#there are countless more. he is a mamas boy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gracieheartspedro · 8 months

Text

How Long

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

description: your boyfriend tommy miller is a cheating bastard. luckily, your brother-in-law joel is nice enough to help you get your mind off of it.

word count: 5.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, this is porn, joel is a consent king though!, talk of horrible sex life, cheating, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, pet names

author's note: hey lovers (; I have been teasing this one awhile. i may continue this if you guys like it a lot. this was a request from an anon, i hope they like it!! i'm almost at 400 followers and I was gonna release this when I hit that, but I am too excited to share this. leave me your thoughts! my requests are still open! <3

You and Tommy went way back. You had crushed on him since high school, his charisma was hypnotic and you were hooked the moment he asked for your phone number. You became borderline obsessed. He was the ideal boyfriend. A huge mama’s boy, respectful, and hilarious.

You hadn’t ever questioned Tommy’s intentions with you. You two even talked marriage.

It wasn’t until his 26th birthday that you noted a shift in his behavior and when everything officially fell apart. You had just spent all afternoon at his brother, Joel’s, house. You and Joel arranged a surprise birthday barbeque and you were so excited to spend his special day with him and his whole family.

The whole day, you lied and said you were going for a girls day out with your sister, who was newly single. Instead, you and Joel slaved over the stove making Tommy’s favorites. You also decorated the shit out of Joel’s whole house, with the help of his tween daughter, Sarah.

Joel told him to come over to help with fixing up his truck, but in actuality you all jumped out of your hiding spots and yelled “happy birthday!”

He hardly reacted. He was dazed seeing your beautiful smile peak up behind Joel’s recliner.

His attitude was distant the whole night. He wouldn’t kiss you, and pulled away every time you went in to wrap your arms around his waist. He drank way more than you expected, tallying up about 10 beers.

Joel noticed it, too.

Joel even asked if he should start taking it easy and cool it on the beer. That only pissed Tommy off, which lead you to break up an argument in front of their own mother. Joel was annoyed, noting how shitty Tommy was being towards you. He was ready to fight his own brother on his birthday.

After the festivities and helping Joel with the dishes, you bid the whole family farewell. Tommy was too drunk to drive home, so you knew you would take him home in your Toyota Corolla, telling Joel you’d be back tomorrow to get his truck.

“Drive safe you two,” Joel said in the driveway after assisting Tommy to the car. Even after Tommy yelled and fussed at him, he still gladly accepted Joel’s help. He knew he couldn’t walk any more than 50 feet. You smiled watching them, happy they could make amends so quickly, and started up your engine.

The whole ride home, Tommy kept checking his flip phone. The screen would light up into his glazed over eyes and he’d huff in frustration.

“Everything okay, baby?” You finally decide to ask.

You glance over in his direction and you could tell he was annoyed by the question. You bite the inside of your cheek, anticipating him to blow up at you next.

Tommy was not a nice drunk. He would blow up at the drop of a hat. There’d been countless times where he’d pick a fight with you after you picked him up from a bar or a friend’s house. You learned not to talk on any rides home when he was drinking. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“You want my honest answer?”

Of course, you did. But when he says it like that?

“What is it, Tommy?”

He clears his throat, “I’m fuckin’ your sister.”

You felt your world crashing around you in that instant. You slam on your breaks on a main road, unable to actively drive due to the shocking news. You pull off into an abandoned parking lot, your hands shaking as you throw the car in park.

“What?”

You didn’t even want to look over at him, your eyes welling with tears.

“Yeah,” Is all he says, his voice changing, “I’m sick of lyin’. It’s only been a couple times. But she wants to meet back up.”

His drunk honesty was like vomit coming out of his mouth. Constant and sickening. He was so heartless with his words. This wasn’t your Tommy. What made everything so much worse was that it was your fucking little sister. You two didn’t have the best relationship, but you still cared deeply for her. This was the ultimate betrayal. You couldn’t believe that she, of all people, would try to destroy your picture perfect life.

Not so picture perfect anymore.

The soft hum of the radio takes up the air. You felt like you could suffocate with all of the tension.

“How long?”

He chuckles lowly, “Longer than I’d probably like to admit. Why do you think her ex dumped her?”

You finally turn to him. He looked remorseless, not even batting an eye at your distraught expression.

“Get the fuck out of my car, Tommy,” You say sternly, “I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

“Oh come on baby,” He groans, “At least take me home.”

“Get,” The tears begin to fall, “Out. Now.”

He throws his hands up in surrender, “Fine, don’t want to watch you cry, anyway. Makes me feel like shit.”

He opens the car door and you watch as he stumbles out. He practically falls on the concrete, his footing wobbly from the alcohol. If you were as callous as him, you’d back your car right over him, but instead you sped off as soon as the door slammed shut.

Your hands are still vibrating, unsure of what to do next, you pick up your phone and dial Joel.

He answers after three rings.

“‘Sup, sweetheart?”

His Southern drawl is hushed, like he was trying to be quiet for someone. It was late, maybe he was putting Sarah to bed.

“Your brother.”

It’s all you could say before breaking out into a deep sob. He becomes panicked, immediately springing into older brother mode, begging you to tell him where you were.

You finally catch your breath, “He’s a cheating bastard. He fucked my sister and I left him in the old Hecht’s parking lot.”

Joel lets out a long sigh, “Where are you?”

“I’m driving,” You mutter, choking back more sobs you feel coming up, “I can’t go home.”

You knew going home would be painful. All the photos lining your walls of you and Tommy. The pictures with your own sister. All of his belongings scattered all over the house. You knew you’d spiral, untangling the mess and missed signs.

“Come back to my house,” He suggests, “I’ll go get Tommy and take him home. The back door will be unlocked, just come right in and settle down. Make some tea or somethin’.”

You nod even though he can’t see you.

Joel was the older brother you never had. He was mature and honest. You had come to him a couple times to analyze Tommy and his behavior. It didn’t happen often, but he was great at advice. You trusted him. He was family to you.

“Thanks Joel,” You wipe your tears, “See you in a bit.”

Luckily Sarah was fast asleep upstairs, snuggled up soundly, while you tried to contain your sobs. You couldn’t believe how drastically this evening turned.

Tommy cheated on you with your sister.

The man you were hoping to marry and settle down with? The one who was adored by your parents? The one you told all your darkest secrets to?

You had no clue how he would ever come back from this. And he did it with your sister?

You still could not grasp that it was her. The girl who always came to you for boy advice? Hell, she came to you last week asking about a guy she had be-

It was fucking Tommy. She wanted advice on how to woo your fucking boyfriend.

You wanted to strangle her too, but who knows what lies he may have been leading. You wanted the whole story, but you didn’t want to open a can of worms so late in the evening. You weren’t going to be sleeping, plagued by your own thoughts and emotions.

You’re curled up on Joel’s couch, using his huge knitted blanket as a cape. You turned on the TV only to give your cries some background noise.

Just when you stop the tears, Joel walks in with this look on his face. Disappointment. Rage.

“How ya holdin’ up, sweet girl?”

Joel had tons of pet names for you, but that was a new one. He has always called you anything but your actual name.

“Not good,” You say, choking back more tears. You were practically all cried out, your cheeks were stained bright red. Joel shuffles over to you, dropping his keys down on the coffee table. He plops down on the couch next to me.

“He’s a fuckin’ idiot,” He mutters, patting your unclothed thigh. Maybe it was the words he said that sent goosebumps up your body, not the fact he took a long second to remove his hand from your leg.

“I just can’t… Why would he do this?”

He huffs, shrugging his broad shoulders, “I asked him and he said it’s cuz you ain’t puttin’ out like you used to. Said that your sister came onto him and he couldn’t say no.”

It felt like another stab to the heart. You and Tommy had sex like three times a week. Every time he came inside you and praised you. You on the other hand, never came and had grown sick of having to finish yourself off every time it happened. So yeah, maybe you weren’t the eager youngin’ you were before, but you still fucked him whenever he wanted.

“That’s horseshit! I fuck him all the time. He is just… he’s a fucking cheating bastard. I just can’t believe it was her. Like what man fucks around with his girl’s own sister? He knows better.”

You’re trying to rationalize his behavior in your head. But Joel is not as kind.

“He obviously doesn’t, sweet girl. He…” He drifts off, catching himself for saying how he truly felt about his brother. Once he looks into your puffy red eyes, his tune changes, “He’s a stupid motherfucker for letting a girl like you go. Don’t know much about your sister, but she has some explainin’ to do, too.”

Your heart flutters a bit. Joel’s accent was so much more pronounced when he was angry, it was kind of hot. Why are you thinking that right now?

“I just can’t believe he would do something so… heartless. He didn’t even act sorry, Joel.”

“The alcohol made him bold, that’s for sure. Doesn’t ‘cuse the behavior, but ya know,” He sits back into his couch, “‘m sorry, sweetheart.”

You turn to face him, “Makes me think of the time he accused me of cheating.”

“He accused you of cheatin’? When?”

It was years ago, right after your 21st birthday. Joel and Tommy took you and a couple of your friends out to a club in downtown Austin. You took so many shots, you ended up dancing a bit too close with Joel. It led to a fight you had never brought up to Joel himself, but nonetheless, Tommy thought you had a thing for his older brother.

Sure, Joel was nice. He was a bit more serious than Tommy, always trying to be the rational one. He was an excellent and present father, dedicating his entire life to raising Sarah. He had similar features to Tommy. Tall, dark hair, beautiful brown eyes. When you talked to him, those eyes of his were so laser focused on what you said, sometimes you found yourself stumbling over your words.

Maybe it was a little crush.

“It was years ago,” You confess, looking down at your bitten back cuticles, “He thought I had a thing for you.”

His eyes zero in on your lips, like he’s trying to take the words out of your mouth, one by one.

“A thing? What type of thing?”

You shake your head, pushing your face into your hands. This wasn’t something you wanted to talk about, especially not now. But it was distracting you from thinking about what you could’ve done. Instead, you’re reminding yourself of all the shitty things Tommy has done over the years. That “perfect boyfriend” you had in the beginning was falling apart a long time ago. You just hadn’t seen the signs right in front of you. Now here they are, splattered all over the floor.

“He thought you and I had a bit too much fun on my 21st, I don't know! He always acted so weird when I talked about you. You’re like my brother, I would never cross that line.”

The silence in the room was deafening. You finally raise your head, looking at Joel’s contemplative face.

“Never?”

You stare at him, looking for a smile to crack across his face. Like it was a joke or something.

But it wasn’t.

The air in the room shifted.

“Joel,” You mumble, before his fingers reach up and trace your bottom lip gently, “We can’t.”

“Why ‘cause I’m like your brother, or ‘cause you’re still banking on kissin’ and makin’ up with Tommy?”

It was a fair question. Making up with Tommy was never even a question, though. After being burned so harshly, you didn’t see any redemption. He was done for. Once that confession slipped past his lips, he was as good as gone.

This would be the greatest revenge. Fucking his brother?

What could you lose?

Joel could be your rebound. Something to ease the harsh sting you still felt in your heart. You start to feel guilty pile in the pit of your tummy. But then you hear Tommy’s words ringing in your head.

“I’m fuckin’ your sister.”

Yeah, you could use some revenge.

“You can’t tell him,” You murmur, making sure it’s in a whisper. Even if you wanted this to be revenge, you didn’t want Tommy to know, “Ever.”

“It’ll be between you and me, baby girl.”

You nod, finally accepting his offer. He grabs your legs and pulls you into his lap. You never thought you’d see the day where you would be mounted on top of Joel Miller. His eyes feasted on you in a way that sent tingles straight down to your core.

“I can’t lie, baby girl,” He purrs, his hands tracing you from your thighs all the way up to your shoulders, “I have thought this scenario out countless times.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” His hand finds its way to your neck, “Seein’ you at family barbeques, watchin’ you at bars with Tommy. Always wanted to pull you into a bathroom and get a feel of these,” He runs his hands down your chest, catching the edge of your yellow tank top. Tommy’s favorite color on you. He pulls it down, revealing your white bra underneath. It was your favorite push up, a Christmas present from Tommy.

He was littering your body, but instead of Tommy’s hands removing every trace of himself away from your body, it was his brother.

Joel doesn’t take note of your dazed expression, he’s too focused on your cleavage spilling over your bra. His fingers trace back to the clasp, his fingers expertly unhooking it. It sent chills down your back, while your boobs fall further out of the bra. He helps you shimmy it off your front, his eyes lighting up when your boobs rest right in his eyeline.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” He groans, his thumb and pointer finger tugging on your left nipple. You hiss, letting yourself get out of your own head for a moment. Your boobs were extremely sensitive, which is why every man you’d ever been with used that to their advantage. Instead of treating your pussy to a good time, they just toyed with your nipples while drilling into you, which usually had you cumming after a couple minutes. Deep down, you wished Tommy had actually gave your pussy the time of day. Eat you out, finger you until you saw stars. But he never had “time for that”.

His words.

Joel wraps his lips around your nipple, letting his tongue circle around your areola. He uses his open hand to massage your other tit. Once he releases your nipple, he leaves love bites at the swell of your boobs. He groans at your reaction, which was grinding your hips achingly slow across his lap.

“Mmm,” You hum, your hands finding his brown locks, “More.”

“‘m not gonna fuck you here,” He scowls, “Gonna take you to my bed.”

Without warning, he stands up, gripping onto your thighs to take you with him. You yelp in shock, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I got you,” He states, walking down the hall to his bedroom. You had been in there before, only to grab his wallet one day when you guys were in a rush to get to Sarah’s soccer game.

It was only slightly messy and smelled like him. Clean laundry and strawberry shampoo.

You were thrown atop his unmaid sheets, bouncing a bit at the impact. You decide to use the time of Joel crawling onto to the bed, to completely discard your tank top. Joel’s body takes over yours, his one hand propping him up, the other feeling your sides and scooping up your breast.

“Think I’m gonna take my time with you,” He grunts, his hand finding your short’s belt loops, “Make you forget everythin’ and focus on me.”

You nod, agreeing to his terms.

He sits back on his knees, tugging down your shorts and thong. He hisses as soon as he notes the wetness on your lacey panties. Once he tosses the items beside the bed, he nudges your knees apart.

“Damn, baby girl,” He just looks at you completely spread for him, shaking his head in disbelief, “Tommy’s a fuckin’ idiot. Could look at this pussy every minute of every day.”

You moan before you can retaliate, your mind responding to his fingers tracing your slit up and down. You watch him crawl up you, his lips so close to yours. You two hadn’t even kissed yet, instantly going to tearing each other’s clothes off. It felt more intimate, more real.

He finally leans in, pursing his lips to meet yours.

Joel was gentler than expected. Tommy was always hurried, his kisses only to warm you up a bit. You never really kissed during sex either, because he always had you doggy, which wasn’t ideal for kisses.

Joel’s kisses took your breath away. He was slow and methodical, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You finally decide to pull him down onto your naked body, his hips settling between yours. The action made him a bit more eager, as he grinded his crotch into your wet center.

“Gonna have me cumming in my jeans, sweet thing,” He laughs, pulling away from your swollen lips. He crawls back down the bed, his shoulders resting between your thighs this time.

“What are you doing?” You ask, hesitantly.

He smiles again, “‘m gonna eat this beautiful pussy of yours. Unless you don’t want me to.”

You had no real objections, it just something you had never fully enjoyed with anyone else before. You were willing to see what Joel Miller could bring to the table. You nod your head in agreement, letting him rest his hand on your lower tummy, holding you in place for his mouth. He ducks down, pressing small kisses over your clit. His actions already had you writhing under his touch.

He continues on, gripping your stomach a bit harder as he explores your pussy with his tongue. He switches between sucking and licking, eventually settling with running his tongue in circles inside of you. You were a groaning mess, your hand eventually finding your mouth so you could control the volume. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself with how loud you could be. He stops as soon as you do it.

“You ain’t gotta do that,” He says, his mouth wet with your slick, “I wanna hear those pretty little moans of yours. Don’t worry about anyone hearin’ ya.”

You take your hand off your mouth and he continues on with his assault on your folds. It’s sending you into overdrive, watching him go down on you. He was so hot, splayed out between your thighs, devouring you whole.

His exploration ends with him wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking you up like a straw. You couldn’t believe how good the vibration felt.

You were feeling that heat in your stomach, so as soon as Joel slipped his hand up and began adding fingers inside you, you knew you were done for. He starts with two, fucking you slowly and systematically. He curls his fingers up like a hook, his lips still wrapped around your bud.

This was it. This is what you were missing.

Your unrestrained pleas don’t fall on deaf ears. Your orgasm hits you like a semi-truck. You reach for anything in your vicinity, which happened to be Joel’s hair and his white sheets. He didn’t let up on you as you came around his fingers, fucking you through it.

“Holy f-fuck,” You stutter, “Joel what the fuck?”

“We are just gettin’ started, sweetheart,” He states, standing up beside the bed to take his clothes off. His cock was standing at attention in his boxers before he tore them off.

Tommy was above average, but Joel was well endowed.

You gape at the view, unable to really form a coherent sentences.

“You’re droolin’,” He jokes, finding his way back on top of you. You giggle, letting the joke roll of your shoulder, instead of letting it embarrass you. He finds your lips again, kissing you roughly this time. You could tell he was aching for you, his hips finding their way between yours again.

“Oh,” You say, feeling his tip nudge your folds, “I’m on birth control, by the way.”

“I assumed so,” He states plainly, kissing your neck and chest, “Won’t cum in you unless you want me to.”

You grin, “You’re all about consent, ain’t ya?”

He laughs, “You’re in control here, baby girl. ‘M just here to get your mind off all the shit.”

You have never been so enamored by a man in your life. He was saying all the right things, but you knew in your heart he wasn’t just saying anything. Joel was a genuine guy. He never lied to you or belittled you.

The longer you’re under him the more you start to realize that this is what you’ve wanted all along.

He brings you back to reality with an feverish kiss, drawing you back to the moment. His hands trail down your side, tickling you a bit.

“Hey,” You murmur, pulling away from his delicious mouth, “I want to… I uh-“

You don’t know how to say it. To be honest, you and Tommy were in a routine with sex so you didn’t know how to ask to suck someone off. You usually just did it first to get it done and over with. But you felt like you needed to do it for Joel, not out of obligation, but because you wanted to see him squirm under your touch. You have thought about it more than once.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Let me suck your dick.”

He smiles, letting out a slight chuckle at your demand. He never thought he’d hear that coming from your mouth. He waits a second, acting like he’s seriously contemplating the offer.

Of course he was going to accept.

You sit up, giving him more space to lay down next to you. You crawl over his legs, settling between his calves. His cock was red, the veins so prominent. It was just waiting for you. He tucks his one arm behind his head, propping it up to watch you put on a show.

“Let me know if I’m doing okay,” You ask sheepishly. You wanted to punch yourself for saying something so stupid. You were never confident in your abilities and you didn’t want to disappoint Joel.

He nods, watching you grab onto his shaft with your hands, “You’ll do great, baby girl.”

You spit into your hands once you realize you need more lubrication. You crouch more, jerking him off slowly. He is already so reactive, throwing his head back against his headboard.

You begin to tease him, peppering kisses onto his shaft and tip as it leaked. You smile when you hear him hiss at you toying with him. You finally wrap your lips around his dick, sucking in your cheeks as you pull your head back. He was so big you couldn’t physically get your mouth completely down his length. He was girthy, too, which didn’t help either when it came to almost unhinging your jaw to take all of him.

“Such a good girl,” He praises, taking your hair into his grip, “You ain’t gotta take it all.”

The reassurance was comforting. You didn’t feel any pressure with Joel, which only made him more desirable in your eyes.

You watch his face twist in delight every time you take him into your mouth, wrapping his cock in your saliva.

“Keep doin’ that and ‘m gonna cum in that mouth,” His drawl is so buttery and deep, your center literally clenches.

You pull off of him, gaining some confidence in your bedroom talk.

“Need that done somewhere else.”

He shakes his head, sitting up more to manhandle you up to his lap. As you slide across his body, you feel his wet cock touch your inner thighs.

Your mouth falls open as soon as his hands grab your hips and settle you right over his length. You are on your knees on either side of his thighs, looking down at him and his absolutely spent expression. His curls were standing in all different directions and his eyes were dark with anticipation.

“Want me to do the honors?”

He grabs his cock, positioning it right below your opening. Your lips twitch upward, shaking your head positively.

He lines you up, pushing his hips upward. He is stretching you immediately, the angle making you crumble under his touch already. Your legs practically give out when he’s partially sheathed in you, which causes you just to sit and take the rest of him in you.

“Oh my fucking god,” You moan out, shutting your eyes to soak in every twitch, “I have never been this fucking full.”

Your eyes fly open, realizing what you just insinuated.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. I knew he wasn’t givin’ you exactly what you needed,” He starts to guide your hips to circle his, “I give you what you need.”

You never expected him to be so confident, but it was so hot. You rested your hands on his pecks and started easing yourself up and down onto his length. His lips flick upward, watching you get yourself off on his dick. He loved watching you like this, just enjoying yourself.

After a minute, he realizes he can’t let you be the only one doing the work. You were so in your own world, riding him and feeling every inch of him. Your blissed out mind gets over taken when he grabs you and rolls on onto your back. He is on his knees as he grabs your legs with both of his hands, spreading you out. He grinds into you, his cock hitting you at a different angle now.

You moan out, reaching out to grab his shoulders. He takes the hint and dips down to capture your lips again, caging your body between his. He picks up the pace when you start to press your tongue forward into his mouth. You can’t help but whimper at how good he feels.

“You fuck me so good,” You mewl. He was panting, his hot breath fanning your wildly tangled hair. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, focusing on making you feel good. Every pump inside you brought you closer to that familiar warm feeling. He notices your heat clenching around him, which makes him want to change up his technique. He pushes off the pillows, grabbing your hips and slamming into you at a rate you didn’t know Joel was capable of.

“God, I can’t believe how fuckin’ good you feel, baby,” He pants, his thumb finding your swollen bud. As soon as he puts pressure there, you’re screaming out. “Mhm, that feel good? This cock better than his?”

“Yes, Joel, oh my god!”

He doesn’t let up. He wants to see you fall apart so bad, knowing those beautiful whimpers will send him into ecstasy.

“Cum for me, baby girl. Know you’re aching to,” He clenches his teeth, “Let go.”

You have never had your vision go white when you orgasm. It’s like you’re about to see the gates to Heaven. He holds your body, making sure to feel every nerve in your body fire off into euphoria. You don’t even know what you’re saying, you just know it’s an iteration of his name and a bunch of cuss words as you reach your peak.

You were absolutely obsessed. You knew it as soon as the come down brought back your vision and you saw Joel. He was throwing his head back while painting your insides with his cum. He looks so delicious, his entire toned upper body glistening with sweat.

He had to be the only man in the world, in that moment.

Once he pulls out, you truly realize how sensitive your core is. You shiver, feeling his cum trickling down your backside. You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You just fucked your boyfriend’s brother. And it was the best sex you’d ever had in your life.

You thought you’d feel that all too familiar regret, but instead you just look over at Joel as he flops down next to you. He’s staring at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips. You were trying to find the right words to say to him. He just did the Lord’s work.

Do you say thank you?

“You okay,” He asks while he runs his hand up your arm, causing goosebumps to litter your skin.

You grin, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want to stay here tonight?”

He was worried you’d go home and see Tommy passed out on the couch where he left him and regret everything. He knew you would probably stay here anyway, but he anticipated you taking the guest room next to Sarah’s.

But you weren’t going to take the guest room. No, you wanted to spend the rest of the night in his arms. Maybe even go for round two.

“As long as I get to stay right here,” You purr, taking his hand from your arm. You bring it up to your lips and kiss his fingers, “Right beside you.”

END

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader smut #brother in law joel miller #tommy miller #gracieheartspedro

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eekism · 2 months

Text

mama!

: ̗̀➛ lucifer morningstar x dom! f! reader : ̗̀➛ warnings: overstim, sub! lucifer, dacryphilia, mean! fdom if you squint, mommy kink : ̗̀➛ notes: wooo first post lets get it

“fuck, please —” lucifer’s desperate. after countless orgasms, you had him teetering on the edge for what felt like an eternity now. “i—i have to cum, i have to —!!”

his eyes rolled back, jaw hanging open. he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. the pleasure was mind-numbing, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“aww, honey,” you cooed, delighting in the way he whimpered in response, “you can do it, i know you can! don’t run from it,” gentle hands continued to work around his cock, which was fiery red and impossibly hard.

more tears leaked out as ruby eyes squeezed shut, a hopeless attempt in grounding himself. he needed to calm down, needed to breathe. “mm!! puh—please, please mommy please!!” he didn’t even know what he was begging for. “hurts! ahhn — fuck, it hurts!”

showing mercy, you slowed your hand movements, squeezing his base gently. “you’re doing so good, baby. such a good boy for mama,” he cracked his eyes open, chest heaving under you. “that’s it sweetheart, catch your breath. ahh, you’re so good. my perfect angel.”

big, watery eyes looked up at you. “’m a good boy for you, mama,” he nodded, “please let me cum. i really wanna — wanna cum!” he bit his lip as your fingers trailed up to his sensitive tip.

smiling, you placed a sweet kiss on his shiny lips. “then cum for me, my baby. let yourself go,”

ivory thighs shook violently against you as he grew closer and closer. his hair became a disheveled mess under him as he thrashed around, simultaneously chasing and running away from the stimulation.

“oh, mommy! fuck, i—i’m gonna cum! i’m gonna cum! oh—” his breathing was sharp and quick, dark brows furrowed over hazy eyes, “—’m cumming! cumming!”

the pleasure was blinding. lucifer’s body was strung tight as a bow before he shot off, a scream ripping from his throat. you worked him through his orgasm, torturing his tip, using his cum as lubricant. the fallen angel continued to let loose broken moans, his head tossing back and forth against his pillow.

“f—fuh—” his feet slipped against the bed beneath you in an attempt to put some distance between you and his aching cock, “fuck! [name]!”

you smiled innocently. “what is it, my love?”

lucifer gasped harshly, teary eyes nearly crossing, “no more, please, no more — ‘s too much!! i can’t,” he arched his back, wiggling his hips away from you best he could, “i can’t cum anymore!”

you cooed as his claws frantically searched for purchase, finally settling on shredding the pillows by his head. “but baby, i thought you said you wanted to cum? hm?” you were unforgiving, squeezing harder and slower than before, “mommy’s just trying to help you cum and you’re being so ungrateful!”

he whimpered at your pout, hissing and groaning. “s—sorry mama, th—thank you for helping me cum,” lucifer managed in-between sniffles, voice broken. “i love you, thank you, th—thank you, mmn!” his voice cracked as another whine let loose from his raw throat.

your heart and stomach warmed at his sweet words. lucifer looked so beautiful underneath you, soft hair sprawled out, cheeks, neck, and ears the same shade as his damp ruby eyes; the very essence of venusian beauty. no matter how many times he’s come undone beneath you, it was always extraordinary, each time more wonderful than before.

“i love you too, my sweet boy,” he sniffled as you let go of his sensitive cock, smiling weakly as you planted a kiss on his sweaty forehead. “you’re so good for mama. you’re always so lovely.”

he closed his eyes, allowing himself to float and sink into the bed as you cleaned him up. “mmn. thank you,” his raspy voice was thick with exhaustion.

before you could get up to get up to put the soiled rag in the bathroom, you felt a warm hand pull you back gently. “hm? what is it, baby? does something hurt?”

he looked so fucked-out. “kiss?” lucifer asked softly, face still flushed. he’s always been so needy after your sessions. but of course, you indulge him.

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togrowoldinv · 8 months

Text

Sleepover

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When Yelena invites you to go home with her for the weekend, you spend some time with Natasha. She finds out you haven’t been with anyone before and offers to be your first

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, innocent reader, oral (R receiving), hot older Natasha

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist

When your friend Yelena asked you to go home with her for the weekend, you agreed easily. It sounded like a fun time to spend with her and meet her family and friends back home.

But something else was motivating you too. Her very attractive older sister.

You’ve met Natasha before. She helped move Yelena in along with their parents. The redhead was nice to you that say. You’ve seen her countless more times through the phone while she’s FaceTimed Yelena.

So, there’s no denying you have a crush on her. Especially not when you enter the home and she’s standing in the kitchen with very little clothes on.

“We’re here!” Yelena calls out.

“Good to see you, sestra,” Natasha says, coming to the foyer. “I was just coming in from the pool.” She hugs her sister and kisses her cheek. “And it’s y/n, right?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you again,” you say.

Natasha smiles in agreement. It’s nice for her to see you again too. She turns back towards the kitchen and you can’t help but watch her body as she does so. The bikini bottoms she’s wearing leaves you able to see most of her.

“Hey, eyes off,” Yelena snaps at you.

“Sorry,” you reply.

You two go up the stairs and put your bags in Yelena’s room. She gives you a quick tour of the house before you two decide to go get lunch.

“We’re going to the diner, Nat. Do you want anything?” Yelena asks.

“No thanks. But hey, Mama is cooking dinner so eat a lot now,” Natasha says.

“Is she not a good cook?” You ask. Both of the girls chuckle. You’ll take that as a yes.

“Come on.” Yelena pulls you outside to her car.

You listen to the usual music as you drive there. Inside, you find a bustling group of tables and food that smells delicious.

Yelena knows a few people and they call her over to their table. You follow quietly.

“Yelena, you’re back in town!” A boy says excitedly. He stands up to hug her.

“Yes, yes Peter. The life of the party has returned,” Yelena says.

“Welcome back,” a girl speaks up this time. You recognize her from photos. She glances at you. “I’m Wanda.”

“Y/n,” you supply. “I’m Yelena’s roommate.”

The table greets you and you two sit down with them. Yelena orders you way too much food. The conversation is easy to join in on even though the friends have known each other forever.

They tell you about a party later tonight and Yelena says you’ll be there. When you go back to her house, Natasha is dressed in a cropped tank top and blue jean shorts.

“Yelena, malyshka!” Melina greets her. She hugs her even when Yelena protests it.

“My girls back in the same home!” Alexei adds in. He hugs Yelena too.

You politely greet them and ask if they need any help with dinner. They sho you away from the kitchen.

Yelena goes up to her room to change so that leaves you in the dining room with Natasha.

“So, how’s school going?” Nat asks.

“It’s going well. Not as hard as I thought it would be,” you say.

“You must be one smart girl then,” Natasha says.

“I’d like to think so.”

“And how’s Yelena doing? She doesn’t ever have much to say about it all.”

Natasha looks genuinely concerned about her sister.

“Yeah she’s good too. I make her get up for class most days,” you say. That makes Nat chuckle.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” Natasha says. She stands from her seat and places a hand on your shoulder. Her grip is strong as she looks into your eyes. “I owe you. If you need anything, let me know, okay?”

“Oh- okay,” you say. Something about her words seem loaded with meaning.

Yelena comes back downstairs and the rest of the family comes into the dining room. Dinner goes well. You enjoy the banter of the group. Soon, you head off to the party.

It’s fun for a while. You meet some more of Yelena’s friends and have a few drinks. Nothing crazy. But when you’re ready to leave, Yelena has her eyes on taking someone home.

“Yelena, let’s go,” you say. The girl is drunk, you can tell that much.

“Kate is coming with me!” She says. You know they have a history, so you don’t even question it.

“Okay. Come on, lovebirds.”

You get back to the house okay and Yelena runs off with Kate to her bedroom. You figure that leaves you with the couch and no clothes to change into.

You’ve only been sitting on it for a few minutes when Natasha comes down the stairs. She catches sight of you.

“My sister kick you out?” She asks.

“She’s having her own sleepover,” you say with a dry chuckle.

“Brutal,” Nat teases. “Come with me.”

“What?”

She doesn’t reply, but you follow her anyways. Upstairs, she directs you into her bedroom.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, y/n,” Nat says. She opens her drawers and takes out a shirt and shorts for you. “And you’re not sleeping in those clothes.”

You don’t argue with her. You only go down the hallway and change into the clothes. Natasha likes the way you look in her clothes.

She pulls down the sheets next to her and gestures for you get in. You slip under them, enjoying the feeling of a real bed under you.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say.

“Of course. Sorry my sister is a shitty host,” Nat says.

You lie back on the pillows. Nat turns to look at you. You hold eye contact with her.

“It’s okay. She’s all tied up in that girl.”

“I know. Surely, someone is all tied up in you too,” Natasha says.

“Nope,” you say dryly.

“No? Why not?” Nat asks.

“It’s just not really happened for me yet,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” Natasha assures you.

“What does it feel like?” You ask. It’s somewhat rhetorical but you also want to know Nat’s answer.

“To be in love? Or to have sex? It’s not the same thing,” Nat says.

“Either.”

“Hm, well what about kissing someone? Have you done that?”

You shake your head and turn away shyly. She reaches her hand out to turn your face back towards her.

“Do you want to?” She asks.

“I- um-“

“We don’t have to,” Nat says. “But I thought maybe this is how I could repay you for looking after my sister.”

“Yes,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“Please yes,” you say.

Natasha smirks and leans in. She stops a couple inches from your lips. Your heart beats so fast in your chest.

She closes the distance and kisses your lips. You barely move, not really knowing what to do or how to kiss her back. But Natasha doesn’t mind. She deepens the kiss.

And you pick up on how to do it quickly. She grins against your lips. Your hands move across her chest to grab her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” you say when she pulls away.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m willing to go as far as you want, y/n,” Natasha says.

“Then keep kissing me,” you say, already feeling addicted to her lips on yours.

Natasha obliges and kisses you again and again and again. Soon, both of your shirts are discarded. Natasha isn’t wearing a bra and the sight of her above you makes you stop in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say, admiring her perfect body.

“Thank you, detka,” the Russian falls off her tongue. “Let me show you how beautiful you are too.”

Nat slips your bra off and immediately takes one of your nipples in her mouth. It’s a new sensation. One that you absolutely love. She listens for every sound you make to see what she wants to do more of.

You moan out loudly when she moves her hand down your abdomen and under your shorts. Her hand brushes against your folds and your body jerks in reaction.

“Is this okay?” Natasha asks. Her voice is deep, breathy.

“Yes please, I want you,” you say.

“Okay, baby. Lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you,” Natasha says.

She kisses down your body as she moves to lay between your legs. Your shorts come off along with your panties. You’re self conscious about no one ever seeing you like this before, but you feel better when Natasha dives in.

Nat places kisses around your center and her tongue moves through your folds. She takes her time worshipping you. You try to lean up on your elbows to watch but the pleasure is so strong that you have to stay on your back.

“Fuck Nat. That feels so good,” you say when her thumb brushes over your clit.

“I know, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me more,” Natasha says. Her voice vibrates against you.

“I want to come for you to Natasha. I want you to be the first person to make me come,” you say.

“Fuck,” Nat mumbles against you. She grinds her own pussy against the bed.

It’s only a few more minutes before you’re getting a feeling like you’re about to come for Natasha.

“I think- Nat- I’m going to- fuck,” you mumble as your hips move erratically.

“Come for me, y/n. You can do it,” Natasha says.

And you do. For the first time, you understand what it feels like to be taken care of.

“So fucking good,” Natasha says as she cleans you up.

She moves up your body and kisses your lips again. Her tongue moves against yours as you continue to get the hang of it.

Natasha lays next to you to catch her breath and let you catch your own. Her hand intertwines with yours.

“That’s what it feels like,” Natasha says.

“Every time?” You ask. You can’t help the grin on your face.

“No, not every time. But when you really like someone, yes.”

“You- um- you like me?”

“Yes, y/n,” Natasha says. “I really like you.”

You whisper a small yes and Natasha chuckles. She kisses your cheek.

“Can I- um-“

“I’d love for you too, but you don’t have to, babe. I’m okay with just pleasing you,” Natasha says.

“No, no. I want you to feel good too.”

“I already do,” Nat says. “But yeah if you want to, go ahead.”

You smile and shift to lay over Natasha. She kisses you deeply before you move down her body.

Natasha helps you please her in all of the ways she likes. By the end of the night, you’re both exhausted but so happy.

You fall asleep in her arms and wake up to the beautiful sight of her sleeping. She wakes up and snuggles further into you.

After a few good morning kisses, you get dressed and go downstairs together. Yelena notices you wearing Nat’s clothes and the two of you sharing secret glances.

But she only smiles. She always knew you two would find your way together.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff smut #yelena belova #wanda maximoff

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blackopals-world · 11 months

Note

Your Implied relationship Twisted Wonderland fic was so good please have a part two where the bys come back to visit and find out she has a son. Also her son finds out she´s the missing princess in the books she wrote. This is SO GOOD O MY GREAT 7 PLEASE PART 2! PART 2!

Okay Okay! I'm listening!I'm listening!

I Found Home

Part 2

(part 1)(part 3)(Part 4)(part 5)(Part 6)(Part 7)(Part 8)

Implied relationship

Yuu x twisted cast

Implied relationship in the first half.

Yuu opens the door to find...

Yuu took a deep breath as she opened to door hoping that she heard correctly. She knew that voice anywhere.

"Henchmen!" A ball of grey fluff barreled into her.

"Grim?!" She gasped as the air was pushed out of her lungs.

She had to be dreaming.

What a cruel dream this was. To see her Grim again would mean crossing over to that world but leaving her Grimm behind. How cruel, how impossible.

"Yuu!" The cat cried rubbing his furry form against her in affection. Every so often headbutting against her face.

"Oh Grim." She sighed tearfully wrapping her arms around him " How did you get here?"

The cat familiar pulled away and smiled smugly.

"Obviously, you can never leave me behind. The great and powerful Grim created portals to countless domains." He proclaimed.

"By which he means we created a portal to find you." Another voice entered.

The feathered cloak and bird mask told her everything she needed.

"Crowley." Yuu gasped.

Once upon a time, she hated his guts but in time she understood him. In the years of staying at the school she saw a side of him that others didn't. He was negligent and overdramatic but he protected her in his own way.

Crowley was true to his word about searching for a way back home for her, but he pushed her to stay. He had doubts as his research found little evidence. Not to mention the chaos going on campus. Grim and Yuu's antics didn't help certainly. Back then she thought it was revenge but it only made things harder.

During her last year asked her to remain in twisted wonderland because it would be easier than readjusting to her old world.

She saw through him. He just didn't want her to go. But a promise was made.

"Look how you've grown," Crowley said wistfully as he moved his mask. "Hard to believe it's only been a few years."

Yuu held back a laugh as she saw him. A few streaks of graying hair stood out from the black. His eyes seemed to wrinkle with the beginning of crow's feet. His job must be aging him prematurely. He definitely seemed more tired. Best not to make fun of an old man.

"Nice to see you too." Yuu said

Their reunion halted when footsteps came stumbling down the stairs. Grimm had woken up and came looking for her.

"Mama.." He called out to her rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Mama."

Yuu couldn't speak as her son saw the strange figures in the house.

"Mama?" Grim repeated astonished, bewildered as he looked back and forth between the parent and child.

"Nina?" Grimm asked.

Answering Grimm's questions this late would be difficult without any prep. So she took the easy way.

"Honey your sleepwalking. You should get back to bed." Yuu thanked the heavens that Grim looked like a walking stuff animal.

Grimm nodded and yawn before stumbling back to his room.

"I have a grandson?!" Crowley gasped "Wait your married?!"

"Of course not, I'm too young an-" Yuu started.

"But not too young for a baby? Do you not remember what I said about protection? Who fathered your child? Who was this bastard who left you to raise this child on your own?"

"It's not like that."

"Was it one of your old 'friends'? Even if you left for your old world it doesn't absolve them of responsibility. Regardless now that the gate is open there will be no choice but to be a father to their child. Divus will have fit when he finds out." Crowley ranted taking a seat on the couch as Yuu tried to calm him down.

"No , I adopted Grimm. He's not related to them."

Crowley wasn't hearing it.

"Honestly when that boy asked for me and Crewel's blessing I knew we were right to say no. And don't lie young lady that child looks exactly like-"

"No, he doesn't!"

They argued back and forth as Grim snuck upstairs through the open door to the room that the little boy slept in.

The room was decorated wall to wall with trinkets, stuffies, and books. On the bed, the boy slept hugging a grey cat with a bow.

Grim shifted closer to examine it when a pair of eyes popped open.

"Nina?" There was that name again "You came to life!"

"My name is Grim, boy. The great and powerful magician!" Grim crowed.

"No, I'm Grimm. That's my name."

Grim paused. Yuu named him Grimm. After him. She didn't forget him. Did she love him that much?

"That's. That's a great name." He said simply as he climbed on the bed "You should sleep. Your mom has always been a stickler for stuff like that."

The familiar curled up against the boy and purred as he lulled them to sleep. Grim could accept this, his new 'little henchmen'.

Meanwhile, Yuu continued to bicker with her old guardian. Crowley wanted visitation rights, family vacations and a chance to see if his grandson might have magic. To which Yuu said no.

Grimm wouldn't be exposed to magic. Not the expectations that came with it or the people who use it. It's not a world made for him. Grimm had been through enough, he has his own trauma and she wasn't making magic part of it.

"I'm not sure you'll get a choice. Not with the gate now open."

"Grimm doesn't have magic. I won't let him be treated the way I was for it. He deserves better."

"Mama!Mama!" Grim shouted as he stumbled down the big steps. He clung to the railing with both arms to safely.

Yuu finished had cutting up Grim's pancakes as he made it down and ran straight to her. He threw himself at her as his arms wrapped around her hips.

"Careful, sweetheart. You almost knocked me over." Yuu picked him up and sat him at the table. Grimm's seat had a cushion to make it easier to see over the table.

"Cake! Thank you mama!" He smiled picking up his fork from his colorful placemat.

Yuu held back a squeal of joy. Her baby was so so cute and so polite.

"No, they are pancakes. We change the name to make it okay to eat in the morning.

"Cake is cake!" Grimm hooted back.

Yuu didn't argue.

"Mama, I had a dream. Nina was walking and talking!"

"Oh," Yuu said not having a better response.

She had a lot on her mind. The sudden appearance of Grim and Crowley disrupted Yuu's life. She was happy to see them but...it's a lot to adjust too.

She didn't even like the idea of Grimm learning about magic. She had dealt with her own resentment in the past when she was mocked for her status. It would be unfair to make him go through the same. She's a mother now and had to consider these things.

Maybe she was making a mistake.

Grim at least got to meet his little brother. It's too bad he needed to return with Crowley for the time being. Once Yuu was sure they would be a family again. Grim will always be the exception no matter her doubts.

(From this point the story goes on to show the first meetings with the twst boys. Each will be Grimm's first contact so there won't be continuity)

Riddle

"The Mentor"

No one believed Grim when he said he made a stable gateway to Yuu's world. All of them had tried and failed even Malleus couldn't do it. But Grim was different he had a connection to Yuu. If Yuu still had a strong connection a gateway could be made.

Grim now worked at the school helping Crowley and called everyone to deliver the news.

Riddle thought it would be appropriate to visit. He took the day off, his cases would wait one day. He had worked his way up to district prosecutor recently.

The first thing he noticed when he reached the scenic neighborhood was how peaceful it was. The house were spaced apart and it was clean. Lots of trees and gardens.

The second was one particular house where a young woman was kneading by a flowerbed. She was so focused on her roses that she didn't notice him but Riddle knew it was her. Just like him, time had changed some features. He had grown taller and lost some of his boyish looks but she no different. She was softer in appearance, glowing and matronly even. She grew out her hair but she tied it up.

Riddle reflexively straightened his suit jacket and shifted the bouquet he had brought in his arms. He wondered if she still liked these flowers.

Just as he tried to call her name a loud yelp rang out.

"Ma-ahh!" The exclamation became a wail of pain as a little boy appeared holding out a finger.

Yuu sprang up as she went to the side of a weeping boy. He had pricked his finger on a thorn.

"It okay Grimm. Don't panic, it'll only hurt a moment. You should never touch roses without gloves." She scolded gently. "You know better then that."

"But I wanted to see a red rose. So I thought if I painted one it would turn red. Like in the book." He whimpered as Yuu took out a bandage from her pocket and wrapped it on his finger.

"Grimm you know that in the story that red roses belong to the red king. And that sort of spell was done only by his loyal card soldiers." She admonished.

"Like The Ace Magician and The Spade Mercenary?" He asked.

"Yep, they had orders to do those tasks and you should ask permission to do it as well. Those are the rules. Don't you want to follow the rules?" Yuu asked.

Grim nodded quickly as he gathered his scattered paint and went to put them away like a good boy.

Riddle had hidden himself during the exchange. His mind raced. She had a son. Of course, she had a kid. Why wouldn't she? Anyone with eyes would want her. Anyone with a brain would fall for her. So seeing her married with a family is common sense.

Perhaps the flowers were too much?

"Hello?"

Riddle didn't get time to change his mind as his hiding spot was discovered.

"Hello, Yuu. I brought these for you." He tried to sound calm as he presented the bouquet.

"Riddle!" Her smile was still as warm as it was before. "Oh my, look at how tall you've gotten! You look amazing! How have you been? Come inside, I'll make some tea."

The pair talked amicably as Yuu put a kettle on. All the while a pair of eyes peeked out from a doorway. It was the boy.

"Grimm it's rude to stare. " She scolded.

"Sorry mama." He said but didn't move.

"Grimm? I bet you had to explain that one to your husband." Riddle tried to sound jovial.

"Not really, I don't have one. It just us here." Yuu smiled.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

There was a tug on Riddle's sleeve as Grimm got his attention. In his hand was a book; "The Lost Princess in the Red King's Court"

"Oh, do you like this book? I never read stuff like this at your age." Riddle said taking the book gingerly. He flipped through the pages as the pictures looked eerily familiar.

Grimm leaned on Riddle as he pointed at his favorite characters.

"Mama made this. The lost princess gets kidnapped by a giant crow and is dropped far away from home. She lands in the rose garden and makes friends with a magician and a mercenary who was summoned to work for the king." Grimm explaind

The story continued. The magician and mercenary protected the princess from a troll as they journeyed to see the king. The princess meets a magic cat that she kept. (no, this isn't Wizard of Oz) When they arrived at the Red Kingdom they were bombarded with rules and when the magician was asked to kneel before the king he refused. As punishment, the magician was sent to the dungeons. The princess was the only one not locked away so she frees her friends and challenges the king. The princess pleads with the king to see the dark spirit haunting and the gang banishes it. It ends happily when the king makes the boys knights and asks the princess to stay. She denied him so he told her about a neighboring kingdom that might help her get back home.

It was an extraordinary tale that Riddle knew by heart. Even if the details were changed. It didn't mention that Ace became the next "king" after Riddle graduated. Something Yuu complained about often after the power went to his head.

"That's quite the story. You must really like it." Riddle said hand it back to Grimm. "Do you have a character you like most?"

Grimm looked over to his mom be standing on his tip-toes and whispered into Riddle's ears.

"I like the princess."

"Really?" Riddle asked.

"I tried painting the flowers because she really likes red flowers like the princess. All the flowers turned white to red and the princess liked it." Grimm said proudly.

"I have an idea. I know a way to turn roses red. I could show you." He whispered back.

Grimm squealed in excitement and bounced on his fet as he turned to him mom.

"Can we play outside mama?"

Yuu pursed her lips indecisive of what to do next. She fought off the impulse to be suspicious. She trusted Riddle but did she trust him with her son. They hadn't seen each other in years after all.

She also wanted to be a selfish and keep him to herself. She hungered for the familiarity he brought back into her life.

But the warm gaze Riddle gave her settled her mind. She nodded in agreement and watched Grimm drag him away.

From the window Yuu watched as Riddle kneeled down next to Grimm. He had forgotten about trying to keep his suit clean as he pulled out his wand and handed it to Grimm.

Yuu immediately wanted to rush outside to stop him with every excuse as to why Grimm wasn't ready for magic but stopped herself. Grim wasn't her. He wasn't going to go through what she did.

Riddle taught Grimm how to hold the wand properly and asked him to imagine red roses in from of him. Grimm asked a million questions as Riddle calmly answered.

A good mother doesn't press her fears on her child. She wasn't going to traumatize him like she was. Riddle felt the same. He wasn't his mother and never pushed Grimm farther then needed.

A bit of wordless magic later the roses turned a brilliant ruby red.

"Mama! Mama look! Magic! We used magic" Grimm was in awe of this man.

Yuu cheered along when they returned inside knowing that Riddle did all the work.

"Don't you want to give them to the princess? You know that they are her favorites." Riddle smiled kindly.

"Princess? Mama?" Grimm looked to her with a questioning gaze before recognition lit up in his eyes.

Yuu felt her face burning so red that Riddle would be jealous. Which he wasn't but he couldn't help but think it was payback after all these years for her antics.

(This series might take a while to finish. I'm going to try to post more lengthy fics for characters)

Tag List:

@kamisatoaiko@professionalreblogs@kai200x@lianreine@loivre@jackalope08@code-roevember@growingupnrealizing@ryxmix@rainbowcake1212@blazestar0525@botswanasvetlana

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst riddle #twisted wonderland riddle #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland grim #twst grim #dire crowley #twst dire crowley #twst divus #divus crewel

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changisworld · 2 months

Note

"things felix says during sex" by any chance? (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)

OF COURSE

writing this while in my college class rn is brave of me

18+, minors don’t read past this point

main masterlist here

SUB FELIX

“y/nnie, s-so good” he mewls as his eyes scrunch shut as you finally mouth him all the way to his base

“p-pulease don’ sto-op” as you’re pinching his balls as you suckle on the underside of his cock, his hips twitching from the painful pleasure

“c-can i cum now mom-ommy?” he pleads, his eyes leaking almost as much as his now purple tip as you edge him for the countless time.

“no m’re, s-still sensi’ve” he screeches, voice raspy & scratchy due to the noise he’s been making, being overstimulated as you continue riding him despite him just cumming inside you.

“lemme taste, lixie been so good, havent I?” he gives you puppy eyes as he fiddles with your shirt, not daring to move it unless you say otherwise. Once you give him the go ahead, he instantly begins suckling on your nipples, somehow whining more than you as your fingers find themselves wrapping in his hair.

“please kiss me, please mommy” he begs as you pull him by the hair away from your pussy & pulling him towards you, him now on top of you, centimetres away from your lips, his all red & covered in your juices along with your chin

“s-so ti-tight mama, t-thank you” he squeals as you finally let him position himself inside you. A second later you feel him already cumming. As punishment you put a cockring on him & rub his tip & balls so much until it’s completely purple & you’re scared incase he passes out (he doesn’t, of course, he’s too much of a good boy.)

DOM FELIX

“is this all you’ve got hmm? for someone who begs so much you’re not very good at it are you? you can take a bit more can’cha?” he snarks at you, looking down at the sight in front of him, you on your knees on the hard floor, gagging & drooling everywhere as you try to deepthroat him.

“stop trying to run baby, you wanted it, i’m sure you can take it, stop squirming.” He groans as he pulls your hips back onto him with a tight grip, not letting you try push yourself away as his hips keep pistoning your hole with no remorse, your arms giving out & face planting into the bed.

“Don’t even think about cumming on my fingers or cock if you can’t show me how you do it when you’re alone mkay?” he says with his deep voice, sat on the edge of the bed facing you as you grind helplessly on his pillow, your eyes watering & your cheeks flushed, not being able to find the high you so desperately need.

“say thank you. say thank you to the only person who’s made you feel this kinda pleasure. say. it.” He groans as he pulls you by the hair so your back is now against his chest, his hips not slowing. You are a babbled mess & can’t comprehend what’s even going on, feeling his teeth graze over your neck sends you into yet another orgasm a few seconds later.

“That was a loooong one, wasn’t it babe?” he questions with a smirk on his lips as he pulls yet another orgasm out of you with his skilled tongue & fingers, letting you squirt on his face & bed, still not slowing down as you are falling into a floaty space from all the pleasure you’re experiencing.

“thaats it, biiggg stretch” he speaks as he caresses your hand, holding it in his own as he uses the other to begin pushing a two fingers into your already dripping hole while his cock is already wrapped up nice & warm there, stretching you more than you have before. He is imagining how far he can stretch your cunt

I cant imagine felix as a hard dom at all so this is the best i can come up with🥲

This photo of felix makes me want to squeeze him whys he so HDBDBSSKAKABASB

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heich0e · 1 year

Text

Kiyoomi is a man committed to his routines.

His morning routine. His exercise routine. His skincare routine. His training routine. His household chore routine. His nighttime routine. Even his grocery shopping routine. He has rigid procedures and regimens for everything, and sticks to these processes each and every day–a fastidious creature of habit.

But then the baby comes.

Babies don't like routines. You come to understand this inarguable truth very, very quickly once your son is born. Or, perhaps they do, according to the countless baby books and articles Kiyoomi has insisted you read on the subject, but the fact of the matter is that their tiny little brains and basic instincts as they acclimatize to the great wide world sometimes make it difficult for them to stick to them. This is especially true in those first few months, where they're coming to terms with living and you (as the parent) are learning the ropes of keeping them alive.

But Kiyoomi perseveres with his routines. He adapts them to fit the tiny, squishy, screaming boy who has now become a part of all of them, and establishes new ones just for him too.

The bedtime routine is always the same, ironed out now to an exact science thanks to Kiyoomi's unending diligence. It starts with bath time. Then comes a fresh diaper and a little set of soft footie pyjamas. Then there are some cuddles, and maybe a story book if baby's eyes have not already begun to droop closed. Then a feed. And finally, bed.

Kiyoomi, most days, is getting home from training just in time for baby to begin his bedtime routine. So initially, this was a routine whose responsibility the two of you shared as new parents.

Kiyoomi would bathe him. You would change and dress him. Kiyoomi and you generally split the cuddles and storytime, if not participate together. Half of the time you would feed him, the other half Kiyoomi would warm a bottle and feed him on his own.

But slowly, you found that Kiyoomi began taking on more and more responsibilities at bedtime.

It was a subtle change: Kiyoomi was already bathing the baby, so he told you he'll just dress him too. You'd come in once baby was freshly washed and in his jammies, have your snuggles with him and your husband, and then Kiyoomi would insist on being the one to feed him so that you can go and take some time for yourself.

The shift is so subtle that it takes a while before you really notice it. And so, by the time you realize you've grown used to slumping down onto the sofa around the same time every day, the sound of your husband's gentle voice murmuring to your son down the hall and the splish-splash of bathwater reaching you, Kiyoomi has already completely assumed bedtime duties.

You stand from the sofa once you process this realization, standing there in shock for a moment before tiptoeing down the hallway towards the bathroom with guilt gnawing at you. You hesitate just beside the doorframe, listening to the scene inside.

"Oh, that's a big yawn,"–splash, gurgle, splash–"are you tired?"–another pleased rumbling little gurgle, that sounds decidedly affirmative in response–"then you must have had a fun day playing with mama."

Your heart, tucked safely in the warmth of your chest, swells at the sound of your husband and your child chattering away just around the corner.

"There you go," Kiyoomi murmurs, and the baby makes an unhappy little sound, but is quickly appeased as Papa shhh shhh shhh-s him gently. The sound of water sliding down the drain tells you bathtime is likely over, and you peek around the corner to make yourself known.

"All done?" you ask, and Kiyoomi's head pops up to look at where you're lingering in the doorway. The steam from the (precisely measured temperature) bathwater has given his skin a healthy, rosy glow.

Baby is laying on his back on the floor, atop a bathmat and a fluffy hooded baby towel that Kiyoomi is in the process of swaddling him in.

"Mhmm," Kiyoomi hums, wiping at a drop of water still clinging to your son's chubby cheek with a dry edge of the towel. He scoops him up into his arms, holding him to his bare chest, and rises up to his feet to bring the baby over to you.

"Oh, hi handsome," you coo, kissing baby's cheek gently as he peeks at you over his papa's broad shoulder. "You smell so nice and clean."

"That's because he is," Kiyoomi points out, and you laugh a little. Your husband peers at you curiously. "What's wrong, why aren't you resting?"

Kiyoomi has his curls pinned back from his face with a hairband, leaving his entire expression in clear view. You appreciate your husband's good looks for a moment; his soft, fair skin, his dark eyes and long lashes, the beauty marks above the arch of his brow. You find yourself endlessly greatful that your son inherited so many of his features from his father.

"I just wanted to see if you need any help," you say softly, resting a hand overtop of Kiyoomi's own, supporting baby's back. Your matching wedding bands glint in the light of the washroom.

Kiyoomi's brows draw together curiously. "No, I'm okay. You go relax for a little while, you must have had a long day."

You pout a little. "Didn't you?"

Kiyoomi huffs, and baby lets out an impatient little sound, wigging in the confines of his towel. Both you and your husband's eyes flutter down to your son when he makes his presence known once more.

"He's going to bite me if I delay the schedule any longer," Kiyoomi remarks pointedly.

"He barely even has any teeth yet," you sniff, but are quietly smug that at least your son inherited some traits from you.

Kiyoomi dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Go relax, I'll be done soon."

He turns his body so baby is facing you–two big dark brown eyes staring at you under his mop of wet baby curls.

"Say goodnight to mama," Kiyoomi says to the baby.

Your son gurgles happily as you kiss him on the nose.

"Goodnight sweetheart," you whisper to him, and the Kiyoomi steps past you and makes his way towards the nursery down the hall.

You sit on the couch a little sulkily while your husband completes the rest of the bedtime routine down the hall. You watch much of it through the baby monitor connected to your son's crib, listening to the parts that happen out of sight from the camera: the changing, the story (one about a baby bird that your son, and you suspect your husband, is partial to), and then the bottle feed.

Finally, baby is placed gently into the cot, arms splayed wide and his eyes closed in slumber. Kiyoomi lingers for a moment by the crib, only his sweatpants and his hands visible through the video feed. You listen as he murmurs a gentle goodnight, his big hand resting gently on baby's tummy in his sleep.

Your heart squeezes as you listen to Kiyoomi tell him that he loves him, and he'll see him in the morning.

You set the baby monitor aside.

Kiyoomi comes padding out into the living room not long after, and finds you curled up on the sofa with your knees pulled to your chest.

"Why are you pouting?" he asks, scratching at the skin of his stomach near his navel. There's a beauty mark there you've pressed your lips to countless times, but today for some reason it makes your chest pang to look at for too long.

"I'm not," you murmur, avoiding his gaze.

Kiyoomi treads closer.

"You are."

He bends at the waist, dipping down towards you and placing one hand on the back of the sofa over your shoulder to peer at your face. At this distance, you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Did he go down easy?" you ask him quietly.

Your husband hums, and you watch as he traces the lines of your face with his gaze. "Same as usual."

Your lip threatens to wobble, but you try your best to keep it together.

"But you know that, don't you?"–Kiyoomi reaches out with his other hand and brushes his thumb against your cheek–"You listened to the monitor the whole time."

It's not altogether surprising he could hear the audio from the baby monitor down the hall, given how quiet your home is, but it still makes you feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't have been.

Your nose scrunches up, and you feel an uncomfortable prickle behind your eyes. Kiyoomi falters when he sees the precursors to tears.

"Hey," he breathes, taking your face in both of his soft, warm hands. "What's gotten into you?"

"I feel like a bad mom," you admit quietly, and Kiyoomi looks astounded. Horrified, even.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

You want to turn your face away, to avert your eyes so you don't have to stare the living breathing proof of your failings right in the eye. But Kiyoomi's hold doesn't falter, he keeps your gaze on him.

"You always do everything at bedtime," you say. "We were supposed to split that. You're gone all day, and then the minute you get home you take on the entire–"

"Stop."

Kiyoomi's voice is so firm you have no choice but to heed to his request.

His brown eyes look pained as he appraises you. Guilty.

"I'm gone all day long, every day," he says. "You take care–incredible care–of our son day in and day out all by yourself because I'm not here."

You want to argue with him, to somehow deny what Kiyoomi is saying, but find that you can't given how ardently he's expressing himself.

"The least that I can do when I get home is this. You deserve to rest."

Your lips part, and Kiyoomi's eyes flicker down to them for just a moment.

"And it's the only time I get to spend with him most days. It's important to me. I don't want our son growing up with no memories of me. I don't want him to ever question how much I love him."

Your heart is aching, and now those tears of doubt that you felt welling in your chest have changed to something else.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and Kiyoomi sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Why? There's nothing you need to apologize for."

You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him.

"You're a good dad," you tell him, and you mean it so, so much.

"I know," Kiyoomi agrees, and you almost want to laugh at how he says it. Like he's sure of it. As confident in that truth as he is in his routines. He pulls back from your embrace so he can look at you again. "And you're a great mom."

You smile, though it's still a little watery. You crane up and press a kiss to the corner of your husband's mouth, then another more centred on his lips. Kiyoomi reciprocates in turn, leaning closer until your head is tilted back to grant him easier access to you. He kisses you slow, and sure, and sweetly, eventually easing you back until you're splayed across the sofa for him to crawl atop you.

He pulls away, and you're left staring up at him breathlessly. The overhead light casts a glow around his frame, catching on the dips and valleys of his well-muscled shoulders and in the delicate ringlets of his curls.

"I'm faster at getting him to sleep too, you know," Kiyoomi murmurs as he stares down at you, his eyes watching as his hands trace along the curves of your body until his fingertips dip underneath your top. You're not sure what he means by that until he looks at you again, his gaze hungrier now than it had been just a moment prior. "And that means we have more time for this."

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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sw-33-ts-stuff · 9 months

Text

She Don’t Wanna Marry Me

Part 3

8 years old

“Mama says you gots to marry your best friend to be happy.” You nod silent as you and Lorraine sit on the swings of the local park. You kick your feet to go higher watching the other girl struggle. A small pout begins to form making you smile. You jump off the swing running behind her as you begin to push her. Loving the sound of her squealing as she slowly goes higher.

“I love you Y/N!” You say nothing as you continue to push the girl once declaring she’s high enough jumping back on the swing next to her.

Once she gets tired and the usual ice cream truck sings as it arrives you both run. The coins in your pocket jingling as the girl next to you bounces on her heels. As you both tiptoe up to the counter you place the usual 1.75 down and ask for a vanilla ice cream, Lorraine’s favorite.

On the walk back home Lorraine licks away at her cone.

“How come you didn’t get a cone?”

You shrug. You didn’t tell her how that’s all the change you could find at home.

Her small hand grabs yours interlocking her sticky fingers with your clean ones. You grimace but let her continue.

“I know I’ll be happy when I marry you Y/n.”

13 years old

“I’m scared Y/NN.” You give her hand a squeeze making the girl face you.

“You’re gonna do great Raine I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.” She nods.

“You get nervous you just look at me and don’t look anywhere else.” Once more she nods biting her lip.

“I hate speaking in front of people.” You laugh lightly.

“I know but you gotta get used to it if you wanna be a big time author.” She sighed making you step closer and pull her into a hug. You felt her body sag in relief as you rubbed small circles in her back. “Ill be right here cheering you on.”

“Swear you ain’t leaving?”

“I promise I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else but with you. Now go.”

The girl scurried on stage almost tripping in her haste. The small brunette took a deep breath before she opened her mouth.

You watched entranced as the quiet girl you’ve come to love straighten her posture pushing her shoulders back and plastering a bright smile on her face. Lorraine hated putting on a show but her mother insisted she enter at least one beauty pageant in her life, first to make friends and second to boost her confidence she was scared the girl would be a recluse and become socially awkward. You stood back stage giving the girl a thumbs up as her mother waved from the front row. She’d dressed her as a true southern belle and her talent was to sing. Gone was the silent girl in her place a beautiful singer whose voice seemed to enchant everyone.

You could tell she’d gotten nervous once she looked at the large audience but relaxed the minute her eyes found yours. You offered a smile and even began to lipsynch, her smile grew wider as she knew you hated the song her mother chose for her but still listened to every word at every practice.

You’d spent countless nights going over dance steps and stupid questions, lifting her mood every-time she’d scowl or pout not wanting to do it anymore.

And imagine her surprise when she’d gotten 2nd place not first, thank the lord or she would’ve gone crazy. But she still placed and almost stole the show. You remember the feeling of her running up to you squeezing your neck and planting a fat kiss on your cheek once the show was over. Copious amounts of thank you falling from pink lips as she had not only gained confidence in herself but stepped out of her comfort zone.

15 years old

You pushed the boys face down further in the dirt.

“When a girl says no it means no Jack ass.”

“Y/n! STOP!” But you couldn’t stop, he tried to hurt Lorraine. He leaned in for a kiss and when she pushed him away he grabbed her almost ripping her shirt and still tried to kiss her.

“Y/n, please” she had gotten closer to you lips grazing your ear making you freeze the crowd around you both waiting. You huffed standing up but not before landing one more kick to the boys ribs.

“You stay the fuck away from her. You understand?” A cough and weak nod is all you get. A soft hand grabs your arm dragging you to the nearest bathroom, already washing the blood and dirt from your hands.

“You have to stop fighting.”

“I’ll stop fighting when people stop trynna take advantage of you.” The girl stares at you.

“So you’ll never stop fighting.”

“Exactly.” You crack a smile at her making her lips quiver. She doesn’t want to smile and have you think she condones this behavior but she likes having you as her protector. More often than not she can’t see when people take her kindness for weakness and having you around guaranteed they wouldn’t.

She sighs. “What should we tell mama and daddy?”

“Nothing I’m sure they’ll know before you even make it home.”

She steps closer to you placing a hand on your cheek. You soften a bit at the action making the girl laugh.

“A big ole teddy bear I swear.” You scowl stepping menacingly toward the girl making her back up. “Hold on I-“

You pick her up and swing her over your shoulder already running towards her house.

“PUT ME DOWN!”

22 Years Old - The Engagement Dinner Party

You were surprised how many old friends and family came up to you for a hug and wanted to catch up. You didn’t realize how long it had been since you’d been part of family functions after the birthday disaster you were sure everyone had written you off. A small body plopped next to you on the couch huffing.

“Are you as tired as I am?” Soft bleary eyes and a wide smile greeted you. She was drunk you could tell by the slight gloss in her eyes but she usually-

Her head hit your shoulder as her small hands began roaming your arms and chest. Never mind she’s very much drunk. She always got touchy whenever she had too much to drink.

“Yeah.” You said softly you pat her hands to her lap making her pout.

She went to put her hands back on you but Maxine plopped herself in between you two. Her and Bobby were watching from afar. Bobby sat next to Lorraine smiling softly almost apologetic but she knew Church Mouse was getting a little more touchy than usual.

“So mouse we just heard from your mom that you’re a singing beauty queen?” Maxine was casually running her hand down your forearm a small chuckle leaving you at Bobby’s question.

“They don’t know?” Lorraine looked to you glaring playfully until her eyes landed on her friends hand.

“No.” She muttered harshly. Your eyebrows furrowed confused making the smaller girl feel bad. It wasn’t your fault her friend was hanging off you. “I’m not as good a singer as Y/N though.”

You flush at the change of conversation.

“You sing Zuko?” Another chuckle left you at the nickname.

“Nah Raineys lying.” Said girl stuck her tongue out at you as her mom intervened.

“Of course she can sing,” she laughs.

You got lost in brown eyes and a constellation of freckles, a soft click in the background bringing you back.

Mrs.Day placed a kiss on your cheek laughing.

“It’s a miracle you didn’t have girls banging down the door.”

“Don’t speak too soon Mrs.Day I might just be Danny’s first and last groupie.” You looked over to get a wink and flirty wave from Maxine. Bobby laughed.

“I won’t lie I might fight you for her too.” You blushed as Lorraine laughed placing both arms around your neck.

“She only sings for me.” Her mother smirked at the possessive behavior as did Bobby.

You laugh once again prying Lorraine away.

“I think it’s time I get going.” Lorraine was once again pouting before she tilted her head to the side.

“What do ya mean? You’re home.” Mrs.Day cleared her throat.

“Sweetheart Y/N moved out about a year ago.” Her eyes widened as she turned to you abruptly.

“What?! Why?!”

You just shrug as Mrs.Days eyes get a little cloudy, her husband and his father finally coming in the room.

“How’s it going honey?” He places a soft kiss on his daughters forehead before wrapping a thick arm around his wife.

“I was just telling Lorraine that I’m heading out Mr.Day” The man nodded, the formality still leaving a quiet sting but he understood.

“You ok to get home?”

“Yeah no worries Mrs.Day I made sure not to drink too much.”

Lorraine watches you walk off before turning to her father.

“What did you do?”

The older man furrows his eyebrows at her.

“Don’t take that tone with me right now Lorraine, you’ve had a few glasses we can talk about this in the morning.” The younger girl huffed.

“We wouldn’t have to if y/n was here-“

“I think it’s time we all head to bed. Girls you can share Lorraine’s room or use Y-the guest bedroom.”

Lorraine scoffed stomping up to her room, Bobby and Maxine following shortly after.

“You alright Mouse?”

“She wasn’t supposed to leave. She belongs here with us.”

Maxine watched the girl carefully. “Maybe she got tired of waiting Mouse.”

“She promised to never leave.”

Bobby decided to chime in as well. “Did she promise to never leave the house or did she promise to never leave you?”

“Hey Lorraine I got a question..” the room grew quiet it was rare Maxine addressed anyone by their actual name.

The girls were met with silence nothing but the sound of quiet snores meeting their ears after a few minutes.

They turned off the light heading to the guest room.

As soon as the door shut brown eyes popped open staring out the window, mind racing as she thought about her best friend.

Taglist: @ctrlamira @tundra1029 @friedryes @alexkolax @wol-fica @natasha25052 @pdione11 @dksjskx @the-camilucha @niqmandu @pawiie @cozwaenot @evanivox @livingdreams97 @haughtsauce21 @autorasexy @dogtamer415 @karsonromanoff @wedfan2 @starry-night17 @orignalpat @red1culous @canvascoloredin

#lorraine x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wlw post #lorraine #lorraine day imagine #lorraine day x reader

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zapreportsblog · 9 months

Text

My Girl

➥ summary: Twin brothers Miles and Miles (Prowler) both seem to be crushing on the same girl at their new school, just a matter of them before one of them admits it. May the best man win

➥ a/n: so i decided on a storyline where they both grew up as twins, no spiderman or prowler but as to not confuse us all earth 42 miles will be nicknamed prowler, another thing fanart isn’t mine it was simply found on Pinterest and google

➥ 1610! Miles (RJ) x Reader x 42! Miles (The Prowler)

Rio Morales watched her twin boys, Miles and Miles, grip each other's shoulders tightly with anticipation as they stood outside their new school. It was a crisp autumn morning, and the leaves danced playfully in the breeze, mirroring the excitement that fluttered in Rio's heart. The decision to move them to a new school had been tough, but after the fight that broke out at their old school, Rio believed it was necessary to give them a fresh start.

•••

"Alright, boys," Rio said, with a mix of determination and affection in her voice. "Remember why we're here. This is a chance for all of us to turn things around, to make new friends, and grow into better versions of ourselves."

Miles, wearing a red hoodie and sporting a mischievous grin, fidgeted restlessly. He was the meticulous one, always wanting to explore every nook and cranny he stumbled upon. His friends called him the "Prowler" due to his natural curiosity and resourcefulness.

"Mama, trust me," he chimed in. "No more fights. The Prowler always has a plan."

Rio looked into Miles' expressive eyes, recognizing the genuine excitement and innocence that radiated from within him. But she also saw the darkness that lay dormant, the potential for trouble that he carried, as often seen in the consequences of his actions.

"Miles, my love," Rio began, her voice filled with equal parts love and worry, "your curiosity is a gift, but you have to learn to channel it in the right direction. There's no doubt you can do great things, but it's important you steer clear of any more trouble."

Miles nodded sheepishly, understanding his mother's concerns. He had a naivete about him that matched his mischievous nature. He longed for adventure, but deep down, he understood the importance of his mother's guidance.

Miles, his green hoodie a stark contrast to his brother's, stepped forward and slipped his arm around Rio's waist lovingly. With a confident smile, he told her, "Don't worry, Mama. We'll be good. No more fights, I promise."

Rio smiled back, acknowledging that Miles always had a way of soothing her fears with his undeniable charisma. Known as "RJ" to his friends, he had a magnetic personality, effortlessly drawing people in with his charm and laid-back attitude.

With resolve in her eyes, Rio led her twin sons through the school gate, determined to give them the fresh start they deserved. The trio embarked on a journey into the unknown, hoping to forge new friendships and redefine their identities along the way.

Little did they know, this new school would provide them with countless opportunities, both joyous and challenging. In this unfamiliar world, they would uncover hidden talents, face unexpected dangers, and learn what it means to be true to themselves while navigating the trials and triumphs of high school.

•••

The hallways buzzed with excitement as the rumors about the enigmatic prowler named Miles circulated like wildfire. Whispers filled the air as students gossiped about the alleged incidents involving broken arms and daring escapes. Among the crowd stood two very different Miles - the reclusive prowler and the more timid and anxious RJ.

As the whispers grew louder, RJ's anxiety intensified, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt trapped, suffocated by the rumors that threatened to swallow him whole. His breaths came faster, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

Seeing the new kid on the brink of a panic attack, a young woman named (Y/N) who was a confident and fiercely protective classmate of all newcomers, stepped in. She wore her Hokage cloak, a symbol of strength and leadership, as she positioned herself between Miles - RJ, and the encroaching crowd.

"Back up, everyone!" (Y/N)’s voice commanded authority. "Give him some space and stop pestering him with these rumors."

Her declaration didn’t come as a shock to the onlookers seeing as how this was normal, and only some hesitated for a moment before backing away, allowing RJ a small reprieve from the overwhelming attention.

"Hey new kid, are you okay?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

Miles - RJ, managed a weak nod, grateful for her intervention. "Yeah, just... it's all too much."

(Y/N) put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's tough, always is for you new comers but don’t let the stupid need to gossip about some stupid rumors define you. You're more than what people say."

Miles - the prowler, observing the situation from a distance, couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and curiosity towards (Y/N). Her support and willingness to protect his twin Miles - RJ, struck a chord within him. Despite his secretive nature, he couldn't help but feel a connection with this girl who wasn't afraid to stand up for what she believed in.

The hallway started to clear as the bell rang, signaling the start of the next class. (Y/N) removed her Hokage cloak and handed it to Miles - RJ, giving him a gentle smile.

"Keep this for now," she said. "It'll remind you that you have friends who stand by you."

Miles - the prowler, couldn't shake the image of the girl from his mind. He knew he had to talk to his twin, RJ, about her. Approaching Miles - RJ after school, he found him sitting on a bench, lost in his thoughts.

“Yo,” Miles said, taking a seat next to him. "I saw you with some girl in the hallways. Care to explain?"

Miles - RJ's face flushed slightly, but he knew he could trust his twin. "Yeah, she helped me when I was almost having a panic attack. She stood up for me when everyone was bombarding me with questions about you and the rumors."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "She seems a little too invested in our affairs, don't you think? We can't trust anyone easily, especially not someone who shows up out of nowhere."

Miles - RJ nodded, understanding his twin's caution. "I get it, but she seemed genuinely concerned. She's different. I've never met anyone like her."

Miles, the prowler, sighed, torn between wanting to protect his twin and wanting him to experience genuine friendship. "I know you're craving connection, RJ, but be careful. People have hurt us before, and we can't afford to let our guard down."

"I won't be naive, Miles," RJ assured him. "But she's different from those who've hurt us. I know she can be a true friend."

The prowler studied his twin's eyes, searching for any signs of deception. Seeing only sincerity, he relented. "Alright, but stay cautious. I'll keep an eye on her too."

As the days passed, Miles - RJ and (Y/N) grew closer. She welcomed him into her circle of friends, and he began to experience a sense of belonging he had never felt before. They laughed together, shared stories, and supported each other through thick and thin.

Miles, the prowler, watched from a distance, his protective instincts on high alert. He saw how much Miles - RJ was opening up to (Y/N), and a part of him was happy for his twin, but another part couldn't help but worry. The past had taught him to trust no one and to protect RJ at all costs.

One evening, he decided to approach (Y/N) cautiously. "I've been watching you and my twin," he said. "I know you've been helping him, but don't think I'll let my guard down just because he likes you. If you hurt him, I won't hesitate to protect him."

“Damn…he wasn’t kidding. Y’all look exactly alike.” (Y/N) says and Miles raised a brow at her.

(Y/N) changed her expression from one of bewildered and met his gaze with determination. "I wouldn’t hurt him intentionally. I care about him, Miles 2.0.”

“Miles 2.0?” Miles - the prowler questioned.

“Well yeah, cause well he’s the first miles I’ve met and you’re, you know…”

Miles - the prowler, studied her carefully, searching for any signs of deception. But all he saw was sincerity.

"I'll be watching," he warned before disappearing into the shadows.

•••

A few weeks later, Miles - RJ mustered up the courage to invite (Y/N) over to his place to play video games. As the day arrived, he nervously waited for her at the door, trying to ignore the creeping thoughts of doubt seeded by Miles, the prowler's, constant warnings.

When (Y/N) arrived, she had a bright smile on her face and greeted RJ with enthusiasm. "Hey, RJ! I'm so ready to kick your ass!”

“Sup miles 2.0!”

Miles - RJ's heart fluttered with happiness as he led her inside, introducing her to Miles - the prowler, who was sitting on the couch, looking aloof and distant. He eyed her cautiously but nodded in greeting at her nonetheless. "Hope you can handle our intense gaming skills."

(Y/N) chuckled, undeterred by his dismissive demeanor. "Oh, I'm sure I can handle it. I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

As they settled in for some gaming, Miles - the prowler, couldn't help but taunt (Y/N) throughout the play, trying to unnerve her. But to his surprise, she responded with playful banter and didn't let his jabs get under her skin.

"You’re actually decent at this," Miles - the prowler, said, genuinely impressed not that he would show it.

(Y/N) grinned. "Told you I wouldn't go down without a fight. Bring it on!"

As the gaming session continued, Miles - RJ noticed a subtle change in his twin's demeanor. Miles - the prowler, seemed less guarded and a bit more at ease, thanks to (Y/N)’s carefree and friendly approach. They laughed, teased each other, and the competitive spirit in the room was infectious.

The boys mom, Rio, couldn't help but peek into the living room, where her two boys were engaged in laughter and fun. A warm smile spread across her face, relieved to see her boys making a new friend.

As the evening went on, Miles - the prowler, gradually let down his defenses, realizing that (Y/N) was genuinely a good person who meant no harm. He was confused by his own emotions and the newfound camaraderie they were sharing. It was a mix of vulnerability and comfort that he hadn't felt in a long time.

As the night came to an end, (Y/N) got up to leave, exchanging a hug with the RJ and a fist bump with his brother.

"Thanks for inviting me over, RJ. I had a blast," (Y/N) said warmly.

“No problem!” Miles - RJ says.

“And good play with you Miles 2.0. I had fun.”

"Yeah, it was... fun," Miles, the prowler, admitted, trying to hide his genuine happiness.

"See you guys at school tomorrow!" Y/N called as she headed out the door.

As RJ closed the door, he turned to his twin with a raised eyebrow. "So, what did you think?"

Miles - the prowler, hesitated for a moment before cracking a small smile. "She's something else, that's for sure. I don't know what to make of it, but... I don't hate it."

RJ laughed, pleased to see his twin warming up to (Y/N). She's amazing, isn't she? I'm glad we made a friend like her."

"Yeah, me too," Miles, the prowler, admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty.

•••

A month had passed since (Y/N) became an integral part of their lives, and both the boys found themselves experiencing an unexpected but undeniable crush on her. Each twin had their own little moments with her that left them captivated.

Miles - the prowler, couldn't help but remember the time they were walking home together after a study session. (Y/N) had stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, and he instinctively reached out to steady her. As their hands briefly touched, he felt a jolt of electricity, and his heart skipped a beat. He quickly pulled away, trying to hide his blush, but he couldn't forget how his heart had raced in that brief moment.

For Miles - RJ, it was the time they were at the local arcade, cheering each other on during a competitive game. (Y/N) had leaned in close, her laughter infectious and her eyes sparkling with excitement. In that moment, Miles felt an overwhelming warmth, as if he had found someone who truly understood him. Her support and genuine interest in his passions made him feel seen and valued in a way he had never experienced before.

Both twins found themselves looking forward to seeing (Y/N) at school every day, eager for the chance to talk and share moments with her. They noticed how her presence could brighten even the darkest days and how her playful banter with Miles - the prowler, left him confused but with a faint hint of a smile.

As they spent more time with her, they discovered shared interests and values that deepened their admiration for (Y/N). She was caring, compassionate, and fiercely loyal, always standing up for them and others when needed. The way she treated everyone with kindness, regardless of their reputation or background, earned her even more respect from the twins.

Miles - the prowler, found himself drawn to her strength and independence, a stark contrast to his own solitary nature. He admired the way she could hold her own and how she wasn't afraid to challenge him, refusing to back down from his teasing or sarcasm.

Miles - RJ, on the other hand, cherished her ability to make him feel at ease, like he could be himself without judgment or expectations. Her easygoing nature helped him open up, and he found himself sharing thoughts and feelings he had never shared with anyone else.

One day, while hanging out in the park, the twins decided to talk openly about their feelings for (Y/N). Sitting on a bench, they shared their different perspectives, realizing they both felt a deep connection with her that they couldn't ignore.

"I can't believe we both have a crush on her," RJ admitted with a blush.

"Yeah, it's... strange," his twin Miles said, trying to wrap his head around his own feelings. "But I can't deny that she's had an impact on both of us."

Miles - RJ nodded. "She makes us feel understood, you know? And she's just so caring and genuine."

Miles - the prowler, smirked. "Well, I hope you're not expecting me to back off. I don't give up that easily."

Miles - RJ chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anything less. But let's remember she's our friend first and foremost. We don't want to jeopardize that."

The twins agreed to keep their feelings in check and focus on cherishing the friendship they had with (Y/N). As they continued to spend time with her, they found comfort in knowing that they didn't have to face their feelings alone.

•••

After school, Miles - RJ and Miles - the prowler, found themselves unable to contain their feelings any longer. They knew they had to talk to (Y/N) about what they had been experiencing. With nervous excitement, they cornered her near the school's courtyard, determined to be honest and vulnerable.

"(Y/N),” Miles - RJ began, his voice slightly shaky. "We need to talk about something important."

(Y/N) turned to face them, her eyes curious. "Okay, what's up?"

Miles - the prowler, took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "We both... we both have feelings for you, (Y/N).”

Miles - RJ nodded, adding, "It's true. We didn't plan for this to happen, but we can't ignore how we feel about you."

(Y/N) blinked, seemingly taken aback by their confession. "Wait, you both have feelings for me?"

"Yeah," Miles - the prowler, confirmed, his voice earnest. "It's confusing and unexpected, but we can't change how we feel."

(Y/N)’s lips curled into a small smile. "Damn, well, I can't help but admit that I have feelings for you both too..."

“Both of us or…”

The twins looked at each other in shock, their hearts racing. It was a revelation they hadn't anticipated, and the rush of emotions was overwhelming.

Before they could say anything else, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. (Y/N) glanced at them, her expression a mix of emotions.

"I’ll leave a note in your locker after school" she said, stepping back.

“Wait which one of us?!” Miles - the prowler asked.

“You’ll see…”

Torn between anticipation and uncertainty, Miles -RJ and Miles - the prowler, spent the evening restless, eager to meet (Y/N) the next day and finally find out what the future held for them.

The night passed in a blur, and the next day arrived faster than they expected. When Miles finally reunited with (Y/N), the atmosphere was charged with tension and excitement.

"So," Y/N said, breaking the silence. "Seems you got my letter.”

“Yeah I did.”

Miles - RJ ending …

Miles - the prowler ending …

Both Miles ending …

(Haven’t written the endings yet but when I do I’ll have them tagged and listed)

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rqgnarok · 4 months

Note

Hi! I saw you're taking some requests, and I was wondering if you could write something about Jamie Tartt dating a cat person. Love your writing 🌟🌟

tysm for requesting! fem!reader

"He's staring at me."

"I promise you he's not."

"I think he's planning to kill me," Jamie mutters, thoroughly engaged in a staring contest with your cat in the dark of your bedroom. You push your face into the pillow and pray the universe for mercy.

"He's not that smart, baby," your cat- with brown and black fur and a collar around his neck that you put there when you adopted him almost five years ago- meows at the nickname at the same time Jamie turns his head to look at you, and just like that they're glaring at each other once more. You sigh, giving up on sleep for the time being and sitting up. "I told you, we can put his bed out in the hallway while you guys get used to each other. I really don't mind."

You try to shrug it off as unimportant, but an uncomfortable feeling presses against your chest. You really, really like Jamie and want him to stay over more often, but it's like whenever he steps into your apartment he becomes hypervigilant of Bandit.

Not that he likes him much better either. Mostly you think it's because he can sense Jamie's apprehension, but also how much you like him, so he compromises with watching him eerily from a distance.

You've offered a varying amount of solutions, but just like those other times, Jamie shakes his head, adamant and with a determined glint in his eye. "Nah, no way. 'm not letting you move your life around for little ol' me, angel. I just... wish he'd liked me a little, at least."

You can't help but smile, warmed at the sentiment. Jamie; big football star, flashy Jamie turned out to be sweet and quite shy when away from the cameras, soft around the edges despite the many things in his life that could've shaped him to be rough and mean.

You like him so, so much.

"He's just protective," you reach and scratch Bandit behind one of his ears, gratified when he purrs and settles by your side and, by consequence, Jamie's. Despite your boyfriend's current doubts, you're extremely content here, in bed with your two boys tucked in close. "Another thing you have in common, actually."

"Yeah? What's the first, then?"

"You both like me very, very much," you say lowly, meeting him halfway for a kiss. Jamie hums in content, smiling against your mouth, reaching to hold your jaw. He tastes like toothpaste.

The next morning you blearily wake to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Still half asleep you start the motions for your cup of coffee and the kettle for Jamie's tea, and when you walk back into the bedroom you find him awake as well with Bandit sitting on his chest, nosing at his face.

"Hi," Jamie says, unaware of your presence, his voice the softest you've ever heard. You mourn having left your phone by your bedside, you don't think you can sneak into the room for it and take a picture without breaking Jamie's bubble. "Hello, good sir. You're missing your mama? Where'd she go?"

He tentatively reaches behind his ears to scratch him just like he's watched you do countless times, and the expression on his face when Bandit purrs is similar to that after a win in terms of accomplishment. Your smile is about to break your face.

"You don't have to protect her, you know," he keeps on murmuring, accent thick and voice deep from sleep. "Not from me. We're gonna be spendin' a lot of time together now. I won't step on your toes if you don't step on mine, yeah?"

Bandit, as if he understands, raises a paw. Jamie reaches out and shakes it formally, as if sealing a deal.

"Glad we had this talk, Mr. Bandit."

#gave the cat a name because why not!#i have interacted w cats like.... five times in my lifetime btw #hope this was okay!!#jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt #ted lasso fanfic #phil dunster #reader insert #female reader #leo writes

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joeys-babe · 2 months

Text

Joey B Imagines: Let Your Love Flow*

————————————————————————-

Summary: Valentine's Day with your husband, aka bestie, aka the love of your life.

Warnings: Fluff, little smut

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Into The Mystic

————————————————————————-

February 14, 2024

Slowly opening my eyes, I looked around trying to figure out why I had woken up.

After darting around the room, my eyes landed on Joe setting up for Valentine’s Day. We had a little part of our room that had a table in front of a couch.

We’d spent countless breakfasts on the couch watching TV, and this felt like the start of one of those.

I had to hold back a giggle when Joe rearranged a gift bag, card, and what seemed like a tray of food before stepping back to look at it. With his hands on his hips, Joe assessed the display before deeming it not good before moving the card around.

He did that a few times with different items before snapping a picture of the display with his phone.

When he turned around, I snapped my eyes back shut, trying to pretend I was still asleep.

I could hear the floorboards creak and the bed dip before a soft kiss was placed on my forehead.

“Mama…” - Joe whispered

He softly shook my shoulder to wake me up, and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was his smiling face and gorgeous blue eyes.

“Morning.” - Joe grinned

“Morning.” - you

I rolled over and burrowed into Joe’s bare chest, enjoying the warmth that he emitted.

“I have a very important question to ask you, baby.” - Joe

“What's that?” - you mumbled

Joe took a jokingly long deep breath before asking his question.

“Will you be my Valentine?” - Joe

I pulled away from his chest with a smile on my face, biting back the urge to laugh.

“No.” - you

“What?!” - Joe

“I'm kidding… of course, I'll be your Valentine, Joey.” - you

Joe leaned down and captured my lips in a sweet but thorough kiss.

“Cool.” - Joe smiled

A few seconds of comfortable silence went by before I blurted something out.

“Are you still wearing your jammies?” - you

I yanked the covers off of Joe to see that he was still wearing his V-DAY-themed pajama pants.

“Yes, I'm still wearing them.” - Joe laughed

“Good boy.” - you smiled

I put the covers back over Joe before cuddling closer to him.

“Wanna see what I got you?” - Joe

“Sure.” - you

Joe rolled out of bed before bringing everything over one by one. He started by putting the bouquet he got me, that was already in my favorite vase, on my nightstand. Then he put my gift next to it and handed me my card.

“Saved the best for last…” - Joe

He walked over with a large tray with three plates and two cups.

They were heart-shaped breakfast bagel sandwiches, a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries, and two strawberry smoothies.

“Stop… you're too perfect.” - you

“Perfect for you.” - Joe

“Stop…” - you

I put a hand on his chest, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

“Aye, don't cry.” - Joe

“I love you so much it hurts.” - you sniffled

“I love you too.” - Joe grinned

——

During breakfast Joe and I completed our Valentine's Day tradition of watching The Notebook.

“You know, I love you like Noah loves Allie.” - Joe

“I'm already basically sobbing, are you trying to make me cry more?!” - you

——

After breakfast, Joe and I took a little shower together. I'd noticed that he'd been acting a little weird and keeping his back to me.

“Joe?” - you

“Mhm?” - Joe

“Why are you facing the wall?” - you

He didn't say anything, so I grabbed his arms and moved him to face me. My eyes almost immediately landed on his impressive erection. Now I understand why he was hiding.

“Just… ignore it.” - Joe

Joe was looking down at his feet with his cheeks flushed pink, embarrassed that he'd gotten hard. We'd agreed to not do PIV sex while I was pregnant, but that doesn't mean I can't get him off, right?

Reaching out and wrapping my hand around his cock, Joe’s head shot up, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh god.” - Joe

He immediately shifted his body till he was leaning against the shower wall, suddenly feeling unable to control his balance from the pleasure coursing through his body.

Joe’s hips bucked into my pumps as I jerked him off in every way I knew he loved.

“Mama.” - Joe moaned

——

Later in the day, we had a heart-shaped pizza, which confused the hell out of Tyson.

“How- how is it a hwart?” - Tyson

“They shape the dough before it's cooked.” - Joe

“But it's a circle!” - Tyson

“I give up.” - Joe sighed

Laughing at their interaction as I put pizza on everyone's plates, soon I felt two strong arms snake around my waist.

“You look gorgeous.” - Joe

“You look pretty handsome yourself.” - you

I leaned back against him and craned my neck to place kisses down Joe’s jawline.

“When we take pics for your parents and mine after dinner, you have to let me wear your red Cartier glasses.” - you

“You know you don't gotta ask, just take ‘em. They look better on you than me anyway. The color of your jumpsuit will match them perfectly.” - Joe

“Thanks.” - you

I hummed contently as Joe ran his big hands over my bump.

The moment didn’t last too long as it was interrupted by the sound of liquid hitting a hard surface.

“Uh oh.” - Tyson

I opened my eyes to see Tyson with fruit punch all down his white sweater and on the floor. Miles was jaw-dropped and wide-eyed, making both Joe and I laugh.

“Imagine how boring our lives would be without them.” - you

“Wouldn't trade the hecticness for the world, and thank god we don't have carpet.” - Joe

We both laughed, and Joe laid his head on mine, my hands covering his that were on my bump.

“You're the best Valentine ever.” - you

“You are too, baby. I'm happy to say you're the only person I've experienced Valentine’s Day with.” - Joe

“Me too.” - you

Soon, Joe would leave your embrace to grab Tyson and carry him like a rocket into the kitchen.

Joe took the red-stained sweater off of Tyson before wiping him down, tickling his belly in the process.

There's nothing I loved more than watching that man become a father.

“Momma!” - Miles

I walked over to him as he patiently sat at the dinner table. Without saying anything, Miles pointed at the pizza and looked back at me.

“What do we say when we want something, Miles?” - you

“Pweaseeee.” - Miles

“Yes!” - you grinned

I didn't know, but Joe was standing just a few feet away from me in the kitchen, just smiling and admiring me in my element of being a mom, just like I had done a few minutes ago when he was wiping Tyson off.

After I got a piece of pizza on Miles’s plate, Joe walked over, holding Tyson, and sat him down on his booster seat.

We had our Valentine’s dinner as a family and made heart-shaped cookies with the boys afterward.

At one point, Tyson stuck his hand into the flower when I wasn't looking and rubbed it on Joe’s cheek.

“Oh, you are in for it!” - Joe

Joe grabbed Tyson off the counter and sat him down on the floor to give him a head start.

I laughed as Joe “chased” Tyson around the living room.

“Crazy.” - Miles shook his head

Looking at him with a playful look on my face, Miles stirred the dry ingredients, seemingly unfazed.

He's literally an old man trapped in a two-year-old body.

All of the running around tuckered both Tyson and Joe out. I was absentmindedly shapping the cookies with Miles when I heard familiar snores coming from the living room.

I peaked my head in to see Joe sprawled out on the couch asleep, Tyson’s chubby cheeks buried in his dad’s chest as he slept on top of him.

Jogging to the kitchen to grab my phone, I went back into the living room to snap a quick picture of the moment.

——

After the boys were asleep upstairs, and Joe woke up from his nap, we munched on some of the remaining cookies.

Joe abruptly stood up from the couch and put a hand out to help me up.

“What?” - you

“We gotta clean the kitchen up.” - Joe

“Noooo.” - you whined

Eventually, Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me off of the couch.

He connected his phone to his speaker and pulled up my playlist when I wasn't looking.

I was wetting a dishcloth to clean the counter off when the beginning of “Let Your Love Flow” by The Bellamy Brothers started playing.

Looking at Joe with a grin, he strode up to me and took the dishcloth out of my hand before pulling me into his arms to dance.

Giggles escaped my lips as he spun me around and dipped me, the moonlight seeping through the blinds and lighting up the kitchen.

What really stuck with me from tonight was dancing to a lyric that fit this scene perfectly.

“Through the moonlit nights with your lover.”

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Authors note: hey y'all. HAPPY VDAYYYYYY.

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut

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saltsicklover · 6 months

Text

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

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

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

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

A few uses of Y/N

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

Rating: R

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

---

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

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

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

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

Fuck flying coach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be nice, would you?"

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

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

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everything's fine, promise,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn't.

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

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

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

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

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

Fuck how his chest aches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about you, kid?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

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

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

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

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

She looks away first.

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

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

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

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was six months ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monsoon bounces instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rooster, are you okay?"

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The arguing doesn't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And drives.

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

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

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

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You son of a bitch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks.

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away.

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes.

That fact is almost too much for him to take.

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year.

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment.

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base.

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him.

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach.

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did.

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up.

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself.

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it.

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday.

Or her twenty-first.

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions.

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all.

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong.

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there.

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care.

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks.

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form.

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist.

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him.

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist.

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart,"

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute.

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?"

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry.

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?"

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes.

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments.

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest.

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge.

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay.

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart.

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley.

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman,"

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will.

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own.

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile.

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips.

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore.

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough.

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go.

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret.

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights.

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer.

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips.

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips.

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes.

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin.

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar.

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life.

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand.

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears.

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always,"

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