#dad sky returns...........

[twink-between-worlds]

when the sun loves the moon

this ravioli fic is brought 2 u by chappell roan's "Hot To Go". the ao3 writer curse hit us btw. our hand is broken lol. this is so fucking long i dont know what happened it was supposed to be short.....

ao3 link; x

Legend hums, messing with the bracelet around his wrist. Not Ravio’s one—that one is far too thick for him to be able to fiddle with it easily—but a different, smaller one on the other wrist.

The second one—the one he’s playing with—is much smaller and simpler. It’s made of black rope, and has a small golden charm attached to it in the shape of a sun.

Ravio brought it back from Lorule after one of his visits. There was a moon-shaped one, too, but Ravio has that one. Legend doesn’t mind. He thinks the sun-bracelet is pretty.

He doesn’t really know why Ravio gave it to him, though. He just kind of showed up back home, gave Legend the bracelet, and never talked about it. It was a little weird, but this is Ravio. There is nothing about that man that isn’t weird.

That thought is nothing but fond.

He kinda misses him. He always does. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s had to travel and leave Ravio behind—he always misses him.

Deep down somewhere inside his chest is a part of him that’s scared that Ravio will be gone by the time he comes back.

He does his best to ignore it. Ravio wouldn’t leave without telling him—he knows that much.

“Your bracelet’s pretty,”Hyrule hums quietly, watching the veteran mess with it as they walk. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, uh. It was a gift.”Legend explains with a shrug. “Ravio brought it back from Lorule. He’s got the other one.”

“Other one?”

“It came in a set. The other one’s got a moon on it.”

“You and Ravio have fucking couple bracelets?”Four pipes up, and Legend goes a little quiet. A couple bracelet? No way, they’re not even together. Ravio doesn’t like Legend that way, and Legend doesn’t like Ravio that way either.

Or, well, he doesn’t think he does? It’s a little confusing and Legend doesn’t have time to unpack all that. He’ll probably never have the time to unpack that mess. It’s the emotional equivalent of moving all the things from his storage-shed around—lots of effort and very messy, best to just not do.

So he shakes his head with a snort. “No, Four, that’s not what they are. Rav’s literally just my roommate.”

Four doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. Honestly, Legend can’t even find it in him to be annoyed about that. He knows he and Ravio are a little weird, to the point that even his own sister thought they were dating for a while.

He wants to say she was just being hopeful and that she didn’t seriously think that he and Ravio were together.

“Don’t look at me like that,”Legend rolls his eyes. “It’s just a bracelet, Four. Nothing special.”

Four just snorts at him. “Sure.”

He decides that he isn’t going to respond to Four anymore. Why should he? Four’s just being dumb anyways.

“Why a sun?”Hyrule tilts his head, curious. 

“I think Rav just gave me this one cause the charm is gold. The moon one is silver.”Legend shrugs. He never gets explanations as to why Ravio does things, and the reasoning behind the specifics of the bracelet is no exception, so really he’s just guessing.

The healer nods along with the explanation. Pauses for a second, then, “How long’ve you been friends for?”

Wonderful question—Legend doesn’t know. He can’t remember when he’d started welcoming the other man’s presence, when he stopped getting annoyed by the other being there. He doesn’t know how, or when, Ravio became something akin to home.

That thought catches him off guard, just a bit. He thinks Ravio is home, now? That’s…definitely a new development.

“A while,”He starts with a shrug, ignoring his own mind as he regards the other hero. “Known him for about five years now.”He thinks so, anyway. How old is he, again? He thinks 19, might be 18 though. He’ll ask someone else when he can.

“Is he your best friend then?”

Legend could laugh at that idea. He doesn’t. Instead, he just shakes his head. “No. He isn’t my best friend. That title belongs to someone else, and she really is not willing to share it.”

He did bring it up to Styla once; not about Ravio, specifically, but just in general. She got all pouty and dramatic at the idea of sharing the best friend title, so he’s never really tried that since.

It’s not like it matters a whole lot. He never really had anyone in mind the first time he brought it up, and he doesn’t exactly have anyone in mind now either.

Or, well…okay. Maybe he does. But he’s taking it to his grave. Legend is never telling Four that they’re on the same level as his current best friend.

It’d probably go to their head.

The conversation dies, Legend thinks. Admittedly, he isn’t paying much attention anymore, so they could still be trying to talk to him and he’s just not listening enough to hear.

He wonders how Ravio’s doing. In his last letter, he mentioned that summer must bring out the hero aspiration in people, so business is probably good for the merchant right now. The other is likely ecstatic about it. 

Ravio said the orchard is looking good. He collected the honey from the beehive, too, but he hasn’t sold any of it. Didn’t want to in case Legend wanted to keep it. He’d told him to keep two jars, and that he can sell whatever was left. No point keeping all of it when the two can make a profit.

He knows for a fact that Ravio hasn’t actually touched the orchard, either—he never does. He knows better. Ravio just…doesn’t do it right, it drives Legend a little bit insane, so he learned to just not do it.

Maybe it’s a little mean, and a little weird, but Ravio hasn’t directly complained about it, so Legend guesses that it’s fine, since Ravio is often vocal about things he isn’t happy with. It’s surprisingly a good thing that Ravio likes to complain—it lets Legend know what’s wrong and what needs work.

Legend wonders if Ravio’s sneezing every five seconds now that it’s summer over there again. He always does it, so realistically he knows the answer is yes, but he doesn’t exactly have real proof of it happening right now.

He really just kinda wants to go home.

“You okay?”A voice snaps Legend out of his thoughts, and he turns slightly to see Sky walking with him. Four and Hyrule wandered off at some point, it seems.

“Mhmm,”The veteran hums in response, because what is there to say? He can’t tell Sky the whole truth cause he’ll get all weird and start thinking Legend is into Ravio or something too, like everyone else.

“You’re, um, playing with your bracelet a lot,”Sky notes gently, “Are you missing home?”

Legend doesn’t miss a beat as he nods, still toying with the bracelet’s charm. “It’s been way too fucking long,”He mumbles with a frown.

Sky doesn’t say anything about Legend’s previous claims of preferring life on the road. Hell, he probably knows that Legend’s home is a person rather than a place. He doesn’t say anything about that, though. Instead, he hums softly and places his arm around Legend’s shoulders. “I get it. I miss Skyloft a lot.”

Legend wants to make a comment about him really missing Sun, but he doesn’t say it for two reasons. The first, and most important, being because it would set Sky off on another ramble about her.

The second is more confusing. He’d feel hypocritical if he said anything, and Legend might be a lot of things but he doesn’t like being a hypocrite. He’s not 100% sure why he’d feel like one, but he has a vague idea that it’s because of his own current issue of missing Ravio.

It’s different, though. Legend doesn’t like Ravio the way Sky likes Sun. He doesn’t. 

“Is it new?”Sky hums, reaching over and gently holding Legend’s hand so he can look at the bracelet better. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

It’s not exactly new, not really, but…he guesses he hasn’t really let anyone see it, so the assumption isn’t baseless. Usually he just has it hidden under his sleeve. “Sorta. I mean, I’ve…had it for a while, but only started wearing it a little while ago,”Legend mumbles with a shrug. 

The chain never really needed to know about it. It isn’t magic—just a regular bracelet—so there was no reasoning for letting them know it exists. He isn’t gonna sit down and tell them every accessory he has—they’d be there forever just on his piercings alone.

Sky nods along with Legend’s words, a soft smile on his face. Legend’s not really sure what he’s smiling about. Then, “Wanna tell me about them?”

Legend shoots him a look.

Sky takes it like he has to elaborate. “The person who gave you the bracelet. What’re they like?”

“Dad.”Legend complains, rolling his eyes. “It’s just Ravio. You know him.”

“Oh! You and Ravio are—”

“Slow your roll,”Legend cuts him off with a huff. “No. Ravio is just my roommate.”

“Oh.”Sky pauses, then frowns. He looks genuinely confused. “Really? But you two are so cute together.”

“Ugh, dad, come on.”The veteran rolls his eyes, face tinting slightly pink. 

“What? You are!”Sky insists with a pout. “I think the nicknames are adorable,”

Legend wants the ground to swallow him whole. “They’re mortifying, actually.”

“He calls you honeybee. That’s so cute.”Sky ruffles Legend’s hair. “The whole ‘bunny and rabbit’ thing you two’ve got going on is adorable, too.”

Legend falls silent. Hm. So Sky’s heard that. Shit. Legend thought he was being careful enough.

“You weren’t…supposed to notice that…”Legend confesses after a brief moment, ears tilted downwards from the embarrassment. He didn’t think anyone was around when he called Ravio ‘rabbit’. 

Being wrong is not a great feeling.

Sky just giggles about it. Giggles, right in front of Legend. He notices that Legend goes even more red, and just smiles more. “Awh—hey! It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed. You know, I have more embarrassing nicknames for my Zelda!”

That doesn’t really make anything better, but Legend appreciates the fact that Sky at least made an attempt at comfort.

“Whatever,”Legend mumbles after a moment, “It’s not the same as yours and mama's nicknames.”

Sky hums. Legend has the idea that Sky doesn’t believe him. That idea is only solidified as Sky responds with a simple, “I’m sure.”

Legend chooses to ignore him now, too. Seriously, what’s up with them? It’s just a bracelet. It isn’t even the first gift Ravio’s ever given him.

Ravio gives him a lot of gifts, actually. Legend can’t offer much in return — Ravio doesn’t exactly have any piercings, nor does he really wear that much jewellery. All Legend can do to show appreciation for the gifts is cooking for him whenever he’s home.

Ravio says that it’s enough. Legend doesn’t particularly agree, but he doesn’t have anything else, so he just sticks to what he knows. He’s started learning how to cook Lorulean dishes too, for when Ravio’s missing Lorule. The hero’s never actually tried making one of those yet, but he’s got a cookbook that he’s been reading. If he can memorise the recipes, he’ll have an easier time when it comes to making them.

He hasn’t told Ravio about that part yet. Doesn’t know how Ravio would even react to that. He wouldn’t be upset by it, he doesn’t think. He’d probably get too affectionate about it, though. Every time Legend does something that Ravio really likes, the merchant gets weird and doesn’t leave him alone for a little while. Always keeps close to him for at least a day or two afterwards.

Ravio never explained it ; Legend never asked.

It’s just one of those unwritten things about them. There’s a long, mental list that Legend has that’s just filled with unwritten things that Ravio does. Ravio has a written list about things Legend does. He knows because he found it while cleaning up their room. …he’s pretty observant, but Legend supposes that it’s hard to miss things when you share a space with them. Especially for so long.

It would probably be more concerning if Ravio knew nothing about him, to be honest. Legend being cagey doesn’t translate over to the little things — the stuff Ravio’s written down. The fact it’s all written down on physical paper does make him a little embarrassed though. Some of those habits are intended to be taken to the grave, thank you, and putting it into a physical form is not taking it to the grave, Ravio, that actually makes it harder to take to the grave.

He hates him sometimes and he really does mean that in the most affectionate way possible. He doesn’t actually know what he would do if Ravio left now — he’s gotten far too used to the other being around. The stupid part of his mind tells him that he would simply stop existing. The rational part tells him that he would go into isolation again. Neither is very helpful, actually. Or particularly great. Hell, at least the rational part usually tells him he’d be fine. Fucks up with that part today? Just because it’s true doesn’t mean he wanted to hear it.

Legend tries not to let the homesickness show on his face, fingers tracing over the small, golden charm. It’s a small comfort. Both bracelets are somewhat comforting — even if he still doesn’t like that the chunkier bracelet smells like Twilight. It’s something he, unfortunately, grew used to. Ravio did say that he’d probably get used to it eventually, so it isn’t like he wasn’t warned about it.

Having it on just gives him a false sense of security — he feels safe with it, even though it realistically can’t do much in terms of protection. Neither of the bracelets can…he doesn’t think? The matching one has a strange aura that Legend can’t figure out. It’s magic, that much he knows. He’s just not really sure what type of magic it is, or what it does.

Little frustrating, but of course it is. Ravio, one of the most frustrating men that Legend has ever met, gave the thing to him, of course it’s frustrating. He’d ask about it but he wouldn’t get an answer. Hell, Ravio never answers questions half of the time. Thinks he’s really funny, and he’s only right about that one every so often. Most of the time, he’s just a little annoying.

“Fuck,”He mumbles under his breath. Doesn’t bother to even fully distract himself from his thoughts, can’t even tell if anyone heard him. He’s a little busy with his inner turmoil, with the fact his brain is yelling at him and he kind of wants to scream but he can’t because it would be concerning and nobody would have the context but —

Four and Sky were right. They were right about him and that’s never a sentence that Legend likes to say. 

He likes Ravio. How did he miss that? It’s so fucking obvious. Fable noticed it, and he’d laughed at her for it. Four noticed. Sky noticed it, even compared it to his own relationship with Sun.

This is so dumb. Also a little mortifying. But mostly dumb. How can he be that stupid to not even notice he was into Ravio before it was essentially spelled out for him?

It’s been years since he’s ever liked someone that way. Years. He damn near swore off that emotion entirely. Maybe he did notice it, then. Maybe he just ignored it til he forgot about it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with things that way. It’s not healthy, but it’s efficient, and he’s taking efficiency over health any day.

He should probably tell Ravio. It kinda scares him to think about. Is this the type of conversation you have to have in-person? Or is it acceptable to just put it in a letter and hope for the best? He’s not really sure. He could ask, but he knows better than to think that the rest of the chain won’t figure it out. Four or Sky would know. They’d probably mention it.

God, this sucks. He might just write a letter and call it a day. Future Legend problems are not Current Legend’s problems. Who knows, he might not even send the letter! Might just write it and chicken out! It’s very plausible! It has happened before, and it will continue to happen throughout his life!

When they all stop for the night, Legend tries to keep his mind off of it all. Helps set up camp, and he knows that they’ve noticed him trying to distract himself by helping out, but nobody mentions it so it’s fine, he’s fine. Honestly, he could just ask one of them about the whole…like…etiquette of love confessions, or whatever it is, but they’d get weird about it, and Legend would rather do it wrong than be teased for it.

How should he know how it’s done? He never had the chance to confess the first time he liked someone this way, and that was years ago now. He’s about on the same level as the actual child of the group when it comes to this kinda thing, and it’s only partially his fault. It’s not like it’s ever come up often — sure, he’s had people try to date him ; has been technically engaged, but they all did the work of the whole…confession business. Legend’s never done it himself. He waited too long with Marin. Doesn’t know, even now, if he would have managed to do it at all, even if the circumstances were different.

He’s starting to think he doesn’t know anything at all. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. He isn’t surprised that he’s started being dramatic too. Legend’s picked up a lot of Ravio’s other habits — talking with his hands, clicking his tongue when annoyed, he’s even picked up on Ravio’s awful habit of chewing on whatever’s available when he’s nervous or thinking — so it was just a matter of time before he picked up the dramatics. 

Legend chooses to ignore that he was dramatic without Ravio’s influence, was dramatic about things ever since he was a kid. One of the many things he never grew out of, the many habits he never had time to get rid of. His uncle used to say that he was the most dramatic girl in the entire kingdom. Now he’s the second most dramatic man. Ravio’s always going to be the most dramatic, he thinks.

He wonders if he and Ravio had a kid, would that child be extra dramatic, on account of having two dramatic parents? And then he shoves that thought away, embarrassed at the idea and the thought of having a kid with the merchant. He’s got it bad, huh? He didn’t even notice it before. Legend is really hoping his face isn’t betraying him, because he doesn’t know how to explain why he’s embarrassed. What would he even say? ‘I thought about having a kid with a guy I just denied having a thing for’? Not a chance in hell.

Legend can’t even remember how long he’s been ignoring this. Can’t even tell if this is going to cause Ravio to finally decide he wants to move out, to ‘expand his business’ as he would explain it. He doesn’t think Ravio even thinks of him as more than the guy that saved his life and kingdom. Sure, they live together, but…Legend still kinda thinks Ravio’s only still around just because Legend doesn’t charge him rent. He wouldn’t really blame him — it’s a good deal. Legend can admit that he’s being very nice letting Ravio do what he does, and that anyone rational — anyone not stupidly in love with the man — wouldn’t put up with it.

Yeah, honestly, he’s not sure how he didn’t notice the signs of him liking the guy. The signs seem really obvious now that he’s caught up to himself enough to read them. He’ll blame it on not having time for it. That’s usually the only answer he can give — he never has enough time. It’s not a very peaceful existence, but it’s his, and isn’t that enough? Who cares if he doesn’t like it all that much. He has to work with it, he doesn’t get a choice.

Of all things to catch up on, did this really have to be the first? He feels a little cheated. Is there nothing else that he can get? Does he have to deal with this one right now? This one is all stressful and scary, could end with him losing the comfort of sharing a home with someone. He doesn’t like being alone, and Ravio being around helped with that. What if this makes him leave? Legend doesn’t really know what he’d do. Fable always says he can move into the castle when he wants to, that she would like to see her brother more, but he doesn’t like how big it is and he doesn’t feel safe around the knights, so even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t move in there. He doesn’t want to leave his house either — his uncle left it for him. It’s all he’s really got left, and he likes the orchard. 

If Ravio left, maybe he would just…stop existing, or something. He’s never had to think about it before. He’s worried about it before, sure, but he always has the confidence that Ravio would tell him before he left and he wouldn’t just go — Ravio’d told him so. But this? He’s never thought about it in this circumstance. This could really fuck things up and make the merchant never want to even look at the hero again.

He hopes that, if the goddesses can hear his thoughts, they hear him when he begs for his life to stop getting complicated. The goddesses have never listened to his pleas before, so he doesn’t bother having high expectations, but it would really be great if his life could stop getting complicated and weird. His life hasn’t stopped getting complicated since the moment he stepped out of that house and was given the burden of ‘Hero’. It’s just kept getting worse, actually. He prayed, at first, for it to all stop and go away. He gave up on that a long time ago.

Maybe if he asks really nicely, Hylia can make this problem go away for him. Maybe he can finally get some use out of being her favourite? Probably not. The thought’s nice, though. He probably wouldn’t do it anyways. Being her favourite has just made him really tired and he thinks that if he tried to use it to get her to help him out, she’d just make him keep working. He does kinda want to retire without having to die to do it.

The letters are usually reserved for Fable. He doesn’t tend to send them to anyone else — Ravio sends a few, but Legend just replies on that paper and sends it back. He’s never actually written to the other first. — but he guesses he can’t just ignore this. If it all goes wrong, at least…at least he won’t have to see Ravio leave, if he does. It’ll still hurt but it would hurt more if he had to watch it happen. This is safer. He has the safety of it being on paper, of not having to watch as Ravio puts on that fake little smile, the one he puts on when he’s uncomfortable but doesn’t want to hurt feelings. Legend’s seen him put it on around knights and particularly annoying customers. He never wants it directed at him.

Legend doesn’t eat a lot of his dinner that night. Mostly just pokes at it, eats whenever Sky gives him a look, but doesn’t finish it. Passes it off to Four, when he’s sure nobody else is paying much attention. He just tells Four that he isn’t hungry. Doesn’t know, or care, if they believe him or not. They don’t question him, which is good enough. He kinda likes that about the smithy — they barely ever question him on things. They love questioning everyone else, just to make them annoyed or upset, but they never seem to do it to Legend anymore. The two have got their own little dynamic going on, anyways, so the cycle of questions and annoyance wouldn’t work with them for long.

It’s especially helpful now, because Legend hates telling Four that they’re right about anything. They’re a cocky little shit about it and Legend has enough going on, he doesn’t think he could convince himself to not throttle the smithy this time. That’s hard enough to do when he isn’t distracted. He loves the other like a little sibling, but it’s very hard to not want them dead sometimes. He supposes that might just be a sibling thing, though, because he and his sister have wanted each other dead every so often too and they’re literally twins.

He takes first watch. Manages to convince Time to let him take watch on his own. He doesn’t tell him why, just manages to make up some bullshit excuse about how it’ll be better so that the later watch doesn’t have to only be one person. It’s convincing enough to work, and that’s good enough for him. It gives him time to work on writing that letter that he has to write, and it means nobody will be bugging him while he does it.

His handwriting isn’t the best anyways. He doesn’t like to write around other people due to that. It’s messy and it’s just not something he’s proud of. Honestly, it’s bad enough that he can’t figure out how to say the things he wants to, it’s even worse when his terrible handwriting is thrown into the mix. This whole thing is making him feel ten times dumber than he is.

They head to bed not long after sorting out the watch system for the night. This is somewhat comforting. Means he isn’t sitting around with anxiety for even longer than he wants to, and gives him extra time to figure out what the hell he’s doing. Does he put filler in the letter? Talk about something for a while before getting to the point? Should he just confess and leave the letter as nothing more than a shitty confessional? He thinks the former, but he knows Ravio’s attention span isn’t great. Would he get bored of the letter if he talks too much, miss the point of it completely?

Damnit. Why isn’t anything ever easy? Everything has to be a difficult task for him, even when it’s something stupid, small and trivial. It’s so unfair. Legend thinks he deserves a raise, but then remembers that he doesn’t get paid for any of it, and just gets a little annoyed at how he doesn’t get paid. He wishes he did. He doesn’t really need it, he and Ravio make enough from their own business ventures, but it’d sure be nice to be paid for his efforts.

Is that selfish? Maybe a little bit. He’ll probably forget about it in the morning anyways, he’s just upset and has a lot going on at the moment. It’ll pass. It always does. This is not the first time he’s gotten annoyed about this topic and it certainly will not be the last time, either. Seems to come up whenever he’s stressed. Maybe he should talk to someone about that.

Nah. He’s got more important shit goin on. Such as this stupid letter. He hasn’t actually managed to write anything yet — he has the paper out, and has a pencil in his hand, but he doesn’t have any words. Not even one. This is a lot harder than it looks, alright? He’s never done this before and it’s definitely showing. Who knew something as simple as a letter could cause so much difficulty? 

It’s just Ravio. He shouldn’t be worried. Ravio’s never given him reason to be afraid to tell him things. He briefly glances at the bracelet on his wrist, watches the sun-shaped charm reflect the firelight. It really is a pretty bracelet. The veteran hasn’t been able to stop looking at it, today. Maybe it’s because it helps with homesickness, or maybe it’s just because Ravio gave it to him, but he doesn’t ever really want to take the thing off. There’s something about it. He still doesn’t know what kind of magic this thing is coated with. Maybe he should ask about it. Ravio knows him better than to think he wouldn’t be able to tell it’s magic, maybe he’s just waiting to be asked about it.

Wouldn’t be surprising in the slightest. The other hasn’t ever been very forthcoming about things until he’s directly asked about it.

As he just sits there and looks at the charm, Legend realises that he just feels so out of his depth. This isn’t something he’s good at — the whole…expressing emotions thing. He always feels awkward and embarrassed about what he feels, so he just never really talks about that kinda stuff. He’s not sure why he gets so embarrassed about it, really ; nobody else seems to struggle with it. Maybe this is just another thing he never learned to do. Like reading. He didn’t learn to read until he was twelve, after all. Maybe he just needs to learn how to do it when he has time.

He is never going to stop giggling about anything relating to the word ‘time’ now. Every time he just thinks of Time himself and it gives him the funniest mental images in the world. He is very glad that there’s only one person in the world that can hear his thoughts and that she finds it as funny as he does.

This is just stalling. He’s absolutely stalling by thinking about anything and everything except the task at hand. Maybe he should just get it over with — throw some words on the paper, shove it in an envelope and seal it up so he doesn’t have to look at what he wrote before he sends it off. But, then, he worries that he’d throw the wrong words on there, or that he wouldn’t even get to the point. No matter what he does, he’s going to be anxious about it. It’s eating at him, a little bit. The worry. It wants to swallow him whole and leave not a single thing behind.

Legend chooses to stop thinking about it so much. He tries to write as neatly as he can, though it takes more effort than it would take anyone else. He just wants it to be legible. If he was so nervous about it only for Ravio to not be able to read his handwriting, he would actually die. He asks what magic the bracelet has. Tells Ravio that he noticed it a while ago and felt awkward asking about it. Talks a little about different things that’ve happened since they last spoke. He leaves the confession until last. Puts it at the end, and he notices that his handwriting is shakier when he writes it. No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t stop his nerves from getting the best of him when it got to the point.

He signs it off with a small doodle of a bee and folds the letter in half to go into the envelope. Seals it with a small, blue wax seal that he stamps with a small bunny-shaped stamp. He has the one with the royal crest on it, but he’s never actually used that one. He just has it in-case it’s needed.

There. Done. He bit the bullet and now whatever happens after he sends this is in the goddesses hands until he gets home to find out if Ravio left or not. No big deal. Not terrifying at all, no sir. Not at all.

He doesn’t have to wait for the postman. He can just get Sheerow to deliver it — she’s been the one taking the letters back and forth between himself and the others back home anyways. She wouldn’t mind. But he doesn’t actually know how she would feel about it. She’s a smart bird, she would know this isn’t a normal letter.

What to do.

If he waits, he has to hold onto this thing for longer. If he just calls Sheerow, she could investigate the letter herself. …she can’t read, can she? He genuinely isn’t sure. He can read when he’s an animal, and Twilight can. Is that only because they’re really Hylian? Or can all animals read, to an extent? Has Sheerow been reading their letters this whole time? 

He really didn’t think he’d be questioning if birds can read. Maybe Sky knows. Surely he wouldn’t mind being woken up for one question? Legend glances over to where Sky is sleeping. He’s got Four tucked under his arm, the other laying across his own stomach. He’ll never say it out loud, but he kinda wishes he was tucked into Sky’s other side.

Legend heads over anyways. Pokes Sky’s face a little. “Dad. Dad, wake up.”He whispers, rolling his eyes when Sky makes a vague noise in response. “Daaaaaaad.”

“Whuh?”Sky blinks his eyes open sleepily, looking a little more awake the second he sees Legend next to him. “S’mthing wrong?”

“I need to know if birds can read.”

Sky stares at him for a minute. Legend just stares right back. After a moment, Sky lets out a tired sigh. “Baby, it’s late.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But can birds read? It’s important.”

He clicks his tongue slightly, but smiles softly anyways. “Birds can be taught to read a little, yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”Legend nods. Ravio wouldn’t have taught Sheerow how to read, so he’s in the clear. “Thank you.”

“You’re…welcome? I think?”Sky blinks rapidly, confusion written on his face.

“Night dad,”Legend hums before heading back to the fire. He’ll just call Sheerow to give Ravio the letter, in that case. What reason would Ravio have to teach her to read?

…apart from just because he thought it would be funny. He would do it for that reason. But it doesn’t matter — Legend doesn’t understand a damn thing about that bird anyways. He’s not sure how she even gets here when he needs her, but it’s efficient. He’s still taking efficiency over all else.

Who cares if the little jelly bean shaped bird is somehow a tiny time-traveller? She’s cool. Legend likes her. She sometimes just hangs out in his hair. Fun times all around. He likes Sheerow a lot. If Ravio leaves him, he would actually mourn the loss of Sheerow, too. If anything bad ever happened to Sheerow he would commit a crime. Maybe he just likes small animals. Another thing to add to the list of weird things about himself. 

She doesn’t take long to arrive when he calls for her. She sits on his knee patiently, nudges his hand a few times until he pets her. He never does give her the letter right away, always gives her affection first. Come on, how can he not? Sheerow deserves it. She chirps a few times, turns her attention to the letter after a while. 

“Yeah, um.”Legend sighs when she does, frowning. “I, um. Need ya to take that to Rav. Okay?”

She confirms and takes it with little convincing. She stopped being stubborn about things a little while ago, when Legend started giving her attention first. It’s a decent way of dealing with things, and it’s not like he minds much. She gets one final pet before she takes off with the letter.

Legend lets out a heavy sigh. Well. That letter is Future Legend’s problem now, not his. Whatever happens…well, it happens, he supposes. He just hopes Ravio won’t hate him now. The merchant likes to say he doesn’t have a single hating bone in his body, but Sky said that too, and Sky hates some of the people in his and Four’s eras just because of how they speak to them. So his worry isn’t really placated by the statement.

He wakes Warriors and Wild up when it’s time to switch shifts. He’s tired and stressed at the same time, which is a really fun combination. Will he succumb to the tiredness, or will the stress keep him awake? He has absolutely no idea! He hopes he gets to sleep. Really, he does, because if he doesn’t sleep he’ll just think, and thinking is way worse than sleep sometimes.

Legend ends up giving into what he wanted to do earlier. Heads over to Sky and tucks himself into the man's other side, more for the comfort of it than anything else. Maybe it’ll calm his mind down and let him sleep? It does the trick. He isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he manages it eventually, curled up into Sky’s side.

Morning comes and Legend’s anxiety hasn’t gone away like he thought it would have. It’s still there eating away at him, which is total bullshit. It should have left. The letter was sent, he doesn’t have to stress about it anymore. 

He wonders if Ravio’s read it yet. Immediately after, he lets out a tired sigh. He’s still worrying about it. He can’t even get a break — fuck, he isn’t going to relax until he knows what Ravio’s reaction is, will he?

This is so lame. 

“You alright over there?”He hears Four, but doesn’t actually answer. Just lets out a heavy sigh and tucks his knees up to his chest so he can hide his face. He's not ready to exist as a functioning person. Won’t be until he gets an answer.

He hates this, actually. This was supposed to be Future Legend’s problem, not Current Legend’s problem! He feels a little bit robbed, honestly. So not cool.

He doesn’t express his anxiety. Just gets up for the day. Doesn’t eat his breakfast, passes it off to Four again. They give him a look this time — Red’s worried about him, going off that eye colour. He feels a little bad about worrying her — but don't speak. Good enough. He can ignore looks much easier. Even if he does feel a tiny bit bad about it.

At least it’s not Vio today. Vio would hold him at knifepoint until he told them what was wrong. A little intimidating, but it gets the job done, so Legend can’t blame Vio for using a method that’s never failed them.

He just would like to never experience it. Ever. Vio honestly scares him a little. But thankfully, it’s too early for Vio to be fully functioning, so he isn’t getting threatened today.

He hopes Ravio replies to the letter. Even if it’s just to make an excuse about why he has to go back to Lorule. Even if it’s just to tell Legend that he hates him and doesn’t want to see him again in their entire lives. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t be new. Legend wouldn’t blame him.

They don’t linger around long, and it doesn’t take a long time to get all their shit together either. Legend ends up helping Four out with their things ; he thinks they have a headache. They aren’t focusing very well this morning. Legend wouldn’t be surprised if they have an argument going on up there right now.

He sticks to the back of the group when they set off. He ends up having to walk beside Twilight, and he has to do his very best to hide any of his negative emotions right fucking now because Twilight can read emotions far too easily. He doesn’t need Twilight asking him about it.

The worry is still eating at him. It hasn’t stopped.

“I hope we get a portal soon,”He hears Wind whistle, “We’ve been in this era for a while.”

“Yeah, I hope we get to go somewhere else. Who’s era do you think we’ll end up in?”

“Hyrule, nobody’s keeping track of it,”

“I think we’ll end up in Legend’s era next,”Four speaks up, “We haven’t been there in a long time. It would make sense if it was his next.”

Oh he hopes not. He would take anyone else’s era right now, not his own. His own era is exactly where he doesn’t want to be. Like, there is nowhere he wants to be less right now.

“Oh, fun!”Sky laughs a little. “You might get to be home soon, bun!”

“I really, really do not know how to express how much I do not want that.”Legend snaps out, too busy trying to ignore his nerves to even remember he’s supposed to be pretending to be fine. 

“...you don’t want to be home?”Warriors blinks slowly. Legend can feel the confusion from the rest of the group.

“I don’t want to be home,”He repeats back simply. “Can we drop it?”

He watches Sky’s confusion turn into concern, as the other slows to walk beside him. “Okay, baby, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Legend nods once. Doesn’t open his mouth again. He’s not sure what Sky or the others are thinking about what he said. Really, he isn’t convinced that he wants to know their thoughts.

They run into a portal, eventually. Legend really hopes Four is wrong. He doesn’t want to be in his era. He’ll take Wild’s era over his, and he fucking hates the champions era because of how much walking you have to do. He hopes this isn’t his era, he isn’t ready.

It’s his era. He knows it the second he walks through that damn portal. He feels his connection with Fable strengthens back up, smells the familiar scent that his era has.

He lets out a long, pained sigh. Sits on the ground with his head in his hands. He does not want to be here — really, he doesn’t. He can’t avoid his problems forever when the person he’s avoiding knows all of his hiding spots. The goddesses must really enjoy laughing at him.

“Um.”Four kneels down and pokes Legend. Wind copies Four’s actions and pokes Legend a second time. “Are you good down there?”

“Let me rot and die.”

“Um, I don’t think I want to do that,”

Legend flips them off. Four just hums. 

He isn’t ready for this. He doesn’t really know if he was ever going to be, but he definitely isn’t ready right now. This is such a cruel joke. He knows he hasn’t been very into religion, despite Impa’s best efforts, but is that really bad enough to warrant being turned into the goddesses personal jester?

If they think he’s going to start praying because of this, they are sorely mistaken.

“Apple, come on, we need to get moving, if that’s okay?”Sky tries to nudge him gently to get up.

“Why are none of you willing to let me just sit here and die?”

“Because we need you. Now get up.”Warriors is much less gentle about it. He gets glared at by Sky for it, which is a little bit funny.

He gets up, eventually. He’s not going to be addressing any of his problems right now, not when he has a much bigger one to address when he gets home. He was hoping he had a little more time, but really, why did he expect to get what he wanted? Never does. Probably never will. He exists to suffer. Yes, he’s probably being dramatic again, but it feels perfectly reasonable to him right now.

“I need you guys to fuck off for a little while so I can deal with the consequences of my own actions.”Legend states once they reach the village. He can just head home, deal with his problems, and then promptly die. If Ravio isn’t there, he will be letting the earth reclaim him, though.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Just leaves them behind and heads to his house. He can feel his heart pounding as he walks, the nerves eating his insides and his brain screaming at him.

The shop signs are still up. Usually, Legend hates those things, but he can’t help but be a tiny bit relieved to see them. Ravio wouldn’t leave without those — “It’s way too expensive to replace them, Mr. Hero.” — and so it’s good to know that, at least, the merchant is still here.

He doesn’t think he’s ever opened that front door with more hesitation in his entire life. “Rav?”His voice sounds way too quiet but he can’t even care about it at the minute. He sees the envelope open, discarded on the top of a sales cabinet. Ravio read the letter, then. Legend takes a breath. 

“Ah! Mr. Hero!”Ravio jumps a little. “You’re back!”

A hum. “Yeah. Um. Hi.”

Silence.

Ravio tilts his head at Legend, but Legend doesn’t know if he can even look at him, so he looks at the ground and kicks his feet a little. It’s so quiet, it might actually drive him insane. 

“If you hate me can you just tell me?”He blurts out after the silence dragged out for too long. It was too much, he couldn’t take it. He’d rather Ravio just yell at him or insult him or something, anything is better than silence.

“Mr. Hero…”Ravio hums, and Legend hears him walking over. “I don’t hate you! I could never!”

He doesn’t know if he believes him.

“Your letter was nice,”He continues, voice quiet. Legend can’t tell if he’s just trying to match Legend’s own quiet energy with it. “I’m afraid that the magic on that bracelet is a trade secret though, honeybunny,”He laughs a little and pokes Legend’s nose. Legend bites his finger for it. “Ow—meanie!”

“Deserved it.”

“I thought you loved me,”Ravio teases with a grin, and Legend falls quiet. Shrinks in on himself a bit, takes a step back. He’s scared of this whole thing and he wants to run and hide and never show his face ever again — “Hey, hey. Breathe. I’m sorry, Link, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Yeah right. Legend doesn’t believe that for a second. “So you read the whole thing, then…”

Ravio sighs. “Yep. Did you not want me to?”

“I don’t know.”

Ravio goes quiet. Legend hears him tapping his fingers against his arms like he does when he thinks. All that’s running through the hero’s mind is “He’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy”. He really regrets sending the letter, this shit is way more terrifying than any of the monsters he’s ever fought.

“I’m glad you were the one to say something. I thought you were going to kick me out if I told you I wanted to kiss you.”Ravio shrugs, eventually, and Legend genuinely thinks his brain just stopped working. He just kinda looks at the other for a while.

What.

“Don’t look at me like that!”He laughs nervously. “I did! I thought you would kick me out for it!”

Why did Legend’s type in men have to be ‘stupid’.

“Oh.”The hero sighs, shaking his head a little. “You don’t hate me for it?”

Ravio shakes his head again. “The opposite, actually! See, if you didn’t say anything, I was going to have to. We’ve been at this for months now, Mr. Hero. Honestly, I’m glad we can get past that whole deal now.”

He lets out another breath. Oh, hey, the anxiety’s stopped eating his guts out. Hooray!

“Though, you never asked me to date you in that lovely little letter of yours,”

“I will actually kill you.”

Ravio just laughs. Legend cannot believe that this is the man he’s decided he wants to live for.

That thought is still fond, though, because of course it is. Legend hasn’t had a single thought about Ravio that hasn’t been affectionate in the past twenty four hours.

“I guess you did do half of the work,”Ravio speaks again with a shrug. “Okay. So. You did the confession stuff, can we date now, or do I need to wait for your next emotional breakthrough for that one?”

“Just for that, you have to wait.”

“What—hey! No!”

Legend heads out to go and fetch the others, laughing at Ravio’s minor distress as he leaves.

[idylliumfield]

you know when you find a new guy and get inspired? me too except my new guy is in fact not new in the slightest 💛

[goofyjelly]

I may be a tiiiiiiiiiny teeeeeensie weensie little bit obsessed with a TV show. Again.

[skyllion-uwu]

My working interview for the dishwasher position is tomorrow, wish me luck :3

[yourlocalsurrealism]

DPxDC PROMPT ---- Self-Defense

Danny gets a job in Gotham as a self-defense instructor.

It satisfies his protection obsession, because he's teaching people to protect themselves.

He is teaching at a local gym. Basically, the gym gives classes, and finally decided to institute a bit of self-defense in the curriculum, because it's Gotham, after all. (Don't ask me why they didn't have it before, idk)

And Danny came rolling in with fake credentials, beat the other applicants, and got the job.

Jason has been going to this gym since he returned to Gotham, so he decides, what the hell, might as well try this class. it'll probably be a light, relaxing thing.

Wrong.

The first time Danny and Jason spar to gage Jason's skill level, Jason holds back, so Danny wins, but Danny requests a rematch, because he can tell Jason's not giving it his all.

Five minutes later, Jason is on his back on the mat, gazing up into sky blue eyes, and he hasn't been thrown like this in years. He was too big once he came out of the Pit, and honestly, the fact that this guy can manhandle, flip, and pin all 6' 4'' of him is extremely hot.

Danny is happy because he's fulfilling his obsession. Meanwhile Jason is pining for this man, and Danny is oblivious. Jason is slowly dropping hints of his interest, and Danny is misconstruing them in a platonic context, and Jason is getting to know him and falling more and more in love.

You know what, what the hell, let's add de-aged Dani in too.

One day, Jason follows Danny home. (he's a bat, they don't do boundaries like normal people do.)

He sees him head to an elementary school, and panics because is this perfect soulmate of his, like, a kidnapper or something?

He sees him pick Dani up and resigns himself to following this guy because he might be involved in trafficking thing or something, and then he's duty bound to shoot Danny, which is really quite a pity.

Instead, he sees them go home, and Danny being a good Dad, and he's just like "aaaaahhhh he's a good parent how many boxes can he check that i didn't know i had."

Eventually they end up dating. Don't quite know how it happens, but it does.

[hyperions-light]

what even is Dorian Pavus’ life lmao THE most improbable man in Thedas. He:

> helped invent viable time travel magic in college

> left home bc his dad tried to turn him straight

> joined the Southern organization that took down an ancient Tevinter Magister trying to achieve godhood

> returned home to claim a seat in the Magisterium

> found out the Magisterium was a bunch of bs politics and helped found an underground resistance movement to end slavery in Tevinter

> which was then joined by. The Pope in disguise???

> lived through the sky opening and dumping demons on everyone a SECOND time

> lived through a blighted dragon attacking Minrathous

> lived through an incredibly powerful ancient elven mage calling himself a god attacking the city, killing thousands of people, and turning it all into a fucked up blighted mass

> became the ARCHON OF TEVINTER

like damn. truly the guy that Everything Happens So Much to. hope he catches a break soon

[ur-mag]

Al Roker’s daughter Courtney reveals baby Sky will make debut at Thanksgiving Day Parade for dad’s big return to event | In Trend Today

Al Roker’s daughter Courtney reveals baby Sky will make debut at Thanksgiving Day Parade for dad’s big return to event Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[iphigeniacomplex]

you’ve been a prisoner of war since you were ten years old but the prodigal son is finally returning and this time you have a battle plan. you’ve been to war. you’re the trueborn son of a lord and your only living sibling is your older sister (notably a woman), so there’s no threat to your succession. basically? you have this lord of the seven kingdoms shit in the bag. there’s a red comet in the sky and that comet is YOU, baby! got your nice doublet on and everything. everything’s coming up theon everything’s coming up greyjoy this time for me. Unfortunately your dad is immediately pissed at you he says theon you look gay as fuck. theon i bet that necklace wasn’t even looted. theon did NED STARK turn you GAY during your CAREFREE YEARS LIVING IT UP AS A CHILD PRISONER OF WAR. Like omg i JUST got here. and to make matters worse while you were away everybody became a feminist so you aren’t even heir to pyke anymore you’re just somebody’s flop gay son. you’re just somebody’s flop gay son on a rock in the ocean foreverrr

[callmeagardengnome]

✗ blood in the clouds ✗ | KIM HONGJOONG

pairings ✃ mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader

genre ✃ mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis ✃

it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.

in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.

w.c ✃ 10.5k (yes im a yapper im sorry)

c.w ✃ dark themes, vivid descriptions of gore, guns and knives, kiss scene but no smut, use of the nickname ‘brat’, ‘pretty’ and ONE TIME - ‘princess’, your dad’s a dick oops, vulgar language, reader is smart

not proofread!

masterlist

white clouds drifted by the airplane window as the sky turned from a soft blue to a deep orange.

it would’ve been a pretty sight if it weren’t for the gun to your head.

you’d called in sick or put in your two weeks notice earlier if this was how your last day of being a flight attendant would end - but apparently, life hates you too much to let you catch a break.

HOUR 1 OF 7 - TAKEOFF

‘god- i can’t take this anymore,’ you thought to yourself. you hated waiting, despised it actually. 

after today, no more jet lag, rushed goodbyes or missing celebrations. you can finally unpack that suitcase for good, find someplace quiet and actually live in it. the thought alone was enough to keep you excited, but something bothered you at the back of your mind.

this trip didn’t feel right.

it wasn’t the plane itself, but your passengers? only 2 showed up in a plane that could seat at least 50 people. 

not that you were complaining. fewer passengers meant less work - which was a good thing. 

but the uneasiness you felt kept rising in your chest, no matter the times you tried to push it down. 

‘just 6 more hours,’ you thought. ‘then this will all be behind me.’

HOUR 2 OF 7 - MEALTIME

meal service started like any other: boring. 

after handing out the trays, you pushed the trolley back to its place and returned with beverages. you plastered on your most professional smile as you walked over to your passengers. “would you like a drink?”

the man with sunglasses turned to you lazily, his eyes shifting from the trolley to your face. “what do you have?”

you sighed, quietly but deeply. you had that stupid list engraved into your mind by now. “water, coffee, tea, coke, spri-” 

“-do you have alcohol?” he cut you off. 

your eye twitched. this dickhead.

first of all, he interrupted you. and secondly, you didn’t mention the alcohol on purpose. it was stored at the back of the plane and you did not have the energy to drag it out. 

“uh hongjoong- i mean, boss-“ the guy next to him whispered hurriedly. “i don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“-i think it is,” hongjoong interrupted before turning back to you. “where’s the menu?”

you gave him a forced smile as you pushed the alcohol menu towards him. he took his time with it, flipping through the pages slowly before finally saying, “two shots of whiskey.”

“sure thing,” you snatched the menu back. with a swift turn, you fetched the whiskey and the glasses, returning back to his seat.

you poured and placed the two shots on his tray table. he took the glass and drank it in one go, setting it back down with a thud. 

hongjoong then turned his head towards you, eyebrows raised. “what?”

you blinked. ‘what’? just ‘what’? where's the ‘thank you’? 

you were losing your mind.

“nothing,” you muttered through clenched teeth, moving away before he could ask for anything else.

grade A asshole.

HOUR 4.5 OF 7 - POINT OF NO RETURN

the shitty in-flight wifi was a joke as always. why did you even try?

with an annoyed sigh, you shoved your phone into your back pocket when suddenly-

static.

its piercing sound followed by faint garbled voices on the intercom startled you. you frowned as the sound continued, getting louder and more distorted.

with a groan, you stood up, straightening your uniform. ‘what are they doing?’ you thought as you walked towards the cockpit.

but when you passed by the first-class cabin, you paused. the seats were empty. both passengers were gone. ‘weird…’

things only got weirder as you approached the unlocked cockpit door. 

concerned, you pushed it open.

the smell hit you first - a metallic tang that twisted your stomach.

then your eyes caught up.

blood splattered the walls and windows in chaotic streaks, dripping down to the controls and the carpeted floor. the pilot and co-pilot laid in a gruesome pile to the side, the jagged holes in their skulls grotesque. 

a guy sat at the controls, steering the plane as though he wasn’t surrounded by horrors. 

grade A asshole- no, hongjoong, sat cross-legged on the floor, his sunglasses shattered at his feet. a gun rested in his hand and his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you enter.

“you’ve got to be kidding me..” you breathed out. 

pieces of brain and organ matter clung to the control panel as a simple blinking green light above that indicated that everything was, somehow, still functioning.

hongjoong tilted his head, amused. the gun shifted to point at what you now noticed was the crumpled bodies  of your pilots, their faces mangled in unrecognisable masses of flesh and bone.

“these your friends?”

you shook your head as you stepped back, wiping your sweaty hands on your uniform. hongjoong seemed to enjoy your reaction, his grin widening into something sickening. 

he smirked. “don’t worry, i won’t spoil that pretty face of yours.”

you coughed at the wretched smell as the crimson-stained carpet squelched beneath your heels, your mind begging you to leave.

“well-” you said, turning to the door. “i’m sure you don’t need me here, i’ll just-”

an audible click cut you off.

you froze.

slowly, you turned back to see a gun aimed directly at you.

“leaving so soon?” he raised an eyebrow. “let’s talk.”

HOUR 5 OF 7 - SKYDIVING DOESN’T SEEM TOO BAD

hongjoong dragged you to the first-class section to ‘talk’. it was the first time you’ve ever sat there and to be completely honest, this was not how you imagined yourself ‘enjoying’ it.

well, not like it mattered. you had other issues - like handcuffs locking you to the chair.

he stood infront of you, one hand gripping the gun while the other held a file. “‘____’, am i right?” he asked. 

you nodded slowly. “..that’s me.”

“3.6 GPA in university..” he muttered. “flunked out of med school during your first year..”

..how the hell did he get that information?

“you ended up as a flight attendant because your father owns the airline.”

“..yeah,” you reluctantly admitted, your stomach churning. “uh- was the med school part necessary?”

hongjoong ignored you, flipping to the next page. you watched his eyebrows shoot up as his eyes narrowed. “how close are you with your father?”

you blinked, confused by the weird question. “i mean- he’s my dad,” you replied. “but i haven’t seen him in years.”

“hm,” the sound came from him. hongjoong studied you for a moment longer before he spoke again, but this time, his voice was cold.

“do you know what he’s been doing during those years?”

your brows furrowed. “no, i-”

“killing. my. men.”

you didn’t even have time to process his words because he leaned forward when he said them, the gun uncomfortably close to your face. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “...are you sure you have the right person?”

his smirk widened into something eerie. “i have a gun pointed to you, don’t i?”

your pulse quickened. you couldn’t decide which was worse: the possibility that he was telling the truth or the fact that he was clearly enjoying your reaction.

“i always wanted to get back at that pig..” he held the gun up to the bottom of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “and look at how kind the world is- blessing me with his daughter.”

you struggled to breathe, to think. the handcuffs dug into your wrist as you unconsciously tried to break out of them, a clink against the metal arm of the chair.

your voice trembled. “..what do you want from me?”

hongjoong didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel your foreheads touching.

“what i want,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours. “is for your dad to suffer.”

HOUR 6 OF 7 - SURPRISINGLY ALIVE

the stuffiness of the plane did little to calm your nerves. you sat quietly in the seat, staring at the shattered remains of your phone on the floor.

hongjoong snatched it from your hands a few minutes ago, grumbling about how ‘you don’t need devices’. great. just great. 

the sound of the cockpit door creaking open drew your attention. the other guy - or ‘pilot’, stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “boss.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “what?”

the ‘pilot’ moved closer to hongjoong, lowering his voice. “air traffic control was notified of our path,” he said quietly. “they know something’s off with the plane, but i have no idea how.”

hongjoong’s eyes darkened as he processed the information. then, he glared at you, like he was accusing you.

you scoffed. “you shot my phone, how would i even contact anyone?”

for a moment, the two of you locked eyes and you swear that you could see him debating whether to believe you.

the ‘pilot’ cleared his throat. “what should we expect?” he asked nervously.

hongjoong leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “the police.”

HOUR 7 OF 7 - SHIT IS GETTING REAL

“what the hell…” you whispered to yourself as you peered out of the window.

SWAT teams and federal agents stood in rows, their weapons pointed directly at the plane. flashing lights of red and blue lit up the empty airport. 

you turned away from the window, watching hongjoong pull out a burner phone from his jacket. his fingers typed something out before he suddenly snapped the phone in half, tossing the remains on the floor. 

“…who are you?” you asked quietly.

he raised an eyebrow. “you don’t need to know, pretty.”

your survival instincts told you to move, to do something. but the second you tried to stand, hongjoong shoved you back down. 

“stay seated until we land,” he said before tilting his head. “isn’t that your job?”

you rolled your eyes, gripping the armrests as you tried to calm yourself down and steady your breathing. 

but that was when you heard it - gunshots. 

“they’re shooting us?” you panicked, flinching with each sound. 

no answer.

“hey-“ you tried again, but was cut off by the tires hitting the terrain. 

the landing was rough - harsher than anything you’ve experienced as a flight attendant. the plane rattled like never before.

your chest tightened when it rolled over something particularly large. “what was that?” your voice cracked. 

no answer. 

when the plane finally came to a halt, you barely had time to catch your breath when hongjoong moved. in a blink, he uncuffed you from the chair, only to secure the handcuffs on your wrists once more. 

he brought you to your feet, pulling you so close that you could feel his breath against your ear. “don’t do anything stupid,” he hissed. 

the cockpit door opened and the ‘pilot’ appeared. he quickly unlocked the emergency exit and you saw the makeshift ramp that had been attached to the side of the plane. 

a van rested just outside of it, hongjoong dragging you towards the vehicle. you descended the ramp, the cool air hitting your face as you looked around. 

but that was when you saw it. 

blood. 

on the wheels of the plane, the dark colour leaving a fresh trail on the ground.  

“did you..” you gulped, your voice barely above a whisper. “did you run over them?”

hongjoong glanced at you. “i didn’t,” he shrugged. “the plane did.”

you stopped in your tracks, your feet stuck rooted to the ground as you stared at him in horror. how could he say that like it was no big deal? just who was this man?

“move,” hongjoong ordered. but when you didn’t, he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “god- you’re such a brat.”

before you knew it, you were shoved into the back of the van. the ‘pilot’ closed the door with a loud slam and sat in the driver’s seat while hongjoong took the passenger’s seat up front. 

you met hongjoong’s eyes through the rearview mirror. his glare was sharp, acting as a warning to keep your mouth shut. you didn’t need to be told twice.

the van drove forward and you caught glimpses of city lights in the distance, slowly growing closer. civilisation - maybe you could get help. 

but against your mind’s wishes, you felt your eyelids getting heavy - and you did something that no one should ever do when they’re in a car with armed strangers.

you fell asleep.

HOUR 14 OF 7 - HIP HIP HOORAY YOU’RE NOT DEAD

you heard a voice whine. “why can’t we kill her?” 

“do you want boss to kill us?” you heard another reply.

your eyes fluttered open. your head felt heavy as the room came into focus, your stomach twisting. 

the space was dingy, poorly lit by a bulb hanging from the ceiling and an unnecessarily tall lamp on the ground. the walls were stained and the air stunk of blood.

you tried to move, only to feel tight ropes against your wrists and ankles. you were tied to a chair.

“i can’t believe we have to babysit the pig’s daughter,” a man with a knife groaned.

“calm down, wooyoung,” the other one sighed.

“calm down?!” wooyoung exclaimed. “yeosang got to fly a plane! how is that fair?”

“he has a license,” the second man rolled his eyes. 

“it’s still a plane, jongho-”

“shut up,” jongho interrupted. “the girl’s awake.”

both men turned their heads to look at you, the sudden attention sending a shiver down your spine. wooyoung’s grin stretched across his face as he got to his feet, jongho following behind.

“aw look who’s finally awake,” wooyoung approached, his voice childish. “you slept like a baby- and we didn’t even drug you!”

your heartbeat quickened as he leaned in close, his grin widening as he studied your face.

“i read your file,” he began. “you’re smart…” wooyoung paused, his eyes inspecting you and your ridiculous uniform. “and hot.”

your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to respond. “thank you-?”

“-what’s your favourite feature about yourself?” he asked, twirling the knife in his hands.

“uh-” your mind scrambled for an answer as he got nearer, the knife glinting. “i- my eyes?”

“your eyes,” wooyoung repeated, the grin stuck to his face. “good choice.”

he brought the knife closer, the cold steel trailing down the side of your face. you flinched as the blade hovered near your eye, your breath hitching.

“you’re going to answer all our questions,” he stated, almost in a sing-songy way. “and if you dont-”

he tilted the knife, now directly above your eyeball. “-i’ll dig those lovely pearls out of your sockets.”

your chest tightened, terror paralyzing you from head to toe. you couldn’t even breathe, every cell in your body pleading you to stay still.

“hey-” jongho tapped wooyoung on the shoulder, whispering. “uh.. boss said we can’t scratch her..”

“are you serious?” wooyoung scoffed. “then what’s the point?”

jongho bit the inside of his cheek, avoiding eye contact with his friend.

wooyoung groaned, throwing the knife to the ground with a strength that made it bend. “fuck this- torture isn’t even fun anymore.”

he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

silence was in the air until jongho cleared his throat awkwardly. he turned to face you. “uh..” he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“change of plans.”

HOUR 15 OF 7 - DAY DRINKING IS FUN

you never imagined yourself in a hideout, drinking vodka with one of your captors - yet here you were. 

the whole thing felt absurd: a shaky barstool beneath you and a scuffed counter separating you and jongho. he poured you a shot he claimed was ‘very expensive’, before proceeding to chug most of the vodka from the bottle in a long gulp. 

your legs were untied now, though your wrists were still bound, the rope loose enough for your hands to rest infront of you. “what are we waiting for?” you asked. “hongjoong?”

jongho froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “don’t say his name,” he whisper-shouted.

you raised your tied wrists in apology. “okay.. what should i call him?”

“call him boss.. or mr kim.. or anything that isn’t his first name,” jongho said, his words rushed. 

you nodded slowly, looking at the man infront of you with mild concern. he looked even more scared than you did. 

then suddenly, the door slammed open. 

both you and jongho flinched, watching two figures stumble in. 

the first was a tall man - storming into the room. the second was him, hongjoong, clutching his side in pain.

“mingi- boss!” jongho panicked instantly as he ran to help the injured man. “holy- you’re hurt!”

“the pig called for backup,” mingi sighed heavily. 

you blinked, stunned as the sound of hongjoong coughing violently brought your attention back to the injured man. 

blood seeped through his fingers, staining his sleeves and skin. you don’t know what took over you, but you pushed yourself off of the barstool and rushed towards him. 

“what do you think you’re doing?” mingi stepped infront of hongjooong, his hand resting on his gun protectively. 

you glared at him. “do you want your boss to bleed out?”

mingi studied you. after what felt like ages, he exhaled sharply and stepped aside. “fine,” he muttered, keeping a hand on his weapon. 

you knelt next to hongjoong, trying to make him face you as you grabbed his arm. though, he snatched himself away from you quickly. 

you rolled your eyes. “i’m trying to help you, asshole. let me see it.”

hongjoong’s eyes pierced your soul. you could see the cogs in his head turning on whether he could trust you. 

a few moments passed before he finally faced you with a sigh, revealing a large gash on the side of his stomach - a wound created by knife. 

“i need water.” 

jongho blinked, clearly thrown off. “what?”

“to clean his wound..?” you explained. “get me water. now.”

jongho hesitated before snatching a bottle of water from a mini fridge. he pushed it to you, the little amount of liquid sloshing inside. “you should stay still for this,” you said before slowly pouring the water over the wound. 

crap- a gash this big needed a stitch. 

“untie me,” you said, holding your wrists up to your captors. 

jongho glanced at his boss worriedly for permission. hongjoong gave a small nod and jongho quickly pulled out a small knife to cut the rope. 

once free, you quickly looked around for something to stitch his wound with. when nothing looked remotely useful, your eyes dropped to your uniform - a skirt with a yarn trim. it wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

you began to unravel the yarn from the hem.

“what are you doing?” mingi asked, frowning.

“stitching him,” you sighed as your fingers worked hurriedly. “or do you want him to get an infection?”

hongjoong let out a groan, shifting uncomfortably. “just hurry.”

you finished unravelling it, but now you needed a needle. your hand instinctively reached up to your hair - pulling out a small bobby pin. it was definitely not as sharp as a needle, but you’re sure that hongjoong can handle his pain.

“shit- i need to sterilise this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“vodka,” jongho said instantly, grabbing the bottle and handing it to you.

you poured the small amount over the pin, letting it drip onto the floor. then, threading the yarn through the makeshift needle, you glanced at hongjoong.

“this will hurt,” you warned.

he looked at you with clenched teeth. “i don’t care.”

you placed a hand on his side to steady him, feeling the tension in his muscles as he tried to not flinch. carefully, you began to stitch the gash, each pull making him wince. 

when the stitching was complete, you tied the yarn and tore it off with your teeth - but the wound was still bleeding slightly.

you glanced down at your sleeves. without hesitation, you tore a strip of fabric free. you used it to dab away the excess blood, then folded the remaining fabric to wrap it around his side. 

“that should work. for now,” you sat back as you wiped your forehead with your arm.

“...you know how to treat people?” hongjoong asked, wincing slightly. 

you nodded slowly. “yeah.. i know the basics.”

“hm,” he tilted his head. “you’re more useful than i thought.”

you blinked. was a good thing or a bad thing?

“wooyoung,” he yelled out. 

a loud crash was heard in another room, followed by the muffled sounds of frantic movements. within seconds, wooyoung appeared in the doorway. 

“yes, boss?” wooyoung said out of breath, brushing off his shirt as he looked around the room. 

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. instead, he looked you up and down, his lips twitching into what seemed like a smirk. “get her some actual clothes. we have an event to catch.”

HOUR 17 OF 7 - WORDS TALK BUT GUNS TALK LOUDER

“woah..” your eyes took in the building before you. glittering lights and an impressive exterior that was way more extravagant than anything you imagined hongjoong to be involved in.

he parked the car, the engine coming to a stop. before you could say anything, hongjoong stepped out of the car, closing the door shut. you scrambled to follow him, your heels clicking against the pavement as you caught up.

the two of you approached the man stationed at the door - a bouncer with a pen and clipboard.

without warning, hongjoong’s hand snaked around your waist, pulling you snugly against his side. you flinched at the sudden contact, but with how tight his grip was, there was no room for protests.

“ah, mr kim,” the bouncer greeted. “you made it.”

hongjoong offered a brief, fake smile before dropping it immediately. “let us in.”

“hold on now,” the bouncer said, flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “we can’t let her inside.”

hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “why?”

“new policy,” the man sighed, pretending to sound disappointed. “no more plus-ones.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. instead, he reached into his blazer, about to pull out a-

“nevermind!” the bouncer’s face turned pale. he stepped aside with a nervous laugh. “you’re all set- enjoy the night.”

the interior was breathtaking - chandeliers hung from high ceilings and round tables were scattered across the venue, draped in pristine white table cloths. 

“don’t eat or drink anything here.”

you blinked, nodding slowly at hongjoong’s words. “okay.. but why-”

“-and if you really want to stay alive,” he interrupted, his lips brushing your ear. “don't leave my sight.”

his voice sent a chill down your spine. “okay,” you mumbled as he brought you further into the room.

he led you to a seating area - though it looked more like a conversation pit, where an old man sat waiting. 

hongjoong released his grip on you to sit across the man, gesturing for you to follow. you hesitated briefly before settling next to him.

“mr kim,” the old man greeted gruffly. his eyes shifted to you, studying your face. “i see you brought someone.”

hongjoong gave a nod, glancing at you. “introduce yourself, brat.”

“oh uh-” you put out your hand reluctantly, forcing a polite smile. “i’m ‘____’.”

the old man’s eyes narrowed before they widened in realisation. “her father-“

“-i’m glad you noticed,” hongjoong cut in. he slowly reached into his blazer again, but this time, he actually pulled out his pistol. 

your eyes widened as he aimed it to your waist, the cold metal brushing your side. “wha-“

“w-what are you doing?” the old man’s face drained of colour, panic flashing in his eyes. 

hongjoong tilted his head. “let’s negotiate.”

“mr kim-“ the old man began, his voice cracking. “as his friend, you do understand that i have to tell him she’s here.”

“do it,” hongjoong shrugged, leaning back. his arm returned to your waist, pulling you to him as he tapped the gun against your side. 

“let’s see if he values his money more than his own daughter.”

HOUR 18 OF 7 - LIFE ISN’T FAIR

a loud crash echoed through the venue, making you jump. the sound of heavy footsteps grew violent with every second.

hongjoong’s hand tightened around your waist as he stood, dragging you up with him. “move.”

“wait-!” the old man called after you, but hongjoong didn’t stop.

his grip on you was firm, the barrel of his gun pressing against your stomach. you tripped over your feet, struggling to keep up his pace.

“where are you taking me?” you panicked as you glanced over your shoulder at the armed men closing in.

“to your father, princess,” he sneered, his voice mockingly sweet. 

“mr kim! stop right there!” 

you froze, whipping your head around. standing at the far end of the room, infront of a small army of armed men, was your father. 

“let go of my daughter,” your father ordered. he pointed a gun directly at hongjoong, his men following suit. 

your eyes glanced around the room - seeing guests cowering against the walls, some injured and others dead.

“i’m not giving up the brat until i get what i want,” hongjoong demanded.

“what you want is an impossible amount of money!” your father yelled, his grip on his gun tightening.

“impossible?” hongjoong’s eyes widened with craze. “you have more than $500 million tied to your name! did you think i’ll forget who you killed to get here?”

your blood ran cold. “dad.. you killed people?” you asked, your voice trembling as you looked at him.

for a split second, your father’s eyes softened, though that quickly disappeared with a scoff.

“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have a roof over your head,” your father spat. “you were too stubborn to do anything after you dropped med school.”

the world seemed to tilt, your father’s words more piercing than any bullet. “but i didn’t-”

“-you did,” your father interrupted you. “i spent all that money bribing them just for you to fuck up.”

your heart sank as tears welled in your eyes. hongjoong noticed your reaction, his grip on the gun loosening slightly. 

“i’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my hostage cry,” he said. “do you really want those to be your last words to her?”

“shut up,” your father snarled, his finger close to the trigger. “i’ll say what i want. she’s too stupid to argue back anyway.”

the tears you held back spilled over and all you could hear was your dad shouting, “get her!”

HOUR 18.5 OF 7 - THEY WANT YOU SOO BAD

gunshots were heard in every direction, completely deafening. 

the pungent smell of gunpowder burned your nose as you stumbled, your legs barely holding you up. hongjoong shoved you to the ground, his hand against your back. 

“stay down,” he ordered you, raising his gun and firing without hesitation.

you flinched with every shot, watching in horror as armed men fell one by one with his aim. the world felt like it was spinning too fast and you could barely keep up.

suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm.

“stop moving!” your father yelled, his grip painful as he dragged you towards the exit.

“no!” you choked out, your heels digging into the floor in an attempt to resist. panic ran through your veins as your eyes darted around desperately.

your eyes landed on a fallen gun near your feet. you quickly snatched it, hands trembling as you tried to point it towards him.

“don’t make me do this!” you cried.

your father didn’t stop and without thinking-

-you pulled the trigger.

a bang was heard, followed by his rough scream as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh.

“oh my god,” you whispered, the gun slipping from your hands as tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks. you sank to the floor, staring at the blood pouring out of him.

“you bitch!” he shouted in pain.

out of the corner of your eye, you caught hongjoong watching you, something strange flashing across his face. was that.. surprise? pride? maybe he was impressed?

hongjoong fired a shot at an armed man without looking, moving to you quickly. 

“didn’t think you had it in you, pretty,” he looked over his shoulder. “but we need to leave.”

he led you to a small janitor’s closet near the exit. the narrow space smelled of bleach, but at least it was quiet.

hongjoong shut the door behind you and dusted off his blazer. without a word, his dark eyes inspected you, checking your shoulders and arms.

you stood motionless, too shocked to stop him as he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb wiping away the mascara-stained tears from your cheeks.

“nothing broken,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “no scars either..”

he pulled out a burner phone, typing something quickly.

“i- i just shot my dad,” your shoulders shook as new tears welled up in your eyes.

hongjoong glanced up from the phone, meeting your eyes. “..are you bragging?” he asked bluntly.

“what? he’s my dad-”

“-and he’s a dick,” hongjoong cut you off. “you might share blood, but that man clearly hates you.”

you hiccuped, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “...am i going to hell?”

hongjoong scoffed. “come on-“ he began, but stopped himself when he looked at you and the tears spilling from your eyes. “you didn’t kill him… you’re fine.” 

you opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you as he continued typing. “and even if you did,” he added. “you’re doing the world a favour.”

he smashed the burner phone onto the ground, discarding the pieces. he reloaded his pistol before turning back to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he led you through bodies and debris.

outside, a black van waited by the curb. hongjoong pushed you inside before climbing in after you, slamming the door shut behind him.

“drive,” he ordered.

as the street lights went past you, you slumped in your seat, completely exhausted. “where are we going?” you asked softly.

hongjoong studied you for a moment, watching your eyelids go heavy. “...go to sleep, brat.”

DAY 2 - OH HONEY I'M HOME

you woke up with a jolt. you sat up from the couch you laid down on, completely disoriented. your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. the hideout. 

relief and fear spread within you. you were safe - for now.

just then, a knock from the doorway made you jump. “didn’t mean to scare you,” a man said, leaning against the frame. “boss wanted me to check on you.”

you blinked. “i- okay,” you coughed to clear your throat, wincing at how dry it felt.

“i’ll let him know you’re awake.”

and with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more.

though that didn’t last long. moments later, hongjoong entered. he carried a stool over, setting it down across from you before sitting. 

“how long did i sleep?” you asked hoarsely.

“a day,” he replied with a shrug.

your eyes widened. it was only then you noticed your attire - a baggy t-shirt replacing the outfit you were wearing before.

“who changed me?” you blurted out, heat rising to your cheeks.

“i did,” hongjoong answered. he noticed your flustered expression, tilting his head. “what?”

“did you-” you cleared your throat. “did you see anything?”

“i’m not a pervert,” he scoffed. “if it makes you feel better, you were changed in the dark.”

you fell into an awkward, heavy silence as you sat across each other. for the first time, there was no danger, no gunfire or anyone yelling out orders. just silence.

“your dad..” hongjoong began, speaking up. “wants you dead.”

“...what?”

he held up a cassette tape, tossing it onto the table between you, your hands trembling as you picked it up. hongjoong then brought out a cassette tape player, allowing you to hear your father’s voice.

‘mr kim, we’ve had our ups and downs, but i’m sure that we can agree on one thing - that bitch who shot my thigh is a liability. an idiot that made it this far because of me. she’s no longer my responsibility or family, so expect to find her head on a stick when you turn your back. have fun.’

“what the fuck..” you whispered shakily as it came to an end. 

“to be honest, your only purpose was to be a hostage.” hongjoong’s fingers drummed the edge of the stool. “and now that he doesn’t want you.. you’re useless-”

the world around you crumbled, his words making you feel worse. 

“-to him.”

your eyes widened, looking at him in confusion.

“you’re smart,” he shrugged. “and you stitched me.”

you blinked. “…where are you going with this?” 

“i want you to be an addition to my team,” he replied.

“do i have to kill people?” you blurted out. “or steal, or-”

“no,” hongjoong raised a hand to cut you off. “all you’ll be doing is treating my injured men. quite the opposite of killing.”

you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows. “why would you trust me with that?”

“because,” he said, leaning forward. “you have nowhere else to go.”

“that’s not true-”

“really?” hongjoong smirked. “do you know how many businesses your dad owns?”

you shook your head.

“more than 80% in the country,” his eyes sparkled with something dark. “now that you’ve shot him, you’ve burnt every bridge he’s built for you.”

your jaw dropped. “but-”

“no job, no family, nowhere to live either since he owns most of the real estate here.”

you stared at him, struggling to process his words.

“here’s my offer,” hongjoong continued. “you get a decent amount of money, a place to live and protection...”

“...just to treat people?” you asked in disbelief.

he nodded. 

you bit your lip, staring at the floor as you picked at your nails. how could your dad do this to you? abandoning you just like that? and now he wanted you dead? you could feel yourself getting angry just thinking about him.

after a long moment, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “deal.” 

MONTH 1 - FAMILY BONDING 

that evening, you sat on the floor with san, wooyoung and yeosang, eating a batch of cheap instant noodles. it was a little awkward - mostly because you just joined, but you were silently appreciating their efforts to make small talk with you. 

suddenly, a loud bang was heard through the hideout. the three men jumped up immediately, pulling guns and knives from who knows where. 

“back entrance?” wooyoung asked as he sharpened his knives. 

your heart raced as you watched the three of them shift into combat mode - and you caught yourself lagging behind. you hurriedly stood up and grabbed the medical kit you kept close. 

“stay here,” san said firmly. 

you shook your head. “if someone’s injured, i’m coming.”

the three of them shared a look before yeosang gave you a reluctant nod. “…just stay behind us. we’ll get in trouble if you get hurt.”

they moved swiftly and silently through the narrow halls of the hideout, weapons in hand. you trailed closely, your heart pounding as you gripped the medical kit tightly. 

when you reached the back entrance, san motioned you to stay back while they checked the door. 

the signs of forced entry were obvious - the lock was broken and scuff marks lined the floor. 

wooyoung scoffed, speaking under his breath. “stupid piglets.”

yeosang sighed. “looks like they took a few weapons and left.”

“are they testing us?” san asked, inspecting a footprint on the ground. 

before anyone could respond, the door slammed open making all of you jump. you turned to see mingi, his chest heaving as he leaned against the door frame. 

“meeting. now.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the hideout’s ‘meeting room’ was more of a cramped closet with mismatched chairs and a comically large table in the middle. hongjoong paced at the end of the room, his jaw clenched. 

“we can’t stay here any longer,” he began. “it’s only a matter of time before they come back in full force.”

hongjoong stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “we need to move back to our old apartments. they’re scattered enough to keep us hidden until we figure out our next move.”

you shifted uncomfortably. 

hongjoong noticed this. “what?” he asked, his sharp eyes landing on you. 

“i uh-“ you hesitated. “i don’t have a home..” you said sheepishly. 

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. 

“my dad owns the house,” you admitted. “and that’s not really an option anymore.”

“right,” hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “shit..”

“alright, who has space?” he clapped, glancing around the room. 

everyone exchanged uneasy looks. 

“we don’t,” yeosang said, gesturing to himself, san, wooyoung and jongho. “the four of us are already crammed into one place.”

“same here,” yunho spoke up. “mingi and i barely fit in ours.”

hongjoong turned to seonghwa, his face hopeful. 

“no,” seonghwa said without hesitation. 

a heavy sigh escaped hongjoong as he pinched the bridge of his nose. he leaned against the table, deep in thought. 

minutes stretched into what felt like hours before hongjoong finally spoke up. “you’re coming with me,” he said, looking directly at you. 

your eyes widened in surprise. “..what?”

“you’re staying at my place.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the car sped down the (somewhat) empty highway, the faint smell of vanilla from the air freshener mixing with the lingering scent of old fast food. 

you gripped the edge of your seat as the streetlights ran by the window in a blur. “are we in a rush?” you nervously glanced at hongjoong. 

“no,” he replied flatly. 

there was a black car beside you that had been keeping pace for the past few minutes - and just as you shifted in your seat, it suddenly swerved infront of your car and slammed the brakes. 

“what the-” you barely managed to say before the impact. the car jolted violently as it hit the one ahead, the sound of metal crunching loud. 

hongjoong let out a low string of curses under his breath. his face was weirdly calm as he unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car without a word. 

“wait-” you scrambled to undo your own seatbelt. 

from your seat, you saw him approaching the car. the moment he glanced inside, his eyes widened. he reached for his gun and pulled the trigger instantly. 

the loud gunshot made you flinch and your stomach twisted as you saw the slumped figure in the driver’s seat, blood splattered across the windshield. 

your heart pounded as you stumbled out of the car, rushing towards him. “why did you do that?!”

hongjoong turned to you, his jaw clenched. “it was a piglet.”

“wha-“ your eyes drifted to the body, a shiver going down your spine as you saw the bullet hole clean through the skull. 

hongjoong, completely unfazed, went back to the car. you stared at the lifeless body for a moment longer before hurriedly following him. 

once you were back inside, you swallowed the lump in your throat, attempting to break the suffocating silence. “….how did you know he was a piglet?”

hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. his fingers flexed against the steering wheel as he glanced at you. 

“they have a bullet tattoo..” he said finally, pulling down his collar to point to his collarbone. “..right here.”

you blinked. “oh.”

“if you ever come across one,” he continued. “kill them on sight.”

your eyes widened, your throat tightening. “what about the police?”

he fell silent for a second, his eyes fixed on the road. then, a faint smirk crossed his face. “you don’t need to worry about them.”

his answer left you unsettled, but before you could question him further, the apartment building came into view. it was modern - standing tall with the city skyline. 

hongjoong smoothly pulled into the parking lot. the abruptness of the stop sent you forward, but his hand shot out instinctively, pressing against you to keep you steady. 

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice soft - though he didn’t look at you as he retracted his arm. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

some might describe hongjoong’s apartment as ‘minimalistic’, but to you, it’s just an excuse for a grown man to avoid decorating. 

the walls were devoid of any art or family photos, the kitchen was spotless - though it was definitely untouched with how there was almost no food in the fridge. and from what you saw, the only source of entertainment was a lone TV. 

“do you..” you began, looking around the bare space. “do you even live here?”

hongjoong ignored your comment and walked towards the big couch and began to pull it into a makeshift bed. the springs creaked slightly as he unfolded it. “this is where you’ll be sleeping,” he said, dusting himself off. 

“cool.”

“don’t complain-“ he stopped himself mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes when he realised what you said. “wait, you’re okay with this?”

you blinked. “…yeah?”

“hm,” he said, slightly surprised. he looked you up and down before turning to the long hallway. “get some rest, we’re getting you a phone tomorrow.”

MONTH 2 - LIVE LAUGH LOVE GUNS

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before the piglets attacked you again. 

hongjoong sent you on a simple supply run - nothing unusual. but as you stood in the small pharmacy, you felt the air shift when the cashier’s demeanour turned cold. 

it all happened so fast. 

the moment you saw the gun aimed at your chest, your eyes fell to the faint outline of a bullet tattoo peeking out from his collarbone. great. 

your breath hitched as your body moved on impulse. you barely avoided the first shot as you ducked behind the display rack. 

the pharmacy was strangely empty, no one else to intervene. your heart pounded as the sounds of footsteps and gunshots echoed. 

fumbling with your phone, you dialed every number you could think of. yet, no one answered. 

your hands trembled as you typed hongjoong’s number, your last resort. 

he picked up after one ring. 

“this better be important, brat,” he grumbled, groggy like he just woke up. 

“i need help-” you semi-yelled as you narrowly dodged another shot, darting behind the counter. “i’m getting attacked-”

“-send your location,” hongjoong interrupted. “i’m on my way.”

the line went dead before you could respond. 

you sent your location and shoved the phone back into your pocket. the cashier reloaded the gun, his footsteps growing louder. and just as you moved, he charged. 

he grabbed you, trying to pin you down. you barely managed to fight back, until you made an educated attack - kicking him in the groin. 

he groaned, stumbling back. you took the opportunity to snatch the gun from his hands. 

you pointed it at him, your hands shaking. “stay back,” your voice cracked. 

the man scoffed. “over my dead body,” he lunged at you again. 

your finger moved instinctively, pulling the trigger. 

once. 

twice. 

again and again and again. 

the sound of gunfire rang in your ears, the recoil sending waves through your arms. you didn’t stop until you heard a clicking noise that meant that the gun was empty. 

when you opened your eyes, he was no longer standing. 

you looked down, the cashier laying sprawled on the ground, the concrete dark with blood. bullet holes littered his body, evidence of your frantic shots. 

you dropped to your knees, your chest heaving. you reached out to check his pulse. nothing.

you just took someone’s life. 

your eyes fell to your hands, bloody and shaking. from young, you always wanted to save lives - not take them. tears fell from your eyes, blurring your vision. 

the door slammed open. 

hongjoong stood in the doorway. he took in the body on the floor and your frozen form in a single glance. he sighed, stepping in. 

“come on, let’s go,” he crouched to grab your arm. 

you couldn’t move, your eyes fixed on the lifeless body. 

“hey,” his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. his eyes were intense, his touch warm against your cold skin. “we need to leave before more show up. you don’t want to kill anyone else, do you?”

you shook your head quickly. 

he pulled you to your feet, wrapping his arm around yours as he guided you to his car. the ride back was silent as you stared out of the window. 

and before you knew it, you were back at his apartment. 

you hesitated at the door, unable to bring yourself to step inside. 

hongjoong sighed, grabbing your wrist as he tugged you in. he tossed his gun and his keys in the kitchen counter before turning to you. 

“go take a long shower. i’ll be in the living room.”

you nodded, moving to the bathroom in a daze. 

the water was scalding as it hit your skin. no amount of soap or scrubbing would ever make you feel clean from the bloodied-stains. every part of your body felt foreign - even your puffy eyes and lips.

once you were done, you dressed in the softest clothes you had, hoping that it would provide you with some form of comfort (it didn’t).

the pull-out couch was prepared with brand-new pillows and fluffy blankets when you returned to the living room. hongjoong sat on the edge, gesturing for you to sit. you sank down beside him. 

the silence stretched on until it became unbearable. 

you spoke up, your voice barely audible. “…i killed someone.”

“you did,” he nodded. “good job.”

your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “i killed someone.”

“and so have i,” hongjoong leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “does that bother you?”

“i…”

he leaned back. “it should. the first time always does.”

“i don’t think i can do this,” you breathed out shakily. “i don’t want to hurt people..”

the two of you locked eyes for what felt like ages. you could see hongjoong’s adam's apple bob up and down, his jaw tightening slightly. “no one wants to hurt people,” he replied softly. 

you blinked. 

“i shouldn’t have sent you out alone, especially with your dad targeting you,” he sighed. “that’s on me.”

“but-”

“-though i do have to say, this made me realise how.. unprepared you are,” he continued.

your eyebrows furrowed. 

“if you want to survive, you need to know how to defend yourself,” he drummed his fingers against the couch. “...you’re off supply runs. from now on, you’re training with the others.”

you stared at him. “what?”

“the rest have some ‘schedule’ for training. i’m sure you can join without any problems.”

you hesitated. the thought of the blood, the body, the gun in your hands made you nauseous. the idea of training scared you. 

he noticed this, his eyes softening slightly. “you won’t be a killer, just someone capable of self-defense.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. finally, you nodded, your voice small. “okay.”

MONTH 3 - LET’S GO GAMBLING!

the casino was glitzy and loud with copyright-free music, its neon lights casting eerie shadows on the dark streets outside. 

“you three, cover left. you two, check the vault. the rest of you will stay near the exit,” hongjoong ordered.

you waited for your assignment, expecting to be grouped with someone. instead, hongjoong said, “you’re with me.”

you sighed. “alright.”

you followed hongjoong to the right side of the casino, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the space. he moved silently, keeping his gun concealed but ready. you tried to mimic his focus, clutching the knife wooyoung lent you earlier.

the first sign of trouble came when the alarms blared.

armed men swarmed into the casino. piglets.

hongjoong moved first, taking them down in a single shot. you ducked behind a pillar, your heart pounding.

the fight moved fast. hongjoong was precise - he wasn’t even touchable, killing the men easily.

but that was when you saw it before he did: a piglet creeping up behind him, raising and aiming the gun to his head.

“boss!”

without hesitation, you hurled wooyoung’s knife to the piglet.

the knife pierced and plunged into his neck, causing the man to fall, his gun clattering to the ground. 

hongjoong whipped his head around with wide eyes, shooting the man infront of him before spinning to kill the piglet you just hit.

the silence that followed was deafening.

hongjoong’s breathing was heavy as he lowered his weapon. he dusted his clothes off, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

he gulped, finally speaking up. “...good job, pretty.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

slowly, everyone regrouped in the corner, collapsing onto the floor in a circle. bottles of water were passed around as everyone caught their breaths.

for a while, no one spoke, the only sounds being an occasional groan.

“hey,” wooyoung hiccuped, breaking the silence as he turned to you. “give me my knife back.”

you looked at him awkwardly before handing him his completely bloody and dented knife - basically ruined.

“what the hell!” he exclaimed. “that was one of my favourites!”

you shrugged. “you shouldn’t have given it to me then.”

“i didn’t know you were actually gonna use it,” wooyoung complained. “i thought you would just watch.”

“you’re such a dick,” you rolled your eyes.

wooyoung leaned in closer - his voice annoyingly sweet. “aw, don’t be mad, sweetheart. i’ll get you a better knife- one that won’t bend in your delicate fucking hands.”

“shut up,” you groaned, shoving him lightly as the others chuckled.

hongjoong leaned against the wall, his arm crossed over his chest. his eyes shifted from wooyoung to you. 

his chest tightened in a now-familiar way: you’re fitting in too well.

it wasn’t jealousy - at least, that’s what he told himself. it was about control. your presence was a distraction he didn’t account for. but the others took you in so easily, which was technically a good thing, right?

and yet...

why did his stomach twist every time one of them smiled at you?

hongjoong blinked, realising how his leg was bouncing restlessly. he forced himself to stop, sighing deeply.

“you good, boss?” yunho asked.

hongjoong paused. “...i’m fine.”

yunho raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, turning away.

hongjoong’s eyes returned to you. you were leaning a little too close to yeosang now, laughing at some joke wooyoung said - sending a strange pang through his chest.

why did this bother him so much?

you weren’t doing anything wrong. you were building trust, meshing with the group - just like he expected.

but this wasn’t about the group, was it?

he frowned, thinking. you stitched him right after he kidnapped you, you saved him from getting shot even though you were definitely not ready to fight.

what has he ever done for you?

introduced you to a world of crime? to a world of killing, stealing and hatred? accidentally ruined the relationship between you and your dad?

hongjoong closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

shit.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

without bothering to change, you sank into the pull-out couch - exhaustion pulling you to it like gravity.

you heard hongjoong locking the door behind him, the soft click sounding loud in the quiet apartment. his footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing reaching your ears. you were way too tired to look.

you didn’t realise you drifted off until you were awoken by something heavy on your body.

your eyes fluttered open groggily. for a moment, you thought you were dreaming. hongjoong was in the middle of draping a large blanket on you.

“what are you doing?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

his eyes darted to yours briefly. “nothing.”

you frowned, shifting to sit up - but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pressing you gently back down. “sleep.”

you let out a quiet sigh. “shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you muttered.

he paused, his jaw tensing. “....tomorrow onwards, you’re training with me.”

you stared at him, stunned. before you could even say anything, he turned and walked away without a word.

…did your boss just tuck you in?

MONTH 3.5 -  PUNCH, KICK, SNARE

“again,” hongjoong said, slightly out of breath. 

the living room felt smaller than usual with the two of you moving around. the coffee table and couch was pushed aside, leaving just enough space to practice your punches without tripping over the furniture. he claimed training here would teach you how to ‘fight in tight quarters’.

he sighed. “your moves are sloppy.”

you groaned, shaking your aching wrists. “i’m trying.”

“that’s not enough when someone’s aiming a gun at your head,” he replied, stepping back and raising hands. “your punches are too weak and your balance is all over the place. reset your stance.”

you rolled your eyes but obeyed, repositioning your feet. it wasn’t the first time you’ve heard those words from him.

hongjoong moved closer, tapping your wrist. “keep your guard up. always.”

you threw another punch, but it barely made his hands move. he lowered them, sighing. “that’s not going to hurt anyone-“

“-i’m doing my best, okay?” you snapped. “i’m not a fast learner.”

his eyes softened for a moment before narrowing again. “that’s not an excuse when your life is on the line.”

you tsked. he was right of course, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“again.”

you tried once more, throwing a combination of punches that he blocked with ease. when you attempted a kick, you stumbled, nearly losing your footing.

he caught you instinctively, his hands steadying you.

“watch your balance,” he said automatically, going on a tangent on how training is important and blahblahblah. 

you tried to focus on your surroundings, on the words he was saying, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you. the smell of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of sweat in the room. his touch wasn’t rough or aggressive like you’d expect - it was gentle.

your eyes drifted to his face, catching the faint scars along his cheekbones and jawline. were those always there? or was this the first time you really noticed?

his brows furrowed, likely in frustration at your lack of response, but the concern in his eyes snapped you back into reality, making you realise that you were staring the whole time.

“i don’t think i’m cut out for this,” the words spilled out before you could stop them.

hongjoong paused, his lips parting slightly - he wasn’t  expecting you to say that. for a moment, he was silent. he then leaned in, his eyes piercing. 

“you don’t get to quit.”

the intensity of his voice made you forget about the aches in your muscles and the sweat dripping down your back. his words weren’t angry - they were commanding. 

“why do you even care?” you whispered, barely audible.

his grip on your arms loosened slightly, his eyes searching yours for what felt like eternity. then out of nowhere, he stepped back, clearing his throat as he avoided your gaze. “take five,” he mumbled, walking to the kitchen.

MONTH 5 - BLOOD, BLOOD AND MORE BLOOD

the office building looked ordinary. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just another corporate HQ. but you knew better.

and so did hongjoong.

you held up the new knife wooyoung gave you, one that wasn’t as pretty as the last. it was finally the day you ambushed your dad, the man that’s been wanting you dead for months.

you looked up to face hongjoong. “i don’t want to see it,” you said suddenly.

he raised an eyebrow. “see what?”

“when you kill him. my dad,” you clarified, your throat tightening. “i’m.. okay with it, but i don’t want to see it.”

his eyes studied you. after a moment, he nodded. “make sure to stay close to me,” he said before turning to the building.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the group slipped into the building through the side. hongjoong led the way, gripping his pistol tightly as you stayed close behind him.

“elevators are too risky,” hongjoong looked back at the group. “we’ll take the stairs.”

the group nodded, their weapons drawn as they moved quietly through the halls. the fluorescent lights did nothing to mask the sinister aura that was buried in the walls.

when you reached the stairwell, the sound of footsteps echoing above sent everyone into high alert.

the first shot rang out.

gunfire filled the stairwell. the air was thick with smoke and gunfire. you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to avoid all of the attacks happening around you. you tried to go in to fight but-

-someone grabbed you.

you struggled, twisting out of their grasp. but before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you away. “stay still.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the stench forced your eyes open - a horrid mix of stale cigar smoke and alcohol. the office was dimly lit and your father crouched infront of you, his face smug as he cornered you.

“you think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he sneered.

you glared at him, your heart pounding. “fuck off.”

a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “you’ve gotten worse since you joined that boy,” he spat. “should i cut off your tongue? unhinge your jaw? or maybe i’ll be basic and shoot you.”

“you’re insane,” your stomach twisted. “it’s hard to believe we’re related, especially with how ugly you are.”

“you-”

before he could finish, you jammed wooyoung’s knife into his other thigh, dragging it down to create a large gash. he let out a guttural scream, stumbling into a desk as blood gushed out of his thigh like a fountain.

you moved quickly, scrambling out of the corner, but two piglets grabbed you before you could get far.

“stupid bitch,” your father hissed, forcing himself up as he took out the knife in his thigh, looking directly at you. “you’re going to regret that.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

as hongjoong shot another piglet with his pistol, he looked around the haze, searching for a certain someone. “where’s ‘____’?” he asked.

the group stayed silent.

“shit- we don’t know,” wooyoung said nervously.

hongjoong’s face darkened - and without hesitation, he grabbed a nearby piglet by the collar, slamming him against the wall. “where’s your boss?” he snarled.

the piglet squirmed. “i- i have a family!”

hongjoong’s grip on his collar tightened, his eyes widening scarily. “then bring me to him.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“your mother should’ve gotten the abortion,” your father said before settling down infront of you, the bloody knife close to your face.

“i’m surprised that a woman like her fucked you,” you breathed out shakily as the blade hit your skin. 

“shut up-“

the door burst open as the knife grazed your skin. hongjoong stepped in, his gun raised. “let go of her,” he ordered.

the piglets hesitated, glancing between your father and hongjoong. your father’s hand didn’t move, a scar forming on your face. 

“you want her that badly?” your father asked mockingly. “you’re becoming soft.”

hongjoong didn’t answer. instead, he moved faster than you thought was possible, shooting the two piglets that held you with ease.

the bodies hit the ground - causing your father to shove you harshly against the wall. pain shot through your body as you heard something crack.

hongjoong froze, his pistol trained on your dad. 

“stay back,” your father warned, hovering the blade near your temple.

hongjoong’s jaw clenched. he dropped his gun slightly, making your father relax.

but then hongjoong lunged.

the fight was brutal, all punches and grunts. you slumped against the wall, your cheek bleeding uncontrollably as every part of your body ached.

after what felt like ages, hongjoong finally gained the upper hand, pinning your dad down as he pointed the gun to his head. but then his eyes landed on yours, wide and terrified - making him freeze.

“shit,” he cursed under his breath, lowering the gun. he turned and rushed to you, pulling you into his arms.

your father tried to crawl away, but hongjoong didn’t let him go far. with you in his embrace, he covered your eyes and ears tightly as the sound of a singular gunshot echoed in the room.

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. his hand cradled the back of your head, his touch soft. “it’s over,” he whispered as you sobbed.

you shook your head against his chest, the salt in your tears stinging the cut on your cheek. “i almost died.”

“i know,” he said softly. “but i wouldn’t let that happen.”

his words settled over you like a warm blanket. you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. you could feel the heat of his body as he kept you close.

hongjoong shifted, his hands moving to your shoulders as he looked at you carefully. his thumb brushed over your scar, wiping away the trail of blood on your face.

“you’re shaking,” his eyebrows furrowed. “you need to breathe.”

“i’m trying.”

he reached for a nearby chair and pulled it over, guiding you to sit. hongjoong crouched infront of you, your hands trembling in his.

“you’re safe,” his eyes locked onto yours. “i’ve got you.”

something inside you cracked at his words - and tears spilled once more. hongjoong didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. he stayed crouched infront of you, letting you take all the time you needed.

when you finally looked up, there was something unspoken in his eyes - a mix of guilt and relief that made your heart ache. “...thank you,” you whispered.

his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. instead, he nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening for a moment before letting go.

at that moment, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. your lips brushed against his, just enough to make his entire body stiffen.

for a second, you thought you made a mistake. his hands paused midair and his breathing hitched.

but then, he moved. to you. 

his hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer into a kiss. it was slow at first, but when you gripped his shirt tightly - the feelings he’d been keeping were let loose.

his lips pressed against yours with urgency. his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. 

you responded instinctively. your hands found his neck, his jaw - brushing over them softly in a way that made him groan. “fuck- you’re so pretty.”

the world around you spun in swirls of blood, smoke and cologne, overwhelming you in a way that made you lose your breath.

hongjoong broke away for a moment, panting slightly. his lips curled into a smirk, before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense. it was grounding, reassuring and impossibly warm.

when the two of you pulled back, his thumb traced your scar. “this..” he began quietly. “..this isn’t what i expected tonight.”

you let out a soft, shaky laugh. “me neither.”

he pecked your forehead as he stood up, his legs slightly wobbly from the kiss. hongjoong held out a hand, helping you to your feet. “...let’s go home.”

series taglist - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2

author’s note: this is the first oneshot of my mafia series! yes it is long but i promise you that it does eat and that you’ll enjoy it. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

BONUS SCENE - MINE

the apartment was quiet as you laid on the pull-out couch, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t coming - your mind was too busy replacing the events earlier.

the memory of hongjoong’s arms around you stayed, along with the feeling of his lips on yours. how could a man as dangerous as him bring you such comfort?

a soft knock against the wall broke the silence.

you sat up slowly, seeing hongjoong standing in the hallway. his hair was slightly damp and he wore a loose black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he hesitated before walking to you, his movements weirdly awkward.

“...you okay?” you asked the nervous man.

he shrugged, trying to play it off as he sat next to you. “i’m fine. you?”

“i’ve been better.”

there was a pause as the two of you stared at each other, the silence heavy. finally, he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“i’ve been thinking..” hongjoong trailed off.

“uh-oh.”

“i-it’s not a bad thing-” he said hurriedly. “it’s just that.. tonight made me think about a lot of things.”

you tilted your head, confused.

his voice softened as he continued. “but this isn’t just about tonight. it’s about.. everything. i don’t want you to feel.. unsafe all the time.”

“i don’t,” you said instantly, but you’re not sure how much you believed yourself.

he leaned back slightly, reaching into his hoodie pocket. when his hand reappeared, it was holding a pistol - his pistol.

“take this,” he held it out to you.

you blinked, staring at the weapon. “what? why?”

“because it’s mine,” he replied simply leaving no room for argument. “and now, it’s ours.”

you hesitated, your hand hovering over the gun. “i.. i barely know how to use this.”

“then i’ll teach you.”

you looked up at him, searching his face for answers. “...why are you giving this to me?”

you noticed the way his eyes darted down as you looked at him, his fingers tightening around the pistol as he pushed it to you. 

“because,” hongjoong began quietly. “i trust you.”

your fingers paused before finally closing around the gun. the cold metal felt deadly in your grasp, but the way his eyes lit up made your heart swell.

“you trust me..?” you asked softly, a faint smile on your face. “hongjoong..”

his usual composure faltered as you said his name, a blush dusting his face. he swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering himself. “you’re not just a part of the group,” he said. “you’re more than that. to me.”

your eyebrows shot up, completely stunned. “...i don’t know what to say.”

“say yes.”

you blinked. “yes to what?”

“to being mine,” hongjoong’s hands fidgeted slightly.

your heart raced as you heard his words. a wide smile spread across your face as you realised what he was really asking.

“are you..” you paused. “are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

his breath got caught in his throat as he nodded. “yeah.”

the man that was the literal leader of an entire gang, was sitting nervous infront of you. it was a funny sight to see, but you brought yourself back to reality, answering his question.

“yes.”

a wave of relief washed over his face as he let out the breath he seemed to be holding. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he leaned closer. “wanna sleep in my bed tonight?”

deleted scenes | other fics

[bunnis-monsters]

SFW/FLUFFY

warning: angst, violence, blood, yandere behavior, but overall fluffy with a cute worries dad

You never would have thought that the mighty Yandere!Dragon Hybrid that kidnapped you and forced you into marriage would hold you in his lap tenderly, his claw softly tracing over your baby bump.

“Our little one will be here soon… any day now…” he murmured, his tail swishing behind him. Used to (and almost reliant on) his touch now, you leaned back and got comfortable, moving his hand towards your lower belly where he felt a stronger kick.

“Mhm… soon…”

It wasn’t long before the day came, and instead of being excited and happy, your mate was shaking in fear, his pupils dilated into slits as he cradled you in his arms.

In the past, the dragon hybrid found those who felt faint at the sight of blood cowards… but now, looking at you as blood fell down your thighs, and the scent of it hit him…

He felt sick. Sick with worry, nauseous even.

“You’ll be okay… oh my love, what have I done to you?”

As he flew threw the night sky, he couldn’t help but feel some regret over putting you through this pain. Tears ran down his cheeks as he soothed you the best you could. His angel, his sweet little mate being in pain made his heart ache.

He quickly located the scent of a hospital, his red scales shifting into clothing and human skin as he landed and carried you inside.

Playing the part of a terrified husband a bit too well, your lover had you rushed into the emergency room. Your birthing process went through without any trouble, and soon there was a new addition to the little family he had made.

Of course, as soon as the baby was born, he whisked you and a doctor away, flying back to his cave. The doctor had strict orders to take care of you and ensure that the baby was happy and healthy…

And as he discarded the doctors corpse once you were recovered enough for him to take care of you alone, your lover was already thinking of ways to keep you even safer in his cave, your only home.

You were already trapped… perhaps he should make it homier, keep you happier and help ensure the baby was safe too. After all, your baby was only half dragon hybrid, with a soft belly that he loves to kiss and tickle.

It made him sick, that same nausea from when he smelled your blood returning when he thought of you or the baby being hurt because he didn’t do enough…

Oh, the woes of being a first time father, always worrying and fussing over your mate and child, unable to ever fully relax…

[poguehearted77]

Wild Child

summary: after being sent away to boarding school for being a wild child you're finally back and celebrating your return in the only way you see fit.

smut: pool party, ragers, drug use (alcohol, vapes n weed), size kink, Rafe is cocky, mentions of old flings, manhandling, hot tubs, they do it on her parents' bed, rough sex, step-mom slander, reader is such a flirt n a tease, curvy reader, dom! rafe, bratty! reader, skinny dipping, mentions of body shots, choking, spanking (like once).

The morning sun was ascending high into the sky when you finally managed to get yourself out of your king-sized bed, fit for someone of your status and your parents' financial standing.

Your socked feet took padded steps towards your window where you overlooked the hills of figure eight. This was the first time you'd looked out your bedroom window in years. With a deep inhale a soft smile etched its way across your lips. You were finally home, and you had the house all to yourself. Or so you thought.

Your ears pick up on muffled indistinct chatter that managed to travel from the kitchen, down the halls up the elaborate staircase and into your room. Quickly, you headed for the source of the voices and were disappointed to see your dad and his wife plaything, Maria, conversing over coffee at the kitchen island.

"I thought you said the Jet leaves at dawn? What are you guys still doing here?" You try not to sound too curious, arms crossing naturally with your inquiry. With a clearing of his throat, your dad speaks up, "You only just came back two nights ago. Maria and I just don't think it's the right time to leave you alone for the weekend."

You scoff, "Why? You still don't trust me after what happened last time? Get over it, I'm twenty-one now, you can trust me." As you walked over to the fridge for a glass of water, you heard a muted exchange of ideas behind you.

"You can't expect us to forget about all the damage you caused. We still haven't found anyone to repair my crystal vases." You take a long sip, trying to swallow your toxic thoughts with the water.

She thinks she can just waltz up and down the house with that huge ring on her finger and think that her opinion carries any value to you.

You took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile, pitching your voice to become as sweet as honey.

"I can never apologize enough for what I did back then, but how will I ever earn your trust if you don't give me the chance." Your doe eyes land on your father, specifically his weakened composure.

You're about to break him, you can see it.

He exhales, all the air escaping through his nostrils.

Broken.

He glances down at his watch, "Fine, but if you throw another party so help me god Y/n you'll never see grass again." You play it cool, thanking him with a simple hug and completely disregarding Maria before you make your way back upstairs.

It's as though a weight had been lifted off your chest. You needed them out of the house, you'd been planning this party since you got back and made sure all the guests knew to keep it on the down low, just until they were gone.

The hours fly by, and you hardly keep track of time as you and some of your long-time friends set up the house for the party that you shouldn't be hosting, but you're Y/n Sinclair. Parties are your thing.

"Macy, you let the people in, kay? I'm gonna go get changed." The sun was beginning to set and the music was already blasting, vibrating over the marble floors of the house. Every lyric was punctuated with a shaking of the speakers that could be felt even outside.

The neighbours hated to see you coming.

You know your dad's jet was en route to Fiji and he wouldn't be able to reach you until he landed which wasn't for another six hours at minimum but by then the damage will be long done and far too late to stop.

You make your way up the stairs, the bass thumping through the house and vibrating beneath your feet. As you step into your room, your reflection catches your eye, excitement sparking in your gaze.

With a quick flick of your wrist, you reach for the strappy black and red two-piece, slipping it on, the cool fabric hugging every curve just right. Each strap crisscrosses elegantly, bold yet balanced, making you smile at how perfectly it all came together.

Next, you grab the sheer cover-up, wrapping it loosely around your waist so it drapes with a hint of movement, a playful edge that sways with you. You run your fingers through your curls, scrunching them gently to bring out their bounce, each coil framing your face in soft waves. Reaching for your lip gloss, you swipe it carefully over your lips, catching the light with a glossy shine.

One last look, and you’re ready, your heart beating in rhythm with the music below. The speakers are already blaring, the energy practically calling you back down. You step out with a final tousle of your curls, ready to join the night.

The energy crackles through the backyard as you make your way to the top of the outdoor staircase. The sun has slipped beneath the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the massive pool below, illuminated by floating lights that shimmer across the water.

The bar is buzzing with people grabbing drinks, and in the corner, the foam pit is already filling up, laughter and splashes mixing with the heavy beat of the music.

A neon sign hangs across from the bar, glowing boldly against the evening sky: The Queen of Kildare is Back. You grin, amused at the sight of it knowing it was 100% Macy's doing, and take a step down. Conversations hush, replaced by the roaring blast of excitement as heads turn your way. Hundreds of people, from familiar faces to those you only vaguely recognize from your past in Figure Eight, pause and look up, anticipation brimming in their eyes.

As you descend, your cover-up billows behind you, revealing the bold lines of your black and red two-piece. The crowd’s reaction is instant, erupting into cheers, whistles, and applause that echo across the yard.

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n" They chant and you laugh. Every step closer to the party, you feel the atmosphere thicken, charged with that infectious blend of excitement and admiration. By the time you reach the bottom, someone’s already handing you a drink, while friends rush over to pull you in for hugs and greetings, their voices nearly drowned out by the music and shouts.

"Y/n Sinclair, s'Been a while."

There's a voice all too familiar addressing you from behind, prompting you to pivot to come face to face with a much taller Rafe than your brain could recall.

"Rafe Cameron. Long time no see." He goes in for the hug, your arms reaching over his broadened shoulders while his longer ones wrap around your waist before pulling back. He not so subtly checked you out, his tongue darting out over his lips briefly as he took you in and you did the same.

The buzzed hair sharpens his features, you think. Making his eyes seem darker, more intense, as they focus on you. His open linen shirt falls loosely over his frame, giving glimpses of his toned chest and the subtle gleam of a thin chain resting against his skin.

The shirt flutters with the breeze, barely hanging on his shoulders, hinting at the strong lines of his arms and drawing your eyes down to his relaxed, dark swim trunks.

He’s saying something, leaning slightly toward you, and his voice cuts smoothly through the bass of the party. Your eyes wander back up to his face, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he knows he’s caught your attention.

"You look good, too good. How long's it been?" It's hard for you to think with the heat of his gaze on you, but you don't falter, never surrendering to this never-ending game between the two of you.

"About 3 years." He hums, the way he looks at you, casual yet purposeful, makes your pulse quicken, and suddenly, every sound around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the way he looks right at you, but you remind yourself to focus.

Rafe looks around the scene, eyes lingering over the wet t-shirt contest and then the game of chicken being held in the pool while others lounged on the various floaties or indulged in ungodly amounts of alcohol at the bar. As he does so, the pungent scent of weed drafts across your nostrils.

"Your old man know you're hostin' tonight?" You had to laugh, "Oh please, like he would ever let me have any kind of fun while he's in town. He and the skank are in Fiji."

The slight smirk that etches over his perfect lips taunts you. "So the house is yours?" He leans in, a little closer, closing the gap between you. "Until he comes back and banishes me again," You place a confident hand against his chest, pushing him away, "But for now, I'm here to party, and you should be too."

With that said you walk away from him, letting your hips sway with seduction radiating with each step. Rafe lets his thumb and fingers stroke over his jaw, feeling the weight of the pressure you'd just applied.

God, it was good to have you back.

The party raged on, slowly approaching its peak, body shots were going on at the bar, girls were doing lines in the bathrooms and the guys had insisted on a drunk game of volleyball in the pool.

Rafe took a break from the events of the party and watched from the sidelines on the couch, taking another hit of the vape that someone had passed to him, he's not sure he can remember who, and it wasn't relevant anyway.

The only person he had his sights set on is you. Watching you have the time of your life with your friends on the platform in the middle of the pool. Your little group, clearly intoxicated danced carefree while you'd begun to put your hands on the ground and throw your ass in circles.

Rafe choked, sitting up, some smoke coming through his nostrils at the interrupted airflow. He leaves his shirt behind on the couch with the abandoned vape, just as he heads for the pool topped hands him a beer which Rafe accepts before he gets in.

Maintaining a straight face as his body acclimatizes to the cool water he's almost immediately swarmed and roped into a round of whatever the current pool game was.

His icy gaze looks up to the center of the pool where you once were but are now nowhere to be found. "Looking for someone?" Your voice was mocking and he was grinning before he even turned around.

"I am actually." With little ripples in the water, he steps towards you maintaining a respectful distance that was driving you insane. "I was looking for someone to join me at the bar," He puts on a convincing facade but you roll your eyes, feigning innocence.

"Let me know if you find her," He slowly steps towards you and step back, "Don't play dumb with me, Y/n." Your plush lips form a gut-wrenching pout, "What do you mean?" Another step forward, another one back. The cycle repeats itself until he has you backed up against the edge of the pool.

Rafe’s hands find your waist, and before you can react, he’s lifting you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the pool. You're reeling at the slutty display of his sheer strength.

Your legs dangle, brushing against his chest, and he steps closer, slotting himself right between them. His hands rest on either side of you, his arms framing you in as he looks up with that sly grin, every bit as teasing as you are.

“Always out here playin' games, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low, a quiet rasp just for you. “Gotta say, I respect it—always sticking it to your old man, doing your own thing.” He leans in, his gaze drifting down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not many people around here have the guts for that.”

You scoff lightly, though your heart skips as his gaze lingers on you, intense and challenging. “Oh, please,” you tease, rolling your eyes. “Since when do you care about any of this?”

A quiet laugh slips from him as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles along your thigh. “You think I haven’t been paying attention to you all these years?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“You might’ve been gone a while, but don't think I forgot all those nights we had our fun.” His words hang heavy between you as he pulls back slightly. Now his hand rests on your waist, his voice dropping lower.

He tilts his head, studying you with that familiar glint of mischief. “Now that you're back, I think we should relive some of our traditions, for old time's sake,” he says, leaning in until his lips brush against your jaw, light and teasing, close enough to make your pulse race. He pauses, his thumb skimming your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting. “But don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do.”

Before you can snap back, his mouth claims yours, the kiss charged with all the years of pent-up tension and that all-too-familiar heat. His hands slide up to cradle your face as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepens, and when he finally pulls back just enough to catch his breath, he watches you with a smug, knowing grin.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your lips, his thumb tracing your jaw as if memorizing every inch. “That look you get right before we make a mess of things. I knew it—you missed this just as much as I did.”

If only someone could recount how the two of found yourselves stumbling up the stairs towards your room, your soaked sheer cover-up left forgotten somewhere in the house after Rafe pulled it off of your frame.

"Shit-- Rafe," your teeth dug into the flesh of your bottom lip as you reached to open your bedroom door, horrified to see two other people had monopolized it. They hadn't even noticed the door was opened so you quickly closed it.

"What the fuck, I thought everyone knew my room was off limits." With a quick scan, you noticed items were hanging off almost all the guest rooms in the hall letting others know the room was occupied.

"Shit, there's nowhere else to go in here?" You think quickly on your feet before rushing off to get something before returning with a key in your grip.

Rafe pulls you close with a smirk as you clutch the key to your father’s room, the gleam in your eyes daring him to follow. “Breaking all the rules tonight, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with approval. His hand slips around your waist as you unlock the door, both of you glancing down the hall to be sure no one’s watching.

You twist the handle and push open the door, and his hand slides down to squeeze your hip, pulling you against him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he whispers against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, sending a thrill down your spine.

Once inside, you barely have a chance to lock the door before he has you pressed up against it. His lips are on yours, urgent and fierce, his hands roaming over your body with possessive ease. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he breathes between kisses, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist as he lifts your top, letting it fall to the floor. “Thought I’d forgotten?” you tease.

Rafe just about growls, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone, his hands sliding lower as he backs you towards the bed. His fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms, tugging them down with a smirk that sends heat rushing through you.

Your heart races as you feel the cool, forbidden sheets beneath you, the thrill of defying every rule and having Rafe look at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide up your thighs, lips trailing down your neck as he leans over you. “You know,” he murmurs, voice heavy with desire as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out before him, “I always knew you were trouble. Guess that’s why I can’t stay away.”

With a smirk, he leans in, his lips brushing over yours as his hands explore, both of you savouring the thrill of being tangled up in each other once again.

"Look at these perfect fuckin' tits." He curses, big hands cupping your breasts, kneading them and rolling your nipples between his index and thumb. Your back arches slightly with a gasp, chest pressing up into him and he laughs.

"Still so sensitive here, angel? Some things never change." He reminisces and you roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Rafe." With the blink of an eye, his much larger frame was caging you in from above, his bulging biceps giving him an erotic juxtaposition in comparison to your head.

Balancing himself on one arm he slinks his palm around the expanse of your throat with a weighted pressure. "Been gone so long you forgot your manners? Mm? That's fine, I'll be sure to fuck some sense back into you."

Your eyes flutter shut at his filthy words as you feel his hand move and begin to work you between your legs. "Your pussy's fuckin' soaked--shit." He hisses, gaze hungry and his body acts on his thoughts faster than you can register.

A particularly loud moan slips from you as you feel his tongue skillfully lap over your folds, splitting you open as the warmth of his tongue protrudes into your core. "Yes, fuck! Please, don't stop Rafe." You moan, one hand reaching down to hold him by the hair and it hits you that he'd shaved it all off.

You let out a frustrated gruff, both hands fisting the sheets while you're forced to feel the vibrations of his sick laugh running through you at your dramatics. Even the tip of his nose had been covered in your slick, your juices running down his chin as he ate you out like a man starved.

He wouldn't be surprised if they could hear you from outside, but he knows everyone is far too high, too drunk or both to hear you. It wasn't long before your legs were beginning to shake and came with his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.

Taking deep breaths to recover from debatedly the best orgasm you've ever experienced, Rafe walked over to the far wall, out of sight, doing something you couldn't see before returning.

Without speaking he scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, another shameless display of his strength but it would be a lie to say it didn't drive you crazy. "What-what are you doing?" Your questions are ignored until he approaches the bubbling hot tub.

A wicked smirk curls across his lips as he eases you onto your feet in the warm water, his hands lingering on your waist, keeping you close. He gazes at you with that knowing glint, the steam rising around you both.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes trailing down your figure, unapologetic. His fingers skim over your sides, sending a shiver through you that’s from anything but the water.

“Are you really just gonna stand there?” you call, feeling the thrill of his attention but wanting to turn the tables, your voice laced with playful challenge.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckles, unfastening his swim trunks and letting them fall to the side with a carefree grin. “I plan on joining you,” he says, slipping into the water and closing the distance between you two with smooth, unhurried steps. You take a hard swallow at his size, you don't remember him being this big.

He was going to destroy you.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his smirk. “Pretty bold of you, Rafe,” you say, your voice teasing as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Just like old times, hmm?”

“Better than old times,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips graze your ear, his voice a low rumble. “Because now, nothing is stopping us.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his body up against your back, elevating you a bit so your torso leans over the edge of the tub, granting him easy access to you.

"Fuck, can't believe your ass got even more fucking perfect since last time." His hand raises and comes back down with a loud spank that pulls a sinful moan from your throat. "Rafe, stop teasing." You whine, arching your back and pressing back against him.

His composure already weekend, he decided to let you get away with it this time before he lined up the swollen head of his thick cock with your entrance, "Better grab onto something." That's the last thing you hear before you're being impaled on his dick, your upper half immediately falls forward, and he stills, giving you a second.

You're breathless, it feels like his cock was taking up all the room in your lungs. Some water had splashed over the ledge but that was the least of your worries. Your mind was hazy and focused on Rafe's grunts that escaped him with every snap of his hips.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now. The Sinclair wild child knows how to take big dick like a champ." His words run straight through you like electricity, fanning the flames of the burning heat that was beginning to form in your belly.

"Shit--This pussy was fuckin' made for me, y'know that?" You moan at his possessive statement. You can only nod, your body had gone limp long ago as he drilled into you. "R-rafe! I'm-" As if you weren't close enough, his fingers begin to rub over your clit aggressively and you jolt with a shriek.

"Oh- fuck, don't stop! Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Please, Rafe." You beg, over and over, arms hanging onto the edge of the tub for dear life as more water splashes around you.

"Wait for me, hold it until I say you can come." You're chewing your lip raw, desperately trying to hold yourself back as he wrecks you from the inside out, his moans getting more frequent, a little more airy and breathless as he tumbled toward his edge of pleasure.

"Cum with me, Angel." Your body spasms as you finish together and he leans his weight against your back, his laboured breathing fanning your ear as you come down from your high.

"Not bad, princess." You couldn't respond and Rafe took note of this, carefully holding you up with one final smug remark, "Hope I didn't wear out the queen of Kildare."

[kingkaisen]

Gojo and reader's first fight?

Where they are ignoring each other or something and they don't really talk to each other

and megumi and yuji try not to make it obvious something is wrong in front of their sister so they don't worry her

In the end they make up

FIRST FIGHT

♡ — This fic is part of my dad!gojo series, but it can be read independently. All you need to know is that Satoru and the reader are a married couple with a young biological daughter, and they recently adopted Megumi and Yuji.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: angst, fluff, brief mention of Christmas (Santa, more specifically.)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I love this idea, anon! Thank you for contributing to the dad! gojo series!

During a peculiar, lazy weekend, the sky cloudy and the world moving at a slow pace, Megumi and Yuji were sitting on the couch in the living room playing video games together.

“Megumi!” Yuji frantically smashed a button on his controller with his thumb. “You’re telling me you exercise curses, but aiming in video games is your weakness?”

“Shut up. I was aiming perfectly.”

Suddenly, they heard faint shouting coming from upstairs, and after giving each other a puzzled look and pausing the game, they decided to sneakily investigate.

They creeped down the hallway quietly.

Satoru knew that the two boys were right outside of your bedroom door, listening. He was Satoru Gojo, after all.

But it truly didn't matter if they decided to eavesdrop or not, because either way, they knew that you were both fighting about something.

In fact, it probably would have been better for them to listen in, so they would know exactly what the argument was about instead of making assumptions, because as adopted children, they were more than likely going to assume that the argument was about them.

Especially Megumi.

He didn't like the idea of eavesdropping, but as he heard you fussing, his heart started to pound dreadfully within his chest.

Naturally, he assumed that he had done something wrong, and that tomorrow, he would be stuck sleeping on campus and once again without a proper family. So he needed to listen. Satoru knew that.

Yuji pressed his ear against your shut bedroom door and listened as best as he could.

Apparently, you were upset about Satoru's latest mission, which he had just returned home from and much later than you had expected. He didn't call until after he completed the job to let you know that he was finally on the way home.

That little incident also brought up a similar topic, which was that his work trips were happening more often and lasting for a longer amount of time.

Like a domino effect, one thing led to another. Soon enough, you were pointing out all of Satoru’s flaws and the potential impact it could have on you and the rest of the family.

And Satoru didn’t say a word, as he was in tears. He was hurt.

As Yuji listened through the door, Megumi suddenly tapped his shoulder. Yuji turned around and his brother pointed to the little girl making her way down the hallway, frowning sadly.

"Is mommy okay?" She darted her eyes between Megumi and Yuji, incredibly worried that something was wrong.

She sniffled.

The preschooler was very sensitive, born with a big heart and on the verge of tears more often than not.

Thinking that her mom might have been upset was enough to make her start crying, and Yuji could tell from that first sniffle that the waterworks weren't that far behind.

"Come here, Maya Papaya," Yuji smiled brightly, knowing how much she loved that nickname.

The young girl instantly ran up to her crouching brother. He picked her up, rising to his feet as he carried her away from your bedroom door.

"Everything's fine, don't you worry," Yuji softly pinched her cheek, and she squealed adorably. “Don’t get too close to their door, alright? I think they’re planning your super duper awesome surprise party, and we don’t wanna listen in on that, right?”

"Nuh uh!" She shook her head. "I'm gonna be - I'm gonna be five! I hope they invite Barbie 'cause my friend said that . . . that Barbie came to her birthday party and I want Barbie to come to my birthday party."

Yuji started to walk away from your bedroom door with Maya in his arms and Megumi following closely behind.

Yuji didn't know it, but Satoru sighed in relief.

— ♡ —

A few hours had passed.

You and Satoru were doing a horrible job at pretending nothing was wrong.

Satoru looked like a kicked puppy, his blue eyes glistening with sadness even when he tried to fake a smile, and you were stress cleaning all afternoon.

The clinks and clanks of pots and pans being arranged in the kitchen made Maya start to worry once again.

You were being loud. Louder than usual.

And dad hadn't come out of the bedroom.

"Hey," Megumi called out, grabbing her attention. "You know what would be really nice? If you went upstairs and gave Satoru a big hug.”

“Who’s that, Meg-mi?” Maya tilted her head a bit, confused.

She didn’t know who Satoru was. There was only one person upstairs, and his name was dad.

“Uh . . .” Megumi looked down at the floor. He wasn’t comfortable using those affectionate, heavy titles yet — mom and dad.

Yuji noticed his brother’s darting dark eyes.

“He meant to say dad. Why don’t you go and give dad a hug?” Yuji smiled softly.

“Okay!”

The pitter-patter of their younger sister’s feet could be heard as she ran upstairs.

Satoru knew that his little girl was making her way toward his room. Even without his gifted eyes aiding him, he could hear her excited giggles from the hallway.

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he sniffled a bit, and put on his biggest and brightest artificial smile as she ran into his room and shouted, “Daddy!”

“Is that my little muffin?” Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down a bit and holding his arms out for Maya to run into.

He picked her up gently and sat the girl down on his lap.

“I came to hug you,” she beamed. Just then, she noticed that her dad looked a bit different.

His blue eyes were teary, and his cheeks and nose were red.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” With a sad frown, her tiny hand reached up to pat his cheek, attempting to wipe away the glistening wetness where he had failed to dry his tears properly before her arrival.

Satoru’s didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t want to worry her, but he never wanted to lie to his little girl either, except when it was related to her health and safety — and her amusement as well, as he’d go above and beyond to make sure his daughter believed in Santa Claus, including sneaking around the house wearing a fake beard and a pillow underneath his red and white costume.

“Do you remember when we had that little talk about emotions? And I explained what they were?” Satoru asked softly.

“Uh huh,” Maya nodded.

“Well, right now, I’m feeling sad, and so is mommy. But I don’t want you to worry, okay? It’s completely normal to feel sad sometimes.”

Maya blinked at him. Satoru could tell based on the slight tilt of her head that she was thinking, putting her little mind to work.

Suddenly, she reached up, wrapping her little arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him.

“Aren’t you sweet?” Satoru said, gently rubbing her back. “Thank you for the hug, muffin.”

“We can go play so that you can feel happy!”

It was an offer Satoru couldn’t refuse. With a grin — a real, genuine one this time — Satoru got off of the bed, carrying Maya to her room where they would play with her toys together.

— ♡ —

Meanwhile, as you were aggressively scrubbing down your stove with your soapy sponge, two figures appeared in the archway of the Tuscan kitchen.

You glanced over at your two adopted sons, then back down at the stove.

“I’m ordering pizza for dinner. I don’t feel like cooking right now,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

“We didn’t come in here to ask you about dinner,” Megumi replied.

“We wanted to know if you were okay,” Yuji frowned worriedly.

“I’m alright.” Your sponge started to bend and tear as you scrubbed the spotless stove. Your reddened waterline was brimming with hot tears.

“You should stop cleaning,” Yuji took a step forward. Cautiously, he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from scrubbing. “Get some rest, mom.”

Sadly, you laughed. Though it was more of a small broken cry. Shaking your head, you said, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Yuji asked, his sad eyes staring into yours.

“It’s not really something I should discuss with my two teenage boys, okay?”

“Let me guess,” Megumi paused. “Resting would mean going upstairs, and that’s where Satoru is, and you’re trying to avoid him because you’re still mad at him, right?”

“Wrong,” you frowned at Megumi, and Yuji released your wrist, but he also took the sponge out of your grasp. “I’m avoiding him because I know I made him cry, and I can’t believe . . . I was cruel enough to do something like that. But like I said, it’s not something for the two of you to worry about.”

Your words simply went through one ear and out the other, because suddenly, Yuji was once again grabbing your wrist.

Ignoring your protests, he practically dragged you upstairs.

Locating Satoru was rather easy thanks to the sound of childlike laughter coming from Maya and muffled cartoony noises coming from Satoru, which could be heard from the hallway.

Stepping into Maya’s room where she and Satoru were sitting on the floor, playing with her toys, Yuji said, “Sorry to interrupt.”

Satoru’s eyes darted between you, Yuji, and Yuji’s loose grip on your wrist.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

“You two need to talk,” Yuji looked back at you, and then glanced at Satoru. “Please talk. I know I don’t understand what marriage is like, and maybe I should just mind my own business, I don’t know, but . . . you’re both hurting each other right now and I think you should work it out.”

Yuji let go of your wrist. He walked toward his sister, leaned down, picked her up, and carried her out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t come out until you’ve both made up!” Yuji shouted.

Footsteps echoed through the home as he made his way downstairs with Maya.

Satoru rose to his feet, picking up Maya’s toys and carrying them to her purple toy bin and putting them away silently.

What an awkward silence it was — the two of you, standing in the middle of your daughter’s room, unsure of what to say to one another.

After all, arguments were incredibly rare. And this was the first time it had ever occurred with your children around.

“If you aren’t ready to talk yet, that’s fine.” Satoru broke the silence with his soft spoken words, unable to look into your eyes. “We can put on a good face in front of the kids and tonight . . . I can sleep downstairs in the guest room-”

“No, absolutely not,” you interrupted with a frown.“I’d never kick you out of our bed, Satoru.”

Satoru sighed.

“I’m sorry,” you paused hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that I did. I was just worried when you didn’t come home on time. It’s a dangerous world and you’re always right in the center of it, fighting. The thought of something bad happening to you kills me because I love you and I need you. But that isn’t an excuse to make you feel like you’re a bad husband and a bad father because that isn’t true at all. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” You tried to look into his eyes, but he still wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Please look at me.”

It took a moment, but eventually, Satoru’s glassy eyes stared into yours. The overwhelming sadness that was visible within them broke your heart.

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you said once again, and as sincerely as you could.

Satoru was silent. Much like Maya did to him earlier, he tilted his head slightly, thinking.

“I forgive you.” He stepped forward, and gently, he hugged you. “And I’m sorry I worried you. I know you have a lot on your shoulders. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

A small sigh of relief fell from between your lips when you felt your husband’s arms around your body.

“Hey,” pulling away from the hug, Satoru smiled down at you. “Let’s go out for dinner, just you and me. We can go to that restaurant you like.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’ll be fine, baby. Pizza’s being delivered here and they know how to take care of Maya and themselves. They’ll be fine if we’re gone for a couple of hours.” Satoru grabbed your hand. “Do you wanna go?”

Happily, you nodded, and the smile that graced Satoru’s face was absolutely beautiful.

And, when you both shared with your children that you were going out for dinner together, their own victorious smiles were just as sweet.

— Next Part.

[skyllion-uwu]

!! The library DOES have an adult reading challenge!!

[ijustwannabecool]

Little Stormcloud

Dad!Max Verstappen x Wife!Reader

Summary... On a rainy day in Monaco, Isa’s having big feelings and Max does his best to weather the storm with her.

A/N: a little Max and Isa blurb to get you going this afternoon.

Let me know what you guys think of it. Requests are open :)

Like, comment, reblog.

Enjoy and have a beautiful day!

------

It’s raining in Monaco.

The sky is grey, thick clouds pressing low over the harbor, and Isa has decided — with all the logic of a three-year-old — that she hates it.

She’s been grumpy since breakfast. Max had given her banana slices instead of banana circles, which apparently ruined her entire morning. She didn’t want to wear socks. She did want to wear her racing suit from Halloween. She didn’t want a ponytail. She wanted to do it herself. Then cried when the hairbrush wouldn’t cooperate.

And now she’s camped out under Max’s desk like a tiny, brooding mechanic, hugging her stuffed bunny to her chest and sighing dramatically every three minutes.

Max peers down at her.

“Stormcloud,” he murmurs gently, nudging her socked foot. “How’s the mood under there?”

She glares. “Still mad.”

“Oh,” he says, pretending to wince. “Big mad or medium mad?”

She holds up both hands to demonstrate: very big.

Max slides off his chair, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor. His laptop pings with notifications in the background, ignored.

“Do you wanna tell Papa what made you feel so mad today?”

Isa shrugs, eyes watery. “Everything,” she whispers, bottom lip wobbling. “It’s a bad day.”

Max’s heart tugs hard in his chest.

“Bad days happen,” he says softly. “Even to the best girls.”

Isa sniffs. “Mama’s not here.”

“I know,” he says, reaching out slowly to take her hand. “She’ll be back soon, liefje.”

“She always smells like flowers.”

Max smiles. “You do too, when you wear her lotion.”

That earns a quiet giggle.

“Wanna come sit with me?” he offers. “We can look at car videos until the rain stops.”

She considers this. Then crawls into his lap, nestling her head under his chin.

Max doesn’t care that his meeting starts in ten minutes.

He pulls a soft blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around them both.

“Do I still have to nap later?” she asks.

“We can call it a pit stop.”

“Like a fast one?”

“Super fast. Tires changed. Juice box refuel.”

Isa giggles again. “You’re silly.”

“You love it.”

“...I do.”

Later, when you return home — a little soggy, a lot tired — you find them exactly like that.

Max on the floor with his back against the wall, Isa fast asleep in his lap, tablet still playing an old F1 replay on mute. Her bunny is tucked under her arm. Her fingers still curl around the edge of Max’s hoodie.

He glances up at you, a little sheepish, hair messy and socked feet tangled in a stuffed animal pile.

“Long day?” you whisper.

Max nods. “She was a little stormcloud.”

“She always is when you’re both stuck inside,” you murmur with a grin.

You walk over and brush a kiss to Isa’s forehead, then lean down to kiss Max too — slow, warm, grateful.

“She’s lucky to have you,” you tell him.

Max looks down at the tiny body curled into his chest and whispers, “No. I’m lucky.”

[abyssalfaith]

astro obs :

I know a guy with scorpio mars in perfect and absolute conjuction to lilith (in scorpio too obs), and unfortunately the theory coincide with the reality, he is struggling with alcool addiction and sex obsession. On the other hand, he is an amazing vendor and really have this way to lure people in doing what he want. He's also a great dad and a great friend.

Lilith in the first house (solar return or natal) will make older men (if you are a women mostly) "afraid" or "triggered by you", in my own experience it's also making a dynamic of poeple being pulled by your aura while actively trying to get away from it (in other word, you are too much...)

Solar return : moon in the tenth house : nervous exhaustion from your work relation can be possible, do not take personnally the shit coming from your co worker.

Not to be in the clichée but ... Leo rising ? Are you able to make something not about you ? Like yes girl, you are there, we get it, you are better than us. Yes girl. Okay.

Having multiples personal planets in the first house of someone is not always an amazing synastry. Depending of the planets involved, the first house person can feel threatened and try to mimic the planet person. They see all the dimension of the planet person and it reflect their own insecurities.

Ascendant in the descendant synastry is a must, you see throught the other one what you are searching for.

6th house synastry in underratted, I have this with my best friend, I have a stellium in his sixth house, and for 7 years now, we never had more than three days without speaking to each other. In a ways or another you feel the need to be in one another life, it feels like home.

Natal chiron in the 7th house is a curse. You feel like the friendship you are trying to make is over before even being formed. You feel like you are too much, too much in pain too, I think that in a way, the other feels it too. There is something inside you craving the other but being disgusted by them. You crave something deep, but the sky is opening above you when you realise that this deepening bond you try to project push them away.

That is it for now, forgive my grammary, english is not my natal language.

[romerona]

https://www.tumblr.com/romerona/779775449552371712/ethera-operation?source=share

Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.

Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3

Only Angels fly this high!

Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!

You were never just Maverick’s daughter.

You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.

With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.

When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.

But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.

Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.

And then there was Bradley.

Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.

He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.

You adored him.

Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.

When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.

You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.

Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.

But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.

Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.

And then… you became something more.

Charlie's Angel.

Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.

What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.

That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.

Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?

Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.

And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.

How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”

Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."

But you know better.

He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.

He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.

So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.

But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.

That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.

Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.

But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.

You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.

At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.

The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.

But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.

Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.

So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.

"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.

Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Holy. Shit.

"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.

Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.

“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.

He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.

“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”

Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.

“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.

“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.

You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.

“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.

You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”

“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.

,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”

“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”

You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”

Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”

You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”

Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”

You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”

The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.

You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.

While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”

Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”

You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.

Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”

Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”

You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”

He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”

“It was a safety hazard.”

“It was charming!”

Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”

You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.

“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.

Bradley blinked. “A what?”

“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”

Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.

Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”

He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”

You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”

Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.

You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."

Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.

“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”

Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.

You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”

He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”

You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”

He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.

“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”

Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”

You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”

“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”

“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.

There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.

Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.

“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”

You shot him a look. “Rude.”

“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.

And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.

The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.

He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”

“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”

“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”

The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.

The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.

Bosley.

Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.

“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.

You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”

You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.

Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.

“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”

Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.

“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”

You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”

"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."

You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.

“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.

He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”

And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.

You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.

Back to the mission.

Back to the life they didn’t know about.

Back to saving the day, as usual.

Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.