmare's 300 followers party #300 followers #300 followers celebration #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #call sign meerkat #iceman top gun #answered asks #tom kazanksy x reader #iceman x reader #iceman x you

[winterrrnight]

edith's 300 followers celebration!

I can't believe I've hit 300 followers!! It means the whole world to me to see people loving what I write :) thank you to everyone who's always supported me you mean so so much to me 🫶🏻🫶🏻🥹🥹 I hope so many of you can participate in this celly :)

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STARTS: 2nd nov, 2023 ENDS: 12th nov, 2023

EVENTS:

meet me in the hallway: choose out of drew, rafe & zach and a prompt from here and I'll write a little drabble/concept! (just an extra tip: zach is my favourite to write for now 🤭)

sign of the times: get into my chat box and ask me anything from here!

carolina: give me a little concept with drew, rafe or zach and I'll make a 3 pic moodboard inspired by it!

two ghosts: tell me your name (optional) + a little bit about yourself and I'll give you a song (or two) which I think matches (match) your vibe!

sweet creature: send me a profile picture and I'll give you matching navigation post pictures and headers!

only angel: send me your thoughts or headcanons on drew/rafe/zach or about any of your own fics or mine and I'll let you know my own thoughts on it! (Inspired by @katsu28's celly event!) (sfw only! <3)

no tumblr games like fmk, cym because they stress me out lol

RULES/GUIDELINES:

this shouldn't require to be said, but unfortunately it is, so: be nice! be respectful!

only one request per ask please!

please be patient as I do have a life outside tumblr; I'm a student and studying is basically all I do so please let me take my time to get to all of the asks.

please make sure none of your requests involve any sorts of nsfw stuff!

my regular requests are still open, but please note it may take me some time to get to them!

I'm tagging some mutuals and my taglist, without whom this would never be possible. thank you so so much for all your support! 🌞

@runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rafeandonlyrafe @flonkertn @surftrips @outerbankspov @cameronspecial @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl @whore-4-drewstarkey @whore4drew @dilvcv @folkdriving @renqiisnce @notmuchtofind @r1vrsefx @lcverszn

(so sorry if you didn't want to be tagged! please feel free to ignore this :))

check out the tag 'edith's 300 followers celebration! 🪄' to be updated with everything I post for this celly!

#celebration #300 followers #300 followers celebration #writing #drew starkey #zach maclaren #rafe cameron #edith's 300 followers celebration! 🪄

[pavo-ocxllus]

❝ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞. ❞

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡… live your biggest dream or worst nightmare by starring in a movie with a mysterious character! 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠… genshin impact characters, honkai: star rail characters, tears of themis characters, haikyuu!! characters 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… mass headcanons, headcanons, scenarios, or matchups featuring your favorite genshin, tears of themis, star rail, or haikyuu!! characters as long as it complies with my established request guidelines (don’t worry, i’ll put the rules up on this post anyways to spare you the trouble), for the sake of the theme, this could be any [insert movie title here]!au 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬… fluff, angst, and everything in between, platonic relationships if that's what your heart desires 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭… this time, i'm determined to fulfill all requests in this 300 followed event!! and, to all >300 of you, thanks for everything.

obligatory freak out time—what the actual crap guys 300 HUNDRED OF YOU??? and while i wasn't even particularly active???!?! 

the support and love you guys send through replies, dms, and reblogs never fail to make me smile through my screen! through my hectic life, i'm glad to see y'all enjoying what i put out through my small hobby. i really wish i could use my writing skills to say more, but again—all i can do is say thank you and hope by gratitude somehow bypasses the screen.

now, without further ado, the 300 followers premiere awaits!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭?!

fun fact: i used to do match ups once upon a time on a different platform! this is a match-up styled fic event—i match you up with a character based on preferences and you get your story!

this event is movie themed!! any film goes!

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠?

from 8 am on tuesday, september 19th to 8 pm on tuesday, september 26th (cdt)! requests not finished within this time period or requests made right after will be considered overflow and will be finished after the event has ended! any other requests will be promptly ignored and deleted.

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭?

purchase your movie ticket of course! first, say what theater/venue you're going to!

aiia theater — haikyuu!! characters will star here!  opera epiclese — genshin impact characters will star here! stellis film festival — tears of themis characters will star here!  golden theater — honkai impact characters will star here! 

next, specify what time you'll watch this movie!

12:00 — fluff. 15:30 — angst. 19:00 — hurt/comfort. 21:30 — slightly suggestive.

thirdly, kindly state the movie you're planning to watch! anything goes—i only ask the movie is not particularly inappropriate (i am a minor) and if the movie isn't particularly well-known or if you want a specific scene, provide a quote or just say it as it is!

then, please check out the concessions here for preferences! feel free to add as many as you'd like! of course, if you don't really care, you don't have to say anything!

candy — mass headcanon style! (like this) popcorn — normal headcanon style! (like this, i'll pick runner ups as extras!) sodapop — scenario style! (like this, but with one character!) water — interview style! (i talk about why i picked your match up and personal headcanons of what the two of you would be like as a couple or friends.)

and finally, tell me about yourself, as little or as much as you'd prefer! (don't add this part if you choose to order candy! mass headcanon style requires a prompt of some sort!) though, to make it fun, you can keep to the theme of this event—list your favorite movies, celebrity crushes, favorite genres, etc! please specify your pronouns if needed, otherwise it would be written as they/them.

if you want a romantic match up, add "tickets for two!"

your request can look similar to something like this!

hi! i'd like to order tickets for two at the the aiia theater for the 12:00 am showing of [insert any movie here]!

[match up info right here!]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬?

as copy and pasted via my carrd, here are the rules!!

i write for almost every genshin character except chiori, emilie, and iansan. characters such as klee, diona, qiqi, nahida, dori, sayu, and sigewinne are strictly platonic.

i write for every tears of themis love interest including side characters such as darius morgan, celestine taylor, harry grant, winnie cooper, william lewis, howard syter, kiki bennett, and vincent kim.

i write for every major haikyuu!! character but due to it’s large cast, you might have to search through this post (i suggest ctrl+f , command+f, or type in the browser and click 'find' and type in the box that pops out the character you’re looking for) to see if i’m able to write for the character you want…

as for requirements, the only one is that you comply with the guidelines above!

again, thank you so much for all of you for the almost past two years!! i hope i can do your support justice by fulfilling all your requests!! let's have a lot of fun here!

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝! <𝟑

#𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝟑𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐞! #300 followers #300 followers celebration #haikyuu!! event #haikyuu event #hq!! event #hq event #honkai star rail event #hsr event #genshin impact event #genshin event #tot event #tears of themis event #genshin impact x reader #tears of themis x reader #honkai star rail x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #genshin x reader #hsr x reader

[maarriiii]

Hello everyone!!! How are you all?? I just wanted to say thank you so much for following me. I’ve been on Tumblr for awhile now—since middle school I think—and writing have been my escape, so it’s really awesome to have people like my stuff.

So, moving on, to celebrate getting 300 followers (minus one, so 299) I’m doing a celebration by posting 3 fics!!! It’s not a lot but I feel like it’s better than nothing.

The first fic is out now and it’s for my current favorite character, Mr. Draco Malfoy and you can find that here.

The next one is for my favorite british man/streamer/singer, Wilbur Soot. I haven’t finished that one yet. Hopefully I’ll get that done in the next few days—it’s here

And finally, the third fic would be decided by all of you!!! You can request a fic for whatever characters I’ve written for before and I’ll pick one at random. Just one rule though: NO SMUT!! I cannot write a sex scene to save my skin also I don’t think I have the capability so yeah.

That’s all folks. I look forward to posting and seeing all the requests (if I do receive some 💀) I’m gonna go to bed now. Byeeeee

#maarriiii talks #300 followers celebration #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #isaac lahey #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #rick flag #rick flag x reader #draco malfoy #cedric diggory #draco malfoy x reader #cedric diggory x reader

[humming-pokemon-helpers]

//OOC: This happened the other day. Many thanks! You all are great, I love interacting with you, and I can't wait to keep on keeping on. Even if I don't know how 300 of you are interested in my silly little Zorperson.

Not sure exactly what to do for it, so... poll? These would all probably be some point after next week. (Taking the GREs this week! Woo.)

(By the way, as the Unova gym thing's been going on: If you guys have any feedback or ever want to do some sort of interaction, please please reach out! I love ideas, I love coming up with ways for our little guys to meet, and I want to make stuff that's interesting. ^^)

#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #//ooc post #poll #300 followers celebration

[aurathian]

3 sentence prompt: link and zelda kiss (🫢)

There is a girl standing in the wheat fields before him, her hair dancing in the wind, white dress fading into the grain settled around her legs, and she is so clear against the blue, cloudless sky, so close to him as he sifts through the thick field to reach her.

She turns when she approaches him, and her face is blurry, so blurry that he cannot even make out the color of her eyes but when his hand touches her skin and he sees a shift in the blur almost that of a smile, a smile that touches his, soft and tender, sweet like the wheat they've trampled, he thinks, Are you Zelda?

He has seen Zelda so many times in his memories, a sun-kissed painting of blonde hair and pale skin and bright green eyes, but never has he seen her like this, so clear yet so muddled, but he can tell her mouth is moving as the blur shifts and she's saying something--but what?--and when he opens his eyes to face the starry night sky, she is gone.

#3 sentence story #300 followers celebration #hyylia #zelink #zelda #link #botw

[weirdo09]

please, i request a moodboard for argyle :D

anything for you, bestie :D 😄

arygle moodboard for geo <3

#asks #mutuals 💗 #adoremikewheeler #300 followers celebration #🥳🥳🥳🥳

[bahbahhh]

300 follower milestone!

Ahhh, guys! Thank you so much. I’d like to do some writing for this follower milestone celebration, so I’m taking prompts and I’ll write ~300 word story/scene for you.

Guidelines:

-Direct message me a prompt with a LoZ fandom character or pairing (Y’all know I love my NPC POV challenges) from BotW, OoT, MM, TP, SS or TotK (this is the time to be guessing, right?). I’ll also consider Linked Universe!

I’ll write any rating, but if your looking for something specific please specify in your message.

Can’t wait to see what we get! Thank you all again!

Submissions: Closed

MASTERLIST

Completed:

Angsty Paya!POV

Terrako catches Link and Zelda kissing

Post-BotW Zelda is sick

Patricia!POV

Oot zelink cuddling

Angst SS Link * Whump - Claustrophobia/ panic

Kass and his daughters

#bahbahhh300 #bahbahhhwrites #300 followers celebration #follower milestone

[nekoannie-chan]

What do you want from me?

Pairing: Steve Rogers X EX-HYDRA Agent!Reader.

Word count: 976 words.

Summary: Years after what happened with HYDRA, Steve goes to find you.

Warnings: Reader is little paranoid.

A/N: This is my entry to @magicallovdrms ‘ 300 Follower Celebration with prompt #18:

“If you were to kill me, you could have done it already. So, what do you want from me?"

Thanks to my beta reader @saiyanprincessswanie ​

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou ​  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad ​ @navybrat817 ​  @angrythingstarlight ​ @shield-agent78 ​ @charmed-asylum ​ @pandaxnienke ​  @real-fbi ​ @smokeandnailz ​  @white-wolf1940 ​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown ​  @xoxonotme ​ @bluemusickid ​ @leyannrae ​  @harrysthiccthighss ​ @marvelatthisone ​ @hallecarey1 ​ @caplanbuckybarnes ​

After the HYDRA uprising, you had to flee; you couldn't finish your mission. Your plan had gone perfectly until they discovered the truth, and then you ran away. You didn't want to have the same fate as your companions; Rollins was in prison, Rumlow was dead...

You managed to find a place where no one suspected who you were. However, you always had all the precautions to avoid being found. No one could understand the reasons why you were practically forced to join HYDRA.

Maybe your only mistake has been that you fell in love with your target. Even though two years earlier, he found out the truth, he had sought you out, but there was simply no trace of you. You didn't leave a single clue. Maybe he expected to see you in prison or during the chaos.

The reality was that you left the place as soon as the riots started, went to what was once your home, and took your belongings with you. You always carried with you the last photo you and Steve had taken on the last date they had had.

You were sure he hated you. He probably wouldn't have believed you loved him, although many times you were tempted to ask him to run away with you. What you did regret was that you accepted that mission, and he probably believed you betrayed him.

You wanted to tell him the whole truth and tell him again for the last time that you loved him, but you knew that the safest thing was that he would not believe or forgive you, so it was best to walk away and try to forget him... Forget everything you did in the past.

Before entering the apartment, you checked the surroundings to make sure that no one had followed you. Everything seemed safe, so you proceeded to enter with the groceries you bought. When you closed the door, you realized that there was something different that was obviously not right. Now you had to find out who the person was who had found you.

You put one of your hands in the back pocket of your pants. You always carried one of your weapons with you, in case it was necessary.

"I never stopped looking for you; I knew I'd find you one day," Steve said, leaving the notebook he had grabbed on the coffee table in the living room.

"Rogers."

"Before you called my name, no," you said, "my love," Steve replied.

"How did you find me?" You did not get an answer to that question. Since you escaped from the Triskelion, you have been exaggeratedly careful to avoid this.

When you love someone, you always look for ways to reconnect with that person.

You did not take your eyes off him, but you did not neglect your surroundings. At any time, his team or the police would enter to arrest you, if you were sure. Even though since you fled, you have led a quiet life, it could well be said that somehow you resigned from HYDRA.

You hate me. "That's a lie." You hate me for having lied to you and betrayed you."

"No, that's a lie." Steve raised his voice, and you looked at him surprised. He never spoke to you like that.

You approached him with extreme care. You observed him in detail. He looked different. He looked lost and sore. He didn't even look like the man you met, but that didn't mean you shouldn't find out his intentions. Maybe he didn't want to arrest you, although he did want to arrest you, so it was best to be direct. You didn't have time for games.

"If you were to kill me, you could have done it already. So, what do you want from me?"

Steve saw you with a gesture of disbelief. Why would you believe that? He had already forgiven you a long time ago. He knew you and wanted to be with you. He was sure that the only thing you did not lie about was your feelings.

"Haven't you seen the news?" I'm a fugitive. I need you so I can escape, "he replied while still looking at you.

"The right and perfect Captain America asks a HYDRA agent for help," you scoffed.

"Accords affect you too," Steve said.

"No, I am not an active agent. I will not save the world."

But you are also a fugitive; otherwise, there would be no reason for you to be living in a place like this. Come on, Y/N, you are the only one who can help me.

"And now that you found me, I'll have to leave again. I'm sure this is a trap and you'll take me to prison," you said. You were still undecided about whether or not you could trust him.

"No, I won't," he said.

"I don't believe you."

"I still love you," he said, taking your hand in his.

"What? You must be kidding after what I did..."

"I'm not kidding. I know the reasons why you joined HYDRA, but I'm also sure your feelings are real. That's something you can't fake. Please, I need you," Steve pleaded with you. You went to the kitchen; he wasn't lying to you.

"Do you want tea? Because this is going to take some time. I want you to tell me everything that has happened," you said.

You started telling him what had happened since you ran away. You made an effort not to cry. You both loved each other, so you were going to help him.

You said, "Just let me keep some things that we will need. We will run away together; they will never find us." You nodded and smiled. He was glad to know that he could count on you. Ah, Steve, I love you too."

#300 followers celebration #nicoles 300 followers #300followerscelebration #nicoles300followers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x exhydra!reader

[yuri-is-online]

Congrats on 300! You more than deserve it. If it’s alright, could you write Jealousy pt. 2 for Idia and Vil? Thanks <3

9. Jealousy pt. 2- someone from a rival school asks for your number

Thank you very much friend (╥﹏╥) Of course I can, I hope you like it!

notes: notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, mild RSA slander, reference to the events of chapter 5 (Vil). If you saw this post for the .3 seconds I posted it before it was done baking I am so sorry. Check out the rest of the event requests on my masterlist here.

Idia

"Thank you so much for showing me around." The RSA boy has been strangely polite to you and Idia ever since you intervened in their... "conversation." Not that he has been exactly paying attention to the very tall very blue boy who has been hovering around you looking for a good moment to cut in. "The NRC layout is just so different to what I'm used to." he laughs awkwardly and you involuntarily look at Idia.

"Hope it stays that way." He mutters and you try to avoid making any noise of agreement in hopes it doesn't provoke any more arguing between them. The RSA kid pretends not to notice, but the smile that spreads across his face suggests he thinks Idia's grumbling makes him look better somehow. You know his attempt at moving closer to you when you take out your phone certainty doesn't.

"Um, I'd like a chance to thank you properly, but I don't think we'll get a chance to see each other again during the fair..."

"Yeah I'm going to be pretty busy." You state, really hoping he gets the point.

[yuu] run

[idia] ???

[idia] and just leave u with sir scam a lot? nah

"Could I have your number then?" He asks, completely unaware that there are two introverts begging for the release of death in front of him.

"Nah sorry I don't have a phone." You can't find the meme you want to send Idia so you settle on a string of hearts while he tries to avoid laughing in the other guys extremely confused face.

[idia] cute

Vil

Vil has never once wished to be anyone other than exactly who he was. Why would he? The amount of work he had put in to commanding the attention he did would be pointless if he wanted to throw it all away and be somebody else. He should be secure in his position... he is secure in his position... that's why he finds this entire situation so... annoying.

"Yuu! I'm surprised you decided to participate in the VDC, you said you weren't going to." Neige had turned his attention to you as soon as he was done speaking to Rook, who looks just as flabbergasted as you do that the idol was speaking to you.

"I'm sorry but I don't think we've met?" You are clearly confused, and Vil wants to think entirely too concerned with his condition to spare the other boy a single thought. But still, like a worm working it's way to the core of an apple, Neige moves happily over to you trying to rot what little Vil can still claim as entirely his.

"I wasn't dressed as nicely last time sorry," he is clearly genuinely disappointed "we met when you came with the NRC Headmage to talk about the VDC, remember?" You blink, looking between Neige and Grim in increasing confusion. "I forgot to tell you my name, I've been thinking about it a lot... I really wanted to ask for your number so I could talk to you again."

"I don't really remember sorry, did you change your hair or something?" This is getting increasingly awkward for everyone but Neige who weathers it all with a smile as Vil tries to push down the implications of how pleased this development makes him feel.

Serves you right brat, Vil knows that Yuu will never forget meeting him.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #300 followers celebration

[valmare]

For your 300 party I was wondering if I could request reader lovin on Ice. I've read a lot of Ice taking care or protecting reader, but at this point in my life I need some soft, clingy Tom. Maybe he's sore from an ejection, or he caught some sickness (or maybe he get tension headaches from clenching that gorgeous jaw of his.....)

Idk, you do you boo

Okay, so, this is a little angsty but I think it accomplishes the mission at hand. Somehow it ended up 14 Google Docs pages, but, I'm not complaining. Enjoy the Iceman, love.

Keep Me Alive 

“God, it’s good to be home.” 

If the little edge of impatience weren’t so evident in Slider’s tone, the way he shifts a little on his feet and cards fingers through his hair would be evidence enough. For the better part of an hour, they’d been standing on deck as the carrier slides home to quay, dwarfing any and all the bodies that have gathered to welcome some six-thousand men home.

For the first time Tom is conscious of, the beast beneath his feet isn’t moving, cutting through dark waters. Bobs on the surface of glassy waters, like God’s bath toy, but isn’t in motion. Knocks against the wharf every so often. A sure sign he is home. 

Mentions of home have kicked anticipation down the length of his spine like a mule for nearly a week. He hadn’t slept soundly since they’d pointed the rig in the direction of the golden coast. There’d been no better way to spend time on this thing than counting the days he’d be docked, feet planted on solid ground. Even on his hops, he’d been half distracted thinking about home—his bed, his car, all the meals gone cold from being too busy holding you. Eight weeks on the water was enough–two of them in Medical had driven him just short of insanity. 

Medical had taken a concussion and a jacked collarbone all-too seriously, but that was the Navy for you. Making a big deal out of injuries when in reality, it came with the gig.  Maintenance issues happened, cropped up out of nowhere all the time—facts of life, all that.  Traveling at mach speed, pulling Gs and breaking sound barriers tended to work a bird pretty hard. Loosened some screws. And he didn’t exactly take it easy on his rig, that wasn’t his job. He flew the damn things, went to work, ensured national security, and came home. 

But, a hundred and fifty miles out is a helluva distance to bail and watch the ocean consume forty million tax dollars. Man doesn’t really know what insignificance feels like until he’s surrounded by churning waters and open sk.Dwarfed by the cruel joke that is the behemoth of the ocean. Reality had hit him as soon as he’d broken the surface, Ron a few hundred feet to his right—he wasn’t as indestructible as adrenaline would lead him to belief. 

He’d almost bought it. Died. In a matter of seconds, everything he’d known about the world hadn’t mattered. He’d only thought of his little slice of home in San Diego, you waiting for him on the front porch. His car parked in the driveway—the life he could have with you. All the things he’d never said but wanted to have bludgeoned him like a sledgehammer. Seconds were all he had, but he lived an entire life in those heartbeats—or, rather, hadn’t lived. 

Ice didn’t have any idea how actually freezing the Indian was. Well, more accurately, how freezing open ocean was. Survival training had been forever ago, the body easily discarded information that wasn’t necessary to immediate survival. His feet had hit the water first, its glacial bite cutting straight to his bones as the full weight of miles of endless depth had attempted to pull him under surface. He’d immediately started shaking, heart kicking against his ribs, brain somehow managing to tell his limbs what came next. Lungs immediately burning, Ice realized he was a complete pussy—not built for the cold, couldn’t hold his breath for shit. Realized how actually awful he was at swimming. Cursed the Navy for not enforcing mandatory swim training as he’d cut through the water, grappling for air. 

The black veil of unconsciousness pushed inward from the perimeter of his vision. Hadn’t even been aware he was still wearing his helmet, it did nothing to cut the roar of a spinning ocean. Bile splashed in the back of his throat he’d taken one breath of air, panicked, and dropped back down. Might as well have weighed a thousand pounds. Seconds from kicking off his boots, his vest engaged to float him up, and a firm kick of his legs sent him popping back above the water. 

Treading water became second nature. He hadn’t even registered the pain of his arm until the glass ceiling of reality had shattered—Ice went through the motions, almost like routine. Popped ink. Sucked frigid, biting air into his lungs. Watched his chute roll away on the water, tipped his head back to see the still-there trail of smoke he’d left behind. Remembering Slider, he was prepared to meet Kerner halfway. Angled to attempt a crawl. Instead, white-hot, shooting pain rocked him to his back, twisted his freezing facial muscles into a grimace. Arm rendered all but usable, it was already throbbing despite the freezing water trying to suck him in. 

You passed through his mind on a continuous loop, unstoppable. Beautiful. Every few seconds he was smacked with the truth of his current state of affairs, that he could still die. Die without telling you again how much he loved you. How you were the sun, he but a revolving moon chasing after you. You put him back together, took him apart. Fixed the places the world dared to break. He allowed you to, because nobody touched him like you could—nobody saw him like you did. They saw the Iceman, the master of the skies, the man without mistakes. The saw who they wanted to see. 

You saw him for who he was—imperfect. Broken. You saw the reflections he hides for the world. Demons he fights. And, you loved him.  You still worshiped him, sought him. Ran into his embrace when he came home—because. Just because. His reward; witnessing parts of you that locked out the world, that rattled the cages of those who looked inside. Imperfections that only resurrected in the valleys, when the time was equal parts right and wrong. You didn’t ask him to fix you, to do it the right way. Expectations were a discussion, not a right. 

Ice didn’t have to be the Iceman when you held him. You allowed him to be Tom, to pursue his own mistakes—to make them. And when he did, you helped him fix them. He could be just Tom. Like nobody else had allowed him to be. Since he’d been able to walk he’d run in the shadow of his family name. The Academy had created Iceman. Buried any form of the little boy who had raced across Hawaiian sands and drank in the ocean, who had become a man. And you? Well. 

You saw the Iceman. You remembered the boy. You embraced both sides of him and understood they reflected off the other. Chose to see both sides of him when the world only would witness one.  

And dying—God, dying apart from that feeling? Hell reincarnated. 

Aware that you already knew all these things was poor man’s poison. He could tell you a hundred times he loved you, could hang it in the sky and write it in blood and everlasting starlight but he’d starve over it again and again. It could never echo loud enough. He was going to die sometime, probably in situations not unlike the one he’d been in. He would die like this, knowing that even telling you endlessly would never be enough. That was hell. 

Small eternities had passed, tossed around in frigid whitecaps and swelling waves, before Slider had cut through the bleeding ink to him. Ron was fine, thank Christ for him. But he’d known nearly immediately that Ice was not. Shaking hands managed to tether them together, and a flyby exam had Kerner suspecting that he’d wracked up something in the top shelf. Together they’d just bobbed there. Waiting for SAR, maybe dying. It was anybody’s guess. 

SAR had sent him straight to Medical, where he’d been in and out for two weeks nursing a concussion and a cracked collarbone. He’d lasted three days in a brace and had tossed it across quarters. Hadn’t worn it sense, but had been restricted to light duty. Grounded. His plane buried miles beneath the dark water. He’d almost anticipated them flying him off, but the O-6 had thought he’d be useful running comms and flight sims. Fuck Captains and the crazy stick up their asses. He could’ve been home, with you, sleeping in a bed more his than any of the ones he’d even been assigned—eating hot squares, watching you make his assignment a home. 

It doesn’t matter, not in hindsight. He’s docked and home. Somewhere in the press of bodies at the wharf, you’re there waiting for him and will welcome him with open arms and that gorgeous smile that’s ravaged him from the first time he saw you, at that stupid volleyball game where he’d lost to Maverick. Fucking Maverick. His ego would probably never recover from that one. 

Thank God for that loss, though. Maverick. If Mitchell hadn’t been trying to smile at you, pick you up, he’d never have barged over and smiled back. While there was a lot about Mitchell that pissed him off, his timing wasn't always terrible. And he had good fuckin’ taste in women—he’d wanted you. But miracles did exist — you hadn’t bought his cowboy attitude, abs and smile and all. 

“It’ll take a lot more than a pretty smile and skin, cowboy,” you’d shrugged a shoulder, swung a leg over the bleacher you’d been parked on, and effortlessly your eyes had skated over to him from the other man. Maverick dared to comment that you were unreasonable. “Oh I’m not unreasonable. You’re just more trouble than you’re worth. Anyone ever tell you you’re dangerous, honey?” 

Signed, sealed, delivered. He was sold. Shoving Slider’s proposition for another game off, he’d thrown on a shirt and eyeballed you as you’d cut back to your car—the ‘72 Chevy C/K with a four-barrel V8 and fat, gorgeous tires that still killed him. Powder blue with a strip of cream, it had all the right curves. Like you. All sure signs you were worth the effort of jogging over and making his case. You’d agreed to a drink, just one– he’d offered to pick you up. You’d laughed and he’d been boneless. 

You did not take rides in cars with boys. Even if they wore wings and looked pretty in their U.S. Navy best. And his favorite thing about it? You had boundaries. Standards. Boundaries that preserved whatever sweet thing the two of you had. He’d never met a pretty little thing that hadn’t folded under the right smile. Whites always impressed the tits anywhere he’d ever gone—and while he’d caught you more than appreciating him, it wasn’t enough. 

Never since his time even in the Academy had Ice imagined there being anything that could parallel the rush of cutting through the air. Racing by at mach speeds, the sting of adrenaline in the blood. For so long that had been it for him, nothing boots on the ground could compare. But then you’d come into his life, and everything and nothing started making sense. He’d kissed you and his heart had been avalanched wide open, in ways he hadn’t known existed. You’d asked him to stay. Tethered him like a kite to the earth, beckoning him back to somewhere that had meaning. Even if that somewhere had never before been home. 

“Ice. Kazansky—you okay, chief?” His gaze snaps up, all too quickly. “Fucking hell, Ice—you’ve got it bad. Dick really that hard over her already?” He’s not serious, but the glint in the other man’s eye is enough to send Ice’s own eyes rolling. Exasperated, he shakes his head a little. 

“Shut up, Slider,” he manages the growl as quietly as possible, while slipping aviators into place, “don’t act like I don’t know you haven’t been fucking yourself for eight weeks.” Ice can’t help but rally in his victory of heat rushing to the tips of Kerner’s ears, “You and I both know you’re in whatever pussy so much as bats an eye your direction.” 

“That right?” Ron cuts a look over his shoulder, and Tom’s cheshire grin is unmissable, probably from space. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Kazansky?” 

“Tell me I’m wrong, Slider,” he shoves at Kerner’s shoulder, sending the man forward, “I’ll wait.” 

“Screw you, Ice.”

Commotion on deck signals the ramp’s letdown. Slider’s elbow knocks his, jostling him a bit as he bends for his gear, hauling it up to his shoulder. Ice manages his own, but forgoes his shoulder, favoring the injury that still aches as he falls in behind Ron. Kerner’s height towers above most and cuts a path through the gaggle of bodies lingering on deck, waiting for them disembark. It’s a perk of being an aviator. 

Last to load, first to leave. 

He can’t help but laugh at the man’s sour expression, but he’s beat and Slider knows it. It isn’t a serious offense, but the heat hasn’t dropped out of Slider’s ears yet, which sends a bolt of pride down to his face. It sounds off in a sure smile. 

Slider might hate it, but he knows his RIO pretty well. Cold beer, some laughs and a good fuck constitute a successful date is really all it takes to impress his backseater. And Ice can’t really fault him for it. To each their own. Slider hasn’t met the perfect girl yet—he doesn’t get it. He may never. But that isn’t exactly Ice’s problem. 

He knows he’s right, though, as the ramp drops to the quay, rattling the chains between scuppers. It’s all the release the atmosphere on deck needs—nearly instantly, the weight of six thousand men press around the small crop of aviators stepping off, all bristled with the anticipation of finding family and going home. But they don’t get to leave, not for a few days. Families waiting at the base of the ramp are for aviators, him. It’s a powerful, alarming feeling. He can’t imagine the torture of being so close but so far away. 

But he doesn’t care—immediately he begins looking for you, eyes scanning over a few dozen nameless faces in between heartbeats. He can’t see over Slider’s goliath height as they meld into the press of nearly-silent people, and for a second, Ice wonders if anyone can feel his heart throbbing like a jackhammer against his ribs, or if that’s a privilege reserved just for him and blood in his ears. 

Someone clips his injured arm and he grimaces, releasing a low huff at the bolt of pain that zings to his fingertips and down his spinal column. It bleeds into the familiar, dull ache again as Slider continues cutting between bodies. Guiding him to the perimeter of the crowd, neither of them spotting you. For a second fear sinks deep fangs into the back of his head—you could’ve forgotten he’s home today. There could’ve been an accident, you could be a thousand miles from here. 

But you aren’t in the press of bodies waiting at the dock. Mingling with the other families and making small talk, reeling in the nervous energy of waiting wasn’t all that appealing for so early in the morning as you’d parked your pickup in the lot, well beyond the dock. You’d gotten here earlier than the other families—you always did. Watching the carrier rumble into port without the white noise of milling families was its own kind of magic. Especially in a quiet cab with hot coffee, a journal, and Sunday’s notes skittered across the dash. 

It’s the worst possible Saturday your boyfriend could dock, when you’re preaching Sunday. Scheduled to stand before nothing short of a couple hundred people at your family’s church, you’d been nervous about this for weeks. When you’d been approached for the opportunity, almost immediately you’d remembered the date circled on your calendar. The papers Tom had talked to you about nearly eight weeks ago—he was due home. Today. Hours before you were giving your first sermon as a graduating minister, the sermon that would lock in your credentials and guarantee you a diploma. Trembling from excitement and nerves, you’d accepted the opportunity and scheduled a date to meet with the church’s board of elders. 

And between cleaning the house, sermon preparations, your thesis, and missing Tom you’d been scrambling well into the early hours of dark morning. Hadn’t collapsed into bed until well after two in the morning, you’d gotten up at six to be out the door. The dock wasn’t far from assignment housing, but family’s have had vehicles parked here for a few days. Not wanting to grapple for parking, you’d just decided to camp here, when the carrier had been little more than a speck on the gray horizon. 

Sipping at your coffee, your eyes dart up from the material you’ve been pouring over for the better part of a week. Paul and the church of Corinth, the subject of your thesis. You can’t wait to preach it. It sends zips of nervous energy to your fingertips, thinking about it, but it blows away like a late summer breeze when you spot Slider’s height through the crop of people. Your heart slams to an all-stop as he cuts out of the crowd, a head of blonde hair not a breath behind him. 

Your smile broadens when you see him casing for you. Fingers effortlessly pop the latch of your door and you slip out onto the step bar, balanced against the door. Slipping fingers in your mouth you release a sharp whistle, then reach down to punch the horn a couple of times. You break out in giggles and see the minute he spots you, waving at them with a bright, goofy smile. Even from here, his pearly smile is captivating and unmissable. 

Immediately they both start making their way from the dock and you drop back into the cab, hurriedly closing your materials and tucking them up on the dash against the windshield. Flipping the visor, you check what little makeup time had allotted for you to apply, and with a shrug you smack it closed. Acceptable, your fingers brush the keys in the ignition when you pop out of the truck, batting the door closed behind you.

Darting around the pickup, you step from the concrete to the steps sloping from the lot, heart rate nearly at odds with your quick feet. Taking them nearly two at a time, you forgo the last step with a little hop. And when he’s close enough, his bag drops to the ground and his arms open. Scooping you up, you don’t miss Ice’s grunt of pain upon impact. He slides his glasses into his hair, doesn't make a big deal of his injury. You don’t either, and within seconds his hands are cradling your face for a hard, desperate kiss. 

You’re happy to stay here and drink him in, to never stop and let the world bleed away, until Slider makes a gagging sound over Ice’s shoulder. 

“God, this is embarrassing—alright, okay, we get it, you’re made for each other. Now if you’re done eating each other’s face, let’s get the hell out of here.” He sounds irritated but you know better—Slider’s a jealous creature, but it's all in good fun. 

You snort out a laugh against Ice’s mouth and break back with a wet pop to look over at Slider. A crooked smile twists up his mouth as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Offering him a lazy smile, you rest your head against Ice’s chest as his arms snug up a little tighter around you, which wrinkles your nose affectionately. 

“Hey, Kerner.” He’s smiling at you when you slip out from Ice’s arms to wrap the RIO in a welcoming embrace. He bear-hugs you, thick arms arm as he exaggerates his hug with a little growl, nose tucking into your neck for a breath of your perfume. “Good to see you, Sli.” 

“Hey yourself, pretty,” he claps a hand on your shoulder and you lift on toes to kiss his cheek hello, which sends a sparkling smile to his lips. “Got enough room in daddy’s pickup for the three of us?” He knows you do, but makes a show of flexing his chest to emphasize his size. The running joke, always. You can’t help the smile and little roll of your eyes, shoving him back at the shoulder. 

“Of course I do, if you ride in the back, Ron.” you step back, Ice’s arm lifting over and he laughs. Full and loud, rich and genuine it prompts a smile from you as he slips his aviators back into place, your arms sliding home around his middle as Slider rolls his eyes and makes for the stairs, looking miffed. 

Slider tosses his and Ice’s bag in the bag of the pickup, and as he does so, Ice crowds you against the driver’s door, arm draped through the open window. His hand moves to play with one of your curls, the lazy smile on his face coquettish as his eyes scan over your face, drinking you in. Your bottom lip rolls in under your teeth and you sink back against the door a little beneath his gaze. Swirl of butterflies in your stomach, the muscle of his jaw ticks with a repressed smile. 

“Hey you,” his finger slips your curl behind your ear, then slowly falls down the cut of your jaw to hook your chin in place. You manage back the most pathetic return “Hey,” that’s more of a squeak than anything that could be considered a greeting. You jump when two sharp bangs erupt from the box, Slider’s fist knocking against the side of your pickup with deliberate force. 

Brows lifted, the look says everything as he gestures to the truck. “We leavin’ or what?” 

Ice’s look is stone cold. “Ron. Shut up.” 

Your brows lift as you turn back to Tom, shifting on your feet a little as your eyes sweep down his frame, which is slung forward to pin you against the door. Pleasurable color rises to your cheeks as you feel Ron open the passenger door. “You two always this married?”  And you don’t miss the amusement on Tom’s face as you smile at him, eyes purposefully lidded. His lips part to respond but you reach behind your back, pop the door, and nudge it open. “You drive, I’ll ride middle seat.” And you slip through door along the bench seat, in next to Slider. 

It’s a tight fit, but comfortable enough when Ron lifts his arm along the back seat, allowing you to rest against him as Ice flicks the keys forward, the 350 rumbling to life with a smooth growl that sends appreciation through your blood. Ice has always looked delicious driving your pickup, but eight weeks of not seeing him hits differently in the pit of your gut. Your tongue skates along your low lip as you devour him navigating the parking lot, the cut of his arm in short-sleeved khaki. 

The jaunt to your little rental isn’t long, but Slider’s complaining of the cramped quarters anyway when Ice pulls the pickup against the curb, making room in the driveway. Kerner wastes no time getting out of the cab, retrieving his gear beside Ice as you scoop up your reading material in the crook of your arm. Ice passes you your keys and you hurry up to the door to unlock it, slip inside, and dip into the attached garage to slap at the door controls. 

Dropping your stuff in the kitchen, you sling your keys into the tray they’re always parked in. You straighten your college sweatshirt a little, push the sleeves up to your elbows. Nervous habit— you’re more than a little anxious to have that eyesore of a Trans Am out of your garage. It’s been sentinaled beside Ice’s Chevelle since he’d parked it there, in your spot. More than once you’ve thought about rolling it out to the curb so your baby can rest in its rightful spot, but you aren’t that soulless. Even if it’s the ugliest damn thing you’ve ever seen. 

Telling yourself you’re genuinely glad to see Ron and that you don’t actually want to chase him out, you can’t ignore Ice’s taste still on your tongue, the need you have to be alone with him. 

Bouncing down the two steps into the garage, you pass between the Chevelle and Pontiac, finger deliberately tracing the sharp body lines of the Chevy at a slow, swaying pace that’s enough to notice Ice’s attention side-eye over to you. Leaning against the side of the garage, he’s been discussing something or another with Kerner in one-word answers. The back of your mouth thickens with dry—his sun-kissed arm flexes the material of the khakis as he crosses his arms, his fingers all but magnetic as they slide over his skin. 

Electricity at the mere sight him cuts down your spine and you jump a little, moving to dip low through the open window of the Trans Am. Your fingers find the keys along the column. A peek over the steering column and you catch Ice watching you, reveling in the sight of you slung into Ron’s car. His expression isn’t readable as your lips twist into a grin, and you deliberately linger to draw his attention. And you can’t miss how he rubs his hand along his jaw, attempting to stifle the absolutely filthy look glinting in his eyes. 

Slipping back through the window, you pop tall and spin Slider’s keys on your finger. “Kerner,” he stops mid-sentence to glance at you, hands still mid-gesture. His expression changes from one of passive indifference to sexual appreciation as your hip falls against the door of the Pontiac with deliberate flirtation. Underhanding his keys to him, you crook a smile. “Get this sorry piece of crap out of my garage before I roll it into the middle of the frickin’ street.” 

Ice’s cough is more a laugh as he sets his jaw, impressed with the look that muddles Kerner’s face. The RIO’s brow drops into a frown as he snags the keys from the air in his hands, looking from them back to you. You’re giggling at him, brightening the smile on your face to indicate that you’re only teasing, but not really. And then Ice looks at you, his wolfish gaze dragging over you slowly. Lingers where your hands knead through the front of your sweatshirt, the cut of your hip that’s more than a little cocked. You offer him a greedy look of your own. Exaggerate licking your lips. And it says everything. 

He looks good. You look as good as you imagine you can, in jeans and a college sweatshirt and what little makeup you normally wear. But you know it doesn’t matter what you wear, not really. Eight weeks nearly lifetime-guarantees interest, even if you’d been wearing a nunnery. Locked in a wordless conversation, Ice’s brow raises a little and his head cants to the side. You look away, purposefully. 

Cat and mouse, forever and always. All the little games that you love, come ashore to play. Heat simmers at the base of your spine, and you absently spin the ring on your finger, rocking up on your toes as your eyes fall back to the Chevelle, which you love. You love this damn car. Probably more than you should. 

Passing the keys between his hands, Slider rolls his eyes and audibly groans. Moving to haul his gear to his shoulder, he points first at Ice and then at you, finger cutting between the pair of you as he moves to the Trans Am, you crowding back against the Chevelle to let him by. 

“You both behave yourselves,” he chucks his bag through the window to the passenger seat. Popping the door a little, he turns to thrust an accusatory finger in your face, “Don’t do anything I would do, Reverend.” Trying to sound serious, his lips curl up into a barely-contained smile that makes you giggle.

“Ew. No,” you try to look serious. It cracks beneath a hint of a smile. 

He points to the side of his mouth, indicating a kiss as he slips sunglasses into place from the pocket of his uniform. Rolling your eyes, you press a soft kiss to the spot, Slider beaming proudly at the accomplishment. He looks to Ice and wags his brows, and Tom rolls his eyes. “See ya later, pretty.” He makes a show of grabbing you aggressively, like he wants more than just a friendly kiss. He doesn’t, but it pushes Tom from his leaning position against the garage all the same. 

“Get lost, Slider,” Ice moves in beside you, and you shove at Ron’s shoulder. Impressed with himself, Ron’s grin widens and he kisses your forehead, lowering the shades on his nose enough to wink at you before he claps a hand on Ice’s uninjured shoulder, nodding at him. 

“Alright. I’m outta here.” The RIO drops into the Trans Am, fires it up, and tears out of the driveway. You watch him from the vacated spot until the eyesore of a Pontiac is down the block and out of sight, the exaggerated muffler making your eyes roll to the ceiling of the garage as Slider purposefully feeds the thing fuel. 

You don’t even have time to think before Ice grabs your arm and pulls you over to him, crowding you up against the back of the Chevelle. The steel is warm beneath your hands from California heat as Ice captures you in another hard kiss, licking into your mouth with a filthy moan that nearly cripples you where you stand. Suddenly unaware of anything but his sun-chapped mouth on yours, you melt into his touch when his hands find your thighs, nudging you back farther against his car. 

In one fluid movement he takes your chin and angles it up a little, bracketing you against the car until he urges you to actually sit. You comply, more consumed with pushing and pulling at his lips when his hands move to push your legs apart, allowing him to step into place between them. His fingers are thick and burning even beneath the denim of your jeans, and your fingers curl into the line of buttons on his uniform to beg him closer. 

Hands sliding to your hips, he moves to press a thick kiss to the pulse in your neck, your head canting to allow him. The sensation sends a bolt of heat down your spine and to the low of your gut, and your bare toes curl nearly to breaking. Heels dig into the warm chrome of the bumper, sheens of perspiration catching over your skin as Ice’s tongue lathes into the salty taste of your skin. It pulls a filthy mewl from you. Your arm slings around his neck, pulling him in and closer—you miss the bulk of whatever has him wrapped into place. The grunt he hisses into your skin jumps through your chest, making you gasp. 

His shoulder. You angle back and away, a hand to his drawing him back to you. Beautiful color dusts over his nose. His eyes simmer with lustful light. And despite his best effort, you can see the lingering pain in his expression, the exhaustion in the shadow around his eyes. He looks tired—looks like a man recovering from crashing a taxpayer jet in the middle of the Indian. But there’s something else, something in his expression that you can’t quite put a finger on—something you’ve never seen before. 

Swallowing a shallow breath, your fingers gently skip over his collarbone, your hands moving to undo the first few of his buttons. Pushing aside the collar of his shirt and tugging at the undershirt, sure enough—gauze is wrapped beneath his arm, around his barrel in a light brace. 

“Ice,” you breathe a little when his fingers brush at the hair sticking to the sweat on your face, “are you really still this sore? How bad is this?" He’s too busy looking at your mouth to catch the worry mottling your eyes, and you’re thankful for that as your heart picks up within your breast, “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.” 

“Because it isn’t,” he bites a bit sharply, tongue parting the seam of his lips a little in a greedy, hungry way, “The concussion from the impact was worse than the collarbone. Kept me in Medical for a few days, but really—I’m fine,” 

“A concussion? Ice! Are you telling me you’re concussed? You drove us here!”  

The look on your face prompts his shrug and the slight eye roll, but you snag his chin and pull his gaze back to yours. Wrinkled, you attempt your most concerned expression, though all you can feel is the fire of his touch flaming through you like a wildfire. “Kazansky—you have to tell me these things.” 

He rolls his eyes, heaving a nearly bored sigh. “I tell you the important things.” It’s all he offers. 

But his voice is more assured than his expression, and that little something creeps into the light of his eyes. It robs the mirth, muddies the waters of endless gray depth that usually have you tethered to somewhere far away, that doesn’t resemble the world. And then the muscle in his jaw ticks, in a way that isn’t his normal. The beast bucks the chain, and slips into his expression for all of a few seconds. 

The crash. It’s still there—fear. Cold, detached fear. It still has him out in that ocean, somewhere, a thousand miles from you. You’ve never seen Ice off his game, never seen him this vulnerable. Watching his tongue fill the pocket of his cheek as his eyes drop from yours, you’ll never forget the bristle of discomfort the moment brings him. Something akin to shame hangs in his posture, skirts in and out of the shaky breath he releases. Tom has always been a barely-held-together pillar of strength, broken in all the ways men who crave control are. But he’d never been afraid.

“Tom,” your hand moves to cup his cheek, and he leans into the contact, and his eyes close. His exhale is much more confident, but he can’t shake the tremble. Not yet. His cold sweat skims into your palm, he’s never this clammy. “Ice. It’s okay—” 

“Don’t.” 

Nearly instantly Ice’s hands drop from your hips, his expression hard like a child that has been reprimanded. He attempts to take a step back from you, but you beat him to it—leaning forward, you snag the first few open buttons in your fist, tugging him back against your chest with an exaggerated pout about your face. Fist curling around the material, your brows avalanche into a hard line. He plants his feet, head kicked back a little to stare at you, expressionless. More like a man standing in the face of a drill sergeant than a lover. Passive, tolerant. As cold as ice. 

Compassion rattles your chest for a minute before the muscle in your jaw ticks, burning with effort to keep your expression checked. “Cut the shit, Ice. You crashing into the ocean is important. Talk to me.” His eyes snap up to you at your use of language, which is very rare, as a minister’s daughter and student of the church. He holds you there, seated on the back of his Chevelle, with the weight of the world. “Ice. Please. Tell me wha—” 

“I thought about you,” he takes your face between his hands softly, thumbs gently skipping over your cheeks as he drinks you in, studying with deep, attentive eyes. Your hands move to slowly slip along his forearms, welcoming the contact, and you gently wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him a little closer. “The entire engagement, all I could think about was getting back—coming home, seeing you, and—” In a very rare show of inarticulance he tumbles, gaze dropping as he attempts to rally. Stumbling about unintelligible attempts for a few moments, his eyes close and his head drops. 

The moment of weakness won’t last, he won’t let it. And you don’t want him to. Ice has allowed you to see him so unfurled only a few times in your relationship. Carding your fingers through his hair, his hands move to hold you by the shoulders, firmly. Like he doesn’t want to let go. You're about to slip off the car when his hands firm up on your shoulder, softly jerking you to a halt. 

“No, please. Stay.”  

He pulls you forward for his head to rest against your chest, you feel him inhale the scent of you deeply. Gently sliding your nails along his scalp, you hum a little, exhaling a toe-curling breath. Tears gloss over your vision but you dismiss them. Relish instead in how he nuzzles into the rhythm of your heart, the warmth of your sweater. You can see him drifting, still at sea. Fighting to come back. 

The Iceman. While it fits him to a T, it is such a foreign concept. Vulnerable, melting within your very grasp–everything an Iceman isn’t. It’s a power unlike anything you’ve ever known. And there’s nothing more beautiful. Like the slow bleed of the sun to the earth, giving way to night. Holy, magical. Breathless. This is how it is meant to be, between man and woman. Eve taken from Adam, not to be apart from him, but to complete him. 

And you will complete him. God will you complete him. 

“I love you, Tom Kazansky,” if he’s forgotten who he is, it’s your job to remind him. And it will be, as long as he allows you the privilege. The idea of him thinking about you during engagement sends a thrill through you, and you take one of his hands to draw his palm to your lips, softly. “I love you.” You say it again and again, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. 

When he lifts his head, a Tom Kazansky you don’t remember stares back at you. His eyes are red and rimmed in shadows. He isn’t guarded in the way you’d expected him to be, but instead, Ice looks as if he’s taken a great breath of fresh air, buoyed. Drunk on your words. For a fraction of a second you see the glint of moisture in his eyes, but it passes when his hand wraps around the back of your neck and forces you into a soft, barely-there kiss. 

He sighs against your mouth, tipping his forehead against yours. “I love you.” It’s a statement, not a phrase. Nothing follows, nothing proceeds. Vibrations of it rip through you like a shockwave, his lips brushing over yours lightly as he bips at your bottom lip, wanting. “You keep me alive, fuck you keep me breathing.” 

Arms laced behind his neck, your fingers slide through his hairline. He’s hot. Burning up, really, and sharing his head beads sweat across your forehead, in the ravine of your spine. Swallowing each of his breaths, you lazily kiss the corner of his mouth, until he turns to slant his lips over yours, hand roughing against the back of your neck. The other pulls at the front logo of your sweater, and your little sigh against his mouth pulls him back with a thick, wet pop. 

Offering him a small smile, your fingers skip over his injured shoulder and up his neck, to cradle his jaw. “You should crash for a few hours, I have to prepare. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” That makes him splutter out a tired chuckle, nodding as you slip off the car and take his hand to guide him through the garage, into the house. “Wanna stay for dinner, or are they wanting you back?” 

He stops you on the stairs, fingers lacing through your belt hoops to draw you back against his chest. Kissing your neck, his arms slide home around your middle as he takes a breath of your hair, a low moan rolling around the depth of his chest that sounds like “Nowhere to be,” but just makes you chuckle. The words rumble against your spine, before you step forward out of his arms and into the cool house. 

Without further prompting the Iceman slips back into the rhythm of your home, as if he never even left. 

Taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @sakar-rad

#tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky #iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun imagines #valmare's 300 followers party #300 followers #300 followers celebration #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #call sign meerkat #iceman top gun #answered asks #tom kazanksy x reader #iceman x reader #iceman x you

[sin-sidejob]

if u wrote for robo reagan i would be clawing at the computer screen /half joking

Me, suffering through finals currently and trying to get back on here:

I’m planning on writing for Robo-Reagan!!! I just gotta suffer through one more week of school then boom, I’m free to wreak havoc on all y’all

#asked and answered #300 follower celebration #300 followers celebration #300 followers #anon #reagan #reagan ridley #dr Reagan ridley #robo reagan #robo-reagan #inside job #personal inside job #my inside job #my thots

[linksthoughtbrambles]

300 Followers Celebration Game!

As of noon-ish today, I have over 300 followers! 1.) Wow! 2.) Thank you! This time, The celebration will be a game.

300 for 300 Game Rules:

Send me an ask with a list of any seven numbers from 1 - 300. (For example: 3, 18, 298, 150, 55, 98, 203).

(You can send me more than one of those lists, too - the more the merrier! You're also welcome to send multiple lists in the same ask or separately - whatever you like).

I'll use your numbers to create a very short, ultra-mini two-sentence fic for you (from a big grid of sentence fragments and LoZ character names I've already made).

(If you send me more than one list, I'll make mini-two-sentence fics for each one!).

I might not need all 7 numbers in each list (it depends on if character names appear inside sentence fragments).

I'm too swamped with work *and* intending to do Linktober stuff and some other October prompts, so I thought the game would be a fun alternative to the short fics from the last two times.

#ask game #300 followers celebration #300 for 300 #300 for 300 game #loz game #zelda ask game #fun #send me multiples #hopefully these'll turn out funny

[sincericida]

Hello guys! I happy to come here to thank the +300 followers who arrived here, in my madly little corner, multifandom and completely unpretentious. Some of you sure came because my hyperfixation for Andrew Garfield. And some even turned mutuals, with which I exchange ideas and hysterical outbreaks (usually for Andy 😬)

I came to say: THANK YOU FOR THE COMPANIES! Y'all are very important, because I share with you things that I don’t share with anyone else. And I couldn’t forget:

🎉🎉🎉I LOVE YOU GUYS 🎉🎉🎉✌🏽

#300 followers #300 followers celebration #sincericida #andrew garfield #yall are very important for me #yall are great #i love you guys #tasm #the amazing spider man #no way home #peter 3 #peter parker #spider man #under the banner of heaven #under the silver lake #hacksaw ridge #99 homes #mainstream #tick tick boom #never let me go #silence movie #boy a

[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

🎉🎉300 Followers!!!🎊🎉

…What do I do now?

#300 Followers Celebration #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst