#she's not in the actual plot of my comic n such but she comes in later and her and Ophelia fall in love :3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiyoomi-levin · 8 months

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somethin' new (miya twinsxF!reader) <NSFW>

a/n i'm working on like 3 other fics rn but i found this in my drafts and thought it was good enough to publish (with a LOT of polishing ofc). I'm new to smut writing so I'm very insecure abt this but i hope u enjoy

summary::: your older brother atsumu likes watching porn. and the twins like trying shit out on you. aka porn w plot osamu focus bc he's best boy word count::: 2.9k warnings/triggers!!!::: non-con, step-cest, stockholm syndrome-ish, the miya twins are really fucking mean and possessive, double penetration (my fave! <33)

People think the Miyas are scariest when they lose, when they're arguing with each other, or when they're distracted during a serve.

But you know them better–actually, you know them best.

They're scariest when they're fucking you.

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"I was watchin' porn yesterday and I wanna try somethin' new," Atsumu announces as he walks through into the living room, tossing his volleyball bag onto the couch.

Osamu rolls his eyes, continuing to flip through his textbook at the kitchen table.

"Why the hell would you watch porn when you got ‘er right here?" Osamu snaps back, hardly glancing up. Atsumu’s eyes shift to you as you squirm on Osamu’s lap uncomfortably.

Osamu continues casually stroking your pussy with one hand as the other holds you down.

You’re shaking– he’s been at this for twenty minutes now, reading his lecture notes as he continuously edges you. You haven’t given in yet, though.

You know he’s just waiting for you to beg him for it.

It's still hard to believe that you’re dripping on his lap and he won’t stop memorizing vocabulary for his upcoming exam.

As a final year university student, Osamu’s been under a lot of pressure. What better way to alleviate it than to play with his favorite toy?

Atsumu takes in the scene in front of him, smirking when he makes eye contact with you. You quickly turn away.

Although the twins share you, it still feels wrong when one of them catches you in the act with the other.

“Ya sure you don’t even wanna hear? I know you’ll like it, ya freak,” Atsumu says, now glancing at his brother.

You shiver at Atsumu’s words and Osamu frowns as he moves his hand away from your lap.

"Fine. Out with it, asshole," he murmurs, finally distracted from his studies. He shoves his papers aside, full attention on you now. From the corner of your eye, you see Atsumu light up.

It’s almost comical to see the twins this way.

Always fighting, always competing— but when it comes to you they're a single organism.

"I was watchin' my favorite porn star-- ah, don't be jealous, y/n! I only watch her for inspiration because she's freaky-- and I saw her take two in one hole."

Your eyes widen.

You wouldn't be able to take it.

"No, please," you whisper, holding your breath. Osamu’s body flexes under you reflexively.

When have you become such a pussy?

You were always the outspoken, little step-sister who fought her brothers tooth and nail for the last slice of cake.

Nobody could have excepted them to fuck the brat out of you within a month of moving in together.

Osamu surprisingly agrees with you.

"Nah. I'm not into rubbin' dicks with you," he says, both hands on your chest now. The thought of being that close to a naked Atsumu makes him grimace.

Atsumu rolls his eyes.

"I'm not into that shit either, but I wanna see her take it." You wince as Osamu pinches your nipples, hard. He's gone completely silent, which isn't a good sign.

“It’ll be a little painful, but I know she’ll be able to pull through,” Atsumu continues, carefully watching Osamu’s expression.

The Miya fans would be shocked to discover that Osamu's a sadist, more so than Atsumu.

While Atsumu wipes away your tears, Osamu enjoys watching them stream down your face.

When Osamu doesn't respond, Atsumu sighs and rubs his head, frustrated. He’d been looking forward to this since last evening, when he had to jerk off to the sounds of you and Osamu going at it.

"Fine then. I'll try it myself with a toy. I bought a new dildo for her, ya know. And it's bigger than you."

No further words are needed—Osamu pulls his hands out of your shirt, and you feel him physically fuming behind you.

He's possessive, stupidly so, and hates when Atsumu buys you disgusting silicon toys and shit.

He really doesn't understand his twin sometimes.

Why buy toys, why watch porn, when you, his adorable, precious little bitch, exists?

Osamu would rather lose a game at nationals before you cum off a piece of vibrating plastic.

And he won't admit it, but deep down he's scared. Scared that it'll satisfy you better than he can.

The less competition, the better. He's already competing with Atsumu on a daily basis.

Atsumu, who can make you squirt faster than he can. Atsumu, who makes you laugh. Atsumu, who, Osamu knows, you favor.

Maybe it's because the little shit handles you just a little better in bed.

Osamu picks you up from classes, purchases expensive jewelry and takes you out to get sweets every week, you still shy away from his touches.

So Osamu has given up-- if you're gonna hate him anyways, he'll do whatever he wants.

And that’s why you’re always left a humiliatingly wet mess whenever he uses you.

"Fine. Ya better take a shower first, you fuckin' freak," Osamu says, pushing you off his lap.

Atsumu smirks, cracking his fingers and wrists.

"You be preppin' her, 'Samu."

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It feels good, but you don't want to admit it.

You’re lying on your shared king-sized bed, trying to hold back tears and moans as Osamu eats you out, pumping three of his long fingers into you quickly.

Between the two of them, Atsumu can get you to cum faster. But Osamu gets you to cum harder. His every move is calculated–from every lick to every moment of rest he gives you.

Osamu's on a mission to get you to beg.

"Samu, please," you breathe, gripping the bed sheets. You feel him smiling, and you grip at the bedsheets. All the teasing he’d been doing before Atsumu got home is quickly catching up to you.

“What was that?” He asks, his dark eyes taking in the conflicting emotions washing over your face. When you don’t respond, he leans back and slaps your pussy, hard. Your eyes widen in pain, and you can’t help the squeak that you release, to his satisfaction.

You’re wet, and he knows it’s not a fluke. You want him. He hasn’t trained you over this past year for nothing.

“‘You aren’t bein’ too mean, are ya?” Atsumu asks, stepping out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. He’s shamelessly naked, hard from hearing your cries from the shower.

Atsumu surveys your body, admiring the marks his twin has placed on you.

A small part of him is thankful his brother is willing to play the role of mean cop. Atsumu gets to reap the rewards of consoling you—although he too enjoys seeing you covered in bruises and left in tears.

He’d never hurt you himself though. He likes cuddling with you and loves the way you laugh at his lame jokes too much.

Osamu snaps him back to reality, standing up as he wipes his shiny lips with the back of his hand.

“She’s ready.”

Atsumu grins. His brother is strangely meek today---probably from you refusing to go to his practice game the other day. You had enjoyed a nice picnic date with Atsumu instead (although that ended with you shaking and moaning in Samu’s arms that night).

“I guess I’m first?”

“Ladies first.”

“You’re a bitch, ya know that?” Atsumu spits, rubbing his dick with his left hand and soaking his right in your wetness. Osamu laughs, pulling off his shirt in a smooth motion.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop shaking. The thought of having two of them in a single hole is almost too much to wrap your head around. With Osamu’s length and Atsumu’s girth, you’re sure you won’t be able to take it.

What if you tear? Surely they’d stop if you beg hard enough.

For now, you can’t do anything but accept this.

From what you’ve observed, when the twins are playful in bed, you shouldn’t resist.

Lost in your thoughts, you gasp as Atsumu yanks you towards him—he’s sitting at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. You gulp as you find yourself hovering above his dick, facing Osamu, who’s busy tossing Atsumu's towel onto the ground.

“Aw, baby. Calm down, won’t ya? You know it hurts more when you’re nervous.”

Atsumu brings your face towards him, grip so tight you couldn’t turn away if you wanted to.

His rough hands, thick from years of volleyball training, gently smoothes out your hair, and he begins to press kisses on your jawline. The motion is so welcoming that you momentarily forget he’s the one to propose this in the first place.

Osamu sighs, frustrated.

“Get on with it, won’t ya?”

Atsumu frowns at him, pulling away from you.

“And that, ‘Samu, is exactly why she likes me better than ya,” he says, slamming you onto him in a single motion.

It hurts!

You groan, fingers twitching. It hurts already, he’s especially hard today. What’re you going to do when it gets to the meaner twin?

Atsumu pets your clit, grinning as he feels you begin to melt into his chest. He knows exactly how you like it. That spongy spot, right… there. Your groan turns into a moan as he shifts his hips, aiming to reach deep inside of you.

Osamu doesn’t break eye contact with you as he slowly gets onto the bed. He’s in no hurry, unfortunately.

If he wasn't such an asshole, you'd find him hot.

You really do love his gorgeous eyes and gray hair.

"Stop bein' a dick and get on with it," Atsumu says. He scowls at his brother, who continues to simply stare at you.

Both of them know Osamu doesn't want to actually hurt you. He'd never break you.

You're too precious.

"W-what?" Your shaky voice intrudes into his thoughts.

You've gone red and stopped clawing at Atsumu's unrelenting hand.

Did he say that out loud? He must have, because Atsumu is laughing now.

Fuck.

This isn't the time to be embarrassed, though.

Osamu reaches forward, lining his dick next to his brother's.

To be honest, he was never opposed to the idea.

Yeah, Atsumu's a disgusting pig, but he's his twin.

There's an unbreakable bond between them and knowing they share so much DNA sometimes makes Osamu feel as though they're just one person in two bodies. He’s honestly willing to try anything that Atsumu proposes (except get him off, of course, he’ll leave that to you).

Taking a deep breath, he begins to push, using his precum as lube.

Fuckkkkkk.

Osamu's pretty sure everyone had the same thought at that exact moment.

It's so tight. It's so warm. It’s hurting you, for sure. But it feels too good to stop.

For you, it’s suffocating, being stuck between two muscular twins. And, once again showcasing their unspoken connection, they begin to carefully move in and out of you at the same pace.

It hurts now, and tears are burning behind your eyes, but there’s that little voice in your head telling you to just relax and enjoy it—it’ll feel good.

Why? Why does it have to feel so good when this is all wrong?

Fundamentally, twins shouldn't be sharing the same girl, at the same time.

That same girl should especially not be their little sister whom they've been older brothers to for a decade.

But what does it matter now?

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Atsumu's in heaven. This is better than he imagined, actually. He’s decided that he’ll take the easy route, playing with your soft breasts and sucking hickies into your neck. His dick has gone still as he simply enjoys the fast pace Osamu fucks you at.

While there’s a slight burn against his cock every time Osamu moves, the pain only intensifies the pleasure.

Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on watching his dick pump into you. He wants to curse out Atsumu for being so lazy, but at the same time— he’s always liked to be in charge.

That voice was right, because it’s feeling good now. Your brain buzzes pleasantly and you’re losing control of your legs.

Atsumu's moaning into your ear, Osamu's grunting with every push, and you feel hyper aware of every motion as you're slipping away.

The dull lights of the room begin to blur.

You're crying now. Your toes are curling and drool slips out of the corner of your mouth. How stupid you must look right now.

How long has it been? 5 minutes? 5 hours?

It has to be at least that long or else the numbness that you’re beginning to experience down there doesn’t make any sense.

Atsumu has resumed his efforts in making you feel good, overstimulating every fiber of your being as he wipes away your tears and nuzzles your neck. It’d be an innocent gesture if he wasn’t rubbing circles onto your clit.

Osamu has been working like a well-oiled machine, admiring your broken face and how good his lower half feels, circulating adrenaline throughout his body.

Just looking at you, choked up and crying, is enough.

"I'm cumming..." he whispers. No, he’s not. He can’t.

Not before his stupid twin does. And certainly not before you do.

"Come on, baby, beg for it," Atsumu whispers into your ear, as if he can read his brother’s thoughts.

Maybe they do have some sort of telepathy. Atsumu reaches forward and gently pushes down on your lower belly. You groan immediately. The slight pressure has your walls rubbing against their dicks even tighter now, and Osamu’s now grinding against that spot you love.

You’re gonna cum. Or pass out. Maybe both.

"Please!" You shout. Fuck pride. "Please, please, please, ‘Samu, please cum."

Annnd he’s coming. Osamu reaches out, grasps your neck, and squeezes.

Your cries are the only thing he can hear, loud enough to drown out Asumu’s words, and he’s losing sensation in his hips—

“Fuck, I love you, y/n…” Osamu says, admiring the way your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

Even as your eyesight flickers, you make out this confession, lips automatically parting to moan.

You tighten as Osamu releases in you, Atsumu following suit shortly after (something he’ll bully Osamu about later, no doubt).

There’s a certain stillness in the room as Osamu immediately slips out of you and turns away. Post-nut clarity’s setting in, and he realizes he’s not as fond of dick rubbing with Atsumu as he was a few minutes ago.

Atsumu’s still panting in your ear, and, after a few moments of rest, gently eases himself out of you. Unlike his usual self (who insists on cuddling with you after the deed, no matter how much bodily fluid you’re covered in) he allows you to roll away from him, still recoiling from the strong orgasm.

Surprisingly, the lazy asshole leaps off the bed first today.

“I’ll be taking a shower first. Alone.”

You muster enough energy to glance at him, then at Osamu. It’s so awkward you’d run out of the apartment if you could.

Osamu knows his brother is being especially kind today, letting him speak to you in private.

As Atsumu strides towards the bathroom, he catches Osamu’s eye and winks, smirking at Osamu’s middle finger.

Osamu can basically hear his twin’s inner voice— this is just payment for the fuck.

You shut your eyes, registering the closing bathroom door. Now that the pleasure has subsided, you realize that you’re just in pain. Your chest and hips, especially, from Atsumu’s relentless teasing and Osamu’s rough handling.

Damn it. You’re meeting with your friends tomorrow, how’re you going to hide these marks on your neck from them?

From the way Osamu had choked you, you’re almost certain there’s going to be a bruise. You do have that leftover, crusty concealer that Atsumu got you a few months back—

“y/n, do you hate me?”

Osamu’s deep voice interrupts your thoughts.

Your mouth instinctively opens, but you hesitate.

No.

“No.”

Because you really don’t. Despite everything they put you through, you can’t bring yourself to hate them.

Osamu lets out a silent sigh of relief, turning back to look at you.

“Do you love me?”

You can’t answer him as quickly this time.

Osamu and Atsumu were your brothers. They had been by your side for all of your childhood.

They were the first ones to teach you how to ride a bike, how to multiply and divide, how to cook rice.

They had been your first love. And even now… you’re relieved they’re with you, not in the bedrooms of other girls.

“I… do,” you admit. Fuck. You’re crazy. You know that. But you do.

Even though you don’t want to admit it, you’re just as twisted as your brothers. You bury your head under the covers as the heat rushes to your face.

“I wanna marry you.” Osamu suddenly announces, ripping back the blanket you’re holding to your face. He examines your blushing cheeks, and reaches down to grab your hand.

Yeah, it’d look much fucking better with a shiny ring. He should look into a jewelry maker first thing tomorrow morning.

“Nope. I already called dibs, ‘Samu,” the blonde haired setter interjects, throwing open the door as if awaiting his cue.

“Like months ago. Actually, years ago.”

Osamu frowns, prepared to retort back that actually, remember that you didn’t even like her when we first met her? You told dad you didn’t want him to marry mom because you didn’t want a sister, you little–

“We’re all Miyas here,” you say, predicting another fight. Despite your tiredness, you can't help but smile.

Yeah, you do love them.

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a/n fun fact: i wrote this while meeting with my business class project group two semesters ago >.< depraved shit FR.. also no final read-through as usual bc i'm literally cringed out by my own writing LOL

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #msby atsumu #atsumu smut #miya osamu #miya twins #osamu smut #miya osamu x reader #miya twins smut

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lanadelnegan · 1 year

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Wildest Dreams

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader

Song inspo: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Summary: Y/n's celebrity crush, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, makes her dreams come true when she meets him at a bar after the walking dead comic con.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, *Jeffrey is single*, plot, smut, sexual tension, cursing, sex, oral, daddy-kink

This is my first attempt at fanfiction ever, ahhh! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

This can't be happening right now. I can't believe he's actually right there. I'm about to touch him.

"Well hello there." Jeffrey's smile widens as I approach his open arms. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Y/n...Hi" I smile and let him wrap his arms around me.

"That is a beautiful name, y/n. You ready?"

"Yeah, but can we pose a different way though.. maybe looking at each other?" I ask, hoping he can't hear the nervousness in my voice.

"Absolutely, doll." He turns his body facing mine and gently places his fingers around my jawline, looking directly into my eyes and lifting my chin to meet his gaze. "Relax." His tone is soft but demanding.

The photographer counts to 3 but it feels like 10 because Jeffrey's hazel brown eyes are burning flames into mine. I swear this man is staring into my soul as if he can read every thought I've ever had about him. Including that one, because the left side of his mouth suddenly raises and he lets out a "negan-like" chuckle that only the two of us can hear.

I'm the first one to break away from our embrace and I can feel my cheeks redden as I take another glance at him. I make a mental note to never forget what he looks like in person and let my stare linger a little too long on his chest hair peeking out from his white t-shirt. His smirk grows wider and he leans down, putting his mouth next to my ear. "You... are adorable."

When he leans away, the smell of tobacco, leather, and sweet mint fills my lungs.

Even now as I sit in my car, his scent is burned into my nose and the front of my shirt.. I'll never wash it again. My eyes close and my head falls back against my driver's seat.

The rest of my evening is spent binge watching The Walking Dead -season 7 of course - and ordering too much room service. I should go out. I drove 3 hours to Austin, TX.. by myself, which is a big deal for me. I should at least explore the city while I'm here.

I shower and throw on some jean shorts and a cute top, pretending I'm not bothered by the fact that I just washed any trace of my parasocial boyfriend off of me. At least I have this. I hold the picture we took and study it for the 48th time today.

After google searching "nightlife in Austin", Sixth Street seems to be where it's at, so I head that way and although it's only 7 minutes away from my hotel, it takes me 30 to find parking. I have no clue where exactly I'm going or what I'm doing, but hell - I met Jeffrey Dean Morgan earlier. If I could do that, I could do anything. I apply some lip gloss and tell my anxiety to go fuck itself before climbing out of the car.

Bright neon signs from every building light up the street and I smile to myself at the couples holding hands walking past me. I browse around at my options for drinks - not food - because I destroyed $70 worth of room service earlier - and make out the faint sound of Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift coming from one of the pubs up ahead as if it's calling my name. "Shakespeare's." the old sign reads, and I know that's the one. I make my way into the mildly crowded pub, find a seat at the end of the bar, and don't waste any time ordering a drink.

I bring up the picture of Jeffrey and me on my phone and study it.. for the 49th time today. I'm lost in my thoughts when a deep voice fills my ear. "Shit. That is one handsome dude." He takes a seat next to me and orders himself a drink while I stare at him wide-eyed and unable to speak. Oh.. my god.

Jeffrey orders his drink and turns his body towards me slightly with that signature grin on his stupidly handsome face. He breaks the silence since my lips seem to be paralyzed at the moment.

"Tell me what you're thinking, y/n." ... he remembered my name.

"I'm thinking that there is no way this is real life right now." I grin and look around, trying to mentally focus on suppressing the redness in my cheeks.

He laughs as the bartender places his drink down. "Want me to pinch you?"

"You can do whatever you want to me." I say under my breath as I sip my drink, surprised by my liquid courage. If he heard me, he ignores it and I internally cringe at myself.

"Cheers, darlin'." We tap our drinks and I throw my head back to finish mine completely. I sense his gaze on me and turn to face him completely. "So.. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" He fires back.

"Apparently having a drink with my celebrity crush." I laugh and cringe again. I need to stop.

"Crush? Me?" sarcasm drips from his smirk as he sips on his whiskey. "Would have never guessed.. not with the way you were blushing like hell during our picture."

My mouth drops open. "I was not!"

"No? Lemme see then." He nods towards my phone in my lap.

I pause hesitantly before handing him my phone and unlocking it for him. Bad idea. Instead of looking at our picture, he clicks on the camera button and turns it to selfie mode. He raises my phone in front of us and leans into me. I'm caught off guard but quickly lean into him, our faces touching and I smile as cool, calm, and collected as I can be in this moment.

He snaps a couple pictures of us and looks at them. "We are fucking cute as shit." He shows me and I laugh.

He pulls some glasses out of his jacket pocket and slides them on his face while holding my phone. I watch him in awe as he takes it upon himself to browse through my phone. My heart drops when he goes to the home screen and sees himself as my wallpaper with cute little hearts and cherries surrounding him. Fuck.

I wait for his reaction but it doesn't faze him. And if it does, he says nothing. He stares at the screen a little longer then finally glances at me with a smirk before turning his attention back to my phone. His thumb presses the tiktok icon and I watch curiously. He's not seriously about to suggest we make a tiktok together. Ick.

Worse. Instead, he clicks on my favorites and multiple squares of his face pop up - edits of him. I almost reach for my phone, but part of me likes that he sees it. What is wrong with me.

He looks at me and raises his brow. For the first time all night, I don't blush when he looks at me and it seems to amuse him because he chuckles and looks back at my phone. He clicks on one of the edits and watches himself on top of another woman kissing her passionately. I watch it with him unashamedly. Before it ends, he suddenly clicks my screen off and hands me my phone back.

"Why did you save that?" he asks with a serious tone.

"Uh, I jus - I liked it." I shrug.

"You like watching me make love to women?"

I laugh to myself. "Uhhh. Yeah, I guess so."

He pauses and stares at me, this time with a serious expression. "Do you wish it was you?"

My eyes widen and I open my mouth to answer but no words come out.

He stands and puts his jacket on. Oh great, I scared him. Good job y/n.

"Let's go." He throws a $100 on the bar and motions for me to stand up too.

I'm obviously not going to question this man. If he tells me to bark, I'll bark. I almost faint when I feel his big palm firmly placed right above my backside as we're leaving.

We exit the bar with our heads down as we quickly walk to his car. He opens the passenger side and I get in, waiting for him to appear on the other side. Leather, mint, and tobacco fill my lungs and I'm gone once again.

I'm so lost in my head that I don't even notice that he's already in the driver's seat. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Don't ask me that. I don't even know anymore." My answer amuses him and he drives a few blocks away to one of the "rich" hotels. The entire ride over is awkward silence with the exception of Jeffrey blowing puffs of cigarette smoke towards the crack in his window every few moments.

"Y/n." He puts the car in park and turns towards me while flicking his cigarette out the window and rolling it up. "At any point tonight if you want to leave or.. you.. want me to stop, I need you to tell me, okay?"

I look at him and his face is the most serious I've seen it all day.

"Okay." I whisper.

"Come here." Is all he says before I'm leaned towards him over the middle console and so close to his face that our noses are touching. I wait for him to make the move but he doesn't. He looks down at my lips and sighs. "Fuck. I'm not going to kiss you."

I back away a little, feeling embarrassed before he continues explaining. He brings me back closer to him and his hand caresses my cheek. "I need you to understand that tonight is a one time thing, y/n. You.. you can't catch anymore feelings for me than you already have, okay? I'm going to make you feel good, but I'm not going to break your heart in the process."

The smell of his minty cigarette breath tempts me and I have to mentally restrain myself from not crashing into this man's lips. But I just nod instead.

"Good girl." Is all he says before he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door.

The way up to his room is quick and discreet. It's 11pm so we only pass two people on the way up and they didn't seem to recognize him. Even his hotel room is already filled with his signature scent, minus the tobacco.

"Would you like to stay the night with me, y/n?"

"Um, obviously. Are you kidding? ..Yes, I'd love to." I laugh and look around his room.

The lights are off, but the room is bright enough with the city lights shining through the windows. I fall into the bed dramatically on the side closest to the window.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable, okay?" he grins before closing the bathroom door. I stare back at the closed door and imagine what he looks like getting undressed behind it.

I glance around the large room and notice his phone sitting on the nightstand next to "his side" of the bed. He went through mine.. so it's only fair if I -

I reach over and grab his phone. 042266. I type in his birthdate and the phone locks. I laugh to myself. Too easy, old man.

There's a recent text message from.. my number? I click it and the picture he took of us at the bar pops up. And another one - our picture we took at comic con. He sent them to himself.

I don't want to intrude on his personal business too much, so instead I open his camera and take some goofy selfies. The bathroom door opens while I'm mid tongue out. He stops and stares at me as I slowly set his phone down on the bed. I shrug at him and he shakes his head a little and laughs. He appears in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. I turn my gaze away before I get carried away and my eyes get permanently glued to his torso.

"It's okay, y/n. You can look at me. In fact, I want you to."

I look back at him and don't even bother hiding how hard I'm checking him out now. I observe every hair on his chest and my eyes travel south until I'm imagining what he looks like under the towel. A lucky water drop runs down his flat stomach and disappears and I'm hoping the drool I just felt run down my chin was just my imagination. He walks slowly over to my side of the bed and stands next to me.

"You ready to find out what my cock looks like, y/n?"

If I was drinking water right now, I would have just spit it out all over him. I nod and he drops the towel. His cock springs free and I stare at it in awe. He's about 7-8 inches of thick perfection and I've never seen something so hot in my life. He looks down at himself, a proud smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Tell me one of your fantasies, y/n. We're not doing anything tonight that you haven't already thought about."

"I - well, one of them is.. putting it in my mouth." I look up at him innocently.

"What are you waiting for, then?"

I get up and push him gently for him to sit on the bed, then get on my knees in between his legs. If I weren't still buzzing from the drinks earlier, there is no way I'd have the confidence to do this.

He leans back slightly with his hands on either side of him on the bed and looks down at me through lust filled hazel eyes.

"It's all yours baby." He smiles and tucks his bottom lip under his teeth.

I slowly take him into my mouth, savoring the taste of him - like man and fresh leather soap. I groan around him as I take him further and the growl that escapes his throat encourages me to take him as far in the back of my throat as I can.

"Fuuuck baby." His deep voice strains and I watch as his head fall back with pleasure. I continue steadily sucking him and stroking where my throat won't reach. His moans grow louder with each time he hits the back of my throat.

He suddenly thrusts his hips up slightly, causing me to gag and jolt back a little.

"Goddamn it, y/n. You are not making me cum yet." He hanks my hair back and his cock pops out of my mouth and stands strong against his stomach. It's big and wet and throbbing, and my legs clench together and the sight of him.

I stand up and take my shirt off, then my bra. Then slowly slide my shorts and panties down while facing away from him. A satisfied moan escapes his lips and he wastes no time grabbing me and throwing me on the bed. He positions me until my head is on the bed and my ass in the air before I feel his cock press against my soaked pussy from behind. He rubs himself against my wet slit until I'm whimpering and begging him to put it in me.

"Beg for me, baby." He slaps my ass and the sensation causes me to jump a little.

"Please, Jeffrey. I need you. Please."

"Baby, now I know that's not what you call me in your fantasies, is it?" Another slap to my bare ass makes me yelp.

"Daddy.. please!"

His dark chuckle fills the room and every one of my senses is on fire. His scent, his voice, his dick all surround me until I'm crying and pleading for this man to ruin me. "Please daddy, I need you. Please."

"Sorry, princess. I'm taking my time with you." He flips me over suddenly until I'm laying flat on my back. His knees push mine apart, signaling me to spread open for him until he positions himself above me. He leans over me until our faces are inches apart.

My hands roam over his lean body and scratch his back lightly as his lips travel down my neck. His hard cock slides back and forth between my slit and it feels too good every time it brushes my sensitive clit.

"Goddamn, you are soaking my fucking cock and I haven't even put it inside you yet, baby." he groans and bites my nipple gently before taking it into his mouth and sucking so hard it hurts.

He finally leans up, sitting on his knees, and positions his cock right at my entrance.

"Was I or gentle or rough in your fantasies?" He rubs the head against my clit before sliding it back down. My pussy is weeping for him at this point.

"Rough.. please." I choke out.

"Please.. what?" He growls.

"Please daddy!"

He chuckles. "You want it rough baby?" I nod and a tear runs down my cheek at how bad I need him.

"Be careful what you ask for." In one motion, he enters me fully, causing me to scream out at the sudden sensation. My body feels like it was just completely ripped in half, and I wouldn't want it any other way so I cry out for him to do it again. He smirks before pulling out all the way and ramming himself back in.

He starts thrusting at a steady pace and I concentrate on the way his balls feel slapping against me.

Even more tears fall from my face from the extreme emotions he's making me feel. Horny, desperate, obsessed, in.. love.

Fuck.

"Baby. Why are you crying?" He slows his pace and leans over me, assessing my eyes.

"I - I don't know. I - I just.."

"You want me to stop?" his voice is filled with lust and concern.

"No! .. No, don't stop. I just.."

I love you.

"I want it slower." I lie.

"Y/n.. I know you better than that already." He says gently as he thrusts into me deep and agonizingly slow. His lips brush over my ear. "Tell me, baby." He kisses my neck before grabbing my jaw firmly and looking for answers in my eyes. "Tell me, y/n, or I'm stopping."

I close my eyes and blurt out before I can stop myself. "I - I think I love you."

Jeffrey's expression falls serious and he looks back and forth between my eyes while slowly releasing my jaw. His head drops and his eyes close as if he just got slapped, but he continues fucking me.

"Goddamn it, y/n... I told you.. I told you not to catch feelings."

I just stare at him and cry. "I'm sorry."

He closes his eyes again tightly as if contemplating what he should do next. Before I can say anything else, his lips crash against mine. I kiss him back passionately and his tongue slips into my mouth. He picks up the pace with our kiss and his hips and I moan into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby. What am I gonna do with you?" his breathing grows faster and heavier with mine.

"Jeffrey.. fuck, I'm - I'm."

"Cum for me, baby." He growls and quickens his thrusts again.

I scream out for him and he moans into my neck.

"Jeffrey.. you know what else I fantasize about?" I ask him while trying to catch my breath.

"What's that, baby?" His balls slap against me over and over and over.

"What you taste like when you cum."

He lifts his head to look at me and paints a devilish grin across his face. "Yeah? You want me to cum in that pretty mouth, baby?"

I nod without question. I've dreamt about what this man tastes like for so long. If this is our one and only night together, I need to know.

"Fuck." He pulls out of me and leans back on his knees, bringing my head with him as his fingers tightly grip my hair.

"You ready, baby? Open up." His voice is deep and hoarse as he moans out and I swear I've never heard a man sound as sexy as he does right now.

His warm, salty cum fills my throat and I greedily swallow every drop of him, licking his tip until he's completely drained.

"Holyyy shit. Look at my dirty girl." He grins down at me and strokes my hair like he's proud.

He drops down in the bed and holds his arm out for me to lay next to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his rapid heart beat. A few minutes pass and I'm hoping he forgot about my little comment earlier. Well - big comment. I can't believe I told him I love him. I mean, I do love him and I think I have for awhile now, but why did I have to be a psycho and tell him that.

He finally breaks the silence. "Y/n.. We have to talk about it."

I sigh. Here it goes. "I know.. listen.. I didn't mean it. Obviously, I barely know you. I was caught up in the moment and I was just.. emotional. I promise I'm - I'm not crazy. I know this is a one time thing and I'm okay with that."

"Hmph." I feel his chest rise a little and he sighs. I lift my head up to look at him and he smiles wide at me before kissing my lips.

"That's too bad y/n.. Cause I was thinking we could do this again tomorrow."

The End.

If you read this, thank you so much. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so pls be nice. If you hate it, I'll cry. :') Xo,kb.

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carlsdarling · 1 year

Text

Homewrecker

Y/N being jealous and stealing Carl away from Enid. Bit more of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral, cheating

You've had a crush on Carl for a long time, almost six months to be exact, when Rick found you alone in a vacant building, took you to Alexandria and you met his son. You were immediately fascinated by Carl and felt attracted to him - by his beautiful blue eye, his swift movements, his badass attitude and the lovable character that stood in sharp contrast to it. Over and over you dreamed of seducing him, at night caressing and fingering yourself, moaning his name and burying your head in your pillow so Glenn and Maggie, who had taken you in, wouldn't notice.

You lost your virginity a while ago, and there really wouldn't have been anything wrong with just approaching Carl and checking out if he felt anything for you, too, but there was Enid. His girlfriend. You were so jealous of Enid that you could have screamed with rage whenever you saw the two of them together. When you caught them making out in the paddock, you wanted to snap Enid's neck.

At that moment, you decided that it was not possible to go on like this and that you would fight for what you so desperately wanted, Carl.

One night, when you knew Enid was on guard duty and Carl wasn't, you went to find him at his house. Rick opened the door. "Um, is Carl around?" you asked. In your hand you had a couple of comic books as an alibi.

"Yeah," Rick replied. "He's in his room."

You walked up the stairs and knocked until Carl called, "Come in." He was sitting on the bed, hastily adjusting his bandage when he caught sight of you. You didn't care about his scar, you thought he was gorgeous, sexy and charming even with it. Carl simply had a great charisma, and you were all the more envious of Enid. But now she wasn't here, and this was your chance. "Hi, Y/N," Carl greeted you in surprise.

"Hi," you said in a soft, seductive voice and approached him, letting one spaghetti strap of your white top slip off your shoulder as accidentally.

Carl blushed slightly. "What... what are you doing here?" he asked uncertainly as you sat down close to him so he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat.

"I was feeling lonely," you purred, making big bedroom eyes. "And I thought maybe you could help me." You licked your lips lasciviously.

"Help? With what?" Carl was obviously a bit dumbfounded in this regard, so you gently grasped his chin, turned his head toward you, and kissed him on the lips. They felt soft and a little rough at the same time.

Carl took a startled breath. "What are you going to do?" He seemed embarrassed, but at least he didn't push you away right now. That gave you encouragement.

"I like you, Carl," you confessed, "I like you a lot, actually, and I want to show you."

"But I'm with Enid," he protested demurely. His expression was difficult to interpret.

"And has Enid ever suck you off?"

He turned bright red and shook his head.

"There you go," you would breathe a series of kisses on his neck, making him groan softly. You'd show him you were better than Enid. "I want to do this for you. That and more. You'll like it, I promise. I want to feel you, Carl. I need you. I need you badly, every night I think about you." Again you kissed him, and this time he returned the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth before hesitantly pulling away from you again.

He obviously had qualms about cheating on Enid, but Carl also couldn't deny that he was already aroused; he was building a visible tent in his jeans, and his breathing was rapid and frantic as his cheeks reddened. He was so cute. "It... it has to stay between you and me, though," he murmured. "You must not tell Enid about this."

"You have my word of honor," you promised, and immediately you were starting to make out and caress each other, until finally your hands slid under Carl's shirt and you stroked his back demanding. He smelled nice, clean and a little bit of fresh sweat.

He slipped the shirt off and tossed it to the floor, and for the first time you saw his lean, lightly muscled torso, the fair skin, the small tufts of underarm hair, and the strip of soft dark hair that ran from his belly button down and disappeared into his boxers. The sight nearly drove you crazy; so you grabbed Carl by the shoulders and made him lie on his back, then undid his belt and also undid the buttons of his jeans to pull them down to his knees. Carl let it happen, his eyes half-closed, and there was a damp stain at his light grey boxers. His cock was at full erection and was clearly visible under the fabric.

You scattered wet kisses around his belly button until Carl began to moan softly, then you grabbed the edges of his boxers and pulled them down as well. His erection really sprang out, his tip glistened with moisture, and your eyes grew wide: Carl was definitely on the bigger side. His pubic hair was dark and slightly curly.

"Wait," he said hoarsely, sitting up and stripping off his jeans and boxers. Carl was now completely naked, whereas you were still clothed. "I want to see you naked too, Y/N," he sighed, fumbling with your top and bra. Without further ado, you took both off, exposing your breasts.

Carl looked at them ravishedly. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered and began to fondle them, making your nipples hard.

"Lick them, please, Carl," you begged, and he gently began to kiss your right nipple, encircling it with his tongue and sucking on it. You cried out in pleasure and were now finally ready for him, wet as sin, but wanted to give him head first.

Tenderly you kissed his length and then took his cock in your mouth. He didn't quite fit, but Carl moaned heavily and curled his fingers in the pillow, lifting his hips as you sucked gently, letting go of him briefly every now and then to kiss the insides of his thighs and his belly. "Please, keep on sucking," he murmured, stroking your head and supporting your movements with his hand until you suddenly let go of him. His cock was wet with your saliva, veins protruding.

Carl was already in a state of complete euphoria, writhing on the bed whimpering softly and begging you to continue. You took off your shorts and panties. "No, I want you to fuck me now, Carl," you whispered in his ear, leaning over him. He grinded his cock against your belly.

"I've never done this before," he confessed, embarrassed.

"Well, I have," you replied plainly. You were only a year older than him, but unlike him, you had already had some experience. "Do you have any condoms?" He nodded over to his nightstand, and you pulled an as-yet-unopened pack out of the drawer. Jealousy flashed through your mind, because surely Carl had made these preparations for his first time with Enid. Well, screw Enid, you thought. Carl took one of the condoms, tore open the wrapper, and placed it precariously on his cock. "Oh, let me do it," you said impatiently, pushing his hand away and putting the condom on him yourself.

He awkwardly tried to lie on top of you, but you beckoned him to stay on his back. "I want to ride you," you said breathless with desire before guiding his cock to your willing pussy. "Be careful at the beginning," you whispered into Carl's ear. "Very gently."

Inches by inches he penetrated you, his whole body tense with excitement. It was wonderful to finally feel him inside of you. Instinctively, he began to make soft thrusts, and you moved your hips synchronously with him. You immediately found a rhythm together, and both of your moans and sighs filled the room. "It's so good," Carl moaned. "You're so tight and hot." His thrusts were getting faster and faster, and he was going into ecstasy, forgetting everything around him. "Y/N, I'm... I'm cumming, I'm..."

"Me too," you said, leaning forward so he could pull you close as he now reared up and shot his load into the condom, moaning heavily. A loud scream escaped you as you also climaxed. You looked lovingly into each other's eyes and shared a long kiss before you dismounted from him.

Carl removed the condom, knotted it, and wrapped it in a Kleenex before dropping it beside the bed, then hugging you tightly. "That was wonderful," he murmured exhaustedly, pressing little kisses to your lips.

"Yes," you replied, "I have patrol in a minute. I have to go," you said regretfully a moment later.

"I don't want you to go," Carl pouted.

You gave him a kiss on the forehead and got ready to leave. "I have to though," you said, gathering up your clothes.

"Um, Y/N..." said Carl shyly. "Can we maybe do this again?"

You jammed your hands into your sides. "Depends," you informed him. "If you pick me and dump Enid, we can do it every day," you offered with a seductive glance in your siren eyes.

The next night, just as you were about to go to bed, Glenn called you to come downstairs. "You got a guest," he said, perplexed. "Carl's out on the veranda."

Carl looked toward you with a smile on his lips as you closed the door behind you. "I just broke up with Enid," he said, embracing you and immediately kissing you passionately. "I want to be with you."

You won.

#carl grimes smut #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl x enid #twd #the walking dead #enid #carl grimes imagines #carl fanfiction

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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months

Text

Family Name

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader (reader was in the Army and SWAT in Central City)

Summary: After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vague references to several DC Comics movies and timelines, murder (I can't get too specific about the murder warning without spoiling a plot point, but there is a friendly fire aspect and an assassination by a sniper)

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne (or at least posting it lol) so he may be OOC. I actually wrote most of this a year ago and just put the finishing touches on it, so I'm not sure if it's worth reading. Feel free to let me know what you think and send any Bruce Wayne requests you have so I can keep practicing for him! (If you want a specific characterization/actor let me know.)

The map that I used as a reference while writing is included at the end!

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

Gotham is still cold, wet, and smelly. Some things never change, no matter how hard a certain vigilante tries. It’s been nearly ten years since you last set foot in Gotham, and things have changed. For better or worse? Who can tell?

It is raining as you walk out of the train station on the outer border of Gotham City. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body as the cold drizzle starkly contrasts the sunny Central City you came from. You hail a cab and tell the driver the address of your temporary apartment. The news station on the radio catches your attention, and the driver turns it up when you ask.

“After a fearsome showdown last night with the Joker, who is still missing from Arkham Asylum, the Batman has been spotted in downtown Gotham. The GCPD is on high alert following several tips of illegal business at the Iceberg Lounge,” they report.

“You new in town?” the driver asks.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been here in years though,” you explain.

“Then you’re new. This is a whole new Gotham. Just stay on the good side of the Batman and you’ll be fine, kid. This is you.”

After paying the driver and pulling your bags from the trunk, you stand on the sidewalk and look up at the place you now call home. The apartment building is old but in decent condition. Especially considering where it is. As the rain grows heavier, you move inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor and entering your apartment. The unit came furnished, so you only have some clothing to unpack. You start a list of the housewares and cleaning supplies you’ll need to buy. Walking around the living room, you notice the cable is hooked up and turn on the television. The local television channels are either out because of the rain or playing broadcasts of last night’s story. Any background noise will do, you suppose, as you leave a news channel on and begin unpacking and cleaning with what little bit of supplies you have.

After cleaning, you take a break and fall back onto the couch. The news is still on, and a face flashes across the scene, filling you with an odd sense of recognition. You lean forward to get a better view before exclaiming, “No way.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“When did you come back?” someone asks as you enter a small department store.

Looking up, you smile when you see a familiar face. “Barbara, hey! Last night. Been in Central City for too long.”

“Should have stayed there,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “Gotham is quite literally the most crime ridden city in the world now. It’s on the sign and everything. At least in Central you have a vigilante to protect you.”

“So does Gotham,” you point out. “He’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, we do. But for every criminal he puts in Arkham, ten more pop up.”

“Is your dad still a cop?”

“He’s the commissioner now. Actually…” She pulls a card out of her wallet and hands it to you. “Call him if you ever get in trouble. Be careful, okay? This isn’t the Gotham you remember.”

“I will. Thanks.”

You watch her leave before you begin shopping for the items on your list. After shopping, you are back in your apartment, cleaning and organizing. The Gotham News has more showtime than Hannah Montana in the 2000s. You find yourself invested in every story they present. Maybe this isn’t the Gotham you remember, but it is still Gotham and your home. If this city needs help, you'll offer everything you have.

“Citizens of Gotham, I am Police Commissioner James Gordon. Regarding the recent red alert at Arkham Asylum, the GCPD is urging residents to stay indoors, lock doors and windows, and most importantly, stay calm. We are not sure at this time how many, if any, patients escaped the asylum. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact crime stoppers at 800-”

You mute the television and look at your closet. An armour-plated uniform hangs front and centre, practically begging you to put it on and fight for your home. If Barbara doesn’t think Batman can handle all the criminals, maybe he would appreciate a little help.

“Don’t be stupid,” you chastise yourself, still looking at the closet. A few minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of the closet, thinking, “But you have the training.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Gotham looks much darker from a rooftop. You find a lookout spot a few blocks from Arkham, assuming anyone who escaped will have to pass you eventually.

“Oh, sweet Gotham! Riddle me this!” a high-pitched voice calls. A moment later, you see a man dressed in a green suit entering the alley below you.

“Now or never,” you whisper as you move toward the edge.

“The more of it there is, the less of all you see. What is it?” Riddler asks.

“Darkness,” you answer as you grab his shoulders.

You pull him backwards and knock him to the ground. His breath rushes out at the impact, and you bring your elbow down to his face, rendering him unconscious before he can catch his breath. The burner phone you bought earlier is programmed with James Gordon’s number in it.

“Gordon,” he answers.

“Riddler is unconscious in the alley at Tomlinson and Pygall,” you say lowly, hoping your voice is disguised enough, before hanging up.

Your attention is ripped away from the unconscious criminal as a silhouette of a bat floats across the sky.

“There’s hope yet, Gotham,” you say, smiling.

✯✯✯✯✯

It seems as though you are better at vigilantism than you expected. Everywhere you go, Batman is either already there or crosses your path. He has yet to see you, that much is sure. Lurking on a dark rooftop, you hear the telltale sign of his grappling hook and are a second too late in realizing he is moving onto the same roof as you.

“So, you’re the one who’s been stealing half my jobs?” he asks, walking toward you.

“You seem busy, thought you might like some help,” you respond, shrugging as you change your voice again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But you need to go home. This is dangerous and you could get hurt.”

You internally roll your eyes at his obvious arguments. “So could you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get hurt.”

“Me neither. Any idea how many more of them are out there?”

Batman sighs and turns away from you to look over the city. “One or two,” he answers. “The city got lucky; Joker was in solitary and didn’t get out.”

You nod to yourself, moving toward the edge as you ask, “Why does it seem so easy to escape Arkham?”

“Poor security, not enough staff, an old building. The list is endless. Every time someone tries to strengthen it, a stronger foe comes along and breaks it again.”

“You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Yet nothing’s changed.”

A sound behind you stops your answer. Turning toward the sound, you launch yourself onto the fire escape, ignoring Batman’s pleas to stop.

“Whoa,” you breathe, looking at the plants growing in the alley.

“You’re not the Bat,” Poison Ivy, whose news special aired last night, says. “You’d look much better in green than him.”

“Every plant I’ve ever owned has died. It’s one of my talents,” you taunt before throwing a canister from your belt.

“It won’t work, Buttercup. I’ve been tear gassed many times.”

“It’s not just tear gas,” you call as the plants begin to wither. “It’s concentrated sulfur dioxide. Deadly to plants and debilitating to people.”

She coughs several times before falling. An arm wraps around your waist, and you are hoisted through the air before landing on a rooftop.

“What was that?!” Batman demands.

“Sulfur dioxide.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You can’t just run around taunting criminals in a mask. What if that hadn’t worked and she had hurt you?”

“She didn’t. Besides-“

“No! You don’t get to justify this.” He keeps talking, and you feel like you have heard him before. You watch him closely as he continues berating you.

“This is not a game. Do you understand that?” Bingo. You smile at him, his chest heaving as he prepares to yell at you again.

“You’re still really protective,” you say lightly.

Batman turns toward you quickly, shaking his head before asking, “What?”

“In middle school you wouldn’t let me jump from the top of the swing set. Just funny that you’re still so protective when you risk your life every single night.”

“What are you talking about?”

You move toward the edge of the building and look over your shoulder at him.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Batman runs to the edge after you jump, but the alley is empty.

“Alfred,” he calls into his earpiece.

“You’ll figure it out, sir. Eventually.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Batman asks as he walks up behind you.

“No. You told me I couldn’t run around taunting criminals in a mask. Which, by the way, I have some questions about. Can I walk and taunt criminals in a mask or is it the taunting that’s the problem?” you tease, looking up at him from your crouched position.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I’ll give you a pass for the other night, but you need to go home. Right now. I’m not letting you get hurt for this.”

“Then don’t. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” You extend your hand for a handshake as you stand.

“No deal. Go home.”

“I’m not going home. So, stay with me and we can help each other or I’m going to go hunt him down on my own.”

He narrows his eyes at you before sighing and shaking your hand.

“Why are you smiling?” he asks as he releases your hand.

“We always were a pretty good team.”

You see the moment of recognition as his jaw drops under the cowl. He recovers quickly and points at you.

“Ground rules. Number one: you don’t engage. Two: stay hidden. Three: run if things go south.”

“Got it. Be boring,” you relay.

“This is not the time for jokes. Our lives are on the line. You don’t even have a good reason to be here.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Please enlighten me,” Batman prods impatiently.

You can tell he is mad you were here and are not listening to him. Too bad, Bats, you think. Gotham is your home, too, and you aren’t going to let it fall into the hands of some crazy clown or any other criminal.

“But before you tell me that, tell me what makes you qualified to be out here.”

“Look at me. Armoured uniform, tear gas, I’m a CCPD jacket short of official.”

“You’re CCPD?”

“I was. SWAT officer for five years after I got out of the Army. But I grew up here and I’m not letting this city go without a fight.”

“Why this fight? The one criminal we haven’t been able to stop for almost a decade?”

“Because...” You look up at him and smile. “I know who he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Thank you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says, shaking Batman’s hand. “We’ll get him in solitary.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Batman replies.

“Who’s your new helper? Everyone at the station is talking about the reaper that popped up and knows how to take them all down.”

“An old friend. Try to keep them in a while longer this time, will you?”

Commissioner Gordon turns around to see Batman is gone. “We’ll try,” he mumbles into the dark.

✯✯✯✯✯

The next night, Batman is gone. You don’t so much as see his shadow all night. There is only one criminal out; maybe they’re all on vacation, too. Killer Croc used Arkham’s sewer system to escape and pop up downtown. It was a long and tiresome fight, but you got him on the ground, and the GCPD took it from there. You finally reach the rooftop, preparing to cross them to go home, but don't make it far. Hitting the roof, you feel pain shoot through your ribs. After running your hand across the area, your skin is stained red. Great, you think.

“What were you thinking?!” Batman reprimands you as he appears and kneels beside you, pulling items from his utility belt.

“Mostly about what I was going to eat for dinner,” you joke, hissing when the antiseptic hits your skin.

“I’m sorry,” Batman says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. At least it wasn’t my neck this time.”

“I told you not to use your belt to traverse the jungle gym,” Batman mumbles.

“So, you do remember me,” you say happily.

“You’re still an idiot with a death wish.”

“And you’re still Mother Hen Bruce.”

“This’ll help for now,” he says, helping you stand up and hooking his arm under your shoulders. “But I’m taking you back to the cave to get you checked out.”

“Didn’t do enough checking out in high school?” you slur before passing out.

“Alfred, we’re inbound,” he says into his microphone.

“Glad to see blood loss doesn’t dampen her sarcasm,” Alfred responds, “I’ll be ready.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What did you mean you know who he is?” Bruce asks.

You blink several times to make sure you aren’t imagining him. He looks different than the last time you saw him. Without the mask, he’s more like the Bruce you grew up with, just older and barely holding Gotham together.

“You got hot,” you say without thinking.

“Thanks. Now tell me what you meant.”

“That I know who he is?” you clarify, standing up.

“Please stay down,” Alfred chides as he returns with tea.

“Thanks, Alfred. Good to see you again.” You smile as you accept the tea.

“You as well. Now take it easy. You should be battle ready in a day or two but that’s only if you rest properly.”

“No, you will not be battle ready. There is no more battle for you,” Bruce adds.

“You know I’m not going to listen and if you tell me no I’ll just do it myself.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. For now, tell me what you know about Joker.”

“Okay. He’s my uncle. Like twice removed, or-“

“There’s no way you’re related to that monster,” Bruce interjects.

“I’m not, really. We’re related by marriage. His aunt or somebody else married my cousin and I happened to meet him a few times. Fate, I guess.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No. Everyone in the family called him J. I thought his name started with a J but see now that it’s because he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head before turning serious again. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m great. Thanks for the assist.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Even if you are endangering yourself and ignoring everything I say.��

“Me too.”

“But Alfred’s right. You need some rest. We can finish this conversation later.”

“I can go home,” you say, standing up.

You stumble slightly, and Bruce catches you, holding you upright against him.

“Can you?” he asks, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I think I found something,” you cheer when Bruce answers the phone.

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. It’s by Sacred Heart.”

The line goes silent, so you say Bruce’s name.

“You’re living by the Narrows? I thought you just went out there to fight.”

“It’s a fine building. I’m not in the Narrows.”

“No but you’re between Crime Alley and Arkham Island. You need to find a new place. Now.”

“I can’t afford anything else, Bruce. It was this or Slaughter Swamp.”

“Pack your essentials. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up, leaving you with a dozen questions. However, you know he means what he says, so you pack the stuff you can’t live without and are ready to go when he shows up twenty minutes later.

“You’re staying at Wayne Manor until we find you a new place.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not just that this is close to the Narrows. We’re going after Joker, and I need to know you’re safe.”

“We’re not going after Joker,” you correct, “we’re finishing this.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce, I can’t find a marriage certificate. They may not have been married; maybe they were just living together or something and didn’t want to explain it to a kid,” you admit, disappointed in your lack of findings.

“It’s okay. We will find something. And if we don’t, we can do it another way,” he assures.

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is the fourth Arkham breakout in as many weeks. When do you sleep?” you ask.

Alfred laughs faintly through the communications system.

“During Wayne Enterprises meetings, usually,” Bruce answers.

“I got one. Going dark,” you alert before jumping to meet Captain Boomerang.

After a short fight which results in your earpiece breaking, Captain Boomerang is unconscious, and you prepare to call Gordon.

“Ha ha ha ha,” an eerie voice cackles behind you.

You freeze in place before turning slowly and coming face-to-face with the Joker. He knocks your helmet off in one swift move, and your face is now visible.

“I remember you. My aunt married your second cousin. Horrible family you have. Or should I say had? Ha ha ha ha.”

“What do you want?”

“Is a family reunion not enough? No, I guess you’re right. I mean, marriages end so are we even related anymore?”

“We never were.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Reaper! You know everyone calls you that, don’t ya? Personally, I think it’s a bit morbid but to each their own. I also heard from a little bird that you’re working with the big, bad bat. I had such great hopes for you, and you let me down.”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly.

“To be family again,” he answers, smiling as he runs his fingers over your face and hair.

“What about Harley? Isn’t she your family? You were all she could talk about the other night.”

“Not anymore. She settled for some used piece on her Suicide Suckers. But me and you? Me and you could be the dream team. The family to end all families.”

“I don’t want to be part of your family.”

“When I found out Harley was a harlot, you know what I said? I said I’d peel off her skin and put it on a new body. But I can’t imagine those words coming from her. So, from now on…” he moves his hand to rest in front of your throat as his smile drops. “If Harley wouldn’t say it, you don’t say it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alfred, where is she?” Bruce asks.

“Toxic Acres. She’s still not responding,” Alfred responds, watching your tracker blink in the same place for the fifth consecutive minute.

“I’m going after her,” Bruce declares.

“Be careful, Master Bruce.” Bruce doesn’t respond, and Alfred mutes the private connection as he watches Bruce’s tracker move toward yours. “And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re making a mistake, J,” you hiss, the pressure of Joker’s hand on your throat making it hard, but not impossible, to breathe.

“No, they made a mistake,” he argues, moving his hand slightly as he steps back to look at you.

“Who?”

“Your family. All families. Everyone who treats people like outsiders.”

“You mean to tell me you’re doing this - all of this - because you never felt like you belonged in a family?”

“No!” Joker yells, leaning his weight against your throat as he smiles in your face. “Because no family has ever accepted me. I know I don’t belong, but everyone expects families to lie, right? Especially their own, but no, poor Joker always got told the truth! ‘You’re too strange,’ ‘You’re dangerous,’ ‘The kids are scared of you,’ yet no one ever offered to help me fit in.”

You raise your hands to his arm and claw at his skin, growing desperate for air as he rants. He looks over when your hits grow weaker and pulls his hand back. You fall to the ground, wheezing, as you try to take deep breaths.

Holding your neck, you look up at him and ask, “Then what do you want?”

He kneels in front of you and holds a knife out in his hand. “I want you to find a family and make a Joker-sized hole for me to fill.”

Shaking your head, you argue, “I’m not like you. I won’t do that, J.”

He cocks his head as his smile falls. “Harley wouldn’t say that, would she? And, besides, you’re more like me than you think, aren’t you? And what’s more interesting is that I think you know it. We’re the same, you and I, whether you like it or not.” The knife is raised to your throat as he threatens, “Do it, or I will make another hole in your family.”

“Another?” you ask.

The blade presses against your skin, and you close your eyes, unwilling to give him the theatrics and attention he so desperately seeks. A grappling hook sounds somewhere above you just before the blade is removed from your throat. Joker’s words echo in your head, and your eyes stay closed. Someone gently touches your neck and your face, but you don’t open your eyes, in case it’s him trying to trick you. He does that; you remember that too well.

An arm loops around your waist as a hand pulls your arms over broad shoulders. Only when you’re flying through the air and clinging to him are you ready to admit that Bruce is saving you. Opening your eyes, you see Wayne Tower in the distance. You tighten your arms around Bruce’s neck, and his hand squeezes your waist in response. He lands on the roof of Wayne Manor and rushes into the Batcave.

“What did he do to you?” Bruce asks as he sets you on a medical exam table. The same table you sat on when he saved you after the fight with Killer Croc.

Bruce tries to step back, but you cling to him. He’s the only family you have left, and Joker opened an old wound with his talk of carving a hole in a family to fill himself. That’s what he tried to do with your family, but when he still didn’t fit, he kept carving.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper into Bruce’s suit.

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the edge of the table as he cups your head to his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he soothes. “Not going anywhere.”

He holds you for longer than you realize; time slows down in Bruce’s arms. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands and looks at you intently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not right now,” you whisper.

“That’s okay,” he promises, nodding.

“The guest bedroom has been prepared and dinner is awaiting you, Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, briefly appearing in the doorway of the Batcave.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” you ask.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready. And you’re staying here tonight.”

You don’t argue, nodding as you stand and follow Bruce upstairs. He shows you to a guest room with clothes, toiletries, and more books than you can count. Telling you to use whatever you want; he leaves to change before meeting you for dinner.

When you enter the bathroom to change into the clothes you found in the closet, you see yourself in the mirror. Mostly, you see the red line running across your neck. Joker has hurt more than enough people, you decide, and you meant what you told Bruce; you plan to finish this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce sits up suddenly. The sun is coming through the cracks in his curtains, but something feels off. He pulls a shirt over his head and walks down the hall, knocking on the door to the guest room where you’re staying. After a moment of no answer, he lets himself in. There’s a note on the bed in your handwriting.

I can’t let him do it again, especially not to you. Please stay home tonight and let me finish this fight. I should have done it ten years ago, but I was scared and ran. This is my chance to make everything right. Please forgive me.

Bruce takes a deep breath, suppressing his urge to punch a hole in the wall. Alfred wouldn’t appreciate another one. He rereads the note, then goes downstairs for breakfast like everything is fine.

“Where is our guest?” Alfred asks when Bruce enters the dining room. “Resting, I hope.”

“She’s gone. She left in the middle of the night to, quote, finish a fight like she should have done ten years ago.”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he stops moving trays onto the table. “You’re going after her, then?”

“No, Alfred, I am not.”

Bruce picks up the paper, as nonchalant as ever, and more convincing than when he turns on his Brucie Wayne charm.

“Why ever not, sir?”

“She asked me not to. And after her reaction to me last night, I’m inclined to listen to her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Bruce drops the paper and looks at Alfred. “I am going to do exactly what she said.” When the paper covers his face again, he adds, “For a while.”

“Good man,” Alfred mutters, returning to serving breakfast.

✯✯✯✯✯

Realistically, you know that breaking into Arkham and executing a patient isn’t the best idea, but it would solve the problem. However, there’s the downside of life in prison for first-degree murder that you’d have to contend with. Bruce would surely visit you, but you don’t want to lose him before you get him back.

Perched on a rooftop, you watch Arkham and hope your trap is being laid as planned. The security lights blink on seconds before the alarm sounds. If Arkham Asylum is good for anything, it’s the consistency of frequent breakouts. No matter who breaks out tonight, you’re prepared. All you have to do is convince them to lay a trap for Joker, convincing him that you killed someone, and then you can pounce. Watching the alley below you, you furrow your brows as you lean forward.

“Catwoman?” you ask incredulously.

She looks up, tilting her head at the sight of you. “Reaper?” she asks, sounding far too excited.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Thieving, I presume?” She nods, and you lower yourself onto a fire escape before jumping to meet her. “There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Maybe.”

You clench your hands into fists and look down the alley.

“I think the better question is what are you doing here, Reaper? I’m not exactly in your demographic.”

Under your mask, you press your lips together and consider confiding in her. She cares about Batman as far as you can tell, so if you tell her Joker is planning to kill him (though, in reality, Bruce is his likely target), she may be willing to help.

“Batman dump you? He does that,” Catwoman hums.

“What? No, no, we’re not together like that.”

“Yet,” Catwoman interjects.

“Look, Joker is going to try to kill someone that I love. He’s already ruined my family forever.”

“You just moved here, who could you possibly love here? I thought I fell fast.”

“I grew up here, and-“

Your mind races as you remember that you haven’t been seen with Bruce since returning, but Joker has been out since then. Pulling the earpiece from your pocket, you hope someone is in the Batcave.

“Hello?” you ask into it, desperate and terrified for your family. “Take whatever you want,” you tell Catwoman when you don’t get an answer, “heck, take something for me too. But if you see Batman, tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure.” You move toward the end of the alley before Catwoman asks, “What should we call you?”

Smiling, you answer, “Reaper is growing on me.”

“Good luck, Reaper.”

You could have taken a grappling hook before you left Wayne Manor last night, but you were more concerned with Bruce’s safety than yours. Getting off of Arkham Island and into Gotham Heights will take too long on foot.

“Batman?” you ask, trying the comm again. “Anybody?”

“You called?”

You slide to a stop, nearly falling over, when you see Batman perched on a roof, looming like a gargoyle. He spreads his cape as he moves to the road before you. Looking down at you, though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s trying to ensure you’re safe and unharmed.

“He’s going after Barbara. I thought he meant you, but he was out when I saw Barbara.”

“I’ll call Gordon. We need to get to Gotham Heights.”

“We’ll never make it in time. The alarm sounded twenty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s head turns toward you as he presses a button on his utility belt. The Batmobile turns a corner, coming to a stop beside you. Your eyes widen as the top opens, jumping in the passenger seat as you look at everything in awe.

“Barbara is stronger, and knows more than you think, but she can’t hold him off forever.”

You nod, prepared to do whatever you have to do. Even if it means making Bruce hate you.

“And I forgive you. Whatever you do, I understand,” Bruce says quietly. “Just- just remember that your actions affect more people than just you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s a trap. The driveway beside Barbara’s place is decorated like the cookout where you met Joker.

“Go check on Babs, I’m right behind you,” you tell Batman.

He hesitates, noticing exactly where your focus is, before tapping your shoulder and running toward Barbara’s door. When Batman is out of sight, Joker’s laugh surrounds you.

“Did you do it?” Joker asks, stepping out of the shadows.

“No.”

“Whyever not?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because I’m not a killer. We are not the same.”

“Come over here,” he demands. You listen despite your body’s urging to leave. “And give me a real reason,” he adds when you stop across a picnic table from him.

“That is the real answer. I will not do to another family what you did to mine. I’m not a killer.”

“Now, now, now, that’s not true.”

His eyes are fixed on your mask, likely imagining your furrowed brows and scared eyes. “Is the mask necessary, Reaper? We know one another. It’s just family here.”

You swallow as you rip the mask off, levelling your gaze on Joker, determined not to show him how much he is affecting you.

“If you hurt her, I will end you.”

Joker flaps a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. I just needed a reason to celebrate, but you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not-“

“A killer, yes, so you say. However, there’s a family out there that begs to differ.”

You lick your lips, unsure how he knows this. The record was redacted and eventually destroyed, so no one outside of your team at the time should know.

Joker’s laugh draws your attention back to him. “You are a killer. Just like me.”

Shaking your head, you flinch when Joker slaps his hands onto the table, leaning forward to get closer to you.

“Joseph,” Joker whispers, smiling widely at your surprised movement.

Someone screams in the distance, and you remember your promise: to protect your home, no matter the cost. Unholstering the gun you hadn’t carried in years, you hold it to Joker’s forehead.

“Do it,” he begs, leaning against the barrel. “Show them how alike we are.”

Your arm shakes as you fight to do it. With a finger on the trigger, Joker should be gone already, but you can’t do it.

Lowering the gun, you sigh, preparing for Joker’s next idea or a surprise dose of his laughing toxin. He watches you until he reaches for something. Before you can lunge forward to stop him, a shot rings out in the Gotham night. You hear it as Joker jerks to the side, slumping to the ground. Turning toward the right, you search the skyline for the shooter. You see a familiar salute and laugh to yourself as the silhouette disappears.

“Reaper!” Batman yells, rushing toward you. He slows as he sees you standing over Joker.

There’s a note, half blown apart. He took credit. You laugh again, oblivious to Batman’s concerned gaze on the back of your head. The laughter quickly turns to hiccups as you fight to remain composed. You walked out of Wayne Manor prepared to assassinate Joker. Now that you have essentially been an accomplice to his death and reminded of your worst mistake, you’re falling apart.

Bruce whispers your name, a hand on your arm as he turns you away. He raises a hand to your jaw as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“I killed him,” you admit.

“No, you didn’t. That shot was too far away, no one will blame you.”

“I killed Joseph,” you repeat. “I didn’t see him, and there was so much fog and- I shouldn’t have taken the shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left the Army and joined SWAT because I killed a civilian. I don’t know how Joker knew, but he was right. I am a killer.”

“Hey, hey.” When you don’t respond, Batman summons the Batmobile, whispering to Gordon on the phone as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Once you’re in Wayne Manor, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Bruce’s shirts, he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re not like Joker, and you’re not a killer. Friendly fire is a terrible thing, but it’s not your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Saving people has its costs, and if I could take the guilt from you, I would.”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confess, “I dream about it all the time, but I don’t remember actually pulling the trigger.”

“You may never know. But either way, you can forgive yourself and move on.”

Wiping under your eyes, you lean against Bruce’s chest as you ask, “What did Gordon say? How’s Babs?””

“Their ballistics team is examining the velocity and angle to find where the shot came from. Barbara didn’t even know anything was happening, she’s fine.”

“The roof of Verdant in The Narrows,” you whisper, laying an open hand over Bruce’s heart.

“That’s too far for a shot like that.”

“Not for Army snipers.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to be,” you shrug before adding, “Lawton started killing for money, and I couldn’t support that.”

“Wait,” Bruce interjects, pushing you back slightly, ducking to look into your eyes. “You’re telling me that Deadshot just killed Joker? For free?”

“He doesn’t do anything for free,” you answer, smiling. “But I didn’t pay him if that’s what you think. Besides, he left a calling card of sorts.”

“Not at all. Batman will call Gordon tomorrow and let him know.”

“What’s Batman doing tonight?”

“He’s on vacation,” Bruce sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “And Bruce Wayne is catching up with an old friend.”

Smiling, you turn sideways to press your chest against Bruce, laying your arms over his shoulders.

“I think that sounds like a great night.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I found something,” Bruce says, removing his cowl as you enter the Batcave.

“A life?” you joke.

“Ha. No, I had a friend of mine go searching for that destroyed Army record.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, wringing your fingers together.

“Because you didn’t kill Joseph. Your gun never went off, and the shot came from a different direction with a much higher velocity. This looked like sniper.”

“You think it was Lawton?”

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Bruce tilts your head toward him and looks you in the eye to add, “But the important thing is that you have no reason to keep carrying that burden.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come on patrol with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not with me around.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Bats.”

“Catwoman,” Batman answers.

“Reaper was looking for you a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, we ran into each other. Thanks, though.”

“She said you weren’t together like we were, but I find that very hard to believe.”

“Give them back,” you say, surprising both Catwoman and Batman.

“Give what back?” she parrots.

You hold your hand out. “The pearl necklace and earrings you stole. They’re not worth anything to the woman, but they’re sentimental.”

Catwoman huffs, pulling a small bag from her pouch and tossing it to you. “I chose them for you anyway.”

“What?”

“You said to steal something for you too.”

“I thought my best friend was about to get murdered, I didn’t mean it!”

“And did you mean what you said about not being with Bats here?” She places a hand on her hip, and you take the opportunity to look at Batman before answering.

“He’s just not my type,” you answer, shrugging one shoulder.

You see his jaw twitch before he nods his farewell to Catwoman.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whisper as you walk past him. “And we’ve got a crocodile to catch.”

Batman sighs. “Welcome to Gotham.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Whose are they?” Bruce asks as you examine the pearl jewellery.

“Mine,” you answer, not looking at him. “What are the chances she’d use my permission to thieve to rob me?”

“Not bad with Sel- Catwoman.”

“Selina Kyle, yeah, I know.”

“Sentimental, huh?”

You turn toward Bruce, passing him the necklace.

“I told your mom that I liked her pearls, like five months before she was killed, and the next day she surprised me. She picked me up from school and told me we were going shopping. They’re the cheapest ones the store had, but I’ve loved them ever since because they came from someone I loved and… I guess they made me feel a bit more like her, and she was amazing.”

When you look back at Bruce, he’s still holding the necklace, but his gaze is on you. He sets the necklace down, stepping toward you. Gripping your waist, he pulls you against him with a wide smile.

“You’re amazing too.”

“Not like her.”

“There’s no one quite like her. But she loved you too, more than you know. Actually, she thought we were going to get married,” Bruce adds, nudging his nose against yours.

“I did too,” you whisper.

Bruce kisses you quickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Based on the newspapers, I thought you’d be better than that,” you tease.

Bruce clicks his tongue before pulling you into another kiss. While he takes your breath, he fills you with love and hope. His hands keep you as close as possible, one sliding up to hold your head as he deepens the kiss, whispering something against your lips.

“Wait,” you mumble, moving your hands from his jaw to his chest. “What did you say?”

Bruce smirks, the charm that no one gets to see any more on display. “That I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and you grip his shoulders as you rise to kiss him, informing him that you feel the same. “I love you more,” you say against his lips, melting into him as you become one.

“My mom would want you to have her pearls,” Bruce whispers, rubbing his thumb in large sweeping motions against your upper hip. “And she’d want us to see where this goes.”

“Your mom was very smart,” you muse, putty in Bruce’s hands as he moves to the couch, tugging you into his lap.

“Did you love my mom enough to take her last name eventually?”

“This is more important – I love you enough.”

“Finally!” Alfred exclaims as he walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits. “It is about time you officially join the family and take the name.”

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x reader #batman fic #bruce wayne fic #dc comics x reader

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saltsicklover · 11 months

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

---

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.

The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.

Fuck flying coach.

Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.

Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.

But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.

Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.

The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all.

Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.

When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.

Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.

As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun.

It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.

There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.

There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.

The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.

"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.

"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.

"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"

"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"

"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.

"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.

"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.

"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.

It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.

"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.

The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.

"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.

The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .

"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.

"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"

"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.

"Be nice, would you?"

"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.

"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.

If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.

And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.

Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.

It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.

"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.

"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, promise,"

"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.

"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."

There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.

"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.

"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.

"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.

The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling of the plane still lingers on her skin.

Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.

"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.

Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.

There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.

Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.

The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.

Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.

The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.

And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!

"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"

Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.

"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"

Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her.

The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished.

"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.

"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need.

"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"

"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."

That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her.

"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.

"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"

"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"

And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.

Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.

As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.

Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's.

His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!

"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches.

"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"

An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question.

"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.

"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs.

Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better.

If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.

He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.

Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.

But he didn't.

"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.

"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation.

He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage.

Fuck how his chest aches.

There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.

It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.

The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.

"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face.

In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.

The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows.

"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"

It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.

"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"

Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left.

"How about you, kid?"

"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth.

Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future.

"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.

"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.

"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.

"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.

At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this.

"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"

The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.

"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer.

"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"

Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.

"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.

"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.

"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.

After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.

She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.

Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget.

"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.

Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt.

She looks away first.

A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.

He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.

"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house.

Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel.

They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing.

That was six months ago.

Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice.

Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features.

"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.

"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.

"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"

She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class.

Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.

Monsoon bounces instead.

If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.

So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news.

Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.

Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news.

Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.

"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.

Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!

Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits.

The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.

"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down.

"Rooster, are you okay?"

Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.

"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.

"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress.

The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"

As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"

The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.

Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips.

"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"

So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence.

With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.

"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.

"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"

The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.

"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"

Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.

"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"

"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.

"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."

One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.

"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?"

That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more.

Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.

"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"

Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.

"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch.

"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."

"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"

"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.

The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.

"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet.

"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"

The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon.

The arguing doesn't stop.

"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"

Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.

"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"

His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.

A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.

"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.

The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.

"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"

"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.

"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.

The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time.

As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now.

So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.

The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.

Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.

There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.

And drives.

As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.

He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.

The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".

When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.

There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.

The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.

They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.

Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.

Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.

"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"

Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.

Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.

"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.

Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix.

They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues.

"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.

"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.

The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.

"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"

"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.

"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."

Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.

"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."

The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.

"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."

Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"

Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks.

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away.

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes.

That fact is almost too much for him to take.

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year.

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment.

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base.

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him.

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach.

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did.

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up.

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself.

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it.

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday.

Or her twenty-first.

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions.

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all.

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong.

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there.

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care.

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks.

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form.

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist.

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him.

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist.

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart,"

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute.

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?"

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry.

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?"

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes.

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments.

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest.

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge.

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay.

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart.

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley.

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman,"

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will.

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own.

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile.

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips.

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore.

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough.

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go.

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret.

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights.

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer.

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips.

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips.

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes.

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin.

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar.

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life.

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand.

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears.

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always,"

TAG LIST

@its-the-pilot

@t4medicroe

@inkandarsenic

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angel-of-the-moons · 11 months

Text

Trick or Treat

Miguel x Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, other than Miguel being a bit thirsty (haha pun intended you'll see what I mean)

A/N: Thanks to @obi-mom-kenobi for the fic idea for spooky day™! (I'm sorry the plot got off track, though asdfghjkl)

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

He should have figured something like this would have happened.

He should have figured that he would do this.

Goddamn Deadpool.

Of course he caused a ruckus in one of the other universes, just to hop to this one to avoid Miguel, taunting him the whole time.

And naturally, it had to be fucking Halloween of all nights in this universe.

Among the Michaels, Jasons, goblins, ghouls, and witches and werewolves there were superheroes.

Iron Man, Doctor Strange, and half a thousand Spider-Mans.

This universe didn't have things like superheroes, not for real. All of that was Hollywood magic for the silver screen; the colorful fevered dream of a comic book artists.

He spent four hours trudging through the crowds, shouldering past drunkards and women dressed in far too little to be classified as clothing...

He finally spotted a Deadpool. The costume was very accurate, right down to the texture of the suit and how many pouches were on his belt.

But he was wrong. It was just some... Guy. Dressed in a "screen-accurate" cosplay.

But it was around the fifth hour (and twelve, terrified innocent Deadpool cosplayers later) that he got so frustrated he actually decided to take a break.

"Puta madre it's like Mardis Gras..." He hissed out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He'd long abandoned wearing his mask, wanting complete unobstructed range of his sense of smell and hearing. Neither of which have been particularly helpful with the smell of vomit, liquor, perfume and sweets littering the air.

"Wow! Buddy, you look like you need a good time!" A man dressed in some macabre clown suit said to him. When Miguel fixed his crimson eyes on him the man seemed to deflate, the gulp in his throat audible as his posture shrunk and he struggled to keep his voice collected at the imposing sight of the larger man.

He pointed at the door to a bar that seemed full to bursting, crowds chattering, and a group of obnoxious women clucking like drunken hens as they left, shouting rather inappropriate things at Miguel as they walked by.

Miguel sighed and decided to just say fuck it, one drink or so. Deadpool probably already hopped to another dimension already and this could be a pointless waste of time.

The patrons parted around him like the sea for Moses, too intimidated by the man who towered over them to stay in his way as he made it over to the bar.

The seat to the barstool creaked under his weight as he sat down, burying his face in his hand

This is the last time he'd ever chase down a Deadpool. Next time, he would pass it off to Ben or hell, even Hobie...

"Wow! Miguel, huh?" A bubbly voice giggled out.

His head shot up as she mentioned his name, and hi blinked at her.

Uncharacteristically, he felt his mouth go dry at her costume.

The black dress was cut down to the top of her underbust corset, revealing delicious amounts of her marshmallowy soft-looking cleavage. Honestly, if the woman sneezed, she'd probably spill right out of it...

Her hair was... Off. A kind of black beehive atop her head, sharp makeup accentuating her cheekbones and eyes. Bright, crimson lips smiled at him, dimples in her cheeks.

She wasn't rail thin like the other women who had come onto him all night, her body was soft, and squeezable; warm and looking as though he would get decent handfuls of her sweet soft rolls in his hands--

"Wow! You even look like him, too!" You giggle.

His mouth opened and he blinked.

"Ah... El... Elvira. Right?" He tried. He remembered Peter showing him that movie one of the times he'd visited him and MJ's place.

"Ah! Ding ding, my dear!" You grin, tapping your nose. "Some people keep saying I'm Morticia Addams."

"Ah..." He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter.

Even in your heels, you had a feeling that if this man was standing on his own two feet he'd tower over you.

"Wow! You really do look like Miguel!" You gasped, your ruby red lips parted in a sweet "O".

They looked so soft, just like the rest of you--

"Well! What's your name, big guy?" You ask, your long, wispy (maybe fake?) eyelashes batted at him.

"Uh... Miguel." He said stiffly.

You giggle again, a sound he was quickly focusing on, a sound he found he liked amongst the hustle of the other patrons in the bar.

"Pff, no, silly. Your name."

"...Miguel."

Your smile falters a bit as you blink up at him.

"Oh. Oh! Oh gosh, that's your actual name? I'm sorry!" You laugh awkwardly.

He decided that maybe, just maybe... His night wouldn't be spoiled after all.

"Well, I don't think it's bad enough to apologize for..." He said, flashing a smile, his fangs poking out just past his lips.

You giggle a bit girlishly. "Oh! Oh, that's not what I meant... But I mean! At least you're... Well, uh. In character! You got the looks, the height, the name!"

Miguel shakes his head with a deep chuckle.

"I suppose I do." He fixed you with a soft gaze as his fingers tapped the bar top. "What's your name?"

You grinned at him and tapped the name plate on your breast, drawing his gaze downward to your cleavage.

He felt his face heat up a bit as his eyes lingered on the soft swells, until his brain finally processed the name written.

He repeated it back to you, his voice just barely shaky.

"Yep! Don't wear it out!" You wink, leaning on the bar.

Once again, your cleavage on full display, just begging for him to--

"So, no offense but you look absolutely miffed 'bout something." You chuckle.

"You... Could say that." He struggled, clearing his throat. "I was... Supposed to meet somebody but they... Bailed."

"Oh, god, I haaaaaate that for you, bud." You say, leaning back with a click of your tongue. Your long acrylic nails tap on the laminated bar.

"So! What'll it be?"

"Uh... I don't have any money on me. Sorry."

"Hah!" You point up at the whiteboard sign above the tap.

'Those in costume -- First two drinks are free!'

He blinked up at the sign. "That's... Generous."

"Yeah, my boss is big on community. And I'm the one who told him that promising two free drinks instead of one will draw our competitor's clientele away." You wink.

"That's awfully... poachy of you." Miguel smirked.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Capitalism is capitalism and you gotta make a buck somehow. And besides! Halloween and other holidays are the best nights for tips!"

You looked back at him with a twinkle in your eye.

"So! What'll it be mister Spider-Man?"

"...Hell. The strongest drink you have."

"Ooooh! Risk taker! I like it." You laugh in a sing-song as you turn to start gathering what you needed to mix his cocktail.

The gaze of all the male patrons were drawn to you when you started shaking, humming to yourself as you did, looking at the list of things for the drink you were making, not paying mind to the prying eyes ogling your breasts. Miguel was, abashedly one of them. But he stopped himself once he realized what he was doing, the others?

He wanted to strangle all of them. Especially the three men next to him who were making bets on who would convince you to go to their car with them.

They clammed up when Miguel leaned in when you turned away.

"Keep staring at her like that, and I will gouge out your eyes, pendejos." He growled, flexing his talons in the face of one of the men for emphasis.

They all freaked out and ran, not wanting to piss off some 6 plus foot whatever guy with what looked like retractable blades on his fingers, and glowing red eyes.

When you turned back around, the cherry red drink topped with strawberries and a black cherry in hand, you grinned at him, and saw the money on the counter.

"Oh!" You hum, handing Miguel his drink and placing the money in their proper places.

"So... What's in this?" Miguel asked, sniffing the drink lightly.

You smile again at him, a cheeky glimmer in your eyes. "That would be telling, sweetheart. But I will say I put some sour grenadine in it."

"Hah. Fair enough." Miguel said, taking a sip of his drink.

The burning in his throat caught him off-guard. As did the heavy taste of the alcohol, that was quickly snuffed by the fruity flavor as he swallowed it down.

"It's... Good."

"Your cringe says you weren't expecting the punch." You smirk, crossing your arms and pushing up your soft breasts.

"It's... Surprising." He conceded, plucking the black cherry up out of the top of the glass.

He decided to make a bit of a show as he curled his tongue around the cherry, bringing it into his mouth and snapping off the stem, chewing lightly.

Miguel couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks flush a little bit and you busy yourself with wiping down glasses.

Maybe tonight wasn't such a bust, after all.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #halloween fic #halloween 2023 #happy halloweeeeeeen

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wongyuseokie · 2 years

Text

Crossing Lines | w.j.h

Summary: Your boss is a dangerous man, and you foolishly messed up his schedule, now he’s pissed and you’re the only one that can fix the problem you caused.

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕ smut | ☁︎ angst | ♥ completed works

Word Count: 2516 words

Pairings: Mafia! Wen Junhui x Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Fluff, angst (minor), smut. PWP (it’s got the briefest plot ever) Content Warnings: Jun is a member of the mafia or an organised crime unit, I guess. It’s never really discussed. Think Vincenzo. Mentions of blood and death (nothing descriptive). A knife is used to take off a shirt, but there’s no blood. Is cuddling a warning? Jun is actually just a softie too. Jun threatens to kill her once, but it's part of the dirty talk. She calls him sir but it’s not kinky.

Smut Warnings: Dom!Jun, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, use of a scarf as a gag, fingering. Unprotected sex (don’t do this folks), minor knife play. Name-calling. Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting. Dirty talk.

Authors Note: Honestly, I've been bias wrecked so so badly by this man I want to cry. This fic came to life because of @flurrys-creativity sending me thirst traps and giving me scenarios, and somehow it became a full-blown fic and reading this, too 💕 . Thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for beta'ing this. You brought my smut back to life and made it much more sense. Thank you, my lovely!! 💕 I shall send you more DK thirst traps as a thank you. Thank you also to @here4btsfics for always letting me thirst and cry over Jun because, look at him, thank you for reading and thirsting over Jun with me ❤️ Authors Note 2: Tagging my lovely June @junkissed-replies ❤️

Working for Seoul’s most notorious crime family wasn’t exactly easy. Being designated as the personal assistant to the family's youngest member was even less ideal. Wen Junhui, typically known only as Jun, was the definition of a walking juxtaposition. His doe eyes sparkled like the night sky, and his body made you ache, with abs sculpted by gods and thighs you wanted to ride until you came all over his trademark black skinny jeans.

On the other end of the spectrum was Jun’s job, which he referred to as more of a hobby—killing people. He was ruthless. Noone dared cross him. One wrong word, the slightest misstep, and the poor bastard would be dead on the floor of his den before he could even realize his mistake.

You had grown oddly accustomed to his brutalities. He had a job, and so did you. Your job was to make sure his demands were met, no matter what they were, so you didn’t become another name in a long list of kills. Except he had a soft spot for you. Or maybe it was that you made something on this already hard man even harder. There was a mutual attraction between you two that you never dared act on. The man was dead inside.

Today was not a good day. You had checked and double-checked Jun’s schedule, but there was still some miscommunication. Whatever it was led Jun to believe you fucked up his meeting plans with his biggest rival.

In this world, it meant that he deferred the meeting, which made him a pussy. He was not happy. Actually, that was an understatement. Jun was fuming. In one of those cartoons, smoke would come out of his ears. It would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that he literally killed for a living.

“Y/N, step into my office now, shut the door, and lock it.”

You felt chills down your spine and wondered if this was it for you. You’d be dead. He got up from his seat, and damn, why did he have to look so criminally good? All previous fear subsided, at least for a moment, as you took in his appearance. He had his signature leather jacket on with ripped jeans. You cursed your body for being such a traitor, clenching at the sight of him. Jun walked towards you, eyes trained on you as if you were a target.

Correction: you were his target. He stopped close to you, too close for the thoughts racing through your head. You could feel his breath on your face. Again, fuck your body for being so turned on when he was looking at you like prey. He placed one arm next to you, both showing his dominance and caging you in. His other one fished his dagger out of his scabbard. Fuck, okay, maybe you were really in trouble.

He twirled the knife through his fingers with practised ease, making you wonder how many times he’d done it. Actually, it made you wonder how they’d feel in your pussy. You cursed yourself again, telling yourself to get it together. You legitimately might die, and all you could think of was those perfect fingers fucking you. At least your body and mind were in agreement on this one, behaving as inappropriately as possible.

“Y/N, you messed up my meeting, and now everyone is calling me a pussy.” The knife stilled between his fingers as he spoke.

“Sir, I’m sorry I scheduled your meeting properly, but it just got miscommunicated somehow, and I’m so sorry,” your voice came out in a squeak, and you were fucking scared.

“Did you hear me properly, pretty girl?” That was new. He’d called you a lot of things, but certainly not pretty girl. You nodded, trying to make sense of the nickname.

“Now, how do I punish you?” He cocked his head to the side like he might be trying to tease you. Except, you knew he used the same line on his victims.

“Sir, it won’t happen again,” you begged.

“You’re right. It won’t,” he said as he pulled a scarf out of his pocket. You thought it was the same one he used to suffocate those unlucky enough to wind up on his bad side.

“Open your mouth, baby girl,” he demanded. Despite the words, it was a demand. There was no room for negotiation.

“Sir, please, I’m so so sorry. never happen again, I swear.”

His eyes went dark. Not only did you talk back to him, but you defied an order. No one did that, not to him. He took his knife and raised it to your neck.

Jun slowly trailed the knife down your throat, not breaking your skin, until he reached the top of your shirt. In one clean move, showing a deadly skill, he sliced your shirt open and left you standing there in a black lace bra.

“Do you wear clothes like this so someone can fuck you? Do you know what happens to girls that dress like sluts?” His eyes were on the knife as it trailed down your abdomen as if he didn’t expect any answers.

“No, Jun, please.”

He dropped the knife, and his hand went to your throat. The pressure was…actually kind of nice. Well, it would’ve been if you weren’t so scared.

“You are mine. Anyone I hire is my property, so you will do what I say. Speak one more time, and I will kill you, make no mistake. Understood?” You nodded. The rational part of you fought off tears because this man and his reputation were terrifying.

The irrational part of you was turned on, arousal dripping into your panties.

“Open your mouth.”

You did as he said and tied the scarf tight over your mouth, effectively gagging you. Jun picked up his knife again and sliced your bra open.

“Fuck, Y/N, such pretty little tits. You kept them from me all this time.” He flicked your nipple. You stifled a moan, the irrational winning out.

Jun smirked, “you can make all the noise you want. Scream if you want. No one will save you. The gag might make it difficult to say much, though.”

He dropped to his knees and pulled your skirt down. He helped you out of it and groaned at your matching black lace underwear. It was impossible to miss the way your arousal dripped from your cunt onto your thighs.

Jun grabbed your panties, ripped them, and then slid them off. You barely had a second to consider how counterproductive it was. He stood back up and stripped himself. That sent your mind further into overdrive because you’d seen him shirtless many times, but naked? This would be the first. The second he was bare before you, your eyes went to his penis. It was beautiful–long, hard, and thick. You squirmed in excitement at how it was going to ruin you, how he would ruin you.

Without a word, Jun grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you onto his shoulders so that he could place you down against his marble table. You were face down, breasts against the cool surface of the marble and hips pressing into the edge. Still dripping in arousal, you had to remind yourself who was standing behind you. This man could kill you just as easily as he could fuck you. You were still considering which way it might go when his hand made sharp contact with your exposed cheek.

“Pretty sluts get this.”

You trembled and let out a strangled moan. You felt Jun turn you around. Your ass pressed into the table. He removed the scarf around your mouth and kissed you. Despite his demeanour, the kiss was soft and tender as his lips moved against yours. He swiped your lower lip with his tongue, begging for entrance, which you happily granted. He used his tongue to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, he pulled away from your mouth and kissed along your jawline, nibbling on your earlobe. His lips moved down to your neck, and he started to suck at the sensitive skin, leaving bite marks as he went. God, your neck would be covered in shades of blue and purple. Not that you cared.

He moved down to your breasts, flicking his tongue over your nipple. It was a lot of attention as he sucked and gently nibbled each before moving further down your body. By his mouth reached your pussy, you were dripping wet for him.

Wasting no time, Jun pushed you up, so you were now sitting on the table, the sensation of the cold marble on your bare skin heightening your pleasure. His mouth returned to your cunt, licking into it with quick movements. He flicked his tongue on your clit, then enclosed his lips around it and started to suck. Simultaneously, he put one finger into your cunt and started thrusting. The thrusts only got faster when he saw how immediate your reaction was. His tongue continued moving against your clit as he added another finger. You were going to cum far sooner than you wanted to if he kept this up.

The pace was brutal, and Jun was relentless, not missing a beat as he added another finger. This was so much more than you were used to. Even with the addition of another finger, he kept his tongue working on your clit, alternating between quick flicks and sucking. You wanted to reach out for some sort of support that you knew wasn’t there.

Jun knew you needed support and didn’t care, determined to punish you for your mistake. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, rendering you immobile, and continued the nearly exhausting pace. You found purchase in his hair, the only way to stabilize for even a second. Something finally snapped, and you came hard. You tried to move Jun away from your pussy, it was too sensitive for him to be continuing like he was.

Except, he showed no mercy. His fingers continued to pump into you, and his face stayed anchored between your legs. It was like he took pleasure in your whimpers as he pushed you even further. He pulled a second orgasm out of you as the screams fell from your lips. Still, he didn’t relent, continuing to eat you out like you were his favourite meal. You were overstimulated and could feel yourself clenching again another orgasm approaching. When you tried to wriggle free, Jun only gripped your waist harder, pressing you further into the table.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, removing the leg that was draped over his shoulder and wiping his chin unceremoniously. Your whole body was shaking as you tried to breathe deeply enough to recover. It was stupid to think he’d let you do that, though.

Jun pulled you off the table and turned you back around, once again pushing your body down on the cold marble table. He pushed his cock into you from behind. There wasn’t even time to adjust to his size before he began fucking into you. He knew exactly where to hit, once again setting an impossible pace. You tried to grab the edges of the table and steady yourself as he slammed into you. He fucked you until you hit your fourth orgasm, something you were really enjoying despite the way your body protested the overstimulation. But, fuck did this guy’s stamina go through the roof or something? Before you could process that thought, he turned you around again, so you were lying flat on your back on the table.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t give you any time to adjust or catch your breath. Not that you cared, really, you were so blissed out. He pushed his cock inside you, and somehow the pace was even more animalistic as he pounded into your overstimulated body. You let your eyes fall shut, head lolling back, and received a sharp slap against your pussy.

“Look at me when I fuck you, baby,” he demanded. His grip on your waist was so strong that you imagined his fingertips would leave bruises. Your whole body was going to be covered.

Jun’s breathing got more laboured, and you knew he was finally close. His thrusts became erratic, the final thrust allowing him to release inside of you. Despite his release, he didn’t let you relax as he quickly pushed two fingers inside you. The thrusts caught you off guard, and he curled his fingers to hit you just right each time. You let out a scream as you squirted all over his hands, signalling your fifth orgasm for the night.

The next morning you woke up wrapped in a soft duvet, not entirely remembering how you had managed to get to the bed. Your entire body was exhausted from the night before, and you thought you could have slept through the rest of the day. Except someone was pressing soft kisses between your shoulder blades.

“Morning beautiful.”

You shot up at the sound of Jun’s voice, regretting that decision as your whole body was bruised and battered from the previous night. You tried to clumsily climb out of bed. Jun was quicker, gently grabbing you and pulling you into his arms.

“I know I went off last night. I lose control when it comes to my work. Sorry that I took it out on you, but you did seem to enjoy it,” Jun explained with a smirk on his handsome face, but you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s okay, Sir, I’m sorry, I won’t ever make a mistake again.” you apologised. You were unsure where you stood now, despite the lesson he’d taught you.

“No, Y/N, you won’t because you don’t work for me anymore.”

Your eyes filled with tears. Not only did you need the money, but you also enjoyed last night far more than you should have. The thought of not seeing Jun anymore stung. Jun took notice of your reaction and tightened one arm around you, cupping your face with the other.

“I mean, I don’t want my girlfriend working for me. I know my job isn’t…traditional, but you’ve seen a lot while working for me. I do like you. I guess yesterday. I truly realised how much I care. But if this is too much, you can ignore the offer and keep your job.”

“Sir, I-“ you started, unsure what to say.

“It's Jun, sweet girl. I promise I’ll be there for you and protect you,” Jun interrupted, everything about him much softer than you’d seen before.

“I know it's a little unconventional, considering I fucked the absolute life out of you, but may I please take you on a date? Your final role as my assistant could just be letting me know if I’m free tonight”

“You are, and it's a date,” you replied, snuggling further into his embrace. His hold was so soft, and you were so content that you drifted back to sleep, hoping this hadn’t all been a dream.

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itsyagurlchip · 4 months

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٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Video Game Lover💜٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: cussing(!) (Y/N) is used (😱)(!) mentions of injury and bone (!)

✰⋆⁺Im actually really loving this plot that I'm coming up with. I hope the world around Player (that's what I'm calling reader) is making sense. Since I haven't written for this fic for a long time, I'm gonna try to finish this as i go thru the summer, and hope to finish it around august or september! Enjoyyyy!!!

✰⋆⁺ Chapter 2: What to Do...What to Do!?

(Chapter 1) | (Chapter 3)

WELCOME BACK! GAME START? (ok, back here...)

YES NO (here we go again)

{ tip:the shadows are sentient, its best to not ager them } (you spelt anger wrong lmao)

{ shut up! I'm trying to help you >:(( } (who even are you???)

{ It's me! } (who-!?)

GAME LOADING

...

That interaction was odd. you wondered who that could've been.

or better yet,

what the hell happened after you finished reading that semi-biography gnome obituary? And why didn't Nigel have enough paper???

what were you thinking about? your memory is fuzzy. oh well.

Now the area in looked vastly different than the previous one, which disoriented you a bit.

Looking around, you saw that the world still had a pastel palette. Except this time, instead if a forest, it looked more like a field.

The inconsistent style between the character design and the background pissed you off, as you were still pixels.

But, instead of worrying about that, you drive your attention to your surroundings once more.

The grass looked super stiff, and despite the sensation of wind showing on your sprite, nothing actually moved along with it.

Oddly enough, the creator didn't add any flowers, which honestly surprised you. Instead, there were soft and plump succulents (???) and small bunnies and insect-critter thingies crawling around.

Who the hell designed and produced this game?

while your headache was growing bigger, you decided to press that white check mark above your head once more.

(Update!!✨ New Page Unlocked✨!)

1.Stats

Lives: 1

Death Count: 0

Health: 25/30

Attack 2/20

4.Objectives (✨new✨)

FIND GNOME HUT ◻

EAT SPARKLE BERRIES ◻

TEST YOUR POWERS ◻

The first thing that you noticed was the lack of health you had. Didn't you have full health? Then, looking towards the new page, you figured out why.

Honestly, you were lucky because it seemed that only hunger could personally damage you. Damn thirst.

Back in Donnie's lab, Mikey, Leo and Raph sat in silence.

"So Leo-"

"Guys look!, the screen!" Leo interrupted, shallowly 'saving' himself. On the computer, it showed a round world with a pixelated character right in the middle.

It was you! But not?

The outfit you wore was something that the real you would never wear. Being broke and all. *cough* snacks *cough*

"(Y/N)'s a royal!! My prayers have been answered!!" Mikey sighs comically, despite not intending for them to be sucked into a video game for his wishes to come true, "I'll take what I can get."

"I knew it! It was Mikey's fault!" Leo said, jabbing a finger at the little man. "He and his 'DoCter FeEliNgS' cursed Donnie to never find love, man I hope Jaquelin's okay, AND TOOK ONE OF OUR HUMAN FRIENDS! prayers for homegirl. " Mikey rolled his eyes.

"Dude, you tripped the girl and she ended up in a hospital because Donnie was buildin' her a gift instead of your dumbass 'uNicORn RocKeT'" Mikey then gestured to his leg. as Leo crossed his arms and looked away. "Her bone was sticking out of her knee!"

"I've already told you, !" Leo yelled, "Jaquelin just so happened to walk in front of my leg! And the building just so happened to come to an edge- which was totally not caused by my lack of perception!" Leo huffed and stomped out of the room.

"So that was....o-okay-" Raph blinked froggily. Focusing back on the screen, he watched as you adjusted the crown on your head, curiously looking around. Raph found it cute how your sprite blinks with wide eyes.

"Back to my favorite couple!" Mikey said, looking towards where Raph was. The music in this is annoying as hell, they both agreed.

On screen, they watched as you tried to figure the world out, cheering you on as they watched you grab a log to cross the rushing river. Despite being mouthless in the world, you still had a range of emotions on your face that both turtles enjoyed.

Now, you pressed on into the woods, your sprite skipping along in happiness. And suddenly stopped. A question mark appeared on your forehead before an exclamation mark popped up soon after. an idea?

Raph raised an eyebrow, before watching you reach your arm up to the white check mark above your head. Almost instantly, a page of black opened up. Purple lettering began to quickly type out across the page, a long with a note a the bottom.

Mikey was already sitting down in Donnie's gaming chair with a bag of popcorn, snuggling into the blanket as a voice actor began reading out the letter.

F in the chat for Nigel, he deserved better.

It was like a movie! A terribly illustrated, yet fully interesting, predictably flash backing, movie! Mikey wasn't gonna let this new form of entertainment go to waste.

He instead typed in the keyboard shortcut for screen recording, and sat back and watched.

Raph sighed and plopped himself down onto the floor, tired of standing anyway.

In a flash, the screen suddenly turned black, startling the boys as they leaned forward. Immediately they relaxed, seeing that it was simply a loading screen.

"[give player tips (?)]" The screen blinked, waiting for the "viewers" to make their choice.

YES NO

Mikey chose the right answer- god forbid (Y/N) takes this for granted.

Tip: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

"Hey Raph! Can I borrow your phone real quick?" Mikey asked.

Raph, already knowing what to do, pulled up the wheel of names, and inserted each number twenty times, before spinning and landing on the number 2.

"Number 2!! Raph was rootin' for 4 tho-" He said, shaking his head solemnly.

Mikey, chuckling a bit, chose the number on the screen. There was a tingling sensation in his head, which he'll just get medication for later! This was way too fun.

In a flash, Mikey was dissipating into the computer screen.

"OH SHI-" *pop!*

Raph sat there, stunned, just as Leo walked back in the room with April.

April, being the badass she is, noticed something wrong.

"Where's Mikey?"

i hope this is making you guys laugh. i literally i haven't touched this in weeks. I think im gonna stick to 2nd person, because i find that my silly shit is easier to reference and the narrating is funnier. I really wanted to make this longer but I just had to cut it off there or it would seem wayyyy to run-on for me.

Anything you guys wanna reference? some memes?

Also, do you guys recommend anything for the stats page? i feel like i shouldn't list all of that out (i may tire myself out as well as you guys) so i want to find a way to make that easier.

wait nvm- that lowkey gave me an idea. i think it'll help you guys visualize better as well too-

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

@ziipzeepzop-eez @spongejuice @nuncscioquidsitamor-13 @cyb3r-st4r

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

#yagurlchip❤️#VGL💜#donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #prayers for Jaquelin #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #TMNT #sorry guys but-#y/n was used😔#yagurl writes

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lovecanbesostrange · 4 months

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Please know that since yesterday I am mentally trapped in these two panels. There is actually a lot I will miss Krakoa for, but I also felt a bit of resentment throughout the era and this family is a big reason why. NOW that we are in the last stretch of burning it all down and the new X-launch is in reach, we'll get this wedding special. And we finally have all four together in a panel. NOW?! I bought X-Men Unlimited #4 in either fall of '94 or spring '95, solely because of the cover. 30 years of waiting. Let me live in this moment for a bit.

Look at what they are doing with the art! Oh sure, Mystique and Nightcrawler are the blue ones. Pair up Destiny and Rogue next to that to make them look similar enough as well. Only for my brain to scream "but the personalities are the other way around!!!!!!!!". Irene and Kurt work on faith and believe in possibilities and reaching out to be better. Raven and Anna Marie typing this out makes me feel weird are the ones who will kill a bitch and say they will darken their soul so others don't have to. Plus there is the element that they both have lived more than one life and their sense of self is distorted .

They've come a long way, okay?!

Yes this is exactly what it looks like. For plot reasons Nightcrawler was too weak to teleport and dangling off a cliff next to Mystique. And of course Rogue could only save one and before she made a decision Mystique said "I make this for you" and let go. I still like to believe she flipped them the bird when she fell. Because she is Mystique. "HaHa! Take this, you think I'm the worst mother ever, but you will have to live with a moment of nobility from me!" (Also Destiny knew this would come, and she fucking knows there is something good inside of Mystique. It just comes out... different. And needs very specific circumstances.)

Apart from X-Men Evolution (and the X-Men Forever alternate history comic with its very special vibes), we have never gotten any bigger acknowledgement of this family. And Irene has been cut out. Either conveniently on account of being dead, or because she's an old lady and clearly just a gal pal, ahem. (It's also very funny to me to go back to their first appearances, where the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants has the biggest Three Stooges energy ever. I needed Mystique, Destiny, Rogue, Pyro, Blob and Avalanche to have a drinking contest on Krakoa. That is what Krakoa was supposed to be about!! You needed to give us 200% domestic nonsense, fun and games. So it would hurt everybody when it was inevitably taken away. EVERYBODY needed to find happiness in that place in unconventional ways.)

Sadly not my original thought (I don't have those), but recently I read some comment where somebody said that with Irene being his bio-mother, Kurt should have inherited a type of precog-sense, a sorta spidey-sense for teleportation. A natural ability that he won't teleport into an obstacle. And I would be so on board with that. (Also funny, because Ms Marvel had that type of sense and I could pull up panels where Nightcrawler tried to trigger that in Rogue.) Would it be weird to add that now? Sure. But also super cute and helpful.

My deepest gratitude goes out to the fanartists who have doodled and sketched and painted cute family moments for them out of time. Now canon can catch up. Imagine their dinner conversations. N: "Logan is my best friend." M: "Oh, that reminds me there is this blue furball running around with his and my powers. I don't even remember if we ever had sex or not, we're so close in age and have these memory gaps." N: "Mutter, nein!" D: "You should ask him out, you two would make a cute couple. Trust me." R: "You're setting up Nightcrawler with Wolverine and keep giving me grief over Gambit?" M: "He speaks too much French! Wolverine might be Canadian, but at least he's not a Franco-Canadian!" N: "So I couldn't date Northstar?"

Do not get me wrong though. Mystique and Destiny are horrible people and they will stab others in the back. They have worked for the government, they have plotted assassinations of government people. They have fought alongside and against the X-Men. I don't want them tamed or be reasonable. I want their mess. I want them as anti-villains. Because they don't do heinous things for nothing. They like to create less horrible murder events than what could be... some writers just liked to go overboard with the scheming and forgot the sympathic undertones, which I want to cling to. And we deserved a time of peace on Krakoa. Truly imagine a Mystique who was happy on Krakoa. And the absolut batshit villainous energy when it's burned down against her will... now THAT would have been something. Instead of baking resentment into the foundation.

#X-Men #Rogue #Nightcrawler #Mystique #Irene Destiny Adler #wednesday spoilers #sorry I'm so sorry but I can't get over this...#ramblings

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arthenaa · 1 year

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It's a Muggle Thing - Sebastian Sallow x Fem! Reader

Plot Summary: Going home for the holidays, the boys decided to come with Nora to her hometown. Sebastian just didn't expect to find an interesting muggle there

content tags: muggle! reader, reader is not mc, silver trio graduated already <3, reader is an artist teehee, hl mc is named nora finley and is a half blood, hl mc grew up in a muggle environment, reader is mc's friend, sebastian and mc are aurors and often partnered up together, ominis is a professor at hogwarts, mc has a romantic fling w poppy sweeting rawr rawr i love them, seb falls too fast, mentions of sex at the end but its not rlly the actual thing haha, she/her pronouns and fem terms are used.

A/N: just imagine seb wearing that suit as an auror. im frothing on the mouth

"You're taking a leave?"

Sebastian places his hand on his hips as he watches his partner pack up her things for the day. His bestfriend of 7 years, deemed Hero of Hogwarts, and set for an upcoming promotion as Head Auror of the British Ministry of Magic, Nora Finley, looks back at him with a grin.

"Yep. Why are you acting surprised? I told you about this like weeks ago." She chuckles as she closes up her suitcase, propping it up on her desk before turning to him. Sebastian looks at her with a confused look as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

After the eventful days of their years as students in Hogwarts, the two had ended up working as aurors for the ministry. Nora was immediately given a position due to her great efforts in preventing another wizarding war and Sebastian was accepted with his great battle knowledge in the dark arts. Ominis however had opted to remain in the halls of the great castle but now as a professor teaching potions (quite comical actually given that Ominis spent most of his time in potions class fumbling over ingredients and messing up potions as easy as a wiggenweld).

The trio had been doing their best in remaining contact with each other (well more of like trying to stay in contact with Ominis), telling tales about their recent accomplishments, funny stories to share and any other details regarding their lives. Their most recent one being Sebastian and Nora's great accomplishment in capturing yet another dark wizard who had tried to harm numerous muggles. Luckily enough, the situation hadn't exploded enough to obliviate a whole town. Sebastian had been expecting to have a small trio reunion to celebrate the accomplishment but now he's been feeling betrayed that Nora had gone ahead and requested a leave for a week.

"Did you really?" He raised his eyebrow, accusingly. Nora shakes her head in amusement.

"I did, Seb. You were probably too busy flaunting your physique to Yaxley at the ball." She teases as she grabs her case before walking to grab her coat. "I think it's quite adorable when you do that. It's like seeing two tiny tiny crups fighting."

Sebastian blushes before rolling his eyes. He watches Nora grab her coat before putting it on. "What about our celebration? I thought we we're going out for a drink!"

Nora shrugs as she puts it on and fixes her clothes. "Too bad. My mother has been requesting my presence, and this leave is the perfect time for me to visit. You can drink with Ominis, though!"

The brunette strengthened his resolve as he followed the witch out of their office and into the halls of the ministry. "I think this is totally unfair. Ominis was begging in the letters for us to get together! I think he's going bonkers with the amount of time he spends with children."

Nora laughs as she nods at a co-worker who passes by them. "That wasn't what he said, Seb. Ominis will be outraged when he finds out you overexaggerate his letters."

"I overexaggerate his letters because he can't say shit to you. He thinks you'll think of him as weak or something." Sebastian argues as they reach the elevator. Nora pulls out her wand, flicking her wrist as the tip of the wand lights up. She then pulls it away as the doors of the elevator open in front of her.

"I don't think of him as weak. I'd die if I was told to handle first years." She sighs before stepping inside the elevator. The house elf managing the elevator gives her a nod, to which she responds with a nod as well.

"Hello, Hank. Ground floor, please." She replies with a smile. Hank only grunts as he flicks his wand to lead the moving platform. She then turns to Sebastian, who looks at her with a frustrated look. "Please don't make too much trouble while I'm gone, okay?"

The wizard doesn't reply for a moment as he watches the doors close. At the last moment, he squeezes his way through, and Nora lets out a yelp of surprise. "Sebastian what—"

"Let us come with you." He grabs her shoulders. Nora raises her eyebrows in surprise. He takes a breath before glancing at the house elf, who gives him a disappointed tsk. He looks back at Nora, who looks at him expecting. "I mean, me and Ominis talked about learning more about you. You've gone to my house and Ominis basically told you about his family so why not let us come with you?"

Nora stares at him for a while before smiling. "Alright cowboy. Don't regret saying yes to this if things go south alright?"

Well, Sebastian could definitely handle it. He thinks. He knows Nora's mother is a muggle and she spent her young days in a muggle environment. It'll be a culture shock for sure but Anne and him had been somewhat exposed to muggle culture. He had books of muggle authors, tasted some of their sweets and even communicated with them for an investigation.

Surely, this will be a piece of cake.

"You said what?!"

Ominis yelled to which Sebastian tried to cover his mouth with his hands. The blonde slaps his hands away rather harshly. Sebastian lets out a yelp of pain before biting his lip to avoid attracting more attention. He had apparated to Hogwarts to visit his old friend and inform him of his talk with Nora. The two stood outside the castle where the garden is. He sees some students send a concerned glance at them as they hesitantly greet Ominis who only waves them off with a hand.

"I need you to lower your voice, Ominis." Sebastian murmurs lowly as he slips his hands in the pockets of his coat. Ominis shakes his head as he crosses his arms.

"Why should I do that? I'm a figure of authority here now, Sebastian. We're not students anymore." Ominis retorts.

"I'm not talking about that! I just don't want your students to see me as some guy harassing their professor. As if I don't get any bad reputation at the ministry." He scoffs as he kicks a pebble on the stone steps.

"Maybe they should. You're literally telling me that I have to go on a one week trip when I have priorities to attend to." Ominis glares at the direction of his voice. Sebastian smiles sheepishly. He had said it out of panic. He didn't want to be alone for the week, and he certainly didn't want to come with Nora alone in a muggle environment even though he told himself it would be a piece of cake.

It sucks being a hypocrite.

"C'mon! It's just for a week. Merlin knows you need a break, Professor Gaunt." He nudges Ominis with his elbow playful. The Potions professor scoffs as he moves away from him.

"Your tomfoolery might've worked on me before, but I've matured. My point still stands." Ominis turns his head away as an act of defiance. Sebastian just smiles softly as his friend. He looks more like a kid who doesn't want to take his vegetables.

"I think Mr. Sallow might be correct on this one." A familiar voice had intercepted their conversation. Ominis lets out a sigh as he drops his arms. Sebastian lights up at her entrance.

"Professor Onai." He bows slightly as a sign of respect. The divination professor only raises her hand to stop him.

"Oh no, no. Please, call me Mudiwa. You're not a student anymore, Mr. Sallow." Professor Onai smiles softly. Sebastian nods at her words.

"Then please, Sebastian is fine."

"I overheard the students mentioning a strange man harassing our beloved professor, so I just had to make sure if I needed to do any saving." Mudiwa jokes as she stands between the two. Ominis rolls his eyes.

"No damsel in distress here." Ominis sarcastically replies.

"That I see. It's an overworked one, I do know." Mudiwa glances at Sebastian, who nods in agreement. Ominis shakes his head, sensing the budding cooperation between the teacher and former student.

"I will not let you make Professor Onai your accomplice, Sebastian. I will not be swayed." Ominis's eyebrows furrow in annoyance. Sebastian only grins at this.

"Who said about anyone being an accomplice? I originally came here to tell you that Professor Weasley is granting you a week's leave." Professor Onai pats his shoulder. "She'll be taking over for your classes given that a new teacher for transfiguration has been assigned."

Ominis's face drops at the new information. Sebastian then giggles into his hand. He turns his head fast towards the direction of his voice. "Did you do this?! Did you really have to contact Professor Weasley knowing I wouldn't agree?!"

Sebastian walks down the steps before shrugging his shoulders. "Eh, perks of being her favorite, I guess."

"You little shit."

"That I am!"

Professor Onai only laughs loudly at the interaction.

The three had apparated to Nora's town much to Ominis's chagrin. After getting smacked in the head multiple times by the young Gaunt, the two had decided that this would be the best time to learn more about their dearest friend, Nora, as well as the muggle community.

Sebastian knows that her closest family knew about her identity as a witch, so it makes Sebastian a little relieved that he wouldn't have to hide his magic, at least inside the comfort of Nora's home.

"We're almost there." Nora says as she leads the three of them through a village. Sebastian glances around, arm intertwined with Ominis, given that he had to hide his wand for now due to muggles. He had his walking stick, but to be honest, using Sebastian as a walker seems much more fun with all the shit he put up with.

Nora then stops at a house with a blue gate before turning to the two and waving them over. She opens it with ease and rushes over to knock on the door. Sebastian pulls Ominis to a stop before dropping his luggage on the ground.

The door opens to reveal an old looking woman who at first squints her eyes before screaming enthusiastically. She pulls Nora into a hug as they jump in each other's arm in joy.

"How wonderful! This is such a pleasant surprise!" The woman or assumed as Mrs. Finley smiles lovingly at her daughter, who holds her hands tightly within hers.

"You know I had to come home, mama." Nora laughs softly before pressing a kiss on her cheek. She then moves to the side to present her companions. "I have guests with me."

"Oh! Come in! We can exchange pleasantries inside. You must be tired from your journey." Mrs. Finley motions for them to come in. Sebastians smiles at the warm greeting as he takes his case and moves inside. Ominis had taken out his wand, knowing that he's safe to use it and walks inside as well.

The auror takes a look around, scanning the interior of his best friend's home. Mrs. Finley excitedly frets over them as she helps them out of their coats and gently moves them to sit on the couch.

"Do tell me about your friends, darling!" She warmly smiles as she sits down on the couch in front of them. Nora laughs at her mother's enthusiasm, and so she introduces the two. Mrs. Finley was a wonderful host. She told stories of Nora when she was young, which the two graciously enjoyed. She talked and asked about the wizarding world and revealed that when she had met Nora's father, who had tragically passed due to his work as an auror that frequents in the front lines, magic was one of the reasons that they had met so she kind of expected that her daughter would one day be exposed to the world of her father. She admits that she's also glad Nora made more friends. The only one she met was her girlfriend, Poppy Sweeting, who had come over once to be introduced. "What an absolute sweetheart," she says.

As Sebastian continues to listen in on the conversation, his eyes glance towards the artwork hanging on the wall, above the couch where Mrs. Finley sat. His curiousity gets the better of him. "The art looks marvelous. Was this curated from a famous muggle artist?"

Mrs. Finley looks back and up at the canvas. Nora answers for her. "Oh, that? That's made by Y/N. A friend of mine."

"Is she a famous muggle artist? What does the artwork look like?" Ominis joins in on the conversation. Sebastians leans close to him to describe the piece. The young Gaunt nods in understanding.

"She is, I believe? She gets her art curated on exhibits." Mrs. Finley smiles proudly. "She's going to be here tomorrow. We have a debut to go to. I hope you brought fancy clothes?"

Ominis purses his lips. "I didn't, but I suppose it's nothing a bit of magic can't fix. A certain someone had me rushing my way over here."

Sebastian coughs into his hand before smiling at Mrs. Finley. "Don't worry, we'll manage."

The party was loud. Too much even.

This debut that they had gone to was of a daughter of a neighbor close to Nora's family, and apparently, most neighbors in the village were pretty close with one another. Sebastian almost felt out of place if it weren't for Ominis clinging to his arm.

"Stupid walking stick. If only I could just use my wand. Why do I have to suffer this way." Ominis grunts as he taps the floor with the object of his frustrations. Sebastian wraps his arm around his shoulders.

"You have me here. Consider this a once in a lifetime opportunity of making me your personal walker." Sebastian jokes. Ominis smiles at his offer.

"I might just make that permanent from all the headache you gave me."

"Please don't."

"You guys! Stop sulking in the corner and come over here." Nora calls them over as she chats with an unfamiliar face. A pretty unfamiliar face, Sebastian thinks as he moves closer with Ominis in tow. "This is Y/N. I was talking about your art to them last night. They were pretty impressed by it."

Y/N. Y/N. Pretty name.

"I'm Sebastian Sallow. This is Ominis Gaunt." The brunette smiles boyishly as he extends his hand for a handshake. The young woman raises her eyebrows in amusement before shaking her hand as well.

"Didn't know your friends at your new school was this handsome." She teases to which Nora rolls her eyes. Sebastian holds eye contact with her for a few seconds before he looks down at his feet due to nervousness.

"Whatever. Ominis! Come with me. I'm going to give gifts to the debutante." Nora grabs Ominis, who lets himself be dragged across the room.

"Still quite the troublemaker, isn't she?" the artist beside him breaks the silence. He almost ignores her, not believing that the question was directed towards him. He's going dumb.

"Yeah. A pain on the ass sometimes but workable." Sebastian scrunches his nose in contemplation. Y/N laughs.

"What do you do for work, Sebastian?" She asks as she moves closer to him, hand twirling the champagne she's holding.

"... Law .... enforcement?" Sebastian raises his eyebrow as he tries to find a perfect substitution to explain what an auror is. Y/N nods in amusement.

"So a police officer?"

"More like detective, I guess."

"Sexy." Y/N winks as she takes a sip of her drink. "I take that Nora is also in law enforcement? The gal barely tells me anything ever since she transferred. I'd get the truth out someday."

"Good luck with that. Nora is one secretive bastard." Sebastian chuckles as he shoves his hands in his pockets. The woman stares at him for a good moment to which he responds with a raised eyebrow.

"That forward?" He teases. She only rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm just doing things you're scared to do, Mr. Sallow." She purrs before setting her champagne down and moving to the dance floor. "Dance with me!"

Sebastian had never seen someone look and dance so messily but beautiful. Balls like this in the wizarding world were often done in elegance and proper etiquette, but seeing someone let loose and move haphazardly across the dance floor was somewhat comforting and fun to watch to.

"Sebastian!" She giggles. The auror smiles before shuffling towards her. They continue to dance together, riding the rhythm and basking in each other's presence.

"And... done!"

The artist turns her canvas around to show Sebastian a new art piece she came up with. The two had progressed to a finer level of friendship. He had gained the privilege of seeing her pre-curated work before it would be released to the public. He considers it his greatest achievement for now. He admires the piece before the woman sets it down to dry.

"I'm really actually amazed by how good you are. I suppose I'd want to have one as well." Sebastia ponders off as he crosses his legs on the couch, elbow on his knee, and chin on his palm. "Might look good in my office."

"You'd probably think too much of me if you set it in your office."

Did Sebastian mention they're flirting more now?

He doesn't know what happened, but all he knows is one second he's dancing and the next he's thinking about her day and night.

He has deduced that this woman is amazing.

He fails to notice Y/N pulls out another canvas before she starts painting. He tries to move, but a hand is held up to stop him. "Stop. Don't move."

"... Right." He mumbles as he settles in a comfortable position. He watches her eyes glance up to him as her brush moves elegantly on the canvas.

During his days in Nora's muggle home, he hadn't expected befriending her childhood friend, Y/N Y/L/N, who is gifted in the field of arts. The muggle had been with them ever since the party, and Sebastian thoroughly enjoyed her presence. It seemed that Nora and Ominis caught on as they tried to give you two as much alone time as possible (Ominis would smirk at him and pat his back like a job well a done. Sebastian wishes he could jinx that smirk out of his face).

He learned more about their community as well. It was nice experiencing stuff without magic that can easily be done by it. Mrs. Finley is a sweetheart and have done nothing but be generous towards them. Sebastian supposes this could be the best week of his life.

"Penny, for your thoughts?" A soft voice breaks him out of his reverie. He glances up at Y/N, who had now paused her painting to look at him with a concerned smile.

"Ah, just thinking how much this week has been amazing." He gives her a lopsided smile as he fiddles with his fingers. "This was just decided on a whim. I'm glad I went here."

Y/N nods in understanding before standing up from her position. "Well, if it's worth anything, I'm glad you did. Wouldn't have met such a wondrous subject for a portrait."

Both of them laugh at her teasing. Y/N walks towards him, to which he holds his hand out. The artist grabs his hand and stands in front of him, looking down at him with a soft look.

"Beautiful." Sebastian mutters as he scans her features. "Have I ever told you that?"

She giggles into her hand. "Well, romances don't exactly work that fast within 4 days."

Sebastian shakes his head playfully. "Cheeky."

The muggle leans down to lessen the distance between them. Sebastian falls silent as he now has a front view to the beautiful woman in front of him. His hands sweat with nervousness.

"But I'd like to try it out." She whispers as she sends him a playful grin before tapping his nose with her index finger. Sebastian lets out an amused breath as he watches the artist flutter around in her studio.

She's gonna be the death of him.

Their joyous one week leave was coming to an end, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel sad about it. He had come to really enjoy his time here, and judging by Ominis's pleased face as he drinks his muggle beer, he too had enjoyed this vacation. Mrs. Finley had suggested having drinks on their final day before they had to depart tomorrow afternoon. A bad decision, really, but who denies that opportunity?

Nursing a beer on his hand, he takes a swig before glancing at Nora who had been reading a letter with a giddy smile. "From Poppy, I assume?"

Nora glances at him with a raised eyebrow. "Mind your business."

"That's not gonna stop me." He leans close to her, trying to get a glimpse of her letter. Nora leans back, shielding it from his curious eyes. "C'mon, what'd it say?"

"She's in America right now." Nora lets out an exasperated sigh. "She got her hands full with a Thunderbird."

Ominis perks up at the mention of the animal. "Ooh, I've always wanted to meet one."

"Being a magizoologist seems quite fun." Sebastian leans back against his chair. "It's the traveling I'm quite jealous of."

"You'd suck as magizoologist. Give it up." Ominis retorts. Sebastian gives him a punch on the shoulder, to which he laughs. The young Gaunt takes a sip of his beer. "This beer is amazing, by the way."

"Right? I'd never get tired of it." Nora smiles as she takes a drink of her own. She then leans forward to give the auror a teasing look. "But now, I'd rather talk about you and Y/N."

At the mention of her muggle friend, Ominis leans forward as well, interested in the conversation. Sebastian grunts in annoyance. "Why should I tell you both shit?"

"Rude. We're your best friends." Nora pouts as she leans her head on Ominis's shoulder.

"She's wonderful, if that's what you're asking." He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Quite talented as well."

"Mhm." Nora hums before moving close to loudly whisper in Ominis's ear. "He's got a crush."

"I do not!" Sebastian argues as he smacks Nora's knee. The young witch lets out a loud laugh.

"Wizards who lie end up in Azkaban, Seb."

"I'd get put in Azkaban for killing your smartass, for sure."

"But I know she's your type. I could basically sense the attraction out of you." Ominis teases. Sebastian shakes his head at his best friends, who continue to tease and poke fun of him.

"Sebastian!" A voice calls him over. It's Y/N.

"Your future wife's calling. Better go to her." Nora smacks his back in encouragement. He gives her his beer before flipping her off as he stands up. He then turns to Ominis and verbally communicates his message.

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah."

He runs towards the person of his interests, smiling as she grabs his hand and pulls him to a secluded part of Nora's home. He sees one of her hands tucked behind her.

"What's up?" He smiles. Y/N shyly moves in her spot before biting her lip.

"Remember that portrait I did? Well, I finished it and it's your last day so consider it a gift." She mumbles before moving her hand from her back to reveal a neatly painted piece. He marvels at the work of art, amazed by how similar the portrait is to his face.

"This... This is wonderful, Y/N." He lets out a chuckle of excitement, smile reaching ear to ear. The artist only revels in his enthusiasm. "Thank you."

"No, thank you for being a dear these past few days. I hadn't met someone and hit it off with them that fast." She chuckles. Sebastian looks at her with an unreadable look. "Consider this a memento for our friendship."

"You make it sound like we'd never meet again." He mumbles as he moves close towards her. She raises her chin in amusement.

"Well, will we?" She raises her hands to dust off any lint on his clothes, which was just an excuse to place her hands on his chest.

"I'll make sure of it." Sebastian smiles. "You said you'd try, remember?"

At the repeat of her words, she lets out a giggle. She then leans close to him. "Is it bad to kiss you this early?"

Sebastian's eyes focus on her lips as he pulls her close with his free hand. "Eh, probably."

She grins as she leans closer. "You probably don't care."

"Just shut up and kiss me." He sighs. The young woman laughs before pulling his collar to give him a firm kiss on his lips.

Something so fast had never felt so right. Maybe it's just a muggle thing.

"5 galleons they're snogging." Ominis takes a drink of his beer. Nora scoffs.

"10 galleons they're fucking." Nora ups her bet. Ominis gives her a look of disgust.

"Too crass, Nora."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to get my 10 galleons soon. I'd bet my fucking life Sebastian will get fucked." She smirks into her drink.

"You're disgusting."

"Thanks, I take pride in it."

A/N: anotha one. SORRY FOR THE LATE POST. i said id post 2 fics but this took longer than i expected. not too proud of this one but it's okay i guess. THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON MY PAST FEW WORKS <333 didnt think it would blow up. have a great day yall!!

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt

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masquayla-the-splendid · 7 months

Text

How Splatoon makes a controversial Fnaf theory work better in their universe, and other parallels. (Really.)

[Side Order spoilers]

I beat Side Order in 3 hours on my 3rd try at 3am. No I am not joking. I used a slosher. I currently have 9 lockers yet to open, so if anything important comes up, I will update.

I couldn't help but notice the parallels right at the beginning, freeing Marina from Order's control. I went neuron activation, VANESSA.

But then they started talking more about Octo Expansion lore, which made me get all giddy, because 14 y/o me had the biggest fascination with the Sanitized Octolings, and how Commander Tartar built up his scheme to the point we encounter him.

They referred something or other about the color chips/pallettes as "souls" which caught my attention. They're like broken soul pieces? Alright. We already know a comically large kitchen utensil blends octopuses into life goop. What exactly happens to the ones that look like this?

Why are you green?

Marina's logs read:

So okay. I, personally, despise Molten MCI. I think it takes away of a ton of character's individuality, and makes more things confusing, all to explain some old man's rambling in a non-canon ending.

It works for Splatoon's case, because we already had no information about any of the octolings before Sanitization. (Aside from Acht.) We didn’t have time to make that up for ourselves, because we never knew about any of this beforehand, like how we filled in the gaps with underwritten characters for fnaf.

However I'll keep reading and see what else can line up here.

This is leaning into TFC territory. So for less Splatoon knowledgeable readers, Marina is trying to take, essentially what is the Freddy amalgam in TFC, and trying to deconstruct it with each animatronic having everything from their respective endoskeletons. That's best way I can explain it. (For a reader more knowledgeable with Steven Universe, she's trying to fix the forced fusions like Yellow.)

Except the difference here is that the products of Kamabo are, well, orderly, and not animalistic.

The logs that sold it for me:

So in fnaf speak: From a Molten MCI perspective, (blech,) melting down the infused metal, transferring it into data, and putting that data gloop into playable avatars in an arcade game where they can choose the bits of remnant that belong to them, putting themselves back together.

However, with my neuron activation Order=Mimic, that would mean Mimic MCI, but WAIT COME BACK. IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE.

I have yet to get the rest of the lore bits, but as far as I know, Order, (I'm not calling him Smollusk,) is an AI with the generalized ideals Kamabo has programming into the Sanitized Octolings. (I swear he's just leftovers of Tartar. I know it in my heart.) Mimic copies everything it sees, and learns incredibly fast. It learned the tragedies and rumors of Fazbear Ent, and according to Tiger Rock, he's running most of the Pizza Plex, which makes profits of said tragedies he's learned. Did Mimic orchestrate everything? No. He probably has no understanding of anything he's doing, he just does it because that's all he knows. The company started it.

Basically,

Kamabo Co.= Sleazy NewGen Fazbear Ent.

Order=Mimic.

How ever this ends, I'm using as evidence for how I predict the SteelWool plot to resolve/hj

Conc1usion: Marina and Henry should meet up. Well maybe not, if Marina wants permanent results.

I find it telling that with a plot so similar to a Fnaf theory that I hate, I actually really like this idea. And I think it's because it's not Fnaf. It's almost the exact same concept, but it makes much more sense and flows better in Splatoon's world. Probably because it was intentionally written that way, and is supposed to be shamelessly absurd and scifi. I like that I'm able to enjoy a concept I hate.

Analogy: Chocolate is good. I like when a pre existing food item I enjoy has an added chocolate exterior. Like strawberries. Sometimes, there are instances where that is not the case, like bacon. It exsists, and you either love it or hate it. I like both base consumables, and I like the additive, but it works better for one than the other.

Literal speak: I like the scifi horror concept of brainwashing with the actual person person being trapped or lost in a specific state, while their body is just another puppet for the main antagonist, and it takes some Cyber Chase shenanigans to free everyone. That's a rad concept. I just like it better when it's applied to a world that is planned for that kind of take, rather than to a world I already enjoyed, but scrambled to cut itself to fit that shape because it almost fit. It works better for a wacky scifi dystopia, not a campy paranormal horror.

Conclu2ion: Some things are best left for other stories.

Oh and both franchises have a known history of bangin soundtrack.

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #side order #splatoon side order #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf theory #i might make a video on this 🤔#masq squinks

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eleni-cherie · 1 year

Text

a thief's end ✨ || bts • myg - chapter 1.1

"so eager to be in a headlock again?"

"only if it's by you."

he thought he was done with the criminal life and ready for some peace and quiet. but his plans collapsed in the form of a strange girl who was in trouble.

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to lovers s2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

"I just realised.. this is my first time in Europe."

Soyeon's random confession made Yoongi perk up from where he was leaning on. Offering her an aknowledging hum.

Both were standing against a stone fence, seperating the pavement from a slope behind them, while waiting for the other two to return with a new car. They knew everyone would be on the lookout for the silver mercedes and besides, the bullet holes in it would draw unwanted attention from locals and police as well. So a new car would be saver.

However, this would usually only take a couple of minutes, so Yoongi began wondering what was taking them so long.

Meanwhile, her eyes caught a waiter at a restaurant down the street walking in and out, greeting random people passing by, some walking their dogs some not, seemingly being acquaintances. It was such an odd but also nice sight. And it made her realise that she was in fact in a different country.

She might've been there already for days, but most time spent locked up in a room so it hadn't really sunk in that she was in fact in Europe. And that for the first time in her life.

She looked curiously around, taking in the different architecture, shining warm under the streetlights and all the noises. Mainly chatter coming from the restaurant and crickets' buzzing.

"You've been here before?" she asked then, tilting her head to Yoongi who had been suspiciously quiet all the time.

Her words interrupted his train of thoughts and he blinked for a moment. "N-no. But we've been in Italy a couple of times over the years.."

She hummed, admiring the scenary again. "Must be nice to travel so much."

"It's nice if you got time to actually enjoy it. But it's also quite exhausting.."

"You sound like an old man!"

Her teasing made him scoff playfully. More giggles errupting from her and he smiled. He liked her like this. Carefree, without worries and fright.

"Wished I travelled as much.." she exhaled then and looked up at the dark sky past the streetlights, "If it hadn't been for this situation right now, I'd have never left Korea."

"It can be exciting. But you'll eventually miss home, sooner or later," he mumbled and glanced at his phone, wondering where the other two had been. And even though he was trying to downplay it, she could sense the heaviness of the topic in his voice.

"You ever miss home?"

He paused, a torn poster catching his attention for a moment when he realised he had never given thought to it all those years. "I.. I don't know," he answered honestly, shoving his phone back into his pockets, "Never had a close bond with my family anyway. Except my mum and.. well.."

"And your uncle?"

His lips curved into a sad smile and he nodded.

They grew silent once again.

Getting tired of standing, Soyeon pushed herself up onto the stone fence in a swift move, taking a seat on it. A breeze brushing past her cheeks from the open space of the hill behind her.

She sensed there was something different about Yoongi that night. Sure, he wasn't always the most talkative one but for some reason he felt so.. distant and aloof. As if he was miles away in his mind.

She sighed, biting her lips in a guilty manner as she suspected knowing the reason for his strange behavior.

"I.. I think I owe you an apology," she slowly began then. Her words causing him to frown.

"Why?"

She huffed, arching an eyebrow at him. "Isn't it obvious? If I had listened to you.." Her gaze fell in shame. "I tried keeping you away from the mess but ironically only dragged you more into it.. and now you even had to come all the way here to Italy to bail me out. So I'm sorry."

Yoongi remained silent, his stoic glance laying on her for a moment more before he shook his head and glanced back at the torn poster of some italian singer. "If someone should apologise it's me.." he quietly said then. The embarrassment of having failed still lingering in his chest like a heavy rock.

Soyeon only looked at him puzzled though, a small 'huh?' leaving her lips. Waiting for him to elaborate.

He dragged a sigh when seeing he had to actually say out loud what he'd tried to suppress these past days. "They got you right in front of my eyes. Twice. Okay? And I couldn't do anything about it." Ruffling his hair in frustration, he turned around to rest his hands on the stone. Staring out at the silent city spreading in front of him when all the stifled emotions crawled back. "Fck. If I was more cautious.. I should've protected you from these guys, but I couldn't. And at the end you were the one protecting me. And that's why.. I'm sorry."

Hearing that made her swallow hard. She never expected him to feel bad or even guilty about that day. Mad and angry at her for acting so foolish? Most certainly. But not guilty.

Slowly she turned her head to the side, seeing his afflicted expression. A deep crease between his brows as he was propping himself on that stone fence. She didn't want him to feel bad about it.

After all, those past days of uncertainty and loneliness, one of the memories that kept her company besides those of her family and friends - who were probably wondering why she wasn't replying to them anymore during her 'vacation' - was the one of the weeks prior. The memory of him and the short time they had spent together.

"Don't be an idiot," she whispered, looking at him with sorrowful eyes. Her hand engulfing his which was placed next to her, "It's not your job to look after me all the time, so don't feel guilty. None of this was your fault. It was mine."

He huffed a breath, glancing at her briefly before redirecting his eyes to the scenary in front of him. Arguing would be pointless, he knew she was just as stubborn. So he dragged a sigh into the night air. "Let's just say it's both our fault then."

She laughed but eventually nodded, accepting the compromise. "Fine." Leaning in closer to him then, she placed a light kiss on his cheek. Observing his expression softening. "Thank you for coming here and helping me. Again."

He gave her a small nod, a shy smile tucking on his lips as he looked away. "Anytime."

Taking his previous position of leaning against the stone fence, he went back to looking out for any sign of Taehyung and Jimin, who were taking way too long. Hearing Soyeon yawning into the palm of her hand then. A sudden tiredness overtaking her and she rested her heavy head on his shoulder. Making him tense for a moment before he smiled to himself. Wrapping his arm around her back, his fingers lying on her waist. Giving it a light squeeze.

"I didn't ask you earlier, but you're okay, right? They.. they didn't hurt you, right?"

She nodded when seeing him glancing down at her with concern in his eyes. And she rolled her eyes. "I'm fine. Great, actually," she ensured him with a grin. Hearing him sigh in relief when another breeze brushed by. And she heaved her head from his shoulder, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek and forcing him to look at her dark irises. His rushing mind calming under her soft touch. And she frowned while staring at his pouty lips. Making him wonder what made her pretty face so upset.

"Why are you endangering yourself for me?" she whispered then, more to herself than to him. Finding his eyes again.

"You know the answer."

Yeah, she remembered. Back on the rooftop when sharing their first kiss. However, she was still dissatisfied with his explanation, adverting her eyes from his again. Unsure of what it was that dissatisfied her so much, finding it both, incredibly sweet and highly irrational. What was she supposed to make out of this? Or him? He kept confusing her all the time, but maybe that was his charm. What laid beyond his cool and mysterious aura, a sweet and caring side. And she felt herself falling more and more for it.

Her lips found his, startling him for a short moment before easening into her. And his fingers curled around her waist as he deepened the kiss, pressing her more against his side when suddenly the loud noise of a roaring engine echoed from down the street. Causing their lips to abrubtly part and he sighed disappointedly. Already knowing who it was.

Brushing a streak of hair off her face, he pecked her lips one more time before taking her hand to help her get off the stone.

And as they walked to the red Fiat that had come to a halt in front of them, ignoring the grins of the guys in the driver and passenger seat, Yoongi could already spot the reason for them taking so long. Three pizza boxes stacked neatly on the backseat when entering and another opened one on Taehyung's lap. The younger guy already munching on a piece of pizza when throwing them an innocent grin.

"Was hungry and thought we could all do some late-night snack."

»»»

Half an hour and four empty pizza boxes later the car parked in an alleyway behind their hide-out. An old fashioned Italian building in the north-east of the city. Having avoided any main streets where they could've come across police.

Everyone was tired and yawning when stumbling inside and climbing up the stairs. Soyeon's hands clutched around the fabric of Yoongi's blazer that he had given her due to her sneazing with the open car windows. It was way too big for her, but she didn't mind as she always preferred oversized clothes. Especially if they smelt as nice as his. And she trotted behind them, following them into the apartment.

Taehyung switching on the lights, ready to hit the couch when suddenly recognising a bunch of people in front of them. All pointing their guns at them. And he rolled his eyes. "Seriously now?"

"Hey!" Jimin pushed Taehyung aside with a huge grin plastered on his face as the other three held up their hands. "Pops! What ya doing here?"

"What I told your friend there," Seokjin grinned, motioning with his chin to Yoongi who was looking unimpressed. "If you guys get back to business, I'll come back as well."

"Really, pops," Taehyung dragged a sigh then, rubbing his eyes, "Your timing's miserable as always."

"Yeah, any other time I'd be happy to see you and your entourage.." Jimin pointed at Jungkook and Skylar who were standing at Seokjin's side, "But it's been a long day and we're dog-tired, so can this wait till tomorrow?"

"Why are you tired?" Yoongi mumbled behind him with a frown, "You literally drank two espressos back to back. You should be awake all night."

Jimin shushed him over his shoulder before grinning at Seokjin again who had ignored their little quarrel. The agent shook his head, laughing under his breath then. "Ya! Don't complain, it was you who purposely led us here after all." He glanced at his younger colleagues then, giving them a nod to which they moved, lowering their guns and instead got their handcuffs out. And Yoongi screwed his eyes shut, throwing his head back.

This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. Getting his friends involved and arrested. And yet, it came as it had to come. Interpol got them again. Even if they had been prepared to sooner or later face Seokjin and his agents again, since they had indeed led them to Florence on purpose, it wasn't supposed to be this early. Catching them unprepared.

Yoongi couldn't help but give Taehyung and Jimin an apologetic look as they got handcuffed by Jungkook and Seokjin, to which they just shook their heads, assuring that it was alright while Skylar put handcuffs on him. Tucking at him lightly.

"Wait," Seokjin told her suddenly and stepped forward. Only now noticing Soyeon who was standing there behind Yoongi. Her short hight letting her go unnoticed among the taller guys.

"And who are you?"

Soyeon blinked, feeling exposed and anxious not knowing what interpol would do with her. "J-Jeon Soyeon."

The agent carefully examined her to figure out if he'd come across her before. Having a sudden light-bulb-moment then. "Are you the one with the stolen necklace?"

The young woman froze, swallowing hard before nodding. Fearing she'd now get arrested as well. However, much to her surprise Seokjin only cocked a brow at her, seemingly puzzled himself he laughed out. "What are you doing here with these dorks?" His brows furrowing then voice lowered. "Did they make you participate in any crime?"

"N-no, no they didn't!" she stuttered, her voice becoming more determined then, "That crazy rich guy kidnapped me and these three here saved me." She gestured to them with a smile.

Seokjin narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, concluding she spoke the truth. And frankly, he wasn't the slightest surprised by them doing something like that. Another reason he had a secret soft spot for these specific thieves, although he'd never admit that for obvious reasons.

Besides, it didn't matter. It didn't change the fact they were wanted criminals.

He turned to Jungkook and Skylar then with an amused expression. "Guess we just found out the answer to our question." Facing Soyeon with a nod again. "We'll take your testimony at the station."

"She won't get in any trouble, right?" Yoongi asked worriedly, glancing at her then at Seokjin. And Soyeon smiled at him in awe. Even with an agent holding him handcuffed and arresting him, he still bothered for her.

Seokjin oy rolled his eyes at the question. Lightly pushing Jimin out of the door, causing him to stumble against Soyeon. "Told you already, she won't."

And the four got escorted out.

»»»

"I'm gonna be honest," Skylar spoke up then after a long time of silence between her and Jungkook. They were sitting in the car, following the transporter with the captives and Seokjin through the narrow streets of Florence when she felt the urge to speak up her mind. "I got mixed feelings right now."

Jungkook, who had nodded off shortly due to the late hour, thinking that Jimin maybe wasn't so wrong in proposing postponing the arrest to the morning, stirred up by her voice. Glancing at her with knitted brows. "Huh, what? Why?"

"Because.. I don't know," the blonde sighed, stopping at a traffic light. "We had put them behind us, didn't we? I, at least, had accepted that with them settling in Taiwan, we wouldn't cross paths ever again. Even inspector Kim had accepted it and went to the research unit. And I was kinda glad we wouldn't have to deal with them anymore..?"

Jungkook hummed, stretching his arms. "Yeah, I get it. I also thought that chapter was closed." A yawn left his lips then. "I mean, what's the point in arresting them if they simply escape again anyway."

"Exactly.."

"But see, it's our job. We wouldn't do it right if we just let them slide."

Skylar's glance fell on the steering wheel. Not able to deny his words and yet, a tiredness overcame her. "You're right, I guess.."

"Hey, Sky, look at me," he said softly and her eyes slowly wandered to him. Seeing him grin boyishly. "You're the team leader now, don't forget that. Even if they escape again, it's up to you to make it as hard as possible for them to do so."

And the younger agent couldn't help but smile at this.

He always found a way to encourage and assure her whenever she doubted herself or the job. And she loved that about him, his never-ending enthusiasm.

She leaned over towards him then, placing a quick kiss on his cheek before the light turned back green. Quickly sitting back, she drove off. Ignoring Jungkook's astonished expression that was soon replaced by a mischievious smirk.

"During work? Thought that was frowned upon," he said, stifling a chuckle.

Skylar simply shrugged, smirking. "There's no one here to see us though."

The older guy sighed and leaned back with a chuckle. "Sky, Sky, Sky, since when are you so loosey-goosey? Did I finally get through to you?"

Peeking at him, a fond smile tucked on her lips as she turned into the street of the interpol branch office. "Maybe you did rub off on me a little bit over the years."

They arrived at the station. Assisting Seokjin in leading the thieves inside.

The loud noise of a phone ringing suddenly being heard. Making everyone look around when Jimin glanced at Soyeon over his shoulder, winking. "You should maybe pick up that call," he said with a lopsided smirk, before getting nudged further down the corridor.

Soyeon's eyes widened and she looked down. Realising the ringing was indeed coming from her. She patted over the blazer until coming across a cellphone in the pocket. Wondering if it had been there all along. "H-hello?"

"Jimin, whe- Who are you?" An upset sounding female voice answered on the other line. Soyeon blinked confused and lowered the phone to actually read the caller ID. 'Bella-baby'.

Her brows rose. This was Jimin's phone. When did he-?

She quickly turned away, continuing in a more hushed tone. "He's in a situation right now.. I'm Soyeon."

"Oh.. let me guess, they got arrested again?"

"Y-yeah."

"By pops?"

She was about to ask who Arabella meant, when she remembered them calling agent Kim like that. "Y-yeah, by him."

"Oh!" the older girl exclaimed excitedly, "Were Kookie and Skylar also there?"

Soyeok blinked, taken-aback. Not having expected such enthusiasm when talking about the people who arrested her boyfriend and his friends. "Ehm, yeah. Agent Jeon and Blake were also there."

"Aw, just like back in the days!"

Jimin watched her quickly excusing herself and rushing to the restrooms, fearing of any agents eavesdropping. And he smiled to himself, knowing exactly who the caller was when they were led through an office room with several desks. Spotting another two agents at a corner. The gang immediately recognising them from a few years ago.

"Ayy," Jimin laughed out with a wide smile, "I know you guys! Thanks for taking care of those idiots back then."

Hoseok and Namjoon exchanged a glance when seeing the three thieves being brought into the back cells.

"Should I say 'you're welcome'?" Hoseok whispered irritated to Namjoon, to which his colleague only shook his head with a dismissive look.

"It was our job, we didn't do him a favour."

Hoseok nodded in relief, seeing Seokjin coming their way then. "So, apparently our mutual friend Felipe is now also involved in kidnapping," he laughed dryly, shaking his head as he pulled out a chair to take a seat.

Namjoon huffed at this new information, folding his strong arms in front of his chest. "That's quite the progress from mere art smuggling."

"And enough to hold something against him in exchange for info," Hoseok mumbled, "At least I hope so. He's currently our only potential source to getting closer to his business partners."

While the art smuggling part of Felipe Rossi's business fell under Seokjin, Skylar and Jungkook's department, the organised crime part fell under Hoseok's. And some specific parts of his business partners' crimes fell under Namjoon's special victims department. Resulting in the two partnering up with the robbery department again just like a few years ago.

"You think he'll sing though?" Seokjin wasn't fully convinced, doubting the plan would work out this easily. "According to the rumours that Morita isn't to be trifled with. Perhaps he'll prefer going to prison than snitching on him."

"Perhaps, but it's worth a try."

»»»

next chapter: 1.2 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡

It motivates me to keep writing :)

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