#It may be the bar scene in Top Gun to you but it’s the Hard Deck to me and I have a weekly appointment there thank you very much

[callsignmagnolia]

Perhaps one of the most awkward things about being shoulder deep in a fandom but pretending to be a well adjusted adult is when you are chatting with someone and they bring up a specific scene from said fandom and you refer to aspects of said scene with hyper detail that no one who hasn’t been consuming mass amounts of fanfic would ever say.

[andy-15-07]

Whiskey Kisses

PAIRING: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1489 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

REQUEST: I have a request for danny's imagine book... do you know his character fanboy from top gun? well, I was thinking about it, and may you can write about a girl who is a bartender at the hard deck, and she is always hanging with the aviators as a friend, till fanboy invites her to a night out and she accept (bc he is danny ramirez lmao) and then they have a lovely night together (plsss write a hot scene with them, I need it!!!!!!

You’d worked the bar at the Hard Deck for almost two years, long enough to know exactly how much the aviators could drink before Penny cut them off, and exactly how much flirting they’d try before you rolled your eyes and made them pay double.

Most of the time, you felt like one of them , or at least their collective therapist. You poured them beers, watched them hustle pool, listened to them gripe about training and mission briefs and who had the better call sign.

But one of them? He was different.

Mickey Garcia. Fanboy. Sweet, clever, easy-laughing Fanboy who somehow managed to sneak past every wall you’d built between you and the cocky flyboys. He’d lean over the bar just to ask how your day was, grin at you like he knew some secret, and slip you a tip big enough to make Penny raise an eyebrow every time.

Tonight, the Hard Deck was buzzing. Rooster and Hangman were squaring off at the piano. Phoenix was calling out Hangman’s bullshit. And Fanboy? He was at his usual stool, right at the corner where you couldn’t help but bump into him.

You slid him a fresh beer without him asking. “Your tab’s getting dangerous,” you warned.

Fanboy lifted his glass in salute. “Good thing I’m not scared of danger.”

You huffed a laugh and leaned closer, your elbows on the sticky bar top. “You’re not nearly as smooth as you think, Garcia.”

He smiled , that crooked grin that made your belly warm every time you saw it. “Wanna bet?”

You rolled your eyes but your smile gave you away. Before you could retort, a new wave of rowdy pilots demanded your attention. When you turned back, Fanboy was gone , but when the crowd thinned, you found him waiting at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, a little softer this time.

You wiped your hands on a rag. “Hey, yourself. Another round?”

He shook his head. “Actually… I was gonna ask. You ever get a night off?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Rarely. Why?”

Fanboy leaned in, close enough that you caught a whiff of his cologne , clean and warm, with a hint of sweat from the California heat. “I got two tickets to that shitty dive bar downtown. Live band, cheap whiskey. Come with me?”

You blinked. You knew the place , tiny stage, sticky floors, local bands screaming their hearts out. It wasn’t exactly romantic. But the way he was looking at you, hopeful and nervous at the same time…

You pretended to consider. “If I say no, you’ll just keep tipping me fifty bucks a drink until I say yes, huh?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

You tossed the rag over your shoulder. “Fine, Garcia. Pick me up after close. And you’re buying.”

His grin was worth every smart-ass comment you’d get from the rest of the squad for the next month.

By the time you closed up, your feet were killing you, your hair smelled like spilled beer, and you were absolutely sure this was a terrible idea. But when you stepped outside and saw Fanboy leaning against his beat-up car, the driver’s door open for you, your nerves melted.

“You ready?” he asked.

You shot him a look. “You sure you can handle me outside the bar?”

He didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

The dive bar was exactly as shitty as you’d expected. Neon lights flickering half out. A two-man band screaming covers into busted mics. But the whiskey was cheap, the dance floor sticky, and Fanboy’s arm fit perfectly around your waist as he pulled you through the crowd.

One drink turned into two. Then four. Then you were laughing too loud, pressed against him in the back corner booth, your legs draped over his lap while he traced circles on your knee.

“I like this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” you teased, swirling your straw through the last inch of whiskey.

Fanboy’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “All mine.”

Your heart stuttered. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was him, maybe it was both. But you didn’t think , you just grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss that tasted like cheap booze and everything you’d wanted for months.

You barely made it back to his car before you were on him again , hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed you up against the door. You laughed against his mouth when he fumbled for the handle.

“Keys, Mickey,”

“Fuck the keys,” he growled, and his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make your knees buckle.

Somehow, you made it to his place , a tiny, half-unpacked rental near the base. You didn’t bother turning on the lights. He kicked the door shut behind you, lips never leaving yours as he stumbled you backward until your knees hit the bed.

You landed with a soft thud, grinning up at him. “You’re pushy tonight.”

Fanboy knelt between your thighs, fingers tugging at your waistband. “I’ve been waiting for this since the first time you poured me a beer,” he admitted.

You lifted your hips to help him, your jeans hitting the floor a second later. “And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

He leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, lower. “All of you,” he murmured against your skin. “Want all of you, baby.”

Your breath caught when his mouth found your chest , teeth and tongue working under your shirt until you were gasping, your back arching off the bed. His hands mapped every inch of you, rough and eager and so fucking sweet it made your eyes sting.

You tugged at his shirt until he peeled it off, tossing it somewhere you’d never find it again. His skin was warm under your palms, taut muscle shifting as he kissed you breathless.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You bit your lip, shameless under his hungry gaze. “Want you to fuck me, Fanboy.”

His groan was low, wrecked. “Say it again.”

“Mickey,” you gasped when his fingers slipped under your panties, brushing over your slick heat. “Fuck,want you to fuck me, please,”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Good girl.”

Then he was sliding your panties down, tossing them behind him, and lowering his mouth between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue had your hips jerking, a sharp cry breaking free when he sucked at that perfect spot, his hands pinning you down like he’d been dreaming about this for months.

You were close embarrassingly fast , heat coiling in your belly, your fingers buried in his hair, tugging as you rocked against his mouth. He moaned like he loved it, like he couldn’t get enough of how you tasted, how you squirmed.

When you came, you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your cry. Fanboy pulled back just enough to look at you , his lips glistening, pupils blown wide.

“Don’t you dare hide that from me,” he rasped.

You barely caught your breath before he was kissing you again, the taste of you on his tongue as he worked his jeans open, shoving them down just enough. When he pressed against you, hard and hot, you wrapped your legs around him and tugged him closer.

“Mickey,”

“Got you, baby,” he promised, forehead pressed to yours. “I got you.”

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, until you were full, gasping his name into the crook of his neck. He didn’t move right away, just rocked his hips enough to make you whine, his breath shuddering against your ear.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “So fucking good,”

“Then move,” you begged, nails digging into his back. “Please,”

He did , slow at first, savoring every roll of your hips, every stuttered moan you gave him. Then faster, harder, until the bed creaked under you and you were both gasping, cursing, clinging to each other like you’d drown if you let go.

When you came again, it was with your name on his lips, his mouth pressed to yours to swallow your cries. He followed a heartbeat later, hips stuttering, your name spilling out like a prayer.

After, you lay tangled together in the dark, the only sound your breath and the faint hum of cars on the street outside. Fanboy traced circles on your bare hip, his lashes brushing your collarbone when he blinked.

“You good?” he murmured.

You huffed a tired laugh. “You’re dangerous, Garcia.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Good thing you’re not scared of danger.”

You smacked his shoulder , then kissed him again, slow and soft this time.

Last call had never felt so good.

[randomtacoscry]

what do you see in icemav?

Shit- why's this low-key a hard question? Like, I see A LOT in icemav but it sort of depends on like what lens I'm viewing it in.

Like, in terms of in what ways do I see them as romantic- there's quite a few. Film-wise, story-wise: I feel like when you make two halfs of a whole you can go about that with different dynamics - romantic, platonic, familial, etc. The reason I think it's romantic though is because there's the other aspects of their beings also being polar opposites: their hair/eye color, their heights, their flying style, their childhoods... there's a lot that makes it more romantic to find these differences in them and still understand that they care and respect one another. I mean, if they didn't, they wouldn't view the other as the only reasonable competition within Top Gun. Also, they begin the film as acquaintance-rivals only to end it as trusting the other with something they have never fully trusted anyone else with- their lives (and the lives of their RIOs). They've seen past their differences to understand that their values either align or are worth more to one another than before- hence: romantic (albeit that is not always the case). Furthermore, the way the film is shot is with a homoerotic tone. The volleyball scene, the bar scene, the shower room scene. All of these either have almost no skin covered, longing looks, flirtatious banter, or/and an isolating moment between Iceman and Maverick. Not to even mention the ridiculous amount of staring that goes on between the two of them throughout the duration of the movie. Also, much of the movie, during that time, was meant to mock the homoerotic nature of Navy camaraderie, which means it isn't far fetched to notice Maverick's sexual tension with more than one character who isn't Charlie. Iceman is just the most obvious, and I feel their poetic contrast makes them a better fit as a couple, which is why I ship them. Another note is Iceman apologizing to Mav in the locker room. It's an intimate scene that they share with only each other and, well, Hollywood (I believe) is around the corner. While his hiding is to ultimately call Charlie, the moment resembles two pilots being eavesdropped on by another- a snitch as told by the scene. This can easily signify the intimacy and depth of Ice and Mav's relationship as it is something to be kept secret- if someone hears, they may snitch on the two of them. While this may be a reach of sorts, I can't help but think the scene reflects a sort of invasion of privacy for an intimate, meaningful moment shared by two Navy men (in a locker room may I add) that the eavesdropper feels the need to report/share to a higher up.

In the terms of how I view their relationship; i.e. what I see within the ship itself- I see a lot of layers to Icemav, which is one of the main reasons I ship them (I ship Mystrade too so it doesn't always have to be for great reasons). Their poetic nature is one of the main reasons: Maverick being an orphan, working his way into the Navy, reckless in the air, fiery demeanor, and a sun-coded character whereas Iceman being the son of an admiral/commander, has nepotism and the expectation of the Navy, rule-follower in the air, cool/calm demeanor, and is a moon-coded character. They compliment each other in the best ways and work well with one another in their air because their skills align with each others perfectly. BUT, ship-wise I think their dynamic is super great because there's a lot to work with. As an angst fan, Ice's expectations oftentimes make him hide a part of himself- one that Mav is likely more chill with because of his reckless nature. This leads to them having to choose one another or their careers- or figure out how to live with both in the time in which they exist- or, the most tragic, having to end things because they both can't have what they want. Hypothetically, Ice won't choose Mav because Mav needs the Navy, and Mav can't choose between Ice and the Navy because that means leaving his best friend behind in a way. Ice doesn't want him to choose- he loves Mav too much to force him to so he'd probably choose for Mav- he'd leave. Other than the angsty will they-won't they aspects of their relationship, they have many other good dynamics. In TGM, it is shown that they both are close with Bradley ("the kid," Mav/Bradley fighting when Ice's death is announced referencing close attachments on both sides, Ice knowing Mav is the only one who can teach Bradley, Icemav's conversation about Bradley in Ice's office) which is great on a relationship level. Bradley is seen as the kid Icemav "never" had. They have a severed relationship but Icemav has a united front against Bradley (parent-vibes just saying). This adopted-kid trope is honestly one of my favs and adds so much relatability and domesticity to the Icemav ship- and it's totally feasible which is crazy. Carole died before Bradley could apply for the Navy, which means Bradley (who'd have signed up at 17-18 bc that's always been his dream) would need a parental guardian to care for him while he's a minor. Guess who Bradley's godfather is??? Maverick. So I would say that Mav raised Bradley during his later teen years and Ice referencing Bradley as "the kid" leads me to believe he played a part in Bradley's childhood alongside Mav. ALSO, Icemav's angst traumatizing Bradley would be another great reason for him to have some resentment against his pseudo-fathers. Overall, I do think Icemav is a great ship for the several layers it does have based on canon dynamic, time period, occupation- these all give great material for this couple. A few tags that this ship can easily use are: forbidden romance, rivals-to-lovers, enemies-to-lovers, right person wrong time, 1980s, idiots in love, shares a kid, friends-to-lovers, enemies-with-benefits, bittersweet ending, unhappy ending, main character death (sorry that was mean).

ALL IN ALL: I see a lot in Icemav and I think that's why they've kind of taken over my mind the past year and a half. They're the first ship I've ever actually attempted a long-fic for and I think that's for a reason. Also, I truly think it sucks that we get to see so little of their lives with one another (actually real homophobic writers would probably ruin it so instead I wanna fill in the blanks myself) but it does also give us the freedom to create a lovely, tragic answer for the missing 30 years in the timeline- which is some great material.

TLDR; On a film/story basis, several directional and artistic choices from the actors implies homoerotic dynamics and they would not have added so many lingering looks if they weren't at least a little gay. From a ship basis, Icemav has a lot to work with like their rivals-to-lovers dynamic, relationship with Bradley, and tragically implied last-minute relationships with women in TGM.

[acewritesfics]

Keep Them | Robert “BOB” Flyod

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Flyod x Reader

Request: From Anon

Warnings: Using prompt: “Keep it/them. It/they look better on you.”. Fluff

Word Count: 555

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Y/N is sitting at one of the tables at the Hard Deck with Bob as his fellow naval aviators are crowded around the pool table. The jukebox plays a familiar song she couldn’t quite remember the name of, softly in the background. An almost empty beer bottle is in her hand. She has no interest in finishing it.   

“Do you want to ditch them and go get a pizza with me?” she turns to Bob, who’s eyes are wide with shock while his cheeks tinge red.   

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, clearly nervous and unsure.   

“Of course! It’ll be a lot more fun than this,” she smiles. “This isn’t really my scene if I’m being honest.”  

“I get it. It’s not really mine either,” Bob agrees, feeling his crush on the woman next to him growing.  

Bob and Y/N had met through Natasha a week ago. The two women have been friends from elementary school and still managed to keep in touch when their career paths took them in two different directions. Y/N lived in Los Angeles so when Natasha told her she was currently stationed in California, Y/N took a couple weeks off work to come and see her in San Diego.   

Y/N found herself getting along with all the Top Gun crew but there is something about Bob that had her drawn to him. She’d been hoping he would make the first move. After getting to know how more she realized that she just might have to be the one who makes the first move.  

“So, what do you say?” she asks him. “Do you want to come with me?”  

He nods his head in reply. They stand up from the table and leave the bar.  

-

“This pizza is so good,” Y/N groans in satisfaction after finishes her slice of pizza. She was now enjoying her time even more with Bob. Now that it was just the two of them, Bob doesn’t seem as shy and quiet as he is when he’s in a group full of people. She turns to him, “I have a weird question.”  

“I may have a weird answer,” he replies letting her know that she can continue.   

“Can I try on your glasses?” she asks, a hopeful look in her eyes.  

Bob pretended to think about it but seeing the look on her face. “Of course,” he finally speaks before taking them off and handing them to her.  

She takes them puts them on, a large grin on her face as she poses with them on. “What do you think? Do you think I should get me some?”  

“Keep them. They look better on you,” Bob manages to stutter out, his cheeks burning red.  

“But how would you be able to see me?” she questions him jokingly. “Unless you don’t want to see me?”  

“Of course, I want to see you,” he says quickly. “You’re so beautiful.”  

Surprised, she takes off his glasses and puts them back on him for him. “You think I’m beautiful?”  

He gulps, his nerves returning as he nods his head. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”  

“Can I kiss you?”   

Unable to find his words he nods and leans in as she begins to.   

Smiling, she gently presses her lips to his in a soft and sweet kiss.  

[roosterforme]

Midnight Confessions | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's getting harder and harder for Bradley to hide his feelings for you, especially when you offer to drive him home on his birthday. Before he knows it, he's drunk in your passenger seat, confessing everything he's kept to himself. He may not remember all of it in the morning, but you certainly do. 

Warnings: Fluff, drinking and swearing

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Hey, Midnight!" Phoenix called across the bar as she grinned up at Bradley. "Can you come here?" Bradley watched you turn away from Omaha and head in his direction with a smile on your face and a beer in your hand.

"What are you doing, Nat?" Bradley muttered to his friend, trying not to stare at you as you walked over to him. The last thing Bradley wanted was to get a little bit of attention from you now just to have to watch you and Omaha laughing together all night. 

"I'm giving you exactly what you want for your birthday," Nat replied with a devilish smirk. 

"Please don't," Bradley groaned, but you were already there, in his personal space. "Midnight," he said with a nod in your direction.

"Happy Birthday, Rooster," you whispered with a laugh, kissing his cheek so quickly he thought he had imagined it. "Next drink is on me." He swallowed hard, swirling the ice from his whiskey and Coke around in his glass. "Looks like I was just in time," you said, plucking the glass from his hand and heading for the bar.

"You're cruel," Bradley told Phoenix as soon as you were going. "You're evil, and I wish I never told you I have a thing for Midnight."

Nat rolled her eyes so hard Bradley was honestly afraid she wouldn't be able to see as well to fly ever again. "You think you're a locked box or something? You're transparent to me, Bradshaw. Literally an open book. As soon as Midnight showed up at Top Gun, I had your number. She's cute, she's smart, and she flies exactly like you do."

He watched you at the bar, and of course fucking Omaha was right there with you once again, his hand resting on your lower back. "I fucking hate him."

Nat snorted. "Omaha? You never used to have an issue with him before," she said, eyeing Bradley with an amused look. 

"He's annoying," Bradley said lamely. "And he's got nothing going for him except for that jawline." 

"Hmm," Nat hummed, shaking her head and scrutinizing him. "He's got pretty eyes too. And nice teeth. And his hair is actually similar to yours."

Bradley grunted and tried to ignore the scene at the bar while he picked up some darts. It was his birthday. He should be having a good time. He sighed and threw three darts in a row before Hangman joined him. And then he remembered why he never played darts when Jake hit three bullseyes in a row.

"Happy birthday," Hangman drawled with a lazy grin.

Bradley was saved from having to respond when you placed your hand on his forearm and handed him a fresh drink.

"Thanks," he told you, taking the opportunity to look at your face for a few seconds longer than he normally would. Big mistake. You got his heart rate going and made him feel speechless, and you weren't even doing anything. 

"So, what does the birthday boy have planned for the rest of the night?" you asked, staying with him even though Omaha was hanging around. 

"Oh, probably just getting blackout drunk and trying to forget that I have feelings," he replied casually, taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah, I've tried that," you responded just as casually. "It doesn't work."

"Shit," he replied with a laugh.

"Yeah," you said, leaning in a little closer. "But I have a better idea."

Bradley shook his head and grinned. "No. Don't you remember? Penny said she'd kick us out if we played strip pool again."

You started laughing, and the sound of it this close up made him feel a little smug. Take that, Omaha.

"I swear, all it took was getting Bob to take his shirt off, and Penny looked like she was going to murder us," you said, still laughing brightly as you took him by the hand. "But we can play regular pool, if you want."

Bradley would have followed you anywhere. And then you were lacing your fingers with his, just so briefly, before letting go of him to grab two pool cues. And Bradley ended up playing with you as his partner while his friends handed him drink after drink. You were pretty good at pool, but he was better, and the two of you were unbeatable. Plus, this gave Bradley an excellent opportunity to stand very close to you and whisper in your ear. 

"Nah," he whispered as you bent down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before he pulled back a little. He thought he heard you sigh as he said, "Go for the corner pocket with the nine ball."

"Okay," you agreed, and Bradley got to watch you beat Omaha and Hangman. And that was really all the birthday present he needed tonight. But then you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Smoked those losers!" you said loudly, and this time you had Bradley laughing. Then his hand settled around your waist, and as soon as he felt your denim jeans against his fingers, he had to back up a step. You just smiled and turned to re rack the balls.

Bradley didn't notice it at first, but after another two hours, he was definitely drunk. 

"Give me your keys," Nat told him around eleven o'clock as she held out her hand. 

Bradley had to lean against the pool table while he dug around in his pocket to get his keyring out. He watched with unfocused eyes as she removed his Bronco key and handed him the remaining house key on the keychain that said I'M SO FLY.

"How am I gonna get home?" he asked Nat, leaning in a little closer to try to focus. "Nat, I'm too fucked up to even use a ride app."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "Midnight offered to drive you."

"No!" he groaned. "Nat. You can't do this to me."

"Happy birthday," she crooned, disappearing off into the crowd with his key, leaving him holding a pool cue as you approached him again.

"Why don't you finish your drink, and I'll drive you home?" you asked with a smile so pretty on your lips, he was just dying to kiss you.

He realized he was staring at you now, but he couldn't figure out how to control his body and turn away. Riding in your car with you right now was going to be a disaster. He just fucking knew it. And now he was still staring at you as your smile grew. He would do anything to be able to look away, but now you were giggling, and my god, Bradley just loved that sound. But he tried so hard to look away until you bit your lip and reached out to touch his forearm again, and then he knew he wasn't going to be able to look away from your face ever again no matter what.

"Fuck," he grunted, wondering who had let him drink this much.

You were rubbing your fingers along his arm, and Bradley's brain helpfully informed him that he could have a boner right now, no problem.

"Fuck," he repeated. But you were still smiling. 

"You are so drunk right now," you said softly, shaking your head. "Your cheeks are beat red. You look adorable."

"You're adorable," he whispered, and your laugh was loud and bright. 

"Okay, you just finish this, and I'll take you home whenever you want, birthday boy." You picked his drink up off the table and he took it from you before you turned away.

Oh. You had thought he was joking when he called you adorable. That was good, because he hadn't meant to say anything like that at all. Not out loud. He was going to have to hold his own damn mouth shut in your car. 

He had no idea how long he had been standing there with his glass in his hand, but he was watching you talking to Omaha. Fuck that guy, for real. But he looked annoyed right now. Bradley liked that expression on Omaha's face. He also vaguely thought nobody should ever be looking at you with annoyance, because you were perfect. 

Bradley took a few steps so he was closer to you, because he was drunk, and going home sounded like a good idea. Then he heard Omaha.

"What do you mean you're taking Rooster home? Like you're taking him to your house?"

You replied right away, and your voice sounded crisp. "He's drunk. It's his birthday. I offered to drive him home. To his house. You need to relax."

Bradley liked that tone of your voice when you were talking to Omaha. Especially when your eyes and voice softened as Bradley made his way over to you. "I'm ready to go, Midnight," he said, and you took his hand right away. Bradley shot Omaha a smug smile and saluted him like a real asshole, even though he knew nothing would ever happen with you. But the look he received from Omaha combined with his middle finger in the air had Bradley laughing. 

"Did you have a fun night?" you asked, slipping your arm around Bradley's waist to help him walk. He probably looked like an idiot right now, but he didn't care. 

"Yep," he replied. "Thanks for playing pool with me. And thanks for the drinks."

"Oh, it's no problem," you said. "I know you'll pay me back on my birthday."

Bradley draped his arm around your shoulders even though he firmly told himself not to. "I'll buy all your drinks on your birthday. All that microbrewed shit you like."

You laughed as you led him to your car and unlocked it. "Just get in, birthday boy."

"It's not my birthday anymore," he whispered. "It's midnight." And then he laughed and added, "Well, you're Midnight, actually." He groaned and ducked down into your car when you opened the passenger side door for him. "Just ignore me."

You leaned in and helped him get his seatbelt on. "Now that would be impossible, Rooster."

Your face was close to his, and you weren't moving. Why weren't you moving? You weren't drunk. You'd had one beer, hours ago. You should be moving away from him. "You okay?" you finally asked, patting his chest where the seatbelt crossed him. 

"I like your face," Bradley told you, and then he wanted to disappear into thin air more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

"Thanks," you whispered with a smile. "That's sweet. I'll take you home now, okay?"

Bradley just nodded and cradled his face in his hands as you shut the door and walked around your car. When you closed your door and started the engine, he dared to glance at you before turning to look straight ahead. He would be home soon. And he could climb in bed and this would all be over.

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

Bradley was drunk. You'd never seen his cheeks so rosy or heard his voice so raspy before. It was a cute look on him, even though he seemed pretty far gone. But teasing him a little bit was always fun, because you knew nothing would ever happen.

"I like your face, too," you told him as you backed out of the parking space. "It's a very nice one. Handsome."

Bradley groaned and gaped at you. "What the fuck, Midnight?"

"What?" you asked, glancing at him before you pulled out onto the street. "You're handsome. All you guys are."

"Fucking Omaha," Bradley muttered, and you laughed as he cross his arms. 

"You don't like Omaha?"

Bradley scoffed. "Lieutenant Jawline? He can fuck right off."

You were now howling with laughter as you tried to make a left turn. "What does that make you then? Lieutenant Mustache?"

Bradley chuckled and tilted his head back. "I guess so. But that would make you Lieutenant Sexy Laugh and Beautiful Face."

You gasped and glanced at him as your belly swooped. He was flirting with you. But he was drunk. "That's too long to fit on my name tag."

"Baby, you're so perfect, you deserve two name tags. Maybe even three," he mumbled. "Maybe even a hundred name tags. I can think of a hundred different things I like about you."

You swallowed hard as you turned onto his street. After you had driven two blocks in a daze, you asked, "What's your house number?" You couldn't remember. You were having a hard time remembering anything. Because Bradley Bradshaw could think of a hundred different things he liked about you.

"I dunno," he groaned, pushing his fingers through his hair. "I can't remember anything except that time you wore shorts when we went to the beach and your bikini top was pink, and Nat made fun of me for being too embarrassed to tell you I think you're pretty."

You laughed softly as Bradley's eyes opened wide. "You are so drunk, Rooster! I can't believe we got you this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," he muttered, turning in his seat to look at you as the light turned green.

"You don't even remember your house number!" you said, driving slowly down the street 

"I think it has an eight in it."

You laughed and pulled over, turning to look at him. "Rooster, what am I supposed to do with you?"

His eyes were soft as he lazily searched your face. "I can think of a few things. They all involve your lips."

You were the one gaping now. His eyes were unfocused, and no matter how badly you wanted to feel his mustache against your skin, you kept yourself a few feet away from him. When he leaned in, you brushed your fingers through his hair to keep him from getting closer. "Rooster," you whispered as he melted into your touch. "Do you want me to just take you to my place?"

His eyes bugged out, and he started to stutter. "Shit, I, well... Midnight, I-I..."

You let yourself stroke your fingers through his hair for a few more seconds before you eased him back against the seat and pulled back away from the curb. "You can sleep it off at my place, and I'll take you back for your Bronco in the morning."

"Sleep? At your place? Of all the things I have imagined doing there, sleep was not one of them."

He was very clearly a mess at the moment, but you couldn't help yourself. "Oh really? What have you imagined?"

He groaned loudly, closing his eyes and rubbing his palms along his face. "Imagined kissing you after I took you out to dinner. Kissing you on your couch and in your bed. Imagined how good you must taste."

Then he was quiet. You thought he must have fallen asleep. And as you pulled up to park in front of your apartment, you couldn't believe you'd gone out on a date with Omaha and let Omaha kiss you when there might have been even the slightest possibility that Rooster wanted to do those things. 

He was breathing softly now, his head resting on the window. When you got out and opened the passenger door slowly, he jolted awake and tried to climb out with the seatbelt still on him. You tried not to laugh, but it was just too funny. 

"Sit back, Rooster," you whispered, and you leaned across his big, warm body to unbuckle him. Then you took him by the hand and laced your fingers with his. You loved the way his hands felt, so big and secure. 

"That feels so nice," he murmured, pulling your hand against him. "Where are we going?"

He was trying to lead you away from your building, and you had to keep pulling him along with you. "Come this way, Rooster."

"Okay, baby. Whatever you want."

You just shook your head as you unlocked your building with his big body looming behind you. "I'm taking you to my apartment. You'll be fine, okay?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, and you wrapped your arm around him to get him inside. He stumbled down the hallway to your door, and once he was inside, you took his hand again. 

"Here's my bathroom," you said, turning on the light and leading him in. You dug around in one of the drawers and found an extra toothbrush. "You can use this. And the bedroom is next door."

"Thanks," he whispered, bending down to kiss you cheek softly. "Love you." You stood there stunned as Bradley turned toward your toilet and started to unzip his jeans. 

Then you quickly darted out of the bathroom and closed the door. You were stuck somewhere between laughing and dying from shock. This is not what you had signed up for when you agreed to drive him home! But maybe it was even better. Or maybe it was a lot worse, and he didn't really feel this way at all.  

When you heard the toilet flush, you headed to the kitchen and filled two glasses with water. You'd let him sleep in your bed and you'd crash on the couch. You were pretty sure he wouldn't even fit on the couch anyway. The couch he told you he had imagined kissing you on.

What was going on here? 

The bathroom door opened, and you heard him say, "Midnight? I'm getting in bed."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh as you carried the waters into your bedroom. "I think you should drink this." He was wearing nothing except his boxer shorts, and your jaw dropped open. Because he was stunning. Big and muscular and fucking hot. "Water," you muttered, handing him a glass. 

He downed the whole thing in one big gulp, and then he set the glass down, swaying on his feet. "I think I need to sleep."

You nodded at him, and he was reaching for your hand, and you had no idea what to do. "What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, but he was scooping you up into his arms.

"Sleep," he muttered. 

"With me?" you gasped.

"Yep."

And a moment later, Bradley was behind you with his big arms wrapped around you, and he was sound asleep. 

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

Before he even cracked his eyes open, Bradley knew he had a headache. So he just burrowed further into the soft, sweet smelling blanket. He knew this smell. It was familiar and comforting. When he gathered the blanket up and buried his nose in it, he realized it smelled like you.

His eyes were open then, even though his head was pounding. He had never been in the room before. But he was sure it was yours. And the spot in bed next to him was still warm. 

"Oh no. Oh no," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "What did you do?" Suddenly it was hard to breathe. He was in his underwear. In your bed. Hungover. Yesterday was his birthday. How did he even get here? He could remember playing pool with you at the Hard Deck, and then Nat took his key away. And... oh shit, he got in your car.

He was stumbling out of bed, looking for his clothing. He found his jeans and shirt neatly folded up on your desk chair. As quickly as he could, he pulled everything on and headed down the hallway.

You were in the kitchen, wearing shorts and a tank top, brewing coffee. You were perfect. Holy shit, you were everything. And he had already fucked this up.  

"Midnight?" His voice was rough and raw, and when you turned to look at him with a gorgeous smile on your face, he thought he was going to throw up. 

"Morning, Rooster. Sleep well?" you asked with a smirk. Bradley couldn't formulate solid thoughts. You were handing him a cup of coffee. You weren't wearing a bra. He had been in your bed with you, and he couldn't remember anything that happened.

"Did we hookup?" he blurted loudly, and you froze with the coffee mug in your hand. "Oh, shit, Midnight. Please tell me we didn't sleep together."

You no longer looked happy. But you were shaking your head with your eyes locked on his. "No," you whispered. "We didn't do anything."

As relief washed over Bradley, you turned away from him with the mug and looked out your kitchen window. "Thank goodness," he sighed.

"Yeah," you said softly. "That would have been terrible."

"Absolutely," he said, still catching his breath.

But now you didn't seem to want him around at all. "I'll call Nat and see if she can meet us with your key." You kept your back to him as you reached for your phone, and then Bradley closed the distance to you. 

"Hey, Midnight?" he asked, taking your phone from your hand. You glanced at him over your shoulder with annoyance. "Thanks for driving me last night."

"No problem," you replied quietly, avoiding his eyes now. 

"But why did you bring me here?"

You rolled your eyes. "You couldn't even remember your house number, and it was so dark, I couldn't tell which one was yours. Now let me take you back to your car, please?"

But then Bradley remembered telling you he could think of a hundred different things he liked about you. He remembered holding your hand and kissing your cheek. 

You were walking across the kitchen away from him, but he chased you down, lacing his fingers with yours. You only looked slightly surprised. "Did I completely embarrass myself last night?" he asked.

Despite your best efforts, you were smiling at him again. "I thought you were pretty damn endearing, actually." You tried to pull your hand out of his grasp, but he held you tight. 

"I can think of more than just a hundred things I like about you. So many more than that." He pulled you a little closer still. "You let me sleep in your bed with you?"

You sighed. "Don't worry, Rooster. We didn't hook up. We didn't even kiss. You just spooned me and passed out immediately."

Bradley groaned and tipped his head back. "I spooned you? I got to cuddle with you, and I don't even remember it? That's not fair!"

Another smile was dancing along your lips as you nodded. "You're really great at cuddling. Very warm." But then you bit your lip and looked at the floor. "Would it really have been so bad if we did more?"

"Yes!" he nearly shouted, and your startled eyes snapped up to his. "Baby, I want to remember that stuff in vivid detail!" 

You laughed and now Bradley was smiling. And then you kissed him softly, and he thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest. "You said some crazy stuff last night while you were drunk," you whispered, but he kept you close to him.

"I am pretty sure it was all true," he promised you. "But I'd be more than happy to fact check with you."

"You said you like my face."

"That's a fact," he said, nodding. 

"You said you wanted to do things with my lips."

"Oh, yeah. That's definitely a fact."

"You said you imagined taking me out to dinner and kissing me."

"Many times."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you asked, sounding annoyed.  

He kissed you again. "Fucking Omaha, baby. What's that all about?"

"Oh," you said softly. "That is something that is basically nothing. At least on my end of things. And I could happily put a stop to that."

"Like today?" he asked, running his lips along your neck. 

"Like five minutes ago, Rooster."

Then you had your arms around his neck, and Bradley's hands were all over you. Your soft sigh as he kissed your lips had him scooping you up into his arms. "Can I have a do-over? Can we get back in your bed and cuddle?"

"Yes," you whispered as your mouth brushed his neck while your fingers went to his hair. 

This time Bradley kept his clothes on, and when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, he laced his fingers with yours. "I like this. We should do this all the time."

"We will," you promised, and his lips and mustache found your neck as he buried his nose in your hair. "I hope you had a fun birthday."

He needed to remember to thank Nat for being a pain in his ass when he saw her later. "I did. But today is even better."

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

Midnight, you're so lucky, babe! Upgrading from Lieutenant Jawline to Lieutenant Mustache! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for putting up with me.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[lovelybucky1]

Big Mistake- Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Reader

warnings: AFAB reader (description of genitals and some gendered terms), alcohol consumption, (receiving) oral sex, teasing, hangman gets cucked, captain kink, slight angst, 18+ minors dni

masterlist

The Hard Deck is crowded, full of Navy officers and their friends. Amongst this group are the Top Gun pilots, crowded around the pool table, each with a drink in hand.

Rooster is bent over the wooden edge of the table, lining up his stick with the cue ball while Phoenix carefully observes her opponent. Fanboy, Payback, and Bob are involved in a conversation about work, and you and Hangman have been flirting for the past half hour.

Maverick watches the scene from the bar, nursing a beer that has warmed up significantly from his hand being wrapped around it. It’s not the fact that fraternization between team members is technically frowned upon, it’s the fact that Maverick thinks it should be him over there, charming you and making you laugh. 

He knows it’s inappropriate. He’s your captain, your teacher, and he’s far too old for you. You’re young and bright and vibrant, you don’t need to be brought down by someone like him. All logical thought leaves Maverick’s brain whenever he sees you, though. Your smile makes him question why he hasn’t made a move yet, your laugh makes his heart clench like nothing else has in a long time. He wants you, but he can’t have you. He can’t.

Maverick is brought out of his quiet sulking by your voice, now sounding much closer than before.

“Maverick?” you ask again, smiling when his eyes snap to yours after finally hearing you. “You alright?”

Maverick clears his throat before taking a sip of his lukewarm beer. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

He notices that you have two glasses on the bar in front of you. One, your usual drink, and the other, a scotch, neat. Hangman’s drink. Maverick can’t let this go; can’t let you go. It may be unprofessional, but he couldn’t live with the fact that he gave up his chance just for you to end up with the douchier version of his younger self.

You’re just about to pick up the drinks and walk back to the table before Maverick speaks. “I need to talk to you,” he says, a little rushed as if he surprised himself with his words. You frown a bit and put the drinks back down on the bar. You sit beside him on the plush bar stool and wait for him to explain. “You can’t date Seresin.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, trying to comprehend. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you two over there. I can tell that you’re interested in him, but he’s not good for you.”

“What’s wrong with him?” you ask, and you know the irony in asking that because there are a few obvious red flags with the pilot, but you want Maverick to explain himself.

“He’s… a womanizer. He’s slept with every female pilot that’s been through the program since he joined.”

You almost laugh. You never expected Maverick’s to be such a hypocrite. He has a reputation; everyone has heard about his relationship with an official back when he was in Top Gun, and Penny has told you the story of their fleeting affair back in the day.

“Oh,” you say simply, not quite sure how to react. It’s clear he has a motive for not wanting you to be with Hangman, but you’re not sure if it’s for the reason you think.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but I thought it was better to let you know before you found out on your own. You’re a good person, you deserve better.”

Maverick didn’t really mean that you deserve better. Of course, you did, but he meant that you deserve him.

You give a small chuckle. “And where would I find better?”

“Well… there’s lots of pilots if that’s your type.”

“Aren’t all pilots the same, though?”

“To some degree. It takes them a little while to grow out of it.”

Maverick swears he saw something shift in your eyes, but it could just be wishful thinking.

“When I find a seasoned pilot who’s grown out of their ego, I’ll let you know,” you laugh as you pick up the drinks again, your gaze lingering on him for a moment before turning around.

He watches as you return to the high-top table that you were sitting at with Hangman. He takes his drink from your hand, letting his fingers, wet from the condensation, brush against yours. Years ago, Maverick would’ve been seething with jealousy, but now, he’s kicking himself for letting you get away.

Maverick doesn’t realize he’s staring. He doesn’t mean to, and especially doesn’t mean to get caught by Hangman. Their eyes meet over your shoulder, and for a split second, a smirk appears on Hangman’s lips, but it’s not his usual look. He’s gloating, silently from across the room, that he got the girl and edged out his instructor.

Hangman sends Maverick a wink before returning his attention back to you, and Maverick can’t ignore the frustration buzzing under his skin.

A while later, you excuse yourself to the restroom. You pass the bar on the way, and Maverick catches your eye. You give him a look that seems to him to say follow me. He prays that he’s not reading this wrong.

He swallows a mouthful of his beer, cringing at the temperature, but hoping it’d give him the edge of confidence he so desperately needs right now. Goddamn, he’s out of practice.

He waits a few minutes before taking the same path you took to the bathroom. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door that’s marked Ladies. He finds you fixing your makeup in front of the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Maverick gives you an easy smile once he deems this the right move, and he suddenly feels a lot less nervous. This is something he can do.

“What are you doing here, Maverick?” you ask, turning around and leaning against the counter. He steps closer to you, and just when you think he’s going to stop, he crosses the line of professional. He’s in your space, closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your heart race like you’re in the cockpit of a plane.

“I’m trying to save you from making a big mistake with that younger guy,” he says, fighting a smirk.

“So I can go on to make a bigger one with an older guy like yourself?”

“Maybe…” There’s nothing Maverick loves more than someone who can compete with him, or at least attempt to do so. He sees a lot of himself in you, the better parts mostly, and he knows you love this dance just as much as he does. “Only if you’d call sleeping with your instructor a mistake,” he jokes.

“So what, we’re just going to drop down on the tile and go at it?” you ask, gesturing to the floor that isn’t exactly clean.

“Actually, I had this counter in mind,” he smiles, a full grin that you can’t help but match. “It could be very comfortable.”

“We’re not having sex in here,” you say.

“But we will somewhere else?” he asks, placing his hand on the counter next to your hip and leaning in.

“This is highly inappropriate, Captain. You should know better than to try to sleep with students,” you say instead of answering his question.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a dirty old man. I’ve come to terms with it,” he says, not ashamed at all. “But I can treat you right.”

You fully anticipate going home with Maverick tonight. You can’t be blamed; the man is the best of the best, a renowned pilot and your instructor. Sure, he may have an ego that he hasn’t quite grown out of yet, and he’s downright cocky when it comes to things like this, but it’s not without reason. He’s good looking and more charming than anyone you’ve ever met. Hangman can’t compete, and that’s why he hates Maverick.

“How do I know you won’t be selfish like all the other egotistical, arrogant pilots?” you ask, continuing to play hard to get because you love the chase, and he seems to love chasing.

“Sweetheart…” he leans even closer, his lips mere inches away. “I’m not like other pilots, I don’t think I have to remind you of that.”

The pet name makes your shiver, eliciting a feeling Hangman certainly has never given you even with his excessive use of them.

“No you don’t, sir,” you respond. “Let’s get out of here.”

Maverick grins, pearly white teeth practically blinding you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I wasn’t asking,” you smirk.

He lets you go first, then follows behind you from a short distance away. It’s not the most covert move he’s made, but to the casual onlooker, they wouldn’t notice where he came from or who he had been. Unfortunately, Hangman wasn’t a casual onlooker, and had caught Maverick’s eye from across the room. Maverick gave him a wink like he had received earlier, and Hangman looked ready to shatter the glass in his hand.

You ignore the pilot seething at your table and push open the door to the bar. Maverick’s bike is parked in front and he laughs when he sees you hesitate.

“What’s wrong? Never been on a motorcycle before?” he teases.

“No I haven’t,” you roll your eyes.

He puts up the kickstand and swings his leg over the bike, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he does.

“Come on, it’s not that different from flying,” he grins as he gestures to the spot on the seat behind him.

You sit down and realize there’s not much room to keep your distance. Your chest is flush against his solid back, and you realize this is the closest you have ever been to him. He’s warm, heat radiating off of him and it makes you want to get even closer. You wrap your arms around his waist, and you feel a small patch of skin where his shirt has been pushed up.

He pulls out of the parking lot and in true Maverick fashion, speeds off down the road. You’ve gone fast, of course; you’re a pilot. But there’s something about feeling the wind in your hair and your body against his that fills you with adrenaline even more than the speed.

You’re at his place in a few short minutes. It’s a small house that he’s renting, just big enough for a single guy and whoever he brings home. Today, that’s you.

He leads you inside and through the house, not bothering to give you a tour. The only place you need to know is the bedroom, and you’re about to become well aquatinted with it.

Before you could really look around, Maverick is closing the door and pushing you up against it. His knee slots between your legs, pinning you in place, and his hands are on your waist. His lips crash against yours in a messy, heated kiss. The feeling of touching him like this, like he’s desperate for you despite all of his composure, ignites a fire inside you.

His hot breath comes out in pants when the kiss finally breaks. He’s holding you close, gripping your tightly like you’re going to disappear right before his eyes if he lets go. You can feel the bruises appearing on your hips underneath where his fingers dig into you, and you know you’ll be able to feel the reminder of him long after you part ways.

Maverick moves his knee up higher so your core is pressed to high thigh. You involuntarily roll your hips against it, seeking any friction to give yourself some relief. Before you could continue to move, Maverick is pressing your hips into the door, immobilizing you.

“Maverick,” you breath, your voice coming out more desperate and whiney than you were anticipating.

“Be patient, sweetheart,” he smirks. “I’ll give you what you need.”

“Yeah, after teasing me until I can’t take it, right?” you huff.

Maverick’s face splits into a grin and he lets up on your hips. Before you coukd take advantage of your new-found freedom, he is tugging you by your arm over to the bed. He backs you against it, but your legs hit the mattress and you fall backwards onto of it. Looking up, you see the wild look in Maverick’s eyes. He’s looking at you like a target, like you’re a challenge, a competition that he is determined to win.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, looking down at you with a smug smile.

“You know what I want.”

“I do,” he grabs your legs and spreads them so he has room to stand between them. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“I thought you said you grew out if your ego?”

He grins, his eyes full of mischief and pure hunger. “I guess some things don’t change.”

Maverick leans over your body, his chest just barely touching yours and his lips brushing your ear. His teeth scrape against your neck, then followed by his tongue that leaves a hot, wet trail over your skin. Your back arches and your chests touch, and you’re certain that he can feel your heart beating.

His hand slides up your shirt, his calloused hands hot against your skin thats cooled by the air in the room. You pull it over your head to give him more room to work, then Maverick slides down your body so he’s even with your exposed stomach. He looks up at you through his lashes, an action that makes him look both innocent and devious at the same time. He peppers kisses on your skin, starting at the bottom of your ribs, trailing down past your navel.

“I don’t think Hangman would tease me this much,” you chuckle, an airy noise that’s followed by a whimper when Maverick nips the skin above your waistband.

“You know that’s not true, sweetheart. I’m being generous.”

His lips, teeth, and tongue caress your stomach as his fingers work open the button of your pants. You lift your hips to help him get them and your panties down, and he slides them off and tosses them somewhere across the room. His eyes seem to glaze over at the sight of your pussy, filled with pure desire.

Roughly, he grabs your thigh and hooks your knee over his shoulder. He’s a breath away from you now, but he’s still looking up at you, asking for permission. You nod and give a quiet yes, and that’s all he needs. He licks a long, slow stripe up your pussy, from your entrance to your clit. He hums while he does it, enjoying the taste of you. When he goes back down, your body jerks and he chuckles, although muffled, at how responsive you are.

You slide your hand into his hair and he takes that as encouragement to continue. He eats you out like he’s starving, running his tongue over every inch and savoring your taste. After a particularly hard suck to your clit, your hand tightens in his hair, gripping his short locks. Maverick can’t help the groan that comes out, and now it’s your turn to laugh at how responsive he is.

He pulls away from you slightly, just enough that he can look up at you. Your hand is still tight in his hair and you’re more desperate than ever, pussy leaking with desire for your captain. When he moves to stand, you let go of your hold. He pulls his white t-shirt over his head and leaves it on the floor. His tanned abs and chest are all you can focus on, and you wonder in the back of your mind if his skin is really as warm as it looks.

“I need you to fuck me, Maverick,” you say, less breathless now that he’s given you a moment to regain your footing. He grins, satisfied and smug that he finally has you like this.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, walking over to the nightstand. He retrieves a condom and tosses it on the bed before undoing his jeans and kicking them off, his boots having been removed when you were distracted.

He notices your staring, and in true pilot fashion, he shows off. He stands, just in boxer-briefs, and lets you take in the sight of him. His legs are equally as tan as his chest, and you can see a band of slightly lighter skin peaking out from above his waistband. The waistband that is acting as a barrier between you and what you so desperately need.

You’ve been quiet for a few minutes, having not responded to him after being distracted by his physique, but it doesn’t stop you from saying, “I wasn’t asking.”

He laughs as he sheds his boxers, finally revealing his hard cock that you’ve dreamt about getting your hands (among other things) on since your first class at Top Gun.

He unwraps the condom and rolls it down his length, then strokes himself a few times as he moves you into the position he wants. He rolls you into your stomach, then pulls you towards the foot of the bed. He knees between your legs and grabs a pillow, his pillow, to place underneath your hips.

The new angle makes you feel more exposed, especially with the heavy weight of his eyes on you. With two fingers, the rubs your pussy, and he slicks his cock with the arousal he gathered. He moves closer to brush his tip through your folds, and you let out a quiet moan at the contact.

“You sure about this?” Maverick asks, more to tease you than genuinely concerned that you were unsure.

“Yes, Captain,” you groan in frustration.

The use of his rank has more of an affect than you were expecting, and before you know it, he’s pushing into you. You feel the slow stretch of his cock inside you, and he feels so big that you were almost relieved when you felt his thighs press against the back of your own.

He wraps his arm around your middle and holds you to him, not moving even the slightest bit yet. Just taking in the feeling of you: hot, tight, wet, and better than he could have ever dreamed of.

“Fuck,” he whispers, quiet enough that it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

You move first by gently rolling your hips and pressing back on him. That bit of friction is enough to reignite his fire, and he starts to rock with you.

After a short while of gentle, minimal movement, he begins to fuck you like he promised. Thrusting into you with long, deep strokes that you can feel in your stomach, Maverick takes his time to bring you pleasure.

It’s a slow build as he fucks you, like a volcano that’s been bubbling under the surface, gaining pressure until it’s violent eruption. Each stroke makes you tighten your hands in his sheets until the skin of your knuckles are stretched taught.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan when Maverick shifts slightly to hit a new angle.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me hear you,” he praises.

His one arm is firmly around your middle, keeping you stable while his hand presses into your side. His grip is tight, not as much as yours, but enough to leave a faint bruise in the morning. His other hand trails over your back, shoulders, and the sides of your neck that make your body break out in goosebumps.

He holds into the back of your neck, squeezing slightly with a firm, almost comforting grip. You feel yourself nearing your edge, and with the way he is groaning in your ear, you know he can feel it too.

“God, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he says, voice gruff in your ear. His works make your skin tingle and your pussy clench. You want to hear him praise you like this forever.

“I’m close,” you breath out, your voice a soft whine.

Maverick keeps up his pace, fucking into you hard and deep. The coil in your lower stomach tightens and tightens, threatening to snap.

“Who’s fucking you like this, sweetheart? Who’s making your cum on their cock?” he rasps.

“Fuck,” you whimper, “You are, Maverick.”

When you cum a hot, tingling feeling shoots throughout your body. The scorching heat of pleasure builds behind your eyes and tears spill over, down your cheeks.

“Say it,” he whispers, and in the throes of your orgasm, he sounds distant.

“You’re making me cum, Captain,” you slur, words running together.

His chest his pressed flush against your back now, and as he cums, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. Even through the condom, you can feel his hot cum spilling out, and it makes your body temperature rise even more.

As you come down from your high, you vaguely register then sounds of his heavy breathing in your ear and the dull ache in your shoulder. You let out a small giggle when Maverick pulls with a groan. He throws out the condom, then joins you again on the bed.

You roll over so you’re laying face to face, and from this close, you can see all the fine lines and wrinkles that show his age. His soft like this, comfortable, so unlike the captian that is about to lead a team of Navy pilots into a suicide mission.

“Hey,” you say quietly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replies with a grin, but its not the cocky, self assured look you’re used to. It’s kind, genuine, happy.

“Should I…?” you start, motioning towards the door. His brows furrow, the crease between them deepening.

“No, I want you to stay.” His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer to him so you couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. “I’m not gonna let you go.”

You smile softly and your eyes fall closed as you feel the exhaustion from the day’s activities catching up with you.

“I’m glad you saved me from a night with Hangman, you joke, and he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t…” he pauses. “I wasn’t just being selfish. I really do like you,” he confesses, and it warms your heart to see him this vulnerable.

“I like you too, Maverick.”

He chuckles. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of you and Seresin together. You deserve better.”

“And that’s you?” you tease, poking him in the ribs, making him squirm.

“It can be… if you’ll have me.”

You pretend to think about it like your heart isn’t racing in your chest.

“I’ll give you a chance,” you smile. “You’re not too bad for an old man.”

He raises his eyebrows at that. “Old man? Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure I just showed you that I can still keep up.”

“Maybe you’ll have to show me again.”

This is how it should be. You and Maverick, sharing the same breath and feelings for each other in private, away from any judgment and danger. This is the happiness that Maverick has been searching for, and if he doesn’t return from the mission in a few days, at least he would have found some peace in the chaos.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated!!

[t0th3-ark]

More Than Metal

Gavin Reed x Android!Reader: Part 2

Warnings: cursing, guns, alcohol use, crime scene, blood

Part 1

Analyzing Sample…

[Analysis Complete]

Sample Contains:

Thirium 310: 96%

Blood: 2%

Human Plasma: 2%

Analyzing Thirium…

Model ID - AP400

Serial Number: #495 345 12-8

"The fuck are you doing?" Gavin interjects. (Y/N) looks over at him as she kneels at the puddle of blue blood, fingers to her lips. VN opens her mouth to speak but Gavin holds up a hand. "Y'know what? I don't wanna know." Reed scoffs walking into another room.

○ Follow Detective Reed

□ Contiune to Investigate

● Follow Detective Reed

(Y/N) stands, following Gavin from a distance. Gavin glances around the blood stained apartment. "This is so gruesome shit." He mutters. VN tilts her head.

○ Question tactics

□ Urge him to continue working

◇ Leave to investigate in another room

X Continue to follow

■ Urge him to continue working

"Detective, I believe we should collect evidence. You seem distracted." (Y/N) states, hands behind her back. Gavin glares at the android. "You don't get to order me around, plastic." He grits.

○ Question tactics

◇ Leave to investigate another room

X Contiune to follow

X Contiune to follow

(Y/N) remains silent LED flashing blue. Gavin shakes his head kneeling down to inspect the floor where the victim was killed. (Y/N) stares at the blood splatter on the walls.

Analyzing Splatter…

[Information Acquired]

WEAPON: Kitchen knife

ANGLE: 43.2°

VN blinks. "The deviant was an AP400 model, a caretaker. It lived here with it's owners." Gavin looks up at (Y/N). "And how do you know that?" He ponders aloud. "I analyzed a sample of thiruim, there," She says, pointing to the floor. Gavin cringes. "That's fuckin' gross." He murmers. "The deviant was injured. It's blood was mixed with the victims, meaning, it couldn't have gotten far." (Y/N) explains. "We should proceed to the station to interrogate the survivors." She says. "I thought you said we needed to collect evidence." Gavin says, crossing his arms as he stands. "We have gathered enough information from this location." (Y/N) concludes. Gavin laughs, mockingly. "Look at you, smarty pants." Gavin teases, getting a confused blank expression from the android. "Never-fucking-mind. Let's go, dipshit." Gavin growls, walking out. (Y/N) hesitates, wanting to ask him if he was angry with her. That didn't matter. Why did she care?

Gavin walks through the automatic doors of the DPD. He heads by his terminal throwing his keys on the desktop. Hank watches the two walk back in. "Hello again, (Y/N)." Connor says, nodding at her. He smiled. VN nods at him. Androids weren't programmed to smile. Where they? "Good afternoon, Connor." She says, flatly. Hank snorts, grabbing her attention. "I fail to see what is humorous about our interaction, Lieutenant." She says, eyeing Anderson. Hank raises his hands as if he were surrendering, turning back to his computer. "Fuckin' androids." He mutters. "Would you hurry the fuck up? I don't have all day." Gavin says, impatiently tapping is foot on the floor. "Yes, detective." (Y/N) obeys. Connor's LED swirls yellow as he watches her go. "I have an unknown feeling." Connor says to Hank. "I think you may be worried, kiddo." Hank says, frowning. "And you wanna know somethin'?" Hank says, leaning towards Connor. "Me too."

Gavin huffs, slumping down in his desk chair, spinning around mindlessly. (Y/N) watches him, eyes following him as he spins. Gavin stops, glaring at her. "What did I say about the fuckin' staring, tin can?" He complains. "I apologize." VN says, looking somewhere else for his comfort. "Fuck it." Gavin announces. "I'm going home." He says, getting up from his chair. "I beleive we still have work to do, detective." VN says, her LED swirling blue. "Yeah well, Fowler can bitch at me tomorrow about it." He says, walking past her. VN quickly follows him. "I do not believe it is wise to leave your work unfinished." She says, referring to the stack of paperwork on his desk. She watches him swipe his card to clock out. He doesn't say away but holds his middle fingers up at her, with a strange expression. VN watches him exit. Her LED swirls yellow.

○ Follow Detective Reed

□ Stay at the Precinct

● Follow Detective Reed

(Y/N) walks through the automatic doors, following Gavin out to his car. Gavin glances over his shoulder, seeing her following him. He groans, stopping at his car. "What do you want?" He demands, unlocking his car. She stands on the other side of his car.

"I was assigned to help and assist you. I do not think leaving work to drink is a good idea, so I will be going with you to the bar." VN says, opening the car door and getting inside. Gavin stands there, mouth open. "Wait a damn minute." He protests, bending down to look at her sitting in the car. "You ain't doing shit! Get the fuck out." He orders. "I'm afriad I cannot comply, sir. According to your current physical and mental health, drinking alone could put you in danger." VN says, maintaining eyecontact. "Get out." Gavin says again. He wants to pull out his gun and shoot her brains out but something in him doesn't have the strength too. He's tired.

Yet another silent drive. Gavin's radio is turned up on a dangerously high level. VN isn't bothered but is worried about the effect on her partners ears. She concludes it is best to not comment, due to his recent outbursts. Gavin pulls up to Jimmy's, a local bar, and parks his car. Gavin opens the car door, putting his keys in his jacket. VN exits after locking the car doors. She walks behind the detective, deducting that he didn't want her by his side. She notices the package of cigarettes sticking out of his pocket. She assumes he has a lighter as well, somewhere on his person. 

Scanning...

[Jacket Scan Complete]

FELINE HAIR: 

• Burmese

• Chartreux

OTHER:

• Zippo Lighter (Sliver) 

    • Engraving: "Love you little bro. -Elijah"

• Cigarettes (Marlboro 12ct.)

• Car Keys (To: Camaro, Model: 2023)

• Stain - Front: Coffee (2 days old)

• Stain - Collar: Lacrimation from tear ducts

VN stops analyzing as they enter the bar. Gavin exhales, pretending he isn't being followed by a tin can. (Y/N) looks around. It's dimly lit, quiet. Music plays and it smells of alcohol, cigarettes, and cigars. She puts her hands behind her back, following Gavin to the bar. He pulls out a stool, hopping on top. A bartender, assumed to be Jimmy, saunters over to her partner. VN stands close to a wall, analyzing every detail of the bar. "Hey, kid." Jimmy says to Gavin. VN attempts to give Gavin privacy with the bartender but can't exactly turn off her sensors. " 'Sup." Gavin sighs, leaning against the bar. Jimmy chuckles, glancing at the out of place android against the wall. "That yours?" He teases, gesturing to (Y/N). "Don't give me that, J." Gavin scoffs. Jimmy laughs, boisterously. Gavin can't help but smile a little. Jimmy was pretty cool and he gave great philosophical advice. 

"Watcha want to drink, son?" Jimmy asks, turning to the wall of drinks. "Brandy on the rocks." Gavin says, pulling out his box of cigarettes and his lighter. Jimmy sighs. "Rough day, huh." He says, pouring his drink. (Y/N) watches carefully. She started to get an unknown sensation across multiple sensors in her being. She scanned herself for malfunction or errors. Nothing. VN tilts her head to herself. What was that sensation? It wasn't an error or a malfunction? Possibly a glitch. She shakes it off watching the detective. The sensation returns. She attempts to flush her systems, but it remains. She ignores it, concluding it was a glitch. "You can say that again." Gavin says. Jimmy slides him his drink watching him closely. "You look tired, kiddo." Jimmy comments, leaning against the other side of the countertop. Gavin chuckles. "Everyone says that. I'm fine, J." Gavin lies. "C'mon, Gavin. Talk to me. It's a slow night." Jimmy pries. Gavin sighs, lighting the cigarette between his fingers. He raises it to his lips, taking a drag. He looks down at his drink.

VN glances around the room, unintentionally listening. The sensation had left. She wasn't alive. She couldn't feel. It was a simple glitch. "It's been hard without him." Gavin says, taking a sip of his brandy. This peaks VN's intrest. "I know. You seem to care about him a lot." Jimmy responds. He must know more than she knows about the situation. Gavin glances at the android that accompanied him, downing his drink. Jimmy sighs again. "Is that thing givin' you trouble?" He asks, grabbing the glass to refill it. Gavin takes another drag of his cigarette. "Yeah it is. Fuckin' Fowler assigned it to me or whatever." Gavin says, words full of spite. VN feels the sensation return. Her LED blinks yellow.

Analyzing...

[Analysis Complete]

Malfunction?

[Access Denied]

(Y/N) blinks, LED pulsing red. She straightens her posture, ignoring the sensation, yet again. Jimmy nods, following Gavin's story. Gavin takes a swig of his drink again. "You two get along?" Jimmy asks, tapping on the counter behind him. "Fuck no." Gavin snickers. Jimmy smiles, almost sadly. "The things been following me around like a dog. Gets on my fuckin' nerves." Gavin sighs, finishing his second glass. (Y/N) notes his blood alcohol content. Jimmy grins at the detective. "Maybe she's there to help you. Ever thought about it that way?" J asks, grabbing his empty glass again, pausing. "Oh, that's utter bullshit. Don't side with them, Jimmy." Gavin spits, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar. "I'm only sayin', maybe it's there for a reason, kid. You look like shit. It could help you, y'know." Jimmy shrugs, filling his glass again. Gavin snorts, feeling the buzz kick it. "Thanks, J. How nice." Gavin teases. "Give it a chance, Gav." Jimmy pushes. "No way in hell am I trusting a piece of plastic." Gavin argues, gladly accepting his third drink. (Y/N) decides to step in. "Detective," She starts. "Fuck off." Gavin grits, waving his hand at her. Jimmy watches the two. "I beleive you've had enough." She states, hands behind her back still. "This is only my third so fuck off." Gavin growls. He usually had a better alcohol tolerance but not today.

"Your BAC is nine point two and increasing. This can impair your judgement and functioning." (Y/N) says. Gavin laughs. "You're not my babysitter, tin can." He says, lifting the glass to his lips. VN snatches the glass out of his hand, putting it on the bar. "What the fuck?" Gavin hollers, clambering out of his chair, almost falling in the process. "The alcohol had already taken affect, impairing your vital judgment. It is time to leave, sir." (Y/N) says, sternly. Her LED blinks yellow, analyzing his next move. Gavin reaches for his gun, which VN anticipated. She reaches forwards, knocking the gun out of his hands. "Hey, hey, hey!" Jimmy shouts. "No blood on my floor!" He says. A few people have formed a crowd around Gavin and the android. "Detective, we are leaving." (Y/N) says, picking his gun off the floor and pocketing it. "You fuckin' piece of shit," Gavin slurs. "You think you came come in and- and fuckin' steal my job, huh?" He raises his voice, grabbing her by her uniform again. (Y/N) looks down at him. She notes the pain, evident behind is glassy eyes.

○ Let Detective Reed continue 

□ Render Detective Reed unconscious

■ Render Detective Reed unconscious

"Detective, I apologize, but this is for your own good." She says, gaining a confused look from Gavin. She presses her fingers into the point where his neck and shoulder meet. Gavin crumbles to the ground, (Y/N) catching him before he hits the ground. VN wraps his limp arm over her shoulders, hoisting him up. "I apologize, sir." She says to Jimmy. "Eh, don't worry about it. His drinks were on the house anyway." Jimmy says, waving her off. "Take care of him, okay?" Jimmy says. (Y/N)'s thiruim pump falters for a moment, catching her off guard. She scans herself again, not finding anything wrong. The crowd had disappeared, seeing that there would be no fight. She gives Jimmy at curt nod before bascially dragged her partner out the door.

(Y/N) had successfully put Gavin in the passenger seat, starting his car. She pulls out into the road. She had located the detective's apartment, following the coordinates. Once she arrives, Gavin is still unconscious. She drags him out of the car. It would be easier to carry him in her arms, so she does. Walking up several flights of stairs, she reaches his apartment door. She glances down at the keys on his key ring and then at the lock, analyzing the differnt key prongs and the internal structure of the lock. She selects the correct key, unlocking the door. Several cats, greet her at the door. A Burmese and a Chartreux cat. They purr and meow at her as she closes the door. (Y/N) scans the apartment. It's quite messy. The trash seems as if it hasn't been taken out in weeks, pizza boxes litter the counter and differnt files and papers litter the living room. (Y/N) contiunes, walking into Gavin's bedroom. Clothes cover the floor, along with an unmade bed. She sets her partner in the bed. She surveys the room again, finding the comforter on the ground. She nods to herself.

(Y/N) carefully removes his jacket, hanging it on a hook behind his bedroom door. She covers him with the comforter, studying him. He seems peaceful. His face, relaxed. No tension is held between is eyebrows. She tilts her head, reaching towards his face. There it is. The strange sensation in her sensors. She gently brushes his hair out of his eyes, almost mesmerized by how peaceful he is, compared to when he's consious. (Y/N) quickly pulls away as he rolls over in the bed, grunting in his sleep. She looks around his room again. It was very unorganized. She walks over to his half empty dresser, pushing the folded clothes back in order. She closes the drawers, gently. VN then, straightens the differnt colognes and pictures frames on his dresser. One catches her eyes. A picture of, what she assumes is Gavin as a teen, and another male. She tilts her head, the male seeming familiar. She straightens the frame, ignoring it.

VN picks up the dirty clothes off the floor, placing them in the hamper in the corner of Gavin's room. She could see the floor now. She turns off the lamp on his nightstand, straightening the things on top if it as well. She looks around the mostly clean room, leaving Gavin's room. She then drags the overflowing laundry basket out of his room. She closes the door behind her, seeing his cats staring at her. She looks down at the Burmese one as it rubs against her leg. She watches them pad off into another room. (Y/N) looks down the short hallway seeing the bathroom. She peeks inside. It was spotless. Strange. She walks into an empty room, what she assumes to be a guest room. It holds nothing. She walks out, going back to the main living room. Papers, magazines, files, newspapers. You name it. She grabs the file box in the couch, picking up all the papers and files, organizing them alphabetically. It took all but thirty minutes an twenty seconds. She puts the file box beside the couch. She puts all of the magazines and newspapers neatly on the coffee table. She picks up all of the empty and half empty coffee mugs, placing them softly in the sink. She would load his dishwasher later. 

(Y/N) straightens his crooked TV on the wall. She then proceeds to organize his movies by type, then alphabetically. The living room was finished. She clicks on the lamp, closing the curtains. The sun was setting outside. It was six twenty-two. Androids didn't need sleep but she decided that when she finishes she would enter low-power mode to pass the time. She heads to the kitchen. It was filthy. (Y/N)'s LED circles blue. She grabs all of the dishes that were dirty and puts them neatly in the dishwasher. She puts the soap in, turning it on. She grabs a trash bag, placing the numerous empty pizza boxes inside. She empties the trash putting the bags by the front door. The cats come back in, hearing her working. "Hello." (Y/N) says, kneeling beside the cats. She looks at their collars. Coco and Bean. Who knew the detective liked cats, owned them, and gave them matching names. (Y/N) stands, beginning to wipe down the countertops, that were dusty and covering in crumbs. She puts the leftover pizza that wasn't old or moldy in the almost empty refrigerator. She rolls up her jacket sleeves disinfecting the grime in the sink. She notices his landlines blinking on the counter. She lets the chemical sit in the sink, walking over to the phone. Twenty new messages from the same number with the name Eli. She concludes it would be best to leave them be. 

(Y/N) had loaded the washing machine with Gavin's dirty clothes. She had taken the towel from the dryer and folded them neatly, placing them in the linen closet. She rinses the sink next. Spotless. The apartment looked organized and neat. Nothing like the detective from the outside. It was currently twelve forty three. She blinks, hearing the dishwasher stop. She unloads it putting the coffe mugs, plates and utensils back in their respective places. Ealier, she had hauled the trash down to the dumpster behind the apartment complex. She was satisfied with the outcome.

(Y/N) completed all of the detective's laundry leaving it neatly folded ontop of the washer and dryer. She didn't want to disturb his slumber by putting away his clothes. She was finished. VN puts the detective's gun in a drawee in the kitchen. She walks over to the couch, sitting down. The cats jumps up, one testing in her lap and the other lying down beside her. She was interested in why the cats liked her so much. She'd have to research it later. She decided to enter low-power mode.

Low-Power Mode Loading...

[Entering Low-Power Mode]

3...

2...

1...

-LOW-POWER MODE ON-

taglist

@sweet-sage-tea, @bts17army

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[samwritesstuff97]

All Bets Are Off: Chapter 8

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x OC!Penny’s Niece

Warnings: Swearing, I guess? 

Word Count: 2700

A/N: It wouldn't be a Top Gun story without some flying scenes, IMHO, but I also slipped some nice Penny/Eliza bonding in there for your mind.

(Also I don't know anything about fighter jets or flying, so don't expect accuracy in that department 😉)

Masterlist | Tag List | Request

*

Eliza was walking on air when she got to the Hard Deck that afternoon. “Well, good afternoon, Aunt Penny!” She was whistling Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears, and Penny didn’t miss her mood.

“What’s got you so perky this morning?” Penny grinned at Eliza, “It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain handsome fighter pilot, would it?”

Eliza shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear, “It might.”

“Whatever happened to all of this being just a ‘strategic move’ and just for the wedding, hmm? You’re awfully giddy for someone who doesn’t like him that way.”

Eliza frowned. “Do you want to hear about it or not?”

Penny laughed and clapped her hands excitedly. “Tell me, tell me!”

“Well, we hung out pretty much all day yesterday, and when he walked me out to my car, I was  a little drunk and I don’t know what I was thinking, but I just kissed him on the cheek for no reason.” Penny gasped. “I’m not done yet!”

“What did he do?”

“Right then, he just stopped and looked like I had slapped him in the face.” Penny chuckled and Eliza held up her hand, “But then, I woke up this morning to a sweet good morning text from him.”

Penny’s jaw dropped and she clapped her hands again, “Can I see it?”

Eliza handed Penny her phone proudly. “I’m sold, I don’t know about you.” 

“What did Phoenix say?”

“I haven’t even told Phoenix yet!” Eliza gasped. Hurriedly, she took a screenshot and sent it to Phoenix with a message saying:

“So look what I woke up to…”

Seconds later, Phoenix had emphasized the message and replied:

“I can hear the wedding bells already!”

Eliza flushed, “She’s planning the wedding.”

Penny replied, “I’m making a toast, without a doubt.” She stopped stocking the bar with glasses. “What do you really think about Rooster?”

“The more I get to know him, the more I like him. He’s kind of perfect.” Eliza shrugged, moving bottles of beer into a fridge. “But it does feel like he’s holding back for some reason.”

“Could it be possible that he just wants to take things slow?”

Eliza looked out the window at the beach outside, sighing. “I guess so, but it’s more like he’s catching himself than holding himself back, do you know what I mean?”

Penny nodded, “Well, it may comfort you to hear that Maverick told me that they’ve got some kind of big top-secret mission they’re training for right now. It’s entirely possible that he’s just distracted and waiting to wrap that up.”

“That does actually make me feel a little better.” Eliza walked over and gave her aunt a hug, “I’m so glad I came down here to live with you.”

“Me too, Elle.” Penny smirked at her, “I always told your mom she should have let you come spend the summer out here, then you could have already had your hands on Rooster by now!”

Eliza laughed, “Need I remind you that he is ten years older than me? If I’d ‘gotten my hands on him’ in high school, he would have been arrested.”

“I guess so, but I’ve always thought you two would get along.” Penny shrugged. “Something about the way you both relate to people, like you see their true self right away. Not to mention, you’ve got such similar backgrounds, I think you two could understand each other in a way that other people couldn’t.” She paused. “Especially Grady.”

“Yeah, well Grady didn’t understand much of anything about me in retrospect.”

“What kept you with him for so long?”

Eliza sighed, “The further I get from it, the less I understand it, but he just had a way of keeping me reliant on him. Grady is many things, but unintelligent is not one of them, and I think he just figured out the areas where I was weak and made sure I thought he was the only one who could help me.” She scoffed, tossing the rag she had been using to wipe down a sink onto the bar angrily. “I’m just frustrated that I let him isolate me the way he did, because if he hadn’t managed to do that, we probably would have broken up before we graduated. I knew better, even at that time, but I didn’t trust myself enough to listen to myself.”

“It takes a long time to get to the point where you can trust yourself like that. When I was in my early twenties, I was the same way! I wouldn’t stand up for myself, even when I wanted to, but once I learned how, I knew I could never go back.” Penny said, smiling sadly.

“I’m just trying to have grace for myself with it all, you know?” Eliza picked her rag back up and went back to cleaning. “It’ll never be helpful for me to be mad at my younger self for not utilizing skills she hadn’t developed yet.” Penny stopped what she was doing and looked at Eliza, eyebrows raised slightly. “Therapy, man.” Eliza shook her head and laughed.

“No, I was impressed! It would have taken me years to reach that level of peace when I was your age.” Penny looked at Eliza hard, “Do you feel ready for another relationship?”

Eliza stopped what she was doing and stared out the window again, thinking hard about her response. “I think so. I mean, there are definitely still wounds to be healed, but if I wait until I’m ‘all better’ to get back out there, I’ll probably always be waiting.” She sighed, “I do have to say, I did not plan on actually getting excited about and really into the first guy I met after Grady.”

“You may technically be missing out on dating around, but I personally think Rooster would be more fun.”

“Geez, Penny! Do I need to be worried about you?” Eliza laughed.

Penny rolled her eyes. “I’ve got more than enough on my plate, I’ll live vicariously through you, thank you very much!”

“It’s not like you don’t have your own relationship to live through.” Eliza winked.

“‘Relationship?’” Penny smirked.

“Oh, you know what I mean!”

“What are you going to do when you see him tonight?” Penny asked.

“I don’t really know, because things have definitely moved up a level, but we haven’t really had any conversations about, well, anything like that.” Eliza narrowed her eyes, looking thoughtful. “I guess I’m just going to act normal and see what he does.”

Penny threw up her hands sarcastically, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Eliza laughed, “I’m just trying not to embarrass myself!”

Penny rolled her eyes, “Whatever.”

On base, the pilots were assembled for another update on their mission. Admiral Bates was standing at the lectern with an even more sour expression than normal. “Uh oh.” Hangman said as he sat down across the aisle from Phoenix and Bob. “You don’t look like you’re about to tell us that the enemy cells decided to close up shop.”

Bates glowered at him. “Do I seem like I’m in the mood for jokes, lieutenant?”

Hangman cleared his throat, “No, sir.”

“Then I trust I can count on you to keep your quips to yourself then?” Hangman nodded wordlessly. “Good, because I am not about to tell you that the enemy cells decided to close up shop.” He took a deep breath, “What I am about to tell you is that our timeline is getting moved up, significantly.”

Rooster ran his fingers through his hair, feeling defeated. Just once, could we have a simple, cut and dry mission? He thought. “How much?”

Bates hesitated, and Rooster’s heart sank even lower. “We now have ten days until we fly out for the mission.”

There was immediate uproar among the pilots. “Ten days?” Fritz called from the back row, “You can’t be serious!”

“Yeah.” Phoenix added, “We’ve never actually successfully flown the mission!”

Bates pursed his lips, “You’ve pulled off similar things before.”

“Oh, so because we somehow managed to beat the odds once, we have to do it every mission now?” Hangman looked furious, and Rooster felt the same.

“This isn’t fair to us. We don’t even have a chance to succeed at this!” Rooster stood up. “You’re asking us to do the impossible and likely die trying.”

“Take a seat, lieutenant.” Bates boomed. “I have more to say.” He waited until the pilots calmed down before continuing, “Yes, your timeline has been moved up, but the Air Force is now providing you additional air support. They will be launching a wave of fighters in between the second and third flights that we’re launching to lay down covering fire and help us take out any additional ground forces that we may encounter.”

Rooster felt better for a moment, but then thought about his last attempt at flying the course. He’d barely made it two thirds of the way down when he’d been shot down, and even if he hadn’t been shot down, he still would have run out of time to reach the target before it was too well defended for him to infiltrate. It won’t matter if we have multiple flights if they see us all coming and have time to organize themselves.

“We have also assigned everyone’s roles.” Bates continued, and Rooster noticed Hangman sit up in his chair. “For the first flight, we’ll have Rooster as our bomber and Hangman as our gunner.”

Hangman turned around and grinned at Rooster, and Rooster’s heart sank again. Hangman was not known for being the best at being a teamplayer. “I got you.” Hangman mouthed to Rooster.

“Our second flight will be Fritz as the bomber and Phoenix and Bob as the gunners, and the third flight will be Fanboy as the gunner and Coyote as the bomber.” Coyote and Fanboy high fived, and Rooster wondered how they could be celebrating right now. “Our reserve teams will be Halo and Omaha, and Hardvard and Yale.” Bates looked out at the young pilots, wondering for what felt like the hundredth time if he was sending them to an early grave, but steeled himself and went on, “Let’s get to practicing.”

Rooster felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he took off with Hangman not far behind him. Admiral Bates came over the radio, “Alright boys, you’re six minutes to target. No pressure but if you don’t nail this, your teammates may all die. Stay focused, you have the skills to accomplish this mission.”

Rooster swallowed hard, switched his radio to where only he and Hangman could hear each other and said, “This is not the time for you to be showing off, got it?”

Hangman’s laugh crackled through the radio. “I’m not a show off, Rooster! Besides, haven’t I proven that I have your back when it counts?”

Rooster scoffed and turned his focus back to the mission course. “We’re coming up on those first few anti-aircraft missiles, go up!” Rooster angled the nose of his plane sharply upwards, climbing to avoid the missiles’ range, with Hangman following suit. 

They flew through the silent clouds, and for just a moment Rooster felt a glimpse of peace, but he was quickly interrupted by Hangman on the comms, “Down we go!” He called, and the two dove back down low, avoiding another set of missiles.

“You’re five seconds behind time right now, lieutenants.” Bates said. “Pick it up, we can’t send the next flight until you’re closer to the target.”

Rooster groaned and pushed on his throttle, picking up speed. “If I go much faster than this, it’s going to be hard to avoid the missiles.”

“I’m not having any problems!” Hangman quipped, and Rooster fumed.

“Three seconds behind now, keep going.” Rooster and Hangman were now hurtled over the course, narrowly avoiding the radar on the “missiles” that were scattered along their flight path. “Two seconds behind.”

“Come on!” Rooster growled, pushing even harder on his throttle

“Alright, gentlemen, you’ve caught up and are on time to target, sending the second flight in thirty seconds.”

Rooster could hear Hangman whooping over their comms. How is he enjoying this? Rooster thought angrily, ignoring the rush of excitement in his gut.

“Flight one, you’re now two minutes from the target; flight two, take-off in ten, nine, eight…” Bates counted down the second flight and soon, Fritz, Phoenix, and Bob joined the airwaves.

“T-minus four minutes to target.” Bob said, sounding nervous already.

Bates replied, “Keep your speed up, you have fewer missiles to avoid than anyone else, so you shouldn’t have a problem making it to target on time.”

“Why do they get the easy course and we get the hard one?” Hangman whined.

“Shut up, Hangman.” Rooster’s nerves were fried.

“Flight one, you will be on target in sixty seconds, Hangman, arm your weapons system now.” Bates sounded tense as well.

“Roger, roger!” Hangman called back, still sounding like he was having the time of his life.

Rooster began laying down suppressing fire as they approached the giant circle of rocks that was their target, and Hangman was counting down, “Payload drops in three, two, one!” Hangman fired two missiles towards the target, both of them missing narrowly.

“Miss!” Bates yelled, “Get out of there! Flight two, you are going to be flying into enemy defense in two minutes and thirty seconds. Air Force flight taking off in one minute.”

Hangman was swearing angrily over the radio, and Rooster’s arms were already hurting from the number of push ups he was going to have to do as soon as he landed. “I could have sworn I had it!” Hangman said.

“Yeah, well obviously not.” Rooster replied. “Maybe next time, take it a little bit more seriously?”

“Shut up, Rooster.”

“Flight two, you’re thirty seconds to target and one second behind time, pick it up!” Bates was still running the mission.

“I’m hit!” Fritz cried, alarms audible in the background.

“Is it critical?” Bates asked.

Fritz paused, “What?”

“Are your engines or missile launching systems damaged?” 

“Well, no, but–”

“Then you keep going, flight two. Ten seconds to target.” Bates’ voice was ice cold.

“Launching missiles now.” Fritz said somberly.

“You got one hit and one miss.” Bates said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Air Force flight taking off now, they’ll hit targets A and B. Flight three, two minutes to launch.”

“Eat shit, Hangman!” Phoenix whooped.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hangman muttered, “Landing now.”

Hangman and Rooster landed at base, and hurried into mission command, where Bates’ second in command, Captain Leah “Racer” Kane, was waiting with a smirk on her face. “Two hundred and fifty a piece, gentlemen. Get to it!”

After what felt like hours, Rooster had finally finished his pushups and was collapsing into a chair in the hangar for debriefing. Hangman was noticeably more serious, and Rooster smiled to himself. 

Bates walked in and cleared his throat, silencing the pilots’ quiet chatter. “That was not terrible, but you have to do better.” He looked at Hangman and Rooster, “For some of you, the mission was a complete failure, but thanks to the efforts of the rest of the team, you ended up damaging two camps and destroying one.”

Phoenix whooped quietly, high fiving Bob and Fritz. “You’re welcome.” She said to Hangman, smiling smugly.

Hangman rolled his eyes. “What’s to stop us from coming back and hitting them again while they’re down?”

“Because then we would need two teams like you, and it has been difficult enough getting this few of you to come close to accomplishing this.” Bates replied, “Not to mention the training and transportation costs, and potential casualties that would be associated with it.” He frowned at them, “But, it won’t matter, because you’re going to take them all out on the first try. Right?”

The pilots nodded, murmuring their assent. “What’s the plan if we never complete the mission before it’s time to go?” Coyote asked.

Bates’ glare intensified, “That won’t be a problem, because you’re going to complete the mission.” He clapped his hands together, “Take thirty minutes, and then reassemble back here to run the mission again.”

*

Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it! 💙💙

*

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[thewritewolf]

Night to Remember

Summary: Adrien wakes up to three videos from his soon-to-be wife, one for each day she'd been gone for her bachelorette party.

Hello and welcome! It’s been a hot second since I updated this series last, but I got here eventually! This time we’ve got a one shot on our hands and like usual, this story stands on its own pretty well. I’ll link to the other stories in case this one catches your attention

Enjoy!

Part 1: Five Times (and the Lucky One)

Part 2: Just Between Us

Part 3: Eating Habits

Part 4: Adrien Agreste and the Long Delayed Proposal

Read on Ao3

The soft rays of morning landed gently on Adrien’s face, the warm glow slowly rousing him from sleep. He rolled over, putting an arm over the opposite side of the bed to pull Marinette closer to him. 

When his hand simply hit empty blankets and pillow, his face scrunched up in irritation. He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted, eyes yet to adjust to the light of dawn, at the space beside him. Just as he feared, it was empty.

Sluggishly, the gears in his head began to turn. Why wasn’t she here? Did she go to make breakfast? No, she’d never get up early by herself. 

Was there an akuma? A cold spear of panic went through his heart before he remembered that Hawkmoth - his father - was in prison. It had been years since they’d had an akuma attack, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat. 

Now that he was wide awake, Adrien started to remember. He and Marinette were getting married. It wouldn’t be too much longer before the big day finally came, which meant that he’d finally talked her into having her bachelorette party. Her plans were a quiet weekend out in Bordeaux. Just her, a few friends, and some wine in a rural village. He rolled out of bed and started to get dressed.

That had been a theme in most of the wedding planning - Adrien wanting to give her the world, and Marinette going instead for simple elegance. Well, she’d talked him down in most other parts of this wedding, but if there was one part before the honeymoon he intended to spoil her, then the bachelorette party was it. 

Adrien grinned as he remembered slipping Alya his credit card with only one instruction - go all out. How she would pull it off would be a mystery, but if her grin was anything to go by, then Adrien knew he had nothing to worry about.

As he brushed his teeth, he pulled out his phone to check his email. There at the very top of the inbox were three messages, two from his bride to be and one from Alya. Marinette’s were dated Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon, with Alya’s from early this morning. He’d already seen the first two, but decided to watch them again to get the whole experience.

After finishing up in the bathroom, he started the first video.

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

The video started, although Adrien only knew this because Marinette’s voice came through clear. The screen itself was completely black. 

“Hey, sweetie! We just dropped our luggage off at the hotel and we’re heading to the winery right now!”

“Um, Marinette?” It took Adrien a moment to place Alix’s voice. He’d only seen her a couple times in the past year. “Your thumb is on the camera.”

“Wha- Oh!” The screen lit up, showing Marinette’s radiant smile and slightly flushed cheeks. Her hair had been tied back in a ponytail, with a pair of big, fashionable sunglasses resting just above her face. “Sorry about that, Adrien!” 

Some giggling drew both his and Marinette’s attention to the others in the car. The camera shakily panned over to them. 

“Say hi, girls!”

Alix, caught with one arm wrapped around the head rest, finger gunned at him. “Hi girls.”

“Hello Adrien!” Rose frantically waved and beamed at the camera. “I can’t wait to see you two walk down the aisle! Its going to be so romantic!” She wiggled in place, too full of excitement to stay still.

Finally the camera landed on Alya, who was driving.

“Hey, centerfold. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of M.” She glanced at the camera and winked. “We’ll have to talk to you later since we’re about there.”

The scene shook again as Marinette fumbled the camera. She managed to catch it and soon enough the camera was back on her face again.

“It’s been less than a day, but I’m missing you already!” The screen was engulfed by her lips when she gave it a quick kiss. “Bye!”

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

Adrien smiled to himself and kissed the now black screen. 

Friday night must have gone as Marinette had planned then, but from the looks of it, Alya definitely hadn’t forgotten his request. She was more devious than the rest of them, if only because she was much more patient. First she would lull Marinette into a false sense of security… and only then would she spring the trap. 

Fully dressed and ready to meet the day, Adrien stretched out on the couch and opened the second video. This one was dated Sunday afternoon, the second day of their party. He sipped his coffee and pressed play. 

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

“Heyyy, sweetheart,” Marinette began, the words just barely slurred. A faint, constant blush tinted her cheek a pleasant rosy color. It was a little hard to hear her over the song playing on the radio and, more importantly, Alix and Rose loudly singing off key to it behind Marinette. 

Marinette either didn’t notice or was ignoring them, smiling into the camera all the while. “We just left the… winery. They had some great stuff there!” The view turned dark when she held something up a little too close to the camera. “I got a couple bottles to take home too!”

Someone said something, Adrien couldn’t hear what, and Marinette’s head whipped over to the side as she listened carefully. She nodded to herself before turning her attention back to the camera. 

“Alya says hi! Oh, and we’re going a little off the schedule here… We heard about a town nearby. They’ve got a few bars and one has a live band! This is basically just a girls’ night out, so it won’t be too wild… Right?”

The last question was directed more toward the other occupants of the car than Adrien himself. As far as he could tell, she didn’t get an answer. 

Marinette flashed him a sheepish smile and a slight shrug. “Well, anyway. I’ll send you another video when we get back to the hotel. Bye!”

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

Which just left the final video. The only one that he hadn’t watched through already. He’d been a little worried when Marinette hadn’t sent her video when she said she would, but he had bitten back that fear as best he could. After all, she always struggled with deadlines and who knew what they ended up doing that night.

Even so it was weird that Alya was the one to end it. What had kept Marinette from sending the video?

Only one way to find out - Adrien opened the message and played the recording.

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

A wall of noise slammed into Adrien, which stunned him for a second before he could figure out what was going on. There was the babble of a drunk crowd that formed the undercurrent for the rock band playing on stage. 

Adrien only had a second to wonder who was recording when he heard Alya’s voice close to the microphone.

“Watch this, blondie.”

It was at that moment that he found her - even between the low light and the jostle of the crowd, he could spot her anywhere. Then again, it wouldn’t be too hard to spot anyone if they were climbing up onto the stage with the band. Adrien watching with shock as she stepped up to the empty mic stand, swayed ever so slightly, and leaned in close. 

“I’m getting MARRIED!”

The crowd went wild, applause and shouting drowning out the music for a moment. 

“To the best man, the greatest partner in the whole world!”

Another round of cheers, combined with some ‘aw’s thrown in. 

One of the band members stepped up and gently took the mic from her. Thankfully, he seemed more amused than angry - Adrien could just barely make out an amused smirk from his perspective. 

“Then this one’s for you-”

“Marinette!” Alya shouted.

“-Marinette, and to your lucky man. Hit it, boys!”

Adrien wasn’t sure what the difference was between this song and the last, especially since he couldn’t hear it too well thanks to Alya being in the middle of a wild crowd, but Marinette definitely seemed to like it since she started dancing on the stage. 

The scene went black for a second before turning back on to Alya’s grinning face. She gave him a thumbs up. 

“Mission accomplished, centerfold!” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Better be careful when M gets home, though!”

She winked and the video ended. 

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

In the silence, the sound of the door opening immediately caught his attention. Before he could get up off the couch, Marinette stepped into the room. She glared daggers at him, but he relaxed when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch, as if she was fighting down a smile. 

“So,” he said. “How was your quiet weekend out?”

Marinette sat down on him hard enough to knock some of the wind out of him. She crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Did you know that Alya was the one who hired that band, or were you just bankrolling it?”

“Whaaat? I would never-” He put his hand on his chest in mock outrage. “I mean, what about the budget?!”

“You’re an awful liar, chaton. Three margaritas in and she spilled the beans. I may have been drunk too, but I don’t forget easily.” She tapped her chin and looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Hm... where will I have to pull the money from to balance it out… Maybe the cake?”

“Hey now, our guests have to have cake!”

“You’re right.” She crossed her arms. “The flowers then.”

“You booked Francois a month ago, my love. No way you’re going to be getting the deposit back on that one.”

“Good point.” Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, I know! I haven’t gone lingerie shopping for the honeymoon yet!”

“...Wait, let’s not be hasty.”

“Well, it can’t be helped.” She sighed melodramatically and pulled out her phone. “I was going to go to this really upscale shop and spend quite a bit but since we blew so much of the budget, I'll just call Alya and cancel but- hey!"

Adrien had snatched her phone and turtled up as best he could. As they wrestled for it, they devolved into a mess of giggles. Somehow, they ended up on the floor, Adrien propped up on his elbows above her.

Marinette crossed her arms, her hair a halo behind her head. She shrugged and rolled her eyes with a smirk.

“I suppose I can let you spoil me just this once.” She tapped his nose. “But don’t get used to it.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replied with a kiss on her forehead. 

[thran-duils]

Doll Me Up (P.7)

Title: Doll Me Up (Part Seven) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Tony Stark. On good days, you and Tony were a power couple. You, a perfect trophy wife with your hands in local charities to promote a wholesome image. Tony, business man but sullied with organized crime. He indulged in his illegal gambling, extortion, and political corruption. And he indulged in his escort business. Hell, that is where he had found you. You were a brat, and he loved a challenge. Words: 4,457 Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, smut, daddy kink, dom/sub, manipulation, death, violence, possessive behavior, drug use Author’s Note:  **This chapter starts with a very angry and violent Tony. If that is triggering, do not read it. Plus, it mentions him doing cocaine and with RDJ's past, that may be offensive to some! Head's up! You have been warned**

Part Six || Part Eight || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Three months ago (cont.)…

You were happy you had arrived in a bathing suit already. Cassandra already had a handful of people over – luckily all people that you knew – swimming in her pool.

“So, what’s up?” Cassandra asked you, leading you towards the bar.

“Nothing just… wanted to come over.” She stared at you and you said, “God, fine. Tony pissed me off. You wanna take some shots?”

“What? Why? I am… Y/N, I am high.” She laughed. “I cannot be drinking. You know I do not do well crossfaded.”

“I’ll do one myself then.”

Walking around the bar, you grabbed one of the bottles of rum off the mantel and poured yourself a double. Cassandra snorted and you told her, “I needed that.”

“What was it about now?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it. It’s just gonna make me mad all over again. Let’s just hang out and have fun and relax.” You spotted a picture on the counter. “Oh my god. Is this from your new video?” you asked picking up the photo. Cassandra nodded excitedly. “Oh my god, you look great. Your body looks amazing. How did he feel?”

Cassandra snorted. “Like every other male pornstar ever? His cock was hard, and he was plowing me.”

You shook your head, placing the photo back down on the counter. “You really are brave for doing that.”

“Brave?” she laughed.

“Yeah. I mean. God, doing escort work is one thing. It’s just you and a john – or two or three, depends. But it’s just that. There’s no cameras or anything. You though? You’ve got cameras all around, a whole crew watching the whole thing. You’re taking direction while getting dicked. That’s gotta be a lot of pressure.”

Cassandra started laughing. You realized how ridiculous you sounded, and you started laughing too. “Oh god, let’s go out to the pool. I obviously need some air.”

“Obviously,” Cassandra agreed, linking arms with you.

The shots hit the blood stream quick and consequently opened the flood gates too in a short amount of time. On your way upstairs, you stopped to take another shot. Cassandra was telling you about the trip she was going to take with her sugar daddy and you groaned, remembering why you were so mad at Tony all over again. The two of you walked up the stairs, arms linked to the bathroom. She continued telling you about the things they had planned while standing outside the bathroom, giving you privacy.

“I think I’m starting to come down,” she said to you. “I’m gonna have to light up another one. Do you want to share a joint?”

“Mhm, maybe,” you called as you pulled your suit bottoms back up.

Movement outside the window caught your eye.

Oh no.

Tony’s car was outside Cassandra’s house, right behind yours. You saw him get out of the car, followed by Mikhail and Louis.

“Fuck me!” you hissed before turning around. You completely forgot he could track the car and now he was going to cause a scene.

“You gotta hide me!” you exclaimed, coming into her bedroom, grabbing her hands.

Cassandra’s eyes widened and she returned alarmed, “Wait, what?”

“Tony! The driveway!”

“Okay? Is this bad?”

“Yes! I might have… driven not entirely sober over here. And left without telling him. After we had gotten into an argument.”

You heard some commotion downstairs and you looked at her pleadingly.

“Fuck!” Cassandra spat.

“Y/N!” you heard Tony bellow from downstairs.

You looked around wildly in the bedroom. “Fuck, do you have somewhere you can hide me and pretend I left? Like, I just left my car. Took an uber!���

“Y/N, there is nowhere to hide you in here that they aren’t going to find you. I don’t have secret rooms like Tony has! I’m not a goddamn billionaire!” Cassandra hissed at you.

Tony’s shout echoed up the stairs, “Y/N! My patience is running really fucking goddamn thin!”

Cassandra pulled you close and stared deep into your eyes. “He’s going to find you, Y/N!”

“I don’t want him to. He’s so mad,” you said pathetically.

“Yeah, sounds like you did a bunch of shit to make him mad!”

“Don’t be mean!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone and pissed your daddy off. I don’t do that shit, Y/N. I keep mine happy.”

“He likes pushback—”

Something shattered downstairs and there were cries of alarm as Tony’s voice rang up the stairs – he was closer now. “Y/N, if you don’t come out by yourself, you are just making things worse for yourself!”

“He’s breaking my shit, Y/N!”

“I’ll replace it,” you hissed.

The pair of you stiffened hearing his footfalls on her wooden stairs and both of your gazes shot to the closet.

“Get in your closet,” you told her in hushed tones. She looked at you confused and you said, “Just do it! I’ll just stay out here and he won’t bother you!”

She did as you asked, closing the door as quietly as she could. Before you really had time to think, Tony appeared in the doorway. Your eyes immediately fell to the gun at his side and your stomach turned. His pupils were blown wide, and you knew he was high as hell. Cocaine no doubt; it was his favorite.

“Hey,” you tried weakly, eyeing the gun worriedly.

Tony stomped across the room, his hand closing in on your arm like a vice, tugging you to him.

“Daddy!” you cried out, wincing against his grip.

“Don’t ‘daddy’ me!” Tony growled. He shook you as he continued furiously, “How fucking stupid are you? Huh? Driving drunk? Do you not care how much that car cost? Do you have no regard for your own life? You have absolutely lost that fucking car!”

“I didn’t crash!” you argued, drunk ‘logic’ getting the better of you.

Tony laughed humorlessly, “You didn’t crash. You didn’t crash…” He threw his hands out, letting you go. “Right. Right. That’s true. You know what? Everything’s forgiven. Forgiven. Slate wiped clean.”

You asked uncertainly, “Really?”

He suddenly yanked you to him again causing you to yelp in alarm, your noses almost touching. “Your ass is going to be black and blue when I’m done with you!”

“Daddy, the gun—”

“I’m not gonna fucking shoot you, Y/N! Don’t be a dumb bitch.”

“Just be careful!” you pleaded.

“Oh, you are telling me to be careful?” Tony spat before his fingers dug in even further on your arm. “Why didn’t you come when I called?”

“I was going to the bathroom!” you half lied. “I wasn’t going to run out there with my pants down! Daddy, you’re hurting my arm.”

Tony chuckled darkly, ignoring what you said. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Because I know you’re fucking lying!” He snarled, shaking you again. “You knew you were in big trouble and you were trying to avoid me!”

He began pulling you out of the room and towards the stairs. The two of you clamored down the stairs. You were wincing against how roughly he was handling you, the drugs doing him no favors in remembering to be gentler.

Louis was holding your purse having found it while Tony was upstairs searching for you.

“Drive her car home,” Tony ordered Loius who nodded in acknowledgment.

Tony only hesitated for a moment coming up to porcelain statue he had shattered. His gaze flicked to your bare feet and he guided you around it. You felt a sliver of relief seeing the thing he had broken was something Cassandra had gotten at Home Goods and was not attached to. The relief was short lived though, Tony dragging you down the steps of her house, across the porch towards the driveway. Mikhail was on your heels.

When you got to the car, he opened the back door and shoved you roughly into the backseat. “Get your ass in there!”

<><><>

At the elevator back home after eating dinner a couple nights after arriving in NYC, Tony led you onto it and pressed two different buttons. You eyed him suspiciously because one was the penthouse and the other was a different floor before it. He caught you staring.

“I need to go to the office first. You don’t have to go with me; you can go upstairs.”

“But—” you began to protest.

Tony hushed you with a deep kiss. “Come now, you can stand to be without me for a little while, yeah?”

Exhaling disappointed, you shrugged. You had gone shopping earlier in the day with Louis, picking up Tony one of his favorite bottles of bourbon and gourmet salted caramel to go on some ice cream. You had planned to give it to him tonight and even more so after the disappointing dessert the two of you had had at dinner. It was going to be perfect and now he was going to probably take forever and you would pass out before he would come upstairs.

“I’ll be up in a second,” Tony told you, giving you a kiss on the forehead. You gave him a sad look and he chuckled, “I promise. I’m not going to be working. I just need to send a quick e-mail.”

“That sounds like work to me…”

“It’s not. Trust me,” Tony assured you, giving you a light pat on the ass as the elevator dinged for his floor. He gave you another kiss and said, “Seriously. Fifteen minutes tops.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you muttered, much to his amusement. He waved at you before the elevator doors closed.

Scowling you, crossed your arms as the elevator started up again. When it opened at the penthouse, you walked in, tossing your purse on one of the chairs near the door and kicked your heels off. You sighed in relief, your bare feet on the marble. Making your way down the hall towards the kitchen, you thought about what you wanted to watch until Tony decided to show up again.

You stopped at the entrance to the kitchen seeing things on the counter that were not there before the two of you had left.

“What’s this?” you asked no one, frowning.

You walked closer and your eyes widened on one thing in particular. There was a large piece of fancy cheesecake on the counter with a large vase of your favorite flowers beside it along a gift bag.

“Oh thank god,” you said to yourself about the cheesecake.

You immediately went around the counter to grab a fork and came back to dig in for a big bite before hesitating. Maybe you should wait for him. But he also could take forever. You pivoted, looking towards the staircase, thinking. Putting the fork down next to the plate, you went upstairs quickly to grab the bags from earlier. If he got upset about you eating the piece before he got back upstairs, you would have his gift ready to placate.

You set the bag up nicely next to yours on the counter before picking the fork back up and taking the container lid off the piece of cheesecake. You took the first bite and sighed happily. As you chewed, you thought this could not have been sitting on the counter for long. He must have had someone grab it on the way back from the restaurant after he saw how put out you were by the piece of chocolate cake there.

After a few more bites, you put the fork down again and reached for the gift bag that had been left there. Tossing the tissue paper aside, you found loungewear from an online shop you liked.

You jumped at the sound of Tony’s voice. “That’s the right shop, right? That ethical one you were talking about?”

He came up from behind you and wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck.

“Mhmm,” you confirmed, picking up the fork and digging into the cheesecake again. You held it up to him and he took a bite. “It’s their new line.”

“Now you’ve had authentic New York cheesecake. Supposed to be the best,” he said as he chewed. You smiled at that, taking another bite. “Far better than that shit at the restaurant. Sorry about that, baby. Hoped this might cheer you up.”

“It did, tremendously. Speaking of that,” you said putting the fork down and unwinding yourself from his embrace. You reached for the other bag and held it out to him.

“What’s this?” Tony asked, taking it from you. He pulled out the bourbon and snickered. His eyes though lit up at the caramel.

“See, you can put that on ice cream tonight to also make up for the shitty dessert. It’s like I saw the future!”

Tony hummed in approval, popping the lid off the jar. He took your fork and dipped in it, licking it off. He got some out for you and you licked it off tantalizingly, not breaking eye contact.

“I think I can think of something better than ice cream to put this on,” Tony commented, running his tongue along his lip.

You snorted, pushing away from him. “I already took a shower today.” He screwed the lid back on the container and placed it back on the counter, following you, trying to grab you. You slapped his hand away and said, “Ugh, let me finish my cheesecake!”

“It’ll be there after I’m done finishing you,” Tony said. “I haven’t returned the favor from the other day.” You let him grab you, yanking you close, smiling wildly. “I wanna taste you, kitten.”

Sighing, you said, “I suppose I can allow it.”

Tony rose his eyebrows, playfully, “Oh, you are gonna allow it?” You nodded, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. “Who put you in charge?”

“Me.”

“That’s cute, kitten,” Tony said, dipping down to plant a deep kiss on your lips.

He began guiding you backwards towards the living room, your lips never leaving the other’s, until your legs hit the back of one of the couches. You fell back onto the couch and Tony followed, hiking your short skirt up past your hips. Your panties were torn down your legs and he laid a trail of kisses up one thigh and then the other, nuzzling slowly at your sex between. He was taking it slow, working up to pressing his tongue in. Your fingers curled up in his hair, bucking towards him when he gave a suck at your pearl. Tony slipped two fingers in, curling them to hit your g spot. He was good at alternating between the two and had you coming down around his tongue in record fashion.

Coming up, his lips were glistening, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. You beckoned him to you tiredly and he did as you asked. You sat up to meet his lips, kissing him slowly.

“Thanks for the gifts. All of them.”

“You know I’m never going to complain about seeing you in tight yoga pants,” he said, his lips brushing yours with a smile. “Those were a gift for the both of us.”

“Ass,” you said hitting his chest and he laughed in return.

<><><>

The following evening leaving an event, your fingers tip toed up Tony’s arm, trying to bring him out of his concentration. He had been on his phone since the moment the two of you had gotten into the back seat of the Escalade.

“Yes, kitten?” he asked, his eyes still trained on his phone.

“Can we go to this address I have?” you asked, holding up a slip of paper.

“What address?”

“A sightseeing place.”

Tony sighed, still not looking at you, “Y/N, we have dinner being delivered to the penthouse.”

“Yes, but there are people there to bring it up for us. And they can put it into the fridge. It can wait!”

He did not say anything in response, and you shook his arm. You saw Mikhail’s lips twitching in amusement at your persistence in the seat in front of the two of you.

“Why do we need to go to this address?’

Exasperated, you said, “I just told you. It’s a sightseeing place.”

“Of course it is. But why?”

“Daddy, it’s my first time in NYC! I just wanna see things and you’re not being nice about it.”

Tony finally put his phone down and looked you in the eyes.

“You think I’m not nice to you?”

“Not right now,” you returned, looking pitiful. Tony cocked his head, staring at you. You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. He said nothing and you moved up, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Please? I won’t ask for anything else.”

He snorted loudly, “I find that really hard to believe.”

“I promise. For the rest of the day.”

“There’s the catch,” Tony nodded. He exhaled loudly and relented, “Fine. Tell the driver.”

You did not waste a second to reach forward and hand the piece of paper to Mikhail. “Can you pass this up to Happy so he can put it into the GPS for the driver?”

“Why aren’t you just telling me where we are going?” Tony asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Because it’s not really your thing.”

“Perfect,” Tony said sarcastically. You snuggled back up against him, and your hand brushed across his lap. He caught your hand and whispered, “Not right now, you little minx.” You stuck out your bottom lip and he smirked in response before leaning down and giving you a kiss and then going back to work on his phone.

When you were getting close, Tony began to realize where you were going and he asked just as you pulled, “Why here, though?”

You gestured up at the building. “Because it is beautiful? Look at it! Imagine what the inside looks like!”

“It’s a church, Y/N. There are thousands – millions, probably – like it all over this country.”

You stuck out your bottom lip. “Daddy, please. There’s not many churches like this, that’s a lie!”

“Christ.”

By his tone, you knew you had broken his resolve. You slapped him in the chest, a smile coming across your face. You gripped his collar and pulled him close. “That’s the spirit!”

He realized what you said and got the joke just as you pecked him on the nose and let go of his collar.

“Where can we get out?” you asked excitedly, and you did not miss the amused look on his face at your happiness. You felt butterflies at his adoration and then a sinking feeling, anxiety creeping back in like it had been ever since you had found out you were pregnant. Shoving it away, you tried to think about the beautiful photos you were going to take inside.

<><><>

“Hey,” you said walking up to Pepper’s desk and placing the iced coffee you had bought her in front of her.

“Afternoon, Y/N,” Pepper said eyeing the coffee.

“Oh, I got that for you. I got an extra shot because and it’s almond milk.” Pepper seemed surprised and you added quickly, “I remembered that time I heard you order it.”

“That… is sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” you said before taking a drink of your own coffee. “That cathedral was amazing.”

“Oh, you actually went.” She sounded shocked.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah. Not last night but the night before. You said it was nice, so I begged. I actually didn’t tell him what it was before we got there, he just told me to give the driver the address. Tony’s not really a church going person so he wasn’t entirely thrilled. But he enjoyed himself.”

“I can’t imagine Tony inside a church for any reason,” Pepper told you, taking a drink of her coffee.

“He did say ‘Christ’ before we went in. So, the energy was there, it was just misguided.”

She actually snorted at your joke. “Now that I can imagine.”

Silence fell between the two of you and you shifted uncomfortably, looking out her window. You had come in here for a reason but it was not easy to shift gears.

“Are you alright?” Pepper asked hesitantly.

Biting your bottom lip, you thought about how to approach what you wanted to say. But there really was no easing into it, especially since you were not going to be around her all the time. “I know this is really sudden and weird and I don’t want you to think I only got the coffee to try to make you happy and listen to me. The coffee is really a thanks for all the suggestions and taking it seriously when I asked you for the suggestions.” You inhaled deeply and then said slowly, “But, I was thinking – hoping, really – that maybe you can talk to Tony.”

You had her attention. Her hands fell from the keyboard, looking concerned.

“About?”

“Uh you know… having a baby… like… at all.”

Pepper was staring at you flabbergasted and you sucked in your lips, staring at her in return, wanting her to say anything. Uncomfortably, she said, “Y/N. That is a conversation you need to have with Tony. Not me.”

You flopped into her chair opposite her desk. “It would be better coming from someone else. Especially someone close to him like you are you. Happy sure as hell won’t.”

“Um, okay,” Pepper said. “W-why does this need to happen?”

“I’m sure he’s gonna get tired of me, find someone else, and then I’m just gonna be stuck with this baby. That I have no idea what to do with.”

Again, she looked floored by what you said and you had a sinking feeling this conversation was not going to go the way you hoped.

“I don’t think Tony is going to leave you, Y/N. I would actually be shocked,” Pepper said carefully. “And he’s excited about the baby. Really excited. He won’t shut up about it actually.”

Great.

Sighing heavily, you explained further, “I think he’s gonna regret it. Because it’s completely going to destroy my body. Like my stomach and my hips are never going to be the same. And my breasts.”

“Is that what you’re concerned about?’ Pepper asked, unable to keep the disdain out of her voice.

You shrugged quickly. “I’m worried about a lot of things that I don’t have time to get into detail about. But I mean, he didn’t get with me because of my intelligence.” Pepper narrowed her eyes and you pressed on quickly, “But, I just thought maybe you could try to talk to him, you know, some sense into him about it? He would listen to you. If I tell him having a baby is a bad idea…” you paused and then shook your head, shrugging. “He’ll think I’m just having a moment and won’t take me saying we shouldn’t have the baby seriously. He’ll think I’m being dramatic. Which is something I am a lot of the time, so it’s a good point normally. Can’t fault him there. But if you talked to him, he would choose—”

Happy walked in then and you immediately shut up, leaning back. He was not looking at you and you bit your lip, wondering if he had heard anything.

You noticed Pepper was watching you with curiosity about how quickly you had gone silent at his presence.

“Do you have that file for Tony? He’s about to call Gene.”

“Yeah,” Pepper nodded. “I’ll e-mail it to him. Sorry, I got busy this morning.”

“Hey, Happy,” you greeted, trying to play it cool. Happy turned his head to look at you and you asked, “So, um, I’m kind of hungry. Is there anything I can have from the lobby?”

“Y/N. Tony already has lunch plans for you. You know that.”

“Right,” you said. You did not miss the confused expression on Pepper’s face at his response, even if it was only there for a moment. You decided to try to press your luck. “But, I meant, Tony usually takes a lot of time in his meetings and I’m pregnant so…” Happy stared back at you in silence and you moved. “Okay, I’ll just go do it—”

He held up his hand and shook his head. Sighing, sounding reluctant, he asked, “What would you like?”

“Like… a banana. Or something. Something healthy.”

Nodding, Happy said, “Right. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and walked back out of the room.

You turned your attention back to Pepper, who was still looking at the door suspiciously where Happy had walked off before meeting your gaze again. You joked weakly, “Maybe being pregnant isn’t so bad. Everyone kind of just waits on you hand and foot.”

“I think you should talk to Tony, Y/N,” Pepper reiterated. “It’s perfectly normal to feel nervous. I’m sure most mothers to be do feel nervous. And I don’t think he’ll brush you off.”

“Sometimes he does,” you muttered, taking a drink of your tea.

“I think… with something important like this, he’ll actually listen. He’s not a complete ass.” You smiled softly at that and she nodded. “Trust me.”

Knowing how excited Tony was about the baby – Pepper did not need to tell you that herself, he made it abundantly clear to you. He had been asking you if you had thought about how you wanted to decorate the nursery already – made the thought of a conversation difficult. Tony was not one to be dissuaded from something he wanted, especially something important. He was stubborn to a fault. But maybe she was right.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” you admitted.

She nodded encouragingly.

Happy returned with the banana from the communal space outside their offices.

“Are we going to go soon? Do you know?” you asked him, as he handed it to you.

“Tony’s got another meeting and then we’re going.”

You sighed, leaning back on the couch. You knew ‘another meeting’ could range from five minutes to an hour depending on who it was. “Thank you. This will help,” you said holding up the banana, weakly.

Happy nodded, “Of course.”

“Emailing it,” Pepper told him and he thanked her before walking out of the office.

You blew out a raspberry as soon as he was gone. “I suppose I should go out and leave you to your work. Plus it’ll be easier to find me whenever Tony does want to go. I don’t want that to take longer than necessary. I’m serious, I’m starving.” You stood up from the chair and told her sincerely, “I’ll figure out how to approach this.”

“Good,” she said, nodding again. “It’ll be fine.”

You wished you felt as confident as she sounded.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21

Fic tags: @kvzctam, @farihafangirls, @teenageregression, @mrsnegan25, @lilacs-lavender, @agustdowney, @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @emmariexx 

[larkace]

Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

[lalainajanes]

This completes column #2 on my bingo card, the square was “Eager Backstage Groupie”

Another Shot of Courage

 Saturday, May 1st, 8:16 AM

Caroline wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in the little black dress she'd worn to Kat's birthday party, with a headache and a foul-tasting mouth. She's sprawled in the middle of a very large mattress, so the first thing Caroline does is explore. She stretches her arms out tentatively, expecting to poke someone (hopefully an unobjectionable someone) awake.

She appears to be alone, and Caroline relaxes into the fluffy pillows. She wiggles experimentally, satisfied when her bra and underwear dig into uncomfortable areas and gives in to the temptation to burrow under the duvet.

She just needs a minute to regret her life choices before she confronts them. Caroline sighs, stretches, and her fuzzy head begins to clear, memories sharpening.

And yikes.

Can she stay in her self-made blanket fort forever? A lot of her conduct last night had been highly irrational, some of it downright hypocritical. She is a public relations professional, highly sought after. Her clients pay many pretty pennies for her services.

Had she seriously mauled Klaus Mikaelson in one of the trendiest clubs in LA?

Caroline tugs down the blanket, intent on confirming her suspicions, allowing her to look around and study the room with new eyes.

There's a brick fireplace at the end of the bed, a wide armchair in front of it – not particularly revealing. Her eyes flick to the left. There's nothing, but dark curtains pulled tight over a wall of windows.

When she looks to the right, there's a smoking gun. Well, kind of. It's a drafting table, an easel, and shelves featuring paintbrushes, haphazardly stacked sketchbooks, and a bunch of other things that Caroline doesn't currently have the brainpower to identify.

She considers slipping out of bed and checking to see if those curtains cover any kind of door. She thinks it's logical to assume so. She's only been to Klaus' home a few times, tries to insist they meet at her office. She's never ventured far beyond the kitchen and living rooms, but it's a Spanish-style bungalow on a sprawling lot. Why wouldn't he have a walk out into the yard from his bedroom?

She discards the idea with some regret. Running away without a word is a coward's move and would probably backfire. Klaus is still her client, whatever psychosis had gripped Caroline last night, and it's not like she could dump him via email at this point. He's got a huge movie coming in three weeks, and they're flying to London tomorrow to begin the premiere tour. She could probably pass it on to another publicist, but she'd still be on the hook, would have to coordinate her plans long-distance.

Selfishly, Caroline hopes that's not necessary. She'd hate for someone else to reap the benefits of her hard work.

She heaves herself into a sitting position, wincing when her head throbs. Her stomach seems solid, with no hint of queasiness, so that's a plus. Caroline tosses the covers aside, shifts until her legs slide over the side of the bed. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror through the open closet door and cringes.

She'd done an excellent smoky eye last night, and it's migrated all over her face. She doesn't even want to consider how long it's going to take to detangle her hair. She decides she can wait a bit to hunt down Klaus, stepping forward and twisting the knob on the closed door. "Jackpot," Caroline mutters, walking into Klaus' bathroom. There's a stack of towels on the counter, and she figures it won't hurt to take a shower.

She'd had her tongue in his mouth and had apparently kicked him out of his bed, so what's one more presumption?

Friday, April 30th, 10:47 PM

In the VIP lounge Kat had rented, elevated above the main dance floor, Caroline waves away a shot of tequila. She'd had one during the birthday toast, wine at dinner. Had just ordered an overpriced cocktail. She's pleasantly tipsy but needs to pace herself because she can't get too drunk tonight.

Besides, Caroline and tequila have a complicated relationship.

Kat boos her, a few of the other girls joining in. Caroline laughs, "I know, I'm boring. I have a million things to do tomorrow to make sure I'm ready to live out of a suitcase for weeks."

Katherine scoffs, "Just make Klaus buy you anything you forget. What good is a guy who's hot for you and makes big fat superhero movie paychecks if he won't buy you pretty things?"

They've discussed this a bajillion times. Caroline has actually run away from this exact conversation, shouting nonsense syllables, with her fingers jammed in her ear, as if she and Katherine still fight over Barbies and who gets to wear dress-up trunk's best princess dress.

Caroline still can't resist arguing – it's a character flaw. "He's my client. That's it."

"Oh, please. Men in this town bone their clients all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Usually, this is the part where Katherine tries to convince her that Klaus is dying to be boned – her words, not Caroline's – but she gets distracted, squinting across the bar. Kat's lips curl, expression growing sly, "It appears my argument is moot."

Um, what? Katherine's literally never backed down from an argument in the twenty-plus years they've been friends. Puzzled, Caroline turns, trying to see what caught Kat's attention.

The club features several VIP lounges, each located at the top of a short staircase and decorated with wide velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers. There's an attendant who keeps booze and food flowing. It's clever – the sofas are inviting and squishy, tend to force people close together. The chandeliers ensure that anyone who happens to take a picture can get a decent shot, and the free flow of liquor has lowered the inhibitions of at least half a dozen celebrities, resulting in photos that send the gossip blogs into a tizzy as soon as they hit the internet.

When Caroline spots Klaus across the way, a redheaded model sprawled in his lap, she's immediately fuming.

"Looks like he got tired of waiting," Kat drawls. "Wanna reconsider the tequila?"

"Katherine. I love you. But zip it."

Katherine makes a face but leaves Caroline alone, turning to another one of their friends and asking a question. Caroline takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

She'd busted her ass to make him appear family-friendly enough to land the movie with the very PR-conscious studio that had netted him the big fat checks Katherine had just been crowing over. He's jeopardizing that on the eve of the most significant press tour of his career.

She looks over again, leaning forward. The redhead's moved away, she's sitting at Klaus' side, and they now appear to be merely engaged in conversation. Caroline does her best to think like a photographer – is there an angle that could make the scene look tawdry?

Probably not. So really, Klaus isn't jeopardizing anything.

Caroline's anger doesn't cool at the revelation.

She's so screwed.

She's on her feet before she decides to be, stalking down the stairs. She hears Katherine yelling borderline lewd encouragement at her back, but Caroline knows better than to take her advice.

She's marching over to diffuse, not inflame.

Hopefully.

Saturday, May 1st, 9:01 AM

She finds Klaus in his living room, asleep, his legs hanging awkwardly over the arm of a too-short couch, his torso twisted so awkwardly that Caroline's back twinges sympathetically. With the confirmation that she had stolen his bed, more of Caroline's irritation fades. The shower had helped, as had the bottle of water she'd guzzled and the three Tylenol she'd popped.

She takes a seat on his coffee table, setting down her second bottle of water. Caroline reaches out, shaking his shoulder gently. "Klaus," she murmurs when he begins to stir. "Wake up."

She could probably leave him to sleep. Klaus' stylist will handle most of his packing; he's borrowed a dizzying volume of outfits and accessories for Klaus to wear on this trip. The announcement won't come for another two weeks, but Klaus is shooting a Dior cologne ad once his press obligations wrap. The brand had requested he start wearing the newest line. Caroline had attended the last fitting, and she'd had a hard time keeping her blatant ogling under wraps.

Klaus looks good in ratty jeans, in a suit tailored to his measurements? Just about anyone attracted to men would have struggled not to appreciate the sight.

That's how Caroline had justified letting her emails pile up that afternoon.

She'd been a little worried about her control slipping on this trip, once they were alone in the hotel, and Klaus dropped the shiny, press-perfect façade he's learned to maintain. Caroline had designed that mask to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Doing interview prep has unfortunately only emphasized how much more she likes Klaus without it.

Klaus stretches, eyes fluttering open. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "I hope you slept better than I did."

Caroline winces, "Don’t you have a guest room or two you could have shoved me in?”

He smiles lazily, “You were quite insistent on touring my bedroom.”

Her eyes slam shut, face heating, “And that is why I don’t drink tequila unsupervised,” she grumbles.

He laughs, sitting up, his legs bracketing hers. He reaches for her water bottle and helps himself to a sip. Caroline leans back, fishing the Tylenol out of the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from his closet. She’d needed something bulkier to hide the fact she hadn’t been able to convince herself to strap her bra back on. “Do you want these?” she asks, rattling the bottle.

Klaus shakes his head, “I’m not hungover. I didn’t drink at all, and you stole that shot of tequila that was meant for me, remember?”

Ohhh no. She’d forgotten about that. She’d stolen his and the model’s.

Which, in hindsight, goes a long way to explaining what had happened after. Caroline’s problem with tequila is that once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. It heightens her usually non-existent impulsive streak, leads to sub-par decisions.

Occasionally, tequila does make her clothes fall off.

Caroline buries her hands in her face, wishing she hadn’t tied her hair back. She’s mortified, probably growing splotchy. “I am so sorry,” she mutters.

Klaus sighs, tries to tug her hands away. Caroline resists, tensing her muscles, wishes she’d gone with her first instinct and fled out the backdoor. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing, voice dipping into coaxing tones. “No apology necessary. I’m not the least bit upset.”

Unfortunately, Caroline’s totally up to the task of being upset enough for the both of them.

Friday, April 30th, 10:53 PM

Once the attendant in Klaus VIP area confirms that he does know Caroline and lets her up the stairs, Klaus has managed to increase the distance between his body and the model’s. He seems pleased to see her, grabbing her hand and tugging her to sit next to him on the couch.

Close enough that they’re connected thigh to shoulder.

The model, whose name Caroline doesn’t particularly care about, is less welcoming. She glares daggers at Caroline’s hand, still enclosed in Klaus’. He makes polite introductions. “Genevieve, this is my publicist and very good friend, Caroline Forbes. Caroline, Genevieve. She’s a friend of Kol’s.”

Klaus’ younger brother is also an actor, still firmly in the throes of his wild child phase. Caroline finds him entertaining, despite her best intentions, but he’s known to delight in making her job more complicated. She glances around suspiciously, “Is Kol here?”

Klaus gestures vaguely to the dance floor. “Somewhere. He dragged me out to celebrate a pilot he booked, then disappeared.”

Hmm, that could lead to disaster. Caroline wonders if she should shoot his publicist a text as a professional courtesy.

Caroline smiles at Genevieve sharply, “So sweet of you to keep Klaus company.” It’s mean, but Caroline wonders if Genevieve has somehow heard about Klaus’ Dior deal through the grapevine. Maybe she’s aiming for a co-starring role – Caroline’s read the treatment for the commercial; it’s supposed to be streamy.

Oh, good lord, High School Caroline has somehow time traveled and taken over her body.

Genevieve pastes on an equally fake smile (at least Caroline’s not the only one regressing). Before she can snipe back, a silver tray is set in front of them, two shots resting on it. The attendant catches Caroline’s eye, “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

Klaus interrupts, squeezes her hand in an absent apology, “Sorry, there must be some mistake. I ordered a water.”

He’s contractually obligated to maintain a ridiculously chiseled body. Caroline’s got a reminder in her phone to order him a pile of celebratory spaghetti after his press obligations are officially over and he can relax for a few months.

The attendant’s eyes flit to Genevieve in confusion, “I…”

“I cancelled that,” she chirps, sliding her hand up Klaus’ arm. Genevieve leans in, tone lowering to what Caroline thinks is supposed to be a seductive level. “Figured we would toast.”

Caroline catches it because she’s practically plastered to Klaus’ other side. “Who toasts with tequila?” she asks. “Other than creeps at bars, I mean.”

Had Caroline not been well acquainted with Katherine Pierce, she might have been intimidated by Genevieve's attempt at a lethal glare.

Caroline stares back, reaching blindly for the first shot. She tosses it back, then the second, fighting the shudder that wants to wrack her frame through sheer willpower alone.

“Bitch,” Genevieve mutters, standing and flouncing away.

It’s petty, but Caroline savors her win.

Klaus is staring at her oddly, a touch concerned. “Maybe we should get you some water, love.”

Saturday, May 1st, 9:04 AM

“There were more shots when I got back to Kat’s party,” Caroline moans. “I’m going to kill her. She knows my weaknesses.”

“While I am reluctant to defend your irritating friend, she did seem rather intent on her fun. It was her birthday, wasn’t it?”

Caroline nods, “Yeah. And Kat’s always been firmly convinced that she should get to do whatever her little black heart desires on her birthday.”

“She did insist I ensure you get home safely. I’m afraid you were rather reluctant to supply your address.”

She sighs, finally dropping her hands. “Honestly, I just moved into a condo. I might not have remembered it.” That’s the less embarrassing option. It’s probably more likely that tequila drunk Caroline had crafted a plan to seduce Klaus, and step one entailed getting invited to his house. “I know you said not to apologize, but I obviously put you out. I’m supposed to babysit you, not the other way around.”

Klaus laughs, his knee nudging hers. “I haven’t needed that for ages, as you well know.”

He has a point – Caroline likely wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if he was still indulging in public drunkenness and paparazzi punching. When she’d first met with Klaus, it had been out of curiosity. She’d made a comfortable living from her client roster, did not need to take on the project of a difficult actor.

Klaus’ bad behavior had been a few years in the past, and he’d just come off a run of festival darlings and had produced a surprise hit sci-fi drama. He’d been frustrated by the doors that remained firmly shut to him, had laid his ambitions on the table.

Caroline had been intrigued. While she’s excellent at her job, but it’s always easier to work her magic with clients who are willing to dive into the work. Klaus’ talent was undeniable; she’d thought he could be a household name with the right opportunity. She’d agreed to take him on, and three years later, it’s paid off.

Caroline tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands, eyes on the frayed trim. “I was mad when I saw you last night, and that wasn’t fair. You’d set you were resting up for the press tour, but it’s not my business if you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I was resuming some bad habits?” Klaus asks. “I know that particular venue has a… reputation. Probably why Kol picked it.”

Caroline sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge how he feels, but he’s not giving much away. “No, not really. I trust you. I wasn’t thinking super logically.”

She has to admit, at least to herself, that she’d been jealous. Caroline’s going to have to think about how deep that goes, if the feelings that had slapped her in the face last night will prevent their working relationship from being effective. What if Klaus meets someone? Will she be able to plant sneaky tidbits about how happy they are, scour the gossip blogs for rumors that could become issues?

“You? Not thinking logically? However could that be?”

She glares at him, though she knows his teasing is good-natured. “Some of it was the booze. I totally wouldn’t have hauled you onto the dance floor without it. And I wouldn’t have… well, you were there.”

She’s not up to list her transgressions. If Klaus hadn’t been drinking, then his memory of her wandering hands, her flirtatious comments, and heated invitations should be crystal clear. Caroline had been drunk, and she’s having a hard time not dwelling on the kiss – which, to be fair, Klaus had enthusiastically participated in – that she’d initiated.

“I was there. I have no objections to anything that occurred last night, save perhaps wishing you’d been sober.” Her head snaps up, eyes widening in shock, and Klaus laughs incredulously. “Surely you must know of my interest in you, Caroline.”

She’s suspected, but she’s also well aware that Klaus has no shortage of offers. Last night is proof of that. Caroline has always assumed that take one of them, at some point, and his flirtatiousness with her would fade away. She’d dated an actor or two when she’d moved to LA after wrapping up college. Caroline had been working insane hours then, trying to claw her way past the other assistants at the agency where she’d worked. Her exes from that time period had been quick to move on once they realized she wasn’t willing to center her universe around them.

“Interest can be fleeting.”

“It’s been three years.”

“You never made a real move.”

Again, Klaus counters quickly. “You’d not have accepted, and then you’d likely have pawned me off on someone else.”

Yeah, he’s got a point there. “I’m your publicist.”

“I have no objection to mixing business with pleasure. If you do, I suppose I’m willing to suffer a less competent publicist.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve been plotting.”

Klaus shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Perhaps a bit. I’ve always been entirely honest with you, I merely prevented a situation that would lessen the time we spent together until such a time as you were ready to consider me in a romantic light.”

“That’s a lot of words to confess you’ve been trying to flirt me into submission while flashing your hot body at every opportunity,” Caroline grumbles.

Klaus’ smile widens, dimples now visible. “It seems to have worked. Assuming that you meant the things you said to me last night?”

“I…” she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that directly. She should have been – Klaus is skilled at choosing the best way to catch someone off guard. Caroline glances away from him, eyes catching on the clock across the room. Crap. She has so much to do. “I have to go,” Caroline tells him, standing up.

His eyes narrow,  and his head tips to the side, like he’s searching for a sign of weakness. Both telltale indicators that Klaus is gearing up to argue. Caroline holds up a hand, “I know, okay? This looks like I’m running away, and technically I am, but this is not the time to begin that mixing you mentioned. We’ve both worked too hard to risk screwing up the next few weeks. Did you read your contract? The fines for non-compliance are no joke.”

“Now is not the time,” Klaus says slowly. “Meaning?”

“We table it now. I’m open to a discussion later.” Three weeks is plenty of time for her to sort out where she stands, right? Caroline never sleeps on flights anyway.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a timeline. I understand that you feel obligated to ensure this press tour goes smoothly, but you can only use it as an excuse until it’s over, love. I’m prepared to be persuasive.”

“What, do you want me to schedule something on your calendar? Maybe set an agenda?”

“No need to be so formal. Just agree to have dinner with me once we return. Here, if you’d like, so we don’t risk inflaming the tabloids before you’re ready.”

“You seem awfully sure that this is going to go a certain way. So eager to fire me?”

Klaus gets to his feet, and Caroline sucks in a nervous breath. Sitting across from each other, he’d been a reasonable distance away. Now, with both of them standing in the narrow gap between his couch and coffee table, if one of them breathes too deeply or shifts deliberately, they’ll be plastered together.

She’s tempted despite knowing she’s right about the timing.

Klaus rests his hand on her waist and turns them so Caroline could step back if she wanted to.

She stays where she is.

A tiny smile curls Klaus’ lips and his hand moves, pressing her closer. “As much as I enjoyed your more… explicit ramblings last night, I must confess my favorite revelation was when you confessed to just how long you’ve had them.”

Caroline, not for the first time, curses tequila’s wretched existence.

Wednesday, May 5th 2:20 PM

The meet and greets are going to kill her.

Caroline had thought they were a good idea when she’d poured through the itinerary the studio had sent over. Inviting popular bloggers, auctioning off tickets for charity, allowing fans to enter random draws – it’s great PR and provides the opportunity for viral moments, while also controlling the environment.

Caroline’s leaning against one of the walls, unnoticed, eyes on her client.

A lot of eyes are on her client, some of which irritate Caroline more than others. The two teenage girls, trailed by an exasperated dad, who’d both burst into tears when Klaus had smiled at them? Totally adorable. The nerdy college student who’d grilled Klaus about his character’s comic backstory? Kind of a pain, but Klaus had done his homework, and Caroline had been impressed.

And annoyed. Excessive preparation is very attractive and unhelpful at this juncture of the press tour. Caroline’s already begun to reconsider what they’d agreed to, wonders if knocking on his hotel room door on the last night would be such a bad thing.

That line of thinking might be overly influenced by the scene in front of her.

Klaus is speaking with a woman in an afternoon inappropriate silver dress. Caroline’s sorely tempted to have her escorted out by security. She’d slipped a key card into the back pocket of Klaus’ jeans within 90 seconds of meeting him.

He’s handed it back, said something that made her laugh. They’re still talking.

Klaus glances up, eyes landing on her immediately. Caroline hastily tries to soften her irritated expression lest he guesses its reason. Klaus smiles, subtly tips his water bottle in her direction. Silver Dress invades his personal space a little more.

Ugh. It’s gonna be a long three weeks.

[heybeybey]

Of Bank Robberies and Math Lessons

@petra-realsnk shared on the Rivetra Writers discord a badass cottagecore outfit with a rifle for Petra and for some reason it reminded me of this fic idea I've had for sometime.

So here, have this drabble of Robinhood-type Criminal Petra x Elementary Math Teacher Levi because I want Levi in glasses and badass Petra Ral.

Also also, if you're curious why I chose math, there was one scene in the Junior High anime where Levi scored a high grade in the subject. Big brain, big dick. Just Petra's type

Word count: 1,369

Summary: She comes in and out of his life, but with how she's making a difference, he finds that he didn't really mind.

"You're here." He almost drops the math book in his hand when he sees a flash of ginger hair in the alleyway.

"Missed me, sir?" Petra teases, pulling on his cravat to lead him a bit further into the alley and away from from the prying eyes of school kids.

Levi shivers at that, huffing as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up to see her clearly. He takes in her white corset top, flowing dark red skirt and leather boots. She has a brown hooded cape on and he notices that the rifle gun on her side might be the reason for that. He notes how her outfit absolutely just screams Petra—feminine and dainty but still a spark that's waiting to burn.

He missed her, and he doesn't wait to lean down to capture her lips in a desperate kiss, an arm encircling her petite waist to pull her closer. It's been two weeks since he'd last seen her and he's taking every moment he can get to compensate for that.

"Tea?" she asks breathlessly and with a stupid smile on her face. He'd already dismissed his students and Levi was planning to grade papers back in his apartment, but he knows he can't deny her when they rarely even see each other.

He shrugs. "Why not."

- -

"So... how are your students?" He doesn't look up from his task as he answers Petra, content to just work while he basks in the presence of his girlfriend. They're currently in one of his favorite tea shops, with him grading papers and her sipping on her tea under her hood.

"Stupid as ever. There's this kid who I've been tutoring one-on-one for weeks now and he still keeps failing," he rants. "All he talks about are the titans outside the walls. I don't get paid enough for this bullshit."

"You should relax more, Levi." She reaches out, suddenly grabbing the glasses from the bridge of his nose while he was in the middle of encircling a student's final score. He gives out a "tch" in annoyance, moving to take the glasses back from her but just sighs when he sees that she's wearing it just to tease him. Petra looks so adorable cheekily smiling in his glasses that he almost allows her to have it for a little longer.

"I would but if you're surrounded by imbeciles, it's hard not to pop a vein."

"Cut them some slack, Levi. They're 10 years old."

"I was already forced into child labor when I was 11 years old, just so you know." He quips. Petra just rolls her eyes at that.

"Maybe if you loosen up a little, they wouldn't be so scared to actually ask you things they don't understand," Petra scolds lightly.

- -

They were lying naked on his bed, bodies covered in freshly-laundered sheets and breaths panting as they bask in their afterglow, when she drops the bomb.

"I wanted to say goodbye, Levi."

He's no stranger to this, to Petra popping in and out of his life. To be frank, he wasn't even that bothered. He does miss her whenever she'd disappear for weeks on end. Sometimes he'd start to worry if she was still even alive, only for her to pop back in, cheerfully greeting him with a "Hi Levi!" and peppering kisses all over his face.

Well-intentioned she and her group may be, Levi's pretty sure he's fucked up in the head for being smitten over a criminal the first time she robbed the bank while he was making a personal deposit.

Looking back, she may have been as smitten as he was. It turns out she popped up outside of the school he's teaching in two days after to introduce herself.

"The fuck are you doing here?" He eyes her suspiciously. Levi scans his surroundings, trying to find something that he can use against her in case she tries anything. He can't risk his students' safety.

"Wow, you're more paranoid now than when I placed a gun on your head and demanded you to put your hands up back in the bank." she replies, amused.

"Hmm. Well, as long as you don't miss our anniversary-"

"I meant for real." Levi's throat closes up at her words before he can even find the guts to say anything. "We'll be in Mitras tomorrow and we're taking on a big mission."

Petra looks away before continuing. "If we're successful, the money we'll be able to get is insane. Enough to feed all the kids in the Underground for at least a few months."

"I don't get it. You've been doing this for years. What makes this one different?"

"It's a heavily guarded bank in the capital, Levi. We heard that the establishment's been thriving on dirty money." She shrugs. "Thought we'd give it back to the people, as usual."

"Are you seriously going to die on me? You?"

Petra's musical laughter rings through the room.

"No, dummy. If I died, how will we give it to those that need it the most?" she said, but her voice takes on a morose tone. "But we heard the owners have a high position close to the crown. I'll be in hiding until who knows when. Most of our contacts who've dealt with them before disappeared after just a week or two."

Petra fully turns to him, eyes soft. "I just... I don't want you to get mixed up in anything."

Levi bitterly looks away from her sad amber eyes. "So you're just going to leave me. In case you don't remember Petra, I can protect myself."

She cups his cheek at that, running a thumb from the corner of his eye to his cheekbone.

"I know that," she says. "But you must also know that I'd protect you whenever and however I could. Doing this is the only way I can guarantee your safety."

He suppose he should've seen this coming. What did he expect? For him to come home from work and find Petra sitting around back in this apartment as his housewife? The military police would find her in a heartbeat if she stayed in one place for so long. And with a portfolio of bank robberies and noble hostages under her belt, he doubts she'd get less than a decade behind bars, even if she'd never committed anything as serious as murder.

A part of him wanted to come with her. It's not like he didn't have experience. He'd been in and out of juvy for most of his teenage years, but he also knows that he wouldn't make Petra happy that way.

As illegal as their methods may be, Petra and her group are actually making a difference. Significantly more than the government who promises that "they're for the people". He'd heard stories of how she'd help expose corrupt official, then funnelling the man's dirty money to a dying hospital in a village within Wall Rose instead. He'd heard small family businesses getting another chance because wads of cash just showed up on their doorstep, giving them enough capital to start anew. And those are just a few in the three years that they've been doing this.

He decides to savour this moment with her instead, taking in her amber orbs staring up in content at him. He tugs on a ginger strand of hair and runs it lovingly down his two fingers. Even if he tries to convince her, Petra was made for greater (albeit a tad bit fucked up) things.

"I.." He gulps, trying to find the courage to finally say those words because this may be his last chance. Levi sees her giving him a soft look, her hand running up his bare back to pull him closer.

Petra understands, beating him to it. "I love you too, Levi."

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 21 (Kiro) Part 1 [Gold Card] & [Subtle Changes] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

Chapter 21 is relatively short so there won’t be as many parts as I will be combining multiple sections. 

Without further ado, enjoy reading!

[Gold Card]

I sat up on the bed in a daze and stared at the cardboard boxes piled up on the ground.

The sunlight fell on them, making the dust in the air visible.

Two days have passed since I moved here. Apart from tidying up the bed and taking out some basic necessities, the rest of the belongings are still in the same state as I left them after I moved.

I couldn’t help taking a deep breath, trying to get that indifferent face out of my mind.

MC: MC, get yourself together. You still have a lot to do.

Endless fatigue wrapped me in its silent vortex. I struggled hard to prevent myself from being swallowed by those negative black mists.

I splashed cold water on my cheeks, turning my head constantly, thinking about the message Zehn left me during my absence.

Zehn: “Boss, you asked me to investigate the Evolver who was taken away from the Wish Club, but I haven’t found anything for the time being.”

Zehn: “However, I found a place called Wish Hotel.”

Zehn: “It also has financial support from the charity foundation. I don’t know if there will be any connections.”

I wiped my face clean with a towel and walked out of the bathroom. I took out the card I received at the Wish Club from my backpack and later returned by Lucien—

“Wish Hotel”—dedicated to only serving Evolvers.

There is probably no such coincidence in the world.

My eyes wandered to the phone number at the bottom right, and after giving it some thought, I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

The feeling of autumn is getting stronger and the cool wind blows over me making me tighten the hem of my clothes.

These few days I’ve been constantly thinking.

The world seems to be swept by a torrent. Anything at this moment has the possibility of being magnified. It may be the fuse that makes the world move into a different future.

And I’m so small and insignificant in comparison.

What I see and what I believe seems to be particularly vague as the world moves forward.

But I always believed that this new journey and the memories I carry has a purpose.

“Remember to get back what you lost.”

That strange and distant voice still echoes in my ears from time to time.

If CORE is the key to this world, then I must find it.

In this search and competition about CORE, I must learn more.

I walked into an unmanned telephone booth, inserted some coins, and dialed the number on the card.

Electronic voice: Hello, thank you for calling Wish Hotel.

MC: ….Hello, I want to check in.

Electronic voice: Thanks for calling, bye.

Hearing the beep from the receiver, I was stunned.

I dialed again and the result is still the same.

MC: It said “thank you for calling Wish Hotel” so it should be correct…

I looked front and back of the small card in my hand, searching for important information points that I had overlooked.

Except for the name, number, and the slogan “Only for Evolvers”, there is no other information on the card.

MC: Is there a hidden secret code that needs a kind of UV light to see it?

I held up the card against the light but still unable to see anything. I couldn’t help but frown at the slogan.

MC: Maybe it needs special keywords?

Thinking about this, I tentatively dialed the number again.

Electronic voice: Hello, thank you for calling Wish Hotel.

MC: I’m an Evolver and I want to check in!

After the dead silence, I heard a “beep” along with faint white noise—

Electronic voice: Wish Hotel will serve you wholeheartedly.

Success!

Electronic voice: Dear guest, hello.

Electronic voice: Please press 1 for “Wish Hotel”, press 2 for related services, press 3 for check-in, or press 0 for manual service.

***If you choose 1***

Electronic voice: Wish Hotel is a high-end hotel dedicated to Evolvers.

Electronic voice: Here, you can not only enjoy our service in peace, but also store Evol for free.

Electronic voice: Whether you want to try an unprecedented experience or relive the life of ordinary people, we will do our best to serve you.

***If you choose 2***

Electronic voice: Free storage of Evol is the most distinctive service of Wish Hotel.

Electronic voice: This service has no side effects. It is safe, fast, and effective.

Electronic voice: There is no limit for storage time.

Electronic voice: You are always welcome to experience it.

***If you choose 3***

Electronic voice: Please provide your name and contact address after the “di” sound and we will arrange a special car for pick-up.

Taking into account the necessary identification for the hotel to stay-in and on the premise that a perfect fake identity cannot be forged in a short time, I reported my name in order to avoid drawing suspicion.

Then I looked at the street sign at the road junction and said the name of the street.

Electronic voice: The information has been entered.

Electronic voice: Dear [MC], we will send a special car to arrive at [Fortune. Fu-Lu-2-2-2] in 30 minutes. We will contact you by phone at that time.

Electronic voice: Thank you for your call. Wish Hotel will serve you wholeheartedly.

Thirty minutes later, a black luxury car smoothly drove up in my peripheral vision.

The back seat door stopped precisely in front of me and slowly opened. At the same time, I heard a faint “dripping” sound.

??: Greetings, Miss MC.

I followed the sound. The driver’s seat was completely blocked off and the driver’s appearance was not visible.

I took a deep breath, got into the car, and found an inconspicuous instrument hidden in the corner facing the car door.

It looks exactly like a camera and seemed very familiar—

It’s almost exactly the same as the Evol detector I got from the black fan who exposed Kiro’s Evolver identity and framed him for hurting others.

My heart tightened and I looked carefully towards the driver’s seat.

It’s not surprising that there are detectors here. After all, they claim to be only for Evolvers.

But what does this extremely similar device doing here mean?

The car was very quiet and I looked out through the car window.

Perhaps this Wish Hotel can bring me more information than I imagined.

I don’t know how long it took. The car drove into a garden-like iron gate.

Along the flowery path, through the secret and prosperous bushes, a small and exquisite dark wood building gradually appeared in front of me.

After the car came to a slow stop, I walked towards the gate.

The wind chime on the door rang and someone happened to walk out carrying a suitcase and passed right by me.

The person didn’t seem like anyone special and I was shocked by the scene in front of me as I stepped through the door—

The hotel is much bigger than it looks on the surface and the ceiling is indiscernible. I could estimate it to be at least twenty or thirty stories high.

MC: Did this building look that high from the outside…?

As I mumbled, I looked around. Guests in twos and threes were sitting in the lobby just like in an ordinary hotel lobby.

The waiter on the side came over and greeted me.

Waiter: Hello, please come with me to check-in.

The check-in procedure is simpler than expected. After filling in the basic information, I got my room key.

Waiter: The fifth floor is the restaurant, the 16th floor is the fitness area, and the 18th floor is the beverage bar.

Waiter: The top floor of the 23rd floor is the office area which is not open to the public. There are no restrictions for the rest of the public areas so you can go freely according to your needs.

After nodding and thanking him, I walked into the elevator and looked at the 23rd floor in deep thought.

Acting now would be a bit conspicuous so I’ll wait till nightfall.

The room is no different from any other hotel room. I walked around in the public area again. Apart from confirming that it’s a very luxurious hotel, I didn’t gain anything new.

MC: Is this really an ordinary hotel…?

In doubt, the sky finally ushered in the night.

Taking advantage of the shift time, I walked from the fire exit to the 23rd floor and gently opened the door.

The corridor was dim and there was no sign of movement.

I lowered my body and as I was about to step forward, a fierce force grabbed my waist.

Almost instinctively, I took out the anesthesia gun and lifted my leg backwards to kick—

Only that person is more powerful and faster than me.

His hand went around my neck and bound my wrists tightly. His right leg lifted slightly. He quickly and dexterously pinned my legs. His warm breath brushed over my ears.

??: Stop messing around.

[Subtle Changes]

The voice is very soft and close to my ear like the faint moonlight in the night.

My movements are frozen in place. I felt the temperature near my back slowly seeping through the placket of my clothes.

Only quiet breathing remained in the air.

Meanwhile, two or three waiters walked into the room at the end of the corridor.

??: There is nothing you want here.

??: Follow me.

With that said, the hand that was holding me slowly loosened, but in the next second, he took my hand and walked towards the door of a warehouse.

Although I was puzzled, I still followed behind that dark figure without question.

He seemed to be familiar with the place as if he had been here for a long time.

We entered the equipment room from the back door of the warehouse and from the side door of the equipment room to the garbage sorting office in the corridor, he pressed the freight elevator button on the side.

The waiting time is long and quiet. I lowered my head subtly and secretly looked at our held palms.

We haven’t seen each other since we separated on the bridge last time.

Except for the “I’m safe, don’t worry” message from a strange phone number, I didn’t receive any news about him.

I faintly felt that it was probably from Helios, but I still couldn’t dial his number.

So I had to wipe away the worries in my heart, silently thinking about our agreement.

He promised me that he would come back safely so he would definitely be able to do it.

Only when I saw him again, my heart still surged uncontrollably.

He didn’t seem to be injured.

Following the position of my hand, my gaze secretly moved upwards until I met a gaze that seemed to have been waiting for me there.

In the dim light, Helios’ eyes were bright.

I didn’t know what to say for a while. Too many words stuck in my throat making me subconsciously want to rub my fingertips but I squeezed his hand tightly.

Helios pursed the corners of his lips. His eyes dimmed.

The elevator door opened slowly and we walked out in silence, pushed open an iron gate and came to an open-air staircase.

Helios: It’s okay to talk now.

The soft dusk startled me and I blinked my eyes vigorously, thinking it was an illusion.

I heard a chuckle coming from the side, and Helios raised his mouth slightly, leaning his back against the railing, looking at me gently.

In this impermanent landscape, the soft and warm yellow sunlight washed over his body. The light breeze blew his hair, exposing the small instruments in his ears.

His distinct silver hair seemed to be immersed in the clouds behind him, glowing with golden light and making feel like I was in a trance.

Not so soft, but not so far away.

Helios: Don’t keep looking at me like at.

In the gaze that I kept staring at, Helios seemed to be uncomfortable, pressing the corners of his mouth hard and turning his head to the side.

MC: I, I just wanted to make sure whether your injury has fully recovered.

I pursed my lips and tried not to let my myself be too happy.

This person who has always kept himself in his shell now seems to be slowly exploring his own way to show his true self to me.

Somewhat rough and very clumsy.

Helios: I have not forgotten the agreement with you.

MC: …I know.

He turned his head back to me when I said that.

MC: “I’m safe, don’t worry.” You sent this text message, right?

MC: But I think if you were actually safe, you would appear in front of me.

He lowered his eyes, seeming to be tacitly acquiescing.

Quietly, I took a step towards Helios.

MC: Aren’t you going to call me Narcissus this time?

Helios was stunned. Seeing me tilt my head with a smile at him, he seemed to pause for a moment. The burning red color of the clouds behind him sneaked onto the tips of his ears.

Helios: Are you vengeful?

MC: A little bit.

Helios: Then save it for later.

He stretched out his index finger and lightly tapped my forehead and turned the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Helios: Before explaining why you’re here.

Helios: Do you have anything to ask?

MC: ….Are your ears okay?

I watched him as I asked this question that was constantly occupying my heart, causing his pupils to shrink unconsciously.

Helios: I don’t know how to answer your question.

His hand touched the instrument in his ear. Fragmented light fell on us wildly with the wind.

Helios: But…I can hear your voice.

Helios: As for the rest, don’t ask.

MC: Okay.

Even though he was reluctant, he did not evade this question either.

Faced with such an answer, I feel happy from the bottom of my heart.

MC: So what happened after you went to the lighthouse with Joker last time? Why are you here?

MC: What’s going on with this hotel? It’s obviously nighttime so why did it become dusk again?

Helios: ….

I fired off my questions at him one after the other. Helios frowned and finally sighed.

Helios: Nothing happened.

Helios: Joker trapped me here.

Helios: This hotel only looks normal.

Helios: It’s dusk here because there is a problem.

Helios responded to my question word for word but it drew even more questions from me.

MC: Ho-hold a minute. Let’s take it one at a time.

MC: You said you were trapped here by Joker. Does that mean you can’t leave?

Helios: There are ways, but I don’t want to cause any trouble for the time being.

Helios: There are also things I want to investigate here.

MC: But how can this hotel have anything to do with Joker?

Hearing my question, Helios frowned slightly.

Helios: What do you mean?

MC: I thought this hotel was only related to the Wish Club.

I briefly explained the existence of the Wish Club and those who were taken away from there.

MC: Both of these places seem to have received investment from the Fulcrum Charity Foundation. I met the founder of this foundation some time ago.

MC: He seems to have benefited from an organization called GRAY RHINO and he’s doing things for them.

MC: But is it also related to Joker?

Helios: Who is this founder?

MC: He’s an ordinary man in his forties using a wheelchair and his name is Du Wen.

Helios’ eyes lowered as if he had figured it out and raised a slightly prickly smile.

Helios: A foundation that only serves ordinary people but why invest in a place that serves Evolvers?

MC: ….Right!

Hearing what he said, I came to a subtle conclusion of what I have been feeling.

Helios: Remember, be careful of that Du Wen.

Helios: As for your question about this hotel….

While talking, he took my hand again.

Helios: Explaining is too troublesome. I’ll show you directly.

[End of Part 1]

-Continue to Part 2-

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH46

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 46: Star Death Reality Show (XXIX)

All of the blood in Qi Leren’s body had solidified, and every cell was screaming silently, "No, don't, don't be it"! But this useless prayer could not help their current dangerous situation.

The sound from the vent became clearer and clearer, and it came out through the metal shutters. Qi Leren suddenly woke up from the stiffness that was like being thrown into a freezer, pointed to the door, and shouted, "Open the door! Fast!"

Dr. Lu was closest to the door, and rushed to open it. As a result, as soon as he raised his leg, his left foot stumbled over his right foot, and he fell hard on his face. Du Yue reacted quickly and rushed to the door to unlock it urgently. However, Leviathan had opened the metal shutter in the vent, and its tentacles wrapped in tinfoil stretched out from the black tunnel.

Qi Leren fired three shots at the tentacles. Two shots missed and one shot hit, but like last time, with an ordinary gun’s offensive power, it was impossible to break through the octopus’s shell.

The monster fell down from above like a pool of mud and expanded to a size larger than before. Its mass had exceeded that of a human, and after it fell, those branching tentacles spread across the ground like dead roots, motionless.

Qi Leren retreated slowly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the door. Dr. Lu was struggling to get up from the ground while Du Yue was sweating as he struggled to unlock the door, because it had been Qi Leren who had locked the door just now, and Du Yue was unfamiliar with this type of lock.

No, I can't get out yet. I have to stall for time... But it would be difficult to stall by fighting. The best way is...

Qi Leren shouted: "Du Yue, use your skill!"

By the time the two rookies reacted, Qi Leren had been chased by the octopus and didn’t hesitate to jump into the vent!

"Stop, don’t move! There’s a kind of charge up!" Du Yue quickly launched this bug-like skill card [Protagonist Halo]!

[Protagonist Halo: When you use this skill card, you instantly become the center of attention, the protagonist of the story, and the fearless saviour! You, with the frightening aura of a king, can easily move people’s hearts, but you can always keep your last breath when you are beaten by a powerful enemy, because the enemy can’t help but explain his motives and modus operandi to you (although there may not be enough time). This skill lasts for one minute, with a cooldown time of three hours. During the start of the skill, persuasiveness increases by 20% and some people’s IQ decreases by 20%. You will not die if attacked. After all, you are the protagonist of this one minute.]

With He Yi’s brain, Leviathan was like any boss who had been faced with the lead character. It had forgotten who it was, where it was, and what it was going to do. It just stood there and listened to this guy who was 1.9 meters tall and 18 years old and could barely act as the teen protagonist. He shouted at it with a cracking voice, and sincerely advised it to abide by human laws and surrender itself quickly.

Ah, there was an invisible and intangible mysterious aura on this human being, which made everyone who saw him believe that this was the legendary protagonist! Although it was very angry, it still had to listen to the protagonist's words!

If it wasn't for its lack of vocal cords, it would probably explain its criminal motives and criminal record. Qi Leren took this opportunity to rush to the door, grabbing Dr. Lu with one hand and unlocking it nervously with the other.

This lock should be like this, wrong, so like this, wrong, how is it unlocked?

Under the Protagonist Halo, Qi Leren, whose IQ had plummeted by 20%, went crazy. It took half a minute to unlock the door and kick Dr. Lu out: "Run!"

Dr. Lu clutched his kicked ass and ran away in three steps.

The most delicious one had escaped the danger. Now there were less than 20 seconds left. Qi Leren shouldered the rocket launcher up off the ground and grabbed Du Yue to drag him out. Watching the "protagonist" run away, the monster finally woke up from the unexplained state of wonder, and the huge mouthparts hidden beneath its tentacles let out a sharp cry, rushing to catch up!

This speed was too fast! Qi Leren kicked Du Yue out with another foot, braced himself against the door, and aimed the rocket launcher at Leviathan, but it was too late. The monster had already jumped in front of him, and its tentacles suddenly stretched. He was dragged to the ground by his feet!

As soon as Qi Leren's hands loosened, the rocket launcher on his shoulder immediately smashed down and landed on his instep, causing a tingle of pain, and his left arm was swallowed by Leviathan's sharp-toothed maw!

"Qianbei!" Du Yue cried, looking back to pull Qi Leren out.

At this time, it was too late to save, and even if he loaded the file, he couldn't go back to the time before his left hand was injured. However, Qi Leren still saved. He felt the pain as if his arm was stuck in a meat grinder, everything below his elbow being ground by countless tiny teeth.

But this was also an opportunity. Qi Leren, who almost fainted in pain, used his quick wits, and a miniature bomb from his item bar appeared directly in his left hand—that is, in the belly of the octopus. Only six minutes were left before his privacy time ran out!

This explosion was even more devastating because it happened directly in Leviathan's body! This terrible explosion made the inside of its body turn inside out, and the brain hidden in it was more fragile than any internal organs. After the explosion, the human brain was useless.

Qi Leren's situation was not much better. The heat and impact of the explosion came out of Leviathan's mouthparts towards him, slamming him against the wall and breaking his neck. He died on the spot and was resurrected at the save point.

Du Yue, who witnessed the death of his senior, was still dumbfounded. Qi Leren had already judged the current situation—he couldn't continue to play! To say nothing of his left hand that was basically wasted, he would die in a few minutes if he didn’t stop the bleeding. Leviathan, though badly hurt, obviously did not lose its fighting power, and even became more violent!

At the moment when Qi Leren resurrected, it had already become like a giant spinning top, spinning wildly on the ground and rushing towards them!

Qi Leren, who suffered from the pain, relied entirely on willpower and kicked Du Yue out the door with one foot. After he slipped out of the door, he threw it closed. The sound of heavy objects hitting the door sounded behind him. Leviathan's bloated and heavy body hit the door directly, but it didn't open the door.

Because its brain had been destroyed in the explosion just now.

One destroyed hand, but he lowered the enemy’s IQ. This round was not a loss!

Damn, you shouldn't have forgotten to shoot He Yi's head before, otherwise, how could you play so badly?!

Because of the severe pain from the intense trauma just now, Qi Leren's right hand covered the elbow of his left arm. The part below the elbow has landed in Leviathan's stomach. The blood was spraying out like a broken faucet, reaching half a metre away. The ground was as horrible as a murder scene!

Du Yue looked at Qi Leren at a loss: "Qianbei, your hand is gone! What should we do! It's bleeding!"

Qi Leren glanced at his privacy time of only five minutes. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay awake. If he passed out now, with Du Yue's rookie first aid knowledge, he might really fall to the fate of bleeding to death. At this crucial moment, I have to rely on myself. Qi Leren took out the first-aid supplies that Chen Baiqi had once enthusiastically recommended from his item bar, and gritted his teeth: "Help me hold it."

Du Yue held his arm and listened to the thumping sound behind him. He helped Qi Leren to tie the rubber hose with trepidation. Qi Leren pulled hard and tied it around the middle position of his upper arm. The wound finally stopped bleeding crazily, but it still couldn't be stopped altogether.

Qi Leren remembered that Chen Baiqi had once said that if no measures were taken within three minutes, this kind of limb injury was basically equivalent to signing a death certificate. If there is no teammate who can treat it, take a soldering iron or flamethrower and burn it against the wound. Only when the blood vessels cauterize to necrosis would it stop the massive bleeding.

"Go, Dr. Lu certainly didn't go far, and time is running out," Qi Leren said, suffering from dizziness and severe pain, and hurried in the direction Dr. Lu had run away. Along the way, he was still thinking. He had had a fight with the big boss, and was injured and dying. He also ran away with the protagonist. It was like a life mentor of the leading role who was going to croak.

Bah, it's so unlucky!

Before running far, Qi Leren heard Dr. Lu’s voice: "You ran too far!"

Qi Leren and Du Yue stopped, looked intently, and Dr. Lu, who had opened the [Free WIFI] skill card, was squatted in the corner without any presence, shouting at them. Looking at Qi Leren's injury, he was shocked: "What's wrong with you, don't move, don't move, I'll give you quick first aid! Oh come on, this injury is too heavy!"

"There’s still four minutes left," Qi Leren reported the time, in too much pain to speak.

Dr. Lu immediately used "Doctor’s Orders". In the milky light, the continuously bleeding wound miraculously stopped. Although the amputated limb could not grow back, the wound healed quickly and new skin covered it. It was completely healed.

Dr. Lu was also shocked: "This effect is too good... Am I so powerful? Am I really a genius nurse?"

Du Yue said faintly on the side: "You’ve never had such a good effect in treating my injuries..."

"No, no, no, this must be because your IQ is not enough to affect the performance of 'Doctor’s Orders'. The skill card says that the more impressive the patient is, the better!" Dr. Lu said convincingly.

"But your treatment for others isn’t this good," Du Yue refused to accept it and refused to admit it was an IQ problem.

"Right, why is that?" Dr. Lu was also confused.

Just then, the pain that made him feel close to blacking out finally faded away. Qi Leren untied the rubber hose which left a bruise on his arm. He stared at the healed amputated limb on his elbow for more than ten seconds, and then he came back from the state of high tension just now.

Although he had died before, thanks to S/L Data, he has always completed the tasks with intact hands and feet every time, and this was the first time that he has lost a hand directly. He thought he would be disgracefully frightened, but because of these two rookies, he looked much calmer.

"Don't worry, there are people in the Twilight Township who can do limb regeneration. I know them. If you go back and pay a few survival days, you can grow it back." When Dr. Lu saw Qi Leren staring at the amputated hand, he thought he was sad, so he comforted him.

"Is it expensive?" As a poor player who has consumed a lot of survival days in the process of competing with Su He, this was what Qi Leren is most concerned about.

"It's okay, I remember it was just over a hundred days," Dr. Lu said.

Qi Leren, who had only seventeen days to live, didn't want to speak.

Du Yue was not rich either. He said gloomily, "That’s a lot, I only have thirty days..."

There was no harm without comparison, and Qi Leren suddenly felt that he was impoverished...

"It’s nothing, if you don’t have enough, I’ll pay for you. I usually charge for treating others. Healers are quite scarce, so I’ve earned a lot. Right now I have about two hundred survival days!" Dr. Lu said generously.

More than two hundred days… More than two hundred days… More than two hundred days…

Du Yue would be silent when hearing this number, and Qi Leren would cry when hearing it.

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Editor’s Notes: For anyone (me) who has forgotten the exact details, here’s the description for Doctor’s Orders:

[Doctor’s Orders] (Non-Binding Skill Card): The ability to work miracles comes with a price – a price for your patients. There will be no mercy given to those who do not deserve. Allows the holder to heal all who meet the following requirements: attractive, not a Virgo and an IQ over 100. The number of requirements met will determine the effectiveness of the treatment. Skill cooldown: 2 hours. (translated by Sigma)

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