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coralinnii · 7 months

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❋ If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

feat: Floyd

genre: slow burn romance

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy AU Floyd ver, no pronouns used for reader, 2k word count

Series masterlist

A new normal has unfortunately assimilated into your life since your incident during that fateful ball. You felt your entire being sink into the pit of your stomach as your brother came running to you when he returned from the party, frantically asking why one of the Leech family sons was asking about you.

“You fell on top of him? And then just ran away?!” You were close to strangling your younger brother for his big mouth, especially when your outraged mother just happened to walk in right at the moment, though you were sure the birds resting in your gardens would have heard your brother’s obnoxious exclamations.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even say sorry, just running away and leaving the poor boy” After scolding your ear off, your mother wrote a letter of apology to the Leech household and to your dismay, invited Floyd to your home so you could personally apologize for your rude behavior. “It’s the least we could do,” your mother said.

Soon, an apology dinner led to a quick tour around your father’s training ground, then eventually there wasn’t a day where you didn’t worry that you’ll see a head of ocean teal hair bursting through your doors, naturally making his way into the guest room like it was made for him, though your mother probably did request the servants to keep that room clean everyday for his arrival anyway.

“Fishie, I’m bored~” You were convinced that Floyd was aware of your wariness of him which was why he intentionally spends his time constantly by your side, poking you and demanding you to entertain him anytime he was bored, which was all the time. He complains when you wouldn’t pay attention to him (eventhough he barged into your classes), drags you to spar with him during your father’s knight training sessions (eventhough you weren’t part of your father’s knight squad), and even naps in your bedroom while waiting for you (eventhough there’s a guest room literally just for him!).

Your wariness soon became frustration as you swore that Floyd was doing this just to get a rise out of you, for you to finally snap and give him a reason to squeeze you. You couldn’t figure it out but you’re starting to realize that the tall intruder only seems happy when you’re mentally suffering from his antics.

What’s worse was that your family doesn’t seem to see this as a concern. Your father was pleased to see potential in Floyd as a fighter and your brother became fascinated with the stories of merfolk and trinkets Floyd brings anytime he visits. The worst was your mother who was happy to have the sharp-toothed man visit them so often, calling him a sweet delight in the home.

“Crazy. They’re all crazy!” Your sanity as thin as silk thread and about as high-strung was tested everyday and it was at its breaking point one day when you had to join him for a night in the town, where a small festival was being held.

“Your dear friend was kind enough to invite you… you should go out more…Don’t be such a slugabed…Why can’t I be a slugabed, mom? Nothing wrong with that” lost in your grumbles, Floyd pulled you around the bustling crowds of the market to various food stalls when he felt an inkling of hunger. You supposed you were glad he was in a good mood for now, beats the alternative.

“Hey Fishie, Check this out!” You looked to see your companion with a satisfied grin on his face. “Look at what I got from the kebab stall!”

A satisfied grin plastered on his face, Floyd held out what you assumed was a meat kebab but the sheer length of it caught you off guard. The impulsive eel persuaded the stall owner to combine the sticks together to create a kebab much longer than intended (or recommended). Adorned with alternating grilled meat and vegetables, Floyd’s kebab stick was more of a kebab sword.

“Oh my goodness” you let out a gasp, wide-eyed at oddity before you. “Is that possible…or safe?” Clearly it was possible with the monstrosity clearly in his hands but your concern was more towards if such a food-covered stick was safe to wave around in a crowded area like this, where someone could accidentally get hit by that thing-

Whack “Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

Why couldn’t you be wrong?

As you feared, Floyd's creative street food managed to swing around and smacked an unsuspecting man in the back of his head. He turned, and your instincts immediately warned you that this man was not the forgiving type of fellow. His scowl seemed to target you, possibly because you seemed to be an easier victim to blame.

“What’s the big idea? A couple of prissy nobles walkin’ around thinkin’ they can do whatever they want?” The ruffled man snarled out in a gruff tone, his friends behind him copying his scowls with furrowed eyebrows and visibly clenched fists. “You better walk away if ya know what’s good for yer.”

But Floyd was not the least bit intimidated by the hostile group and started to scowl back, a dangerous look glazing over his mix-matched eyes. Before you could apologize, the tall merman stepped in front of you, towering over the stranger and blocking your figure from sight. Bystanders whispered and gasped as many started to back away from what looked to be an impending fight.

“Haaa? You minnows tryin’ to pick a fight?” Floyd tilted his head to the side glaring down at the other man, a hand squeezing his shoulder as though to limber up his arm. To you, he seemed like the meaner bully than anyone. “Sure, let’s have some fun then.”

“What’s going on over there?!” You heard another voice bellowing from afar and your worries suddenly shot up. Amongst the crowd, you could see a pair of men in armour making their way towards your direction where the commotion was.

“No. No. No. I don’t want to spend my night getting arrested!” Looking back to Floyd, you saw the wildness in his eyes barely being held back, dead set on starting a fight. You knew there wasn’t a chance to talk Floyd down when he gets this riled up so in a panic, you made a risky move.

Quietly crouching down, you scooped a handful of sand and gravel. With all your mustered courage, you side-stepped from behind your tall friend and threw the debris straight into the ruffian’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. The stranger bellowed with pain as he quickly back again in response.

“AARRGGHH, YOU CRAZY B-“ the blinded man couldn’t finish his sentence as you made the final blow by kicking him further backwards, his friends scrambling to catch him as he groaned in his suffering.

Taking the chance, you quickly grabbed Floyd and rushed away from the scene. Your mind ignored voices cursing you as you recklessly weaved through the crowd away from the knights and the ruffians and towards anywhere that had less of a crowd, your hand tightly holding on to the merman who was strangely quiet, stunned by your impulsive actions. But the ruffians were quick to recover as they started catch their bearings and chase after the two of you, rage fuelled in their motivations.

The chase brought you to a pier by the ocean that was as ink black as the night sky. You could still hear their voices coming closer and soon regret and fear flooded your senses.

“What do I do…what do I do?” You mumbled in panic, with tears lining your eyes. You have completely forgotten that Floyd could feel you shake through your hand still interlocked with his.

Your companion watched you quivering like a scared little seal and hearing angry footsteps approaching, when a fun idea crossed his mind.

“Hey Fishie,” his casual voice finally made you remembered his presence. “We gotta hide, right? I know a place~”

“Wha-“ Without a second to let you ask more, Floyd swiftly picked you up from your shoulders to fling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and in one fluid motion, he threw you right into the waters without remorse.

Splash

In your flabbergasted state from the audacity and the sheer ice cold feeling of the water, your frazzled mind didn’t even register Floyd jumping in soon after you until he wrapped his arms around you, clasping your hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming. Floyd was surprisingly comforting with his hold on you as his long arms kept you afloat above the cold waters as he expertly led your body further from the pier where you could faintly hear shouting from afar.

Eventually, the noises quiet down and all there’s left were the waves of the water splashing against your skin. Unfortunately, the darkened sky allowed no light for your eyes to scan your surroundings. You could barely see Floyd very well despite feeling his body close to yours. “Floyd, can you see the pier?”

“Yea, can’t you?” Floyd asked but you shook your head, your eyes couldn’t adjust to your surroundings with almost no light in sight. “Too dark, huh? Hmmm, close your eyes for a second, will ya? I’m gonna do somethin’”

Though skeptical, you did as he asked. Minutes went by and before the fear that the ocean-haired man might had left you, a luminous glow nearly permeated through your eyelids. You could tell there was bright beacon of light close to you but there strangely wasn’t a sense of heat from the source.

“…Alright, open ‘em”

Floyd watched intently as you opened your eyes and saw something purely inhuman. The once tall man was no longer in his human form but instead his long eel-like body was wrapped around you which glowed a shimmering blue light from his bioluminescence. This was the first time you’ve him in his most natural form.

Floyd waited silently for a reaction from you, an unreadable look in his gold and brown eyes. With his natural glow, nothing was hidden from you. You could see his sharp claws protruding from his large webbed hands, his dotted blue skin coated with slime, and his large monstrous tail in lieu of those human legs he acquired. All land-dwellers do is gawk and shriek at whatever is unnatural to them and he suspected you’d be the same, just like all the boring humans…

“Floyd, you’re beautiful!”

You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before you. Your old life fantasized and told tales of merpeople but would never come to see such a visionary sight like this. Even after finding yourself in this new world, many mermaids and mermen had to hide themselves from anti-merfolk humans on land so you still haven’t had the chance to meet them in such a natural form…Until now.

“Wow, you’re glowing from your chest to your tail…” your eyes sparkled with child-like wonder as you watched the light from Floyd’s body shimmer in the waters, reminding you almost like the waves of light of an aurora in the sky. Your fingers curiously grazed the surface of Floyd’s tail which felt cool and smooth to the touch, most likely due to the natural secretion of his skin to keep him hydrated. You reached back to his clawed fingers which you swore looked bigger than those of his human form, bigger than yours at least, which made you ponder if merfolks varied in sizes as well. “This feels like a dream”

“…Hehe, how long are you gonna touch me, Fishie~?” Floyd’s little tease snapped you out of your daze as he grinned down at you. His tone sounded accusatory but his sly grin spoke volume of his amusement over your fascination with his body.

Quickly, you let go of his webbed fingers. “I-I’m sorry, Floyd. I was just surprised. I’ve never seen a merman’s body before and-and” you stammered and splashed around but not even the ice cold waters could cool the sensation in your cheeks. You felt the burn of embarrassment just thinking how Floyd was watching you fawn over his body like a reckless pervert.

Distracted by your shame, Floyd took the opportunity to hold you tighter than before, his glowing body coiling around your legs and letting you feel his firm muscles as you felt forced to sit atop of his tail. Gently, the merman cradled your head as he smiled a toothy grin at you, seemingly happier than you’ve seen him all day, though you couldn’t figure out why.

“My Fishie never disappoints~ It’s always so fun when I’m around you, I can’t get enough!” Floyd surprised you by pressing his cheek to yours, nuzzling against your skin as he hummed in a satisfied tone. Seriously, what’s gotten him in such a good mood?

“Wait, don’t think I’d forgive you for throwing me into the water!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #floyd leech #floyd x reader #villainess au

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

I have a request for a drabble...

König and the reader having a cozy morning together in bed

(Also I have a very sensitive neck and kisses, hands being here, licking, anything with my neck I melt, I would like to see his reactions with that.. or him teasing the reader with it)

Thank you so much and happy new year! 🤍

Anon this is SO late I apologize

(I'm running out of Gifs to use I think)

(Spooning, cuddling, sleepy morning snuggles, clingy Konig, touching, hickeys, pillow talk)

You’re used to rousing early in the mornings, eyes blinking awake before even the birds sing quiet songs of dawn. It’s a byproduct of your line of work. In the military there’s much to do at first light- assigning squads, morning roster, drills, equipment checks, intel briefings at the minimum. Usually by the time the sky is cast with light you’re already at the weapons range, the training ground, poring over mission reports.

Which is why now, when your eyes flutter open and you find the hazy, golden light of dawn peeking through the curtains, your mind clouds with gentle, bleary confusion.

That is until you shift, and immediately notice the huge, veiny arm wrapped around your front. Immovable, unbudging even in sleep.

It takes you a moment to gain your bearings, still cuddled under the mess of blankets your boyfriend has managed to kick and twist in his sleep. Yet the man himself is miraculously still, his forehead braced into your shoulder where his dozing, warm breaths billow into your skin.

He’s managed to drag you to him in sleep, both arms tucked securely around your smaller form. One hand splays across the exposed flesh of your stomach, buried there under your night shirt. When you shift, stretch in his embrace it curls there, closing just as you feel him rouse, hum a sleepy note of acknowledgement.

“Guten Morgen.” You mutter to him, one hand coming to rest on the hand tucked along your tummy.

Yet König merely grumbles, arms flexing as he drags you closer, his head burrowing into the soft junction of your neck and shoulder. He shifts, one leg raising under the blankets so it tangles with yours, his knee pressing up between your thighs. You allow it, let yourself burrow back into his warmth to stave off the early morning chill.

“Awake?” You ask gently, and the giant huffs into your shoulder, his warm breath seeping into your spine.

“Nein.” He replies drowsily, his voice a low, rough scrape in his throat as it rasps with sleep.

You smile, bare your neck another inch for his cold nose to skim along the skin.

“Don’t want to get up.” He murmurs there, and you feel the plush of his lips graze against your flesh when he does. “Want to stay with you in my arms, Liebling.”

“So clingy.” You tease, and yet make no effort to move, more than content to remain exactly where you are.

“Nur fur dich.” He mumbles, words obscured before he shifts, raises his lips to ghost across the shell of your ear. “Only for you.”

You can’t suppress a shiver at the hot breath that tickles your sensitive skin. When you do, König smiles, hums a low, rolling note in his chest.

“You’re so soft in my arms, Liebling.” He purrs, voice dipping with suggestion. “So warm.”

Eyes fluttering shut once more, you let out a dewy sigh as König’s calloused, broad palm raises higher under your shirt.

“Y-you must have slept well.” You remark, trying to keep the gasp from your voice when his hand skims across the rise of your chest appreciatively.

König only makes a small, sleepy noise of assent behind you, shifts so his knee rises higher between your thighs. You jerk reflexively when it stops just short of your core, feeling warmth rise to your face when the soldier behind your chuckles.

“So sensitive.” He teases, and you have nothing to respond with when his teeth suddenly scrape along the dip of your shoulder. Yet instead of a bite he presses a gentle kiss there, letting it trail along your skin as his lips raise back up to your neck.

“W-when you touch me l-like that, I- ah!” You gasp as his lips secure around the soft, supple flesh below your jaw and suck.

His hold on your is unrelenting as you arch against him with a little whine, fingers sinking into the meat of his forearm to ground yourself against the sudden warm, melting pleasure of his touch.

Yet he’s had a taste of you now, one that fills his mouth as much as it does his heart, drunk of the feeling of your wriggling little movements and short little gasps as he suckles against the hickey.

“K-König.” You mewl, soft and pliant in his arms, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“Stay.” He mutters when his lips pull away, and you feel him smile as you shudder free a breathy gasp just as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. “In my arms, just a little longer.”

You smile, cheeks warm as you huff free a breath and then shift, sinking dowards so you grind along his thigh, whisper your reply within this realm of pale morning light.

“Nur fur dich.”

#König #könig fluff #könig x reader #könig x you #könig imagine #mw 22 #mw22 #drabbles #requests #asks #Reminder asks are closed as I clear out my inbox!

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sorchathered · 4 months

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Pride, Prejudice, and Flyboys

Pairing- Bob Floyd x reader

Warnings- Smut, minors dni, language, drinking.

Summary- Bob can’t stand Siren, she’s been the bane of his existence since he met her…but maybe it’s more?

My second post for ibffm 😈 enjoy! Thank you @attapullman for making January all about our favorite WSO!

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He’s pretty sure he actually hates her. His mama always taught him to never say that about anyone but right now he can’t be bothered to be gentlemanly. Siren is by far the most annoyingly perfect person he’s ever met, effortlessly funny, excellent at her job, beloved by everyone she meets; the list goes on and on and Bob wishes someone had at least one bad thing to say about her. She’s even a morning person for god sakes, bouncing into the training room most mornings with coffees for the whole squad, oozing sunshine as she greets everyone.

No one gets it, Bob has always been such a kind soul but ever since Siren joined the squad as Hangman’s WSO Bob’s attitude has been abysmal. They went to Top Gun together and the naval academy, most everyone knew they’d had some sort of love/hate relationship but couldn’t ever seem to figure out just what it was that caused such a rift. She had always been so nice to him but Bob just couldn’t reciprocate. She was perfect. At everything. It all came easy to her, and it brought out something inside Robert Floyd, jealousy? envy? He couldn’t put his finger on it he just knew it was unfair, to her and himself. Comparing himself to someone else was something he’d always done, whether it be someone’s good looks or ability to handle social situations but not once since he’d come back to Fightertown had he questioned his abilities in his job. He’d been slowly becoming more sure of himself here, letting his guard down and integrating himself with the squad, finally feeling like he belonged. Then he stepped into work two weeks ago and there you were, perched on top of a table laughing with Phoenix and Hangman like you were old friends. Phoenix had called him over excitedly, something in your demeanor had caused her to think you two would be fast friends but it didn’t take much to realize that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

He walked up to them anyway, feet feeling like lead and nausea rising up in his throat as you whipped your head towards him. “Bob! Come on over and meet Bagman’s new back seater!”

“Oh we already know each other” you’d replied coolly, and the shift in energy was palpable.

“Siren” he said curtly, nodding in your direction but refusing to look you in the eye.

“I feel like I’m missing something here? You guys date or something baby on board?” Hangman’s gaze was curious, clearly enjoying the drama.

You both sputtered in shock, Bob simply flipping Hangman the bird and turning on his heel to find his seat with what could only be described as disgust on his features.

“Absolutely not! We just uh, we knew each other during the academy and top gun the first time, I don’t really know what it is, he just never really seemed to like me.” You looked down at your feet now, wishing the floor would swallow you up.

Drills went well the following week, you and Hangman seemed to make a perfect team, it had been suggested you become his WSO after the uranium mission, Maverick had been impressed with his flying from the beginning but knew Hangman needed to learn to be a team player. That’s where you came in, and to say the two of you were thick as thieves was an understatement. It was like you and Jake had known each other all your life, and almost sibling like camaraderie between you.

———————————————————————

Friday finally comes and everyone gathers at the Hard Deck, celebrating your joining the team and the end of a long week of training. You are the life of the party, playing pool and laughing over whatever show you and Fanboy have been binging, seamlessly fitting into the group like you’d been there all along.

Bob is beyond annoyed. He tries to fix his face but the permanent scowl that resides there won’t budge; he’s never had much of a poker face and if he’s honest he doesn’t really give a shit if he’s hiding his disdain. Do you just get along with everyone? Everyone seems to constantly be singing your praises and it’s like nails on a chalkboard having to constantly hear your name as the topic of conversation. Phoenix startles him from his thoughts as she sits down next to him with a beer, following his eye-line to confirm he is in fact staring at you.

“Ok Bobby what the hell is the problem? I’ve never seen you like this, Siren enters the room and it’s like someone shit in your cereal. She seems super nice to me so tell me what I’m not seeing?” She and Bob have come so far the past few months, gone from teammates to best friends and she is thrown for a loop seeing him in such a state.

“Do you really not see it? I mean come on she’s annoying as hell.” Phoenix doesn’t buy it, giving Bob a chastising glare and he finally folds. He knows better than to fight with her like this, she always wins anyways.

“I- ugh fine. She’s just always rubbed me the wrong way. I’m sure she’s fine truly, but she was constantly talked about in our academy days, she set the standard and no one was ever as perfect according to our instructors. It just feels like I’ve been competing with her all of my navy career and to have her here when things have been going so well felt like the rug yanked out from under me. I don’t want to hate her, but every time I see her I’m reminded of all the things I’m not and it drives me insane.” He slumps down in his chair clearly embarrassed and Phoenix feels an overwhelming amount of sympathy for her friend.

“I think if you actually tried to get to know her you’d be surprised to find that she thinks the exact same thing about you.”

Bob looks at her like she’s slapped him, shock written all over his features. What the fuck did she mean? You felt like you were in constant competition with him as well? He rolled his eyes at her after looking at you across the pool table, there was no way in hell he was feeling an ounce of sympathy for you tonight. You were a top gun nepo baby, your father’s name synonymous with the likes of Maverick and Iceman. Everything had come easy to you so why the hell Nat would think anything different was beyond his reasoning.

“I appreciate the need to keep the peace Nat, but I can’t say I buy it.”

She just shook her head and let it be, she’d truly never seen Bob like this before and it looked like it would take a miracle to get the two of you to sort out your issues.

As the night begins to wind down you make your way over to Bob’s table, a little liquid courage had you deciding it was now or never; time to find out why the soft spoken man everyone loved seemed to hate everything about you.

You plop down into the seat next to him, bringing him to the present as he looks up with a groan when he realizes it’s you.

“Can I help you Siren?”

Eyes the size of saucers at the tone in his voice you suddenly wish you could evaporate into thin air, why did he always have to be so damn mean? You’ve never been anything but kind to everyone, it just didn’t make any sense for him to treat you with so much vitriol.

“I need to know what I did.”

“Pardon?” He looks up with a grimace trying to process the situation at hand.

“What did I do Floyd? Seriously, I have never been anything less than friendly to you all these years and you treat me like I’m shit on the bottom of your shoe. What gives?! Just tell me what the hell I did so I can apologize and maybe we can get past this.” You’re shaking a little and your voice had carried more than you’d planned, noticing that your group behind you seems to have taken an active interest in what’s happening between you two.

“I’m not doing this.” Bob lets out a dark chuckle, eyes full of poison sliding from his seat, making his way to the door.

You look around behind you at your squad, beet red with embarrassment and frustration. How dare he?! God Robert Floyd was such a prick and you weren’t giving him the opportunity to treat you like this for one more minute. Slamming your beer down on the table you stalked after him towards the door, following him out into the parking lot.

“You don’t get to just walk away from me like that asshole! I asked you a question and I want a damn answer.”

He stops short in his tracks, was busying himself with unlocking his truck when he spins around to face you.

“God you really can’t just let this shit go can you? You really want to know why?”

“Yeah I really do”

He runs his hand over his face now, malice clearly etched in his features.

And then he pulls you forward and slams his lips to yours.

You were pretty sure you were dreaming…or maybe you’d died because this certainly couldn’t be happening in real life right? Robert Floyd, bane of your existence for almost a decade had you pressed up against the side of his old GMC Sierra, thigh wedged between your legs while you ground down on him and let him lick into your mouth.

You couldn’t stop yourself if you wanted to, he felt so so good and the noises and moans the two of you were making were bordering on obscene. You thanked whatever diety was watching out for you that he had parked in a dark corner in the lot, crashing waves muffling most of the noises coming from you both. You arched your back to press closer to him and he began his descent from your jaw sucking a mark onto your neck as your hands threaded through his soft brown hair and tugged. God he was so hot, how had you never noticed he was so hot? He smelled amazing and he was an insanely good kisser, but of course you’d always thought he was perfect at everything; part of the reason he frustrates you so much if you’re honest.

He pulls back to look at you, has the gall to look smug at the fact that he’s worked you up like this and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Your foreheads are pressed together, and you feel him whisper against your lips

“Y/N you need to stop me now if you don’t want this, otherwise get your ass in the truck, we’re going back to my place.”

You feel so dumb right now, he’s rendered you speechless and all you can do is nod at him and slide into the bench seat of the truck. Shit, you really are about to go home and let Bob Floyd fuck you senseless.

———————————————————————

The drive isn’t long, maybe ten minutes but you can barely focus on anything but his hand on your thigh, rubbing slow circles into you, just close enough to tease but not enough to give you what you want. He pulls into the drive roughly, slamming the truck in park and yanking you out of the door, hands roaming everywhere as he tries to herd you into his little townhouse.

Once he has the door closed it’s a frenzy of teeth and tongue, pawing at each other to try and get the other naked as quickly as possible, you barely make it to his bedroom, self control non existent. He drops you down onto his mattress and you pull him forward, rubbing your body all over the length of his, desperate for any kind of relief for your aching core. He slides a hand up to press into the column of your throat as he spreads hot filthy kisses up your chest towards your mouth.

“You drive me absolutely insane, can’t even sit in the same room with you without wanting to fuck the attitude out of you, s’that what you need pretty girl? You need me to fuck you stupid?”

You can’t help but let out a pitiful moan and buck up into him, you never thought for a minute you’d be in this situation with him but now that you have him like this you know you’ll never want to do anything else.

“Tell me what you want Y/N, you’ve always got so much to say but now you can’t even string together a sentence? You poor little thing you need this so bad don’t you? All you gotta do is ask baby I’ll give it to ya.”

You close the gap between the two of you, slotting your lips against his and sliding your tongue into his mouth, rubbing your needy wet pussy all over his thigh and whining at the feeling, so good but not quite what you need.

He presses your hips down into the mattress stopping your ministrations and reaching up to catch your chin between his fingers.

“I know you heard me if you want it sugar you ask for it, I’m a patient man we can sit right here all night and I won’t touch you again until you’re begging for it.”

Chest heaving, pupils blown out full of lust and hair splayed out across his pillows he thinks you may be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but he’s just fine teasing you until you give him what he wants.

You look up at him ready to be defiant but fail miserably, his perfect hair is a mess, glasses askew and his body feels like heaven on top of yours.

You refused to fold so easily, he’d been mouthing off at you all night so it was time he got some of it back, sliding your feet to the mattress over his thighs you flipped him onto his back on the mattress, your manicured fingers gripping his chin, forcing him to look at you.

“You’re so bossy Bobby, maybe you’re the one who needs to be fucked stupid hmm? I wonder if any of those little tag chasers you’ve brought home have ever taken control of you like I can? Think you can keep your pretty mouth shut and follow orders? Lay still like a good boy and let me ride your cock?”

He blinks up at you now, he had a smart ass remark all ready to go but the second you ground your pussy down on him he was putty in your hands, couldn’t begin to articulate how hot is was to let you take the reigns, so he simply put his hands behind his head and grinned up at you.

“Go ahead baby, use me. I’ll be good for you.”

That’s all you needed, sliding him between your folds and teasing him by grinding your clit against him. He was big, and your thoughts scattered thinking about how next time you wanted him in your mouth, God you hoped there was a next time.

He had said he’d be good for you but he didn’t account for just how good it would feel, attempting to stay quiet by balling his hands into fists and biting his lip until it felt like it would break the skin.

He might go insane from this, he’s used to relinquishing control in the air, but in his intimate life he’s always demanded the upper hand, the need to be in charge overpowering the ability to submit. But here you are, stripped completely bare for him and riding him so slowly damnit he’s never been more turned on in his life. He’s not blind, you’re absolutely gorgeous; he’s seen the way guys check you out but the rivalry between you both was always so palpable it never occurred to him to want you like this.

You’re playing with your nipples and grinding into him slowly, moans spilling from your lips and Bob knows he can’t take much more of this, needs you splayed out so he can fuck you like he wants. He watches you close eyes, throwing your head back and he takes the shot, gripping you by your hips and flipping you both again. You cry out as he snaps his hips harshly into yours, grabbing at both your wrists with one of his big hands to pin them above your head, leaning in to catch your lips with his, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. He planned to make this quick and dirty, a one time thing to get you out of his system but the more he hears your little moans and whines and kisses you while your pussy pulses around him, he lets his mind wander to how it might be to have you like this whenever he wanted, lets the domesticity of having you in his bed and his arms make him impossibly harder. Why didn’t you two get along again? He couldn’t find himself coming up with one reason that made sense as you let him abuse your pussy with his deep thrusts. You couldn’t hold a coherent thought anymore, clenching down on him after he hit that spot that had you seeing stars you suddenly gushed on his cock, surprising the two of you as he slowed his movements, slack jawed and in awe of the fact that you’d just squirted all over him.

“Jesus Christ such a good girl, pussy’s fucking drenching me” he ground out, yanking you up by your throat to suck on your tongue as you moan and gasp into his mouth, you’d never done that before for anyone; not even when you were getting yourself off and you wanted it to happen again and again. “Oh Bob” your cried out, pushing yourself down on him to meet his hips, the two of you working in tandem to please each other, somehow the situation evolving from a one night stand to something more. You knew now that you’d had a taste of him like this you’d be addicted, how could you ever be satisfied with anyone else when he was fucking you like his life depended on your pleasure?

You wrap your legs around his waist and begin to grind into him, neither of you caring much about control anymore. It feels too good and the need is so strong to chase your release. He’s pulling you close to him now, pressing your chests together and sucking a mark at the spot behind your ear, whispering praises about how good you feel, and you can’t think of anything but how beautiful he is and how badly you want him to cum for you.

You’re close again, so close to the edge and he can feel it, leans in to kiss you once more, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat. You hold his gaze as he tells you he wants to come with you, the pressure from his slender fingers restricting your airway so deliciously euphoric. You can’t say anything, too scared of the implications and the intimacy of it all so you just nod as he runs his hand between your sweat slicked bodies to rub tight circles against your clit. Black spots cloud your vision as you arch into him, calling out his name in pleasure like a prayer until you begin to go hoarse; he groans as you clench down on him and he thrusts one more time with a shout as he comes for you.

You both lay wrapped in each other, lost in thought trying to catch your breaths. All too soon he pulls out but before he heads for the bathroom he stops to push a sweaty lock back from your forehead, and you can’t help but catch his hand and kiss his wrist. He grins that stupid crooked smile at you as he makes his way to the bathroom and you collapse back into the sheets.

“Oh my fucking God” you think to yourself with a jolt; “I’m in love with Robert Floyd.”

———————————————————————-

While you come to that startling realization, Bob is having his own meltdown once he gets the bathroom closed. What the hell had he gotten himself into here?! He’d had it all planned out on the drive over, the both of you would just fuck the tension out and try your best to get along for the duration of the time you had here. He hasn’t accounted for just how good it would be, how when the time came for you to separate all he’d wanted was to wrap you in his arms and let you snuggle into him. He didn’t think he’d catch feelings.

Stepping out of the bathroom he catches you trying to shrug yourself back into your clothes, digging around for your phone in the bottom of your purse and you startle a little, straightening up and giving him a little smile.

“I uh, sorry I don’t want to be in the way so I’m just gonna grab an Uber and head home.” You look lost, not like your typical bubbly persona and his heart clenches in his chest knowing you are worried he wants you to go.

“You- you don’t have to go honey, ‘sides I think we might need to sit down and talk about all this.”

He sticks his hand out for you to take and leads you back to his bed to sit down and you take a shaky breath, trying to look anywhere but at him. He hears you whisper something, and turns your face to his hoping you’ll say it again.

“I asked you uh… what does this mean, what are we doing?” you said quietly, nervous energy radiating from you now, you’ve never felt off your axis quite like this but then you’ve also never realized you were in love with your enemy before. Was he really your enemy though? Or had he always just been out of reach? You knew you’d admired him, wished you could be friends but now- now it was something else entirely.

His expression was soft, something truly beautiful in the openness he was emanating as opposed to the wall he always put up when you were around. Taking both your hands in his he sighed, he still couldn’t quite find the words but anything was better than continuing to pretend he didn’t want this.

“I think I’ve had this all wrong y/n. I had it in my head that I hated you, that you were someone to compete against and I set myself up to be a complete asshole to you so I didn’t have to admit what it really was. Some of it was jealousy I’ll admit it but it really was so much more. I want you, more than just one night and I know, I know I have been an absolute piece of shit but if you’ll let me I’ll spend as long as you’ll let me trying to make it up you.”

You feel lightheaded, heat sending tingles up your spine and your body moves of its own volition, surging forward to kiss him. The clarity of it all is blinding, how could the two of you gone this long and not seen it? You were perfect for each other, wasted so much time riling each other up when you could have been doing this. You feel a giggle bubble up from your chest as you pull away from him now, the corners of your eyes pricking with tears as he quickly presses kisses to wipe them away.

You spend the weekend wrapped up in each other, ordering food and watching movies, letting Bob fuck you on every surface of his house and covering you in what feels like love.

————————————————————————

Monday morning he drives you back to your apartment to shower and change before work, which results in the two of you nearly being late because you can’t seem to keep your hands off of each other. Stepping into the hangar to take your seat you’re greeted to a sea of shocked faces, rather than making snide comments or cutting eyes at each other the two of you are in great spirits, even going so far as to let Bob pass you a granola bar from his pocket because he’d been two busy railing you earlier to eat breakfast.

Hangman is the first to open his mouth, because of course he can’t leave anything alone for too long. “What the hell is going on here? Is it Opposite Day or some shit? You two are being way too nice to each other and it’s freaking everyone out.”

You just grin at him and pat him on the arm, “We talked out our issues Jakey, it’s all gonna be smooth sailing from here.”

Phoenix doesn’t buy it for a second, pulling Bob over by his ear, deciding that she’ll force it out of him.

“What kind of twilight zone level bs is going on? Friday night you two were at each others throats and we didn’t see you again after that…oh my god. OH MY GOD!” She shrieks out and Bob clamps a hand over her mouth, begging God to suddenly make his best friend mute for the rest of the day, ears and cheeks turning bright red as he shushes her.

“Nat goddamnit I’ll tell you everything but I swear to God you have got to keep your shit together.”

He makes her wait until lunch, wants to be away from prying eyes and ears knowing it would spread like wildfire if the wrong person found out.

“I fucking knew it! I knew it wasn’t just some rivalry bullshit, oh my God are you guys together now? Do you love her? Ahhh this is so amazing!” She squeals as she digs into her salad, bouncing in her chair like a little kid.

“First of all I don’t know. It feels like we are, but I’m leaving that in her court. I’ll do whatever makes her happy. Second of all that’s none of your business woman let me figure this out on my own time, it’s still new. When I need a wedding planner I’ll let you know” he says with an eye roll and affectionate shove to her shoulder, he truly does love having her in his life, even if she is a serial meddler.

He catches you from across the mess hall, you were stealing fries off Jake’s plate and laughing over one of his stupid jokes. Feeling his gaze on you made you feel warm all over, you looked up at him and winked in his direction and just like that he was a goner. How had he missed out on this for so long? He’d had you on every surface in his home and he was still so insatiable, could barely hold it together when you texted asking if he could come over after work to have dinner.

———————————————————————

Pulling into your driveway after what felt like the longest day of training so far, you began to peel off your flight suit and top leaving you in just your bra and underwear, scrolling through the delivery app for something to eat when you heard him knock at the door.

You swung it open to let him in, turning on your heel to check what time the food would be in.

“I ordered from that Thai place we had lunch at a few weeks ago, got a little bit of everything so I just figured we could share.”

“That sounds like heaven baby but I think I need a snack before it gets here.”

And that’s how you ended up spread out on your kitchen island, Bob’s face buried between your thighs as he ate at you like his life depended on it. You had come undone more than once and he refused to let you go, you tasted so sweet he couldn’t get enough; lapping at you nearly had him getting off just knowing he was pleasing you. You felt too sensitive, every nerve in your body on fire but unable to stop bucking up into his face begging for him but not knowing what exactly you were asking for. He pulls back to grin up at you, beautiful blue eyes full of mischief as he lets out a chuckle at how far gone you are from just his mouth.

“Come on baby girl, give me one more, you sound so pretty I know you’ve got one more in ya. Taste so good sweetheart, I need you to cum one more time.”

He dives back in and the damn breaks as you felt your third orgasm wash over you, release soaking his face and he finally lets you up, helping you off the counter and into his arms. You felt boneless, legs trembling and barely able to stand as he kissed you, running his hands all over your body and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You grazed your hand along the inside of his flight suit tied at his waist and he groaned deliciously into your mouth.

“Hold on baby, let’s feed you some dinner and then I’ll let you ride me ok? We’ve got lots of time to make up for but I want you to have enough energy to handle it”

He was such a cocky son of a bitch but you knew now he could back it up. You’d sat in his lap on the couch while you shared dinner, taking turns feeding each other and watching a movie. He didn’t know if he could ever let this go now, everything about you had him obsessed and despite manhandling you not even an hour ago he was nervous as hell to seek out the answers he needed. What if this was just a friends with benefits situation? He knew he’d been an absolute ass to you and couldn’t blame you if you just wanted to fuck around but he so desperately wanted more.

You’d noticed how quiet he had gotten, movie forgotten as he was spaced out lost in thought. Nudging him with your elbow you laugh at the mock annoyance on his face, he was so beautiful and you still couldn’t believe the two of you were really here now.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours Floyd? You seem like you’ve got some heavy thoughts you’re struggling with.”

“Ah- it’s nothing sugar, I just spaced I promise I’m here it’s ok.”

You don’t believe him for a second, so you decide to prod him a little more. You pull his face in with both hands and kiss his cheeks, then nose, then press a soft peck to his lips.

“I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be baby, pretty please tell me what’s wrong? You bat your eyelashes at him and he melts into a puddle. You’ve got him totally wrapped now and he’s pretty sure he’d burn the world down to keep you looking at him with that sweet look on your face.

“I know we haven’t talked much about what this is and I don’t want to pressure you but I don’t know that I can be as casual about this as I’d hoped. I’m pretty sure I’m hooked on you y/n.”

Oh shit, you were definitely swooning. Like old timey love story swooning. How had he not realized you were crazy about him too?! You wound your arms around his neck and giggled as you pressed kisses all over him.

“I’m completely and totally yours Robert Floyd, now make love to me all night. Let’s catch up on all that time we wasted being idiots when we could have been together all along.”

He had to laugh at that, the two of you really had been complete fools, he’d been an arrogant ass, too prideful to admit that you were everything he’d ever wanted. Later he’d take you apart all night if you’d let him and then bring you coffee in bed before work the next morning. Fill your car up with gas, make sure you drank enough water and love you like you’d never dreamed you could be loved. It hadn’t started as some fairytale love story but it was turning out to be something even better, something lasting. Something more.

Tagging-

@attapullman

@bobgasm

@mamachasesmayhem

@roosterforme

@pinkdaisies1106

@angelbabyyy99

@nouis-bum

@nervousnerdwitch

@mygyn

@purelyfiction

@djs8891

@86laura11

@shanimallina87

@floydsglasses

@floydsmuse

@sailor-aviator

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

#top gun maverick #bob floyd #international bob floyd fucks month #robert bob floyd #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun bob #bob floyd smut #bob floyd fan fic #robert bob floyd x reader #bob fucks #pride and prejudice

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katsu28 · 1 year

Note

🍭 jesus you're hot." "what?" with rooster maybe?? CONGRATS ON 1K 💕💕

thank you sweet anon baby i love u!!! here's rooster being the most helpful boyfriend but still a little shit <3

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, much fluff, 1.1k

Rooster was happy when he got home tonight, still buzzing with excitement from spending some well needed time with his friends after a grueling few weeks of training. He whistled the tune to the song that was on the radio last as he made his way up the walk and let himself inside, locking the door behind him before he did anything else.

Your voice echoed from somewhere in the house the moment the door closed. “That you, Roos?”

“No, I’m a house burglar.”

“You’re hilarious. How was squad night?” Rooster could tell you were rolling your eyes playfully at his words.

“Good. Missed you though. The guys wanna know if you're still doing happy hour with us next week, and Phoenix says you better come so you can be her wingwoman.” He called back, pulling open the fridge to grab a bottle of water before wandering down the hall in search of the love of his life (aka you).

When he found you in the bedroom, you were sitting at the vanity clad in one of his faded Navy t-shirts with your back towards him, but he could see you in the mirror with a shiny looking sheet mask over your face, your hair held up and away from it by the fluffy headband thing you always used whenever you did your makeup.

You caught his eye in the mirror, beaming at him happily. “Thanks for reminding me, I’ll text Nat later.”

Rooster ambled into the room, tossing his jacket on the bed, unloading his pockets on the nightstand, taking a sip of his water. All the while, you were brushing your hair, brow creased in concentration at the task at hand and not at all at him watching you do your thing.

“Jesus you’re hot.” He mumbled, leaning against the doorway with one shoulder.

You tore your eyes away from your moving hands, turning around in your chair to face him. “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.”

“I’ve got stuff all over my face, Bradley, I really doubt I’m anything close to eye candy right now.” You chuckled, setting down the brush. Rooster shot you a pointed look.

“Uh, no. Total eye candy, all the time. You could be wearing a trash bag covered in bird shit and I’d still think you’re the hottest, prettiest girl in the whole world, baby.”

“That’s…disgusting.”

“I’m trying to be romantic here, woman!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” You laughed, finally rising from your seat and making your way across the room to him. He was rosy cheeked, warm to the touch when your hands linked around the back of his neck, a hint of beer on his breath as he slid in closer to you. You kissed his cheek, lingering in his embrace for a few more seconds before attempting to wriggle away. “I gotta wash this mask off, Roos.” Rooster let out a groan, sagging back against the doorframe dramatically. “You can come with me if you're gonna be all sad and mopey about it.”

He perked up at that, following you to the bathroom like a lost puppy, and when you grabbed a small washcloth from the drawer, he cocked his head, meeting your eye in the mirror yet again. “Can I take it off for you?”

You arched an eyebrow at him, shooting him a ‘really?’ look.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I meant the mask.” He tsked, giving your side a light pinch. “Dirty, dirty mind you’ve got there, sweetheart. I gotta watch out for you.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Grinning, he lifted you onto the counter, peeling off the sticky mask delicately so as to make sure it all came off in one piece, and tossing it in the trash before grabbing the towel and wetting it with warm water. Your eyes fluttered shut as Rooster wiped all over your face gently, one of his hands cupping your face to hold your head still while he got all the excess mask off. The stroke of his hand was careful yet deliberate, like everything he did.

He reached for your headband next, letting the elastic of it snap against your eyes and snickering when you huffed and swatted blindly at him. As soon as he’d gotten it off though, he grinned, immediately bringing his other hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“There’s my girl.” He hummed, tilting his head. There was a glint in his eye that he only got when he was gearing up to kiss you, but you clamped a hand over his mouth before he could, tilting your chin up at him.

“Nuh uh. What do I need to do before you do that?”

Rooster’s eyebrows creased in thought, frowning for a second before straightening up suddenly, snapping his fingers in realization. “Moisturizer!”

“Good.” His hand hovered above the collection of tiny bottles on the counter, fingers wiggling until he found the right one. He popped the cap, squirting a decent sized amount into his palm and spreading it around before promptly planting both hands on your face, squishing your cheeks as he rubbed in the moisturizer playfully rough.

“Oh, you asshole!” You spluttered, trying to bat his hands away from your face. He busted up at your indignance, going in again a lot softer this time and making sure he’d gotten every part of your face. Now came the time to kiss you and he did, pressing his lips against yours briefly but earnestly.

“Done and doner. Who’s the best boyfriend in the world?” He nodded proudly when he pulled away, pointing at himself with his thumbs. “I’m gonna save you the headache, because the answer is this guy!”

“I mean, I guess so,” You sighed mock defeatedly, giggling at the way his features instantly warmed into offense. “The best boyfriend in the world would come to bed and cuddle with me until I fall asleep.”

Rooster nodded quickly. “Lemme shower real quick, then I’ll be right there,” He insisted, punctuating his promise with another peck to your lips.

“I dunno, I might fall asleep before you’re done.” You never went to bed without him when he was home, but you loved to mess with him every so often.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He glared at you. “I’ll wake you up again, I swear to god.”

“Hurry up and shower then, drama queen.”

“Ten minutes, tops!”

He was true to his word, squeaky clean and climbing into bed and wrapping you in his arms not even ten minutes later. His hair was still a little damp and curling at the ends, but he smelled delicious, like soap and—

“Did you use my shampoo?”

“...no?”

You squinted up at him, to which he averted his gaze guiltily. "Sure smells like you did."

“Baby, if you didn’t want me to use it, stop buying such good smelling shower shit.”

“You’re the reason I keep running out of shampoo so fast! Oh my god, I knew it wasn’t me!”

“I’ll run to the drugstore in the morning.”

“You better.”

#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw fluff #top gun maverick #miles teller #kait celebrates 1k!

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lacontroller1991 · 7 months

Text

Branded (Rick Flag x GN!Reader)

Main Master List || DC Master List

Requested by @witchygagirl - If you're still doing them can I request

You have a tattoo where your soulmate first touches you for Rick Flag

from this prompt list

Warnings: Heavy gun usage, gun fire, battle, blood, language, battle wounds

===========

The gunfire rings out around you as sand flies everywhere. If it wasn’t for the light of the continuous gunfire, you definitely wouldn’t be able to see. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be back in Spain, sipping on your sangria on the beach with men waiting for your beck and call. Instead, you’re in the middle of a gunfight on a random ass beach in South America, all because you killed a few people. Ok. Maybe a lot of people. Thus began your time in Belle Reve.

When Waller had initially come to you with the proposition, you had shunned her away, openly mocking her for ever assuming that you would join her little Task Force. With the more days that passed and the more people you saw leaving, you soon changed your mind, leading you to now. Hands wrapped tightly around your gun as you hide behind a rock, trying to cancel out the screams of your comrades.

Now you know why it’s called the Suicide Squad.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your commander yells at you, crashing beside you and catching his breath. “We need your help out there!”

You look over to him, eyes wide in panic as your lips slightly tremble. “I can’t. My power can’t activate under stress.”

“You’ve got to be fucking me.” Rick groans from beside you, reloading his gun as he shakes his head in disbelief. When he looks back at you, terrified, he realizes that you’re not joking. “Look at me. Look at me!” He grabs your face with his dirty hands and turns you to him. “This is life and death. Either you fight or you die and I don’t intend on letting any more of my people die. Understand?” You nod your head as he nods his head. “Ok good, on my mark, we’re going to make a run for some better cover. Ready?” He asks, getting into a crouching position as you follow suit, gripping onto your gun like your life depends on it. “Go!” You and him run through the gunfire, firing your own weapons back as you watch men fall to the ground. You feel a rush of pride but it’s short lived when you feel a searing hot pain rip through your leg, causing you to fall to the ground. You try to stand up, but fall short, your leg burning in pain causing you to let out a sharp cry of pain as you look down, the sand underneath your leg getting darker and darker. Just like your vision.

Hearing your cry of pain, Rick’s head whips back until he spots you lying on the sand, clutching your leg. He’s already clear of the gunfire and he could proceed with his mission, but there’s something about you that is preventing him from going forward. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself before fixing his gun and running back into the line of fire, making quick work to grab your ankle and drag you towards the bushes. “I hope I’m right about this.”

—-------

You wake up to birds chirping at people talking though you don’t know where you are. You remember being shot, and then dragged through the woods by Rick, but besides that, you have no clue what’s going on. Moving to sit up, a warm hand places itself on your shoulder, not letting your rise any higher than that. “Woah there, just relax, you’re safe.” You turn your head to the voice and see your commander sitting there with a soft smile on his face.

“Colonel Flag? What’s going on? Where are we?” He removes his hand from your shoulder and places it in his lap, but something is off about it. Did he always have that tattoo on his hand?

“We’re safe, that’s all that matters. We’re waiting for an evac off this hell hole,” he murmurs, looking around the makeshift tent as you nod, turning to look into the mirror on the desk across from you, confusion all over your face.

“What the hell is on my face?” You try to inspect it a little closer, but again, Rick’s hand pushes you back down, a blush on his face.

“Well, uh, you know how some people get tattoos where their soulmate touches them for the first time,” he comments as you nod your head. Of course you do. Everyone in the world knows that. And only some are lucky enough to have that. “I think we’re soulmates.”

“I must have a concussion because this can’t be real,” you comment, but he shakes his head, grabbing the mirror and holding up to your face, placing his hand next to the mirror. In the mirror you can see the exact same symbol on your face that’s on his hand.

“Concussion or not, it’s real.” He comments as the sound of a helicopter echoes in the distance, causing his head to look outside. “That sounds like our ride. We’ll discuss this later, ok?” You nod your head in confirmation as he gives you an awkward pat on the back, not really sure where to go, but at least you guys will have each other.

===========

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @fairchildflag @a-reader-and-a-writer

Joel Related Tag List: @aestheticallywinchester @loverhymeswith @xoxabs88xox @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @the1redrose @ratcatcher2world @green-socks @weallhaveadestiny @yourjacketisnowdry @rachelh1992 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @knivesareout @bubblegloopswampwitch @waspswidows @burntghoost @katjnordstrom96 @tavners @yespolkadotkitty @heresathreebee @madkovacs @wxr-zxne @wtfobiwan @alieninoklahoma @violetmuses @neon-supernova

#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #Joel kinnaman #rick flag #colonel rick flag x reader #colonel rick flag x you #colonel rick flag #colonel flag x reader #colonel flag x you #colonel flag #the suicide squad #tss #dceu tss #reader insert

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edensbuttercups · 1 year

Text

Is this a joke? Pt. II - Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Read part one here!

Summary: As the Uranium mission unfolds, Jake deals with his feelings and the knowledge that he'll have to talk to you once he gets back.

A/N: Finally here with part two! It's been an up and down week in terms of writing motivation, but the love this fic has received honestly warmed my heart. So, here we go with part two! I hope you all enjoy ♡ Has this been proofread? Absolutely not, in typical me fashion 😌

(also, half thinking of a part three with how the date would actually go, maybe a shorter part but 👀 I am open to ideas and/or suggestions 😌)

Words: 3.5k

As always, requests are open and comments are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading and hope you're all having a good day ♡

He could hear it all.

Waiting, hands gripping the controls, ready to takeoff if he was needed.

Daggers descending below radar.

Hangman sighed when he heard Maverick’s words, feeling the tension rise. It was the quiet before the storm, waiting and knowing that even shit hit the fan, he’d have to be in standby until deemed necessary. Unwillingly, he let his mind slip back to you. Your words echoing in his brain just as much as the ones on the radar had. I have a crush on you.

Now, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, because he had a crush on you. And as much as he should’ve been happy, should’ve jumped for joy, wrapped his arms around you, kissed you like he had craved so many times before, he couldn’t be, because it was real now. It wasn’t something he could dream about before bed anymore, resting his head on the pillow and thinking of what it would be like to tell you how he felt, hold your hand and call you his, no, now he had to face it. He had to choose words that he knew he’d be terrible at choosing, to tell you something that he’d be terrible at conveying. And the worst part of it all was that he had left you there, after such a revelation, and you probably hated him now. And he deserved it.

Sir, dagger two and four are behind schedule.

He listened in, cursing under his breath. “C’mon Rooster. You can do it.” he whispered to himself only, no one there to hear him. It felt small, the space around him, unbearably warm while on ground, beads of sweat slowly running down his brow, feeling like he needed air, needed space, needed time, while also feeling safe there, feeling useful.

You woke up that morning with a knot in your throat, the memory of what had happened still very much vivid in your mind, along with the knowledge of what the dagger squad was probably facing right now. Plucking your phone from the bedsheets, you looked at Rooster’s message again.

Roos 🐓: leaving now. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll text you when we get back, and drinks are on me!

You smiled at his words again, chuckling at his ways, always leaving with a smile even if you knew how much these missions stressed him, having told you the way he felt sometimes, the air not quite enough when things could go wrong so easily, when he thought about his dad while up there.

And then there was Jake. Confident in every way, except for that time he came knocking at your door at 2am after Bob and Natasha got hit by a bird strike and Coyote G-locked. Pretended he was fine, pacing in your living room, apologizing and trying to keep his jokes going, shaking his head in a silent laughter when you approached him, seeing the way his eyes softened when you stopped him in his tracks, a hand on each shoulder. “Are you okay?” That night stayed between the two of you, and even between you there had been no more talks of it. It lived in your mind, though, the way Jake had wrapped his arms around you, the height difference making it seem like he was the one comforting you and not the other way around, and if he cried then it was never mentioned, never acknowledged. He fell asleep by your side, far enough to not feel like he was overstepping, close enough to hold your hand through the night. The next morning he left with a soft smile, thanking you when you handed him his coffee, as if that was what he was thanking you for, ready to put on his usual front in front of the squad. And that was how Jake was. He was a mocking, teasing type of friend, one that you could joke with and pretend to hate as much as you wanted, but that ultimately won your heart by showing you those sides of him that were truly him.

You sighed, setting the phone down again and sitting up, letting your feet dangle off the bed. Radio silence would await you until they were all back, and even if that didn’t help with the incessant static in your mind, you moved on with your day, pretending that you weren’t worried, or hurt.

Hearing Rooster call bombs away had been the first part that caused Hangman’s nerves to grow, the tension in his hands making them tighten as he listened, following each word coming from the radio with a forced attention, ready for his signal. Then, bullseye was called, a smile growing on his face, a silent cheer shared with, once more, no one but himself, but the knowledge that they had made it, not him specifically, but the team. Barely the time to celebrate went by before tension rose again, the enemy missiles getting launched one by one, a mess of voices and screams over the radio, and then, just when things couldn’t get worse, they did.

Dagger one is hit! Maverick down. Dagger one status!

A jumble of words before the order to go back.

Recommend dagger flow south.

Hangman heard the panic in Rooster’s voice, understood the history between him and Maverick, knew what losing someone felt like. “Dagger spare, request permission to fly air cover” He spoke quickly, concisely, ready to takeoff. He had probably messed up his chances with you, but that didn’t mean he had to lose Rooster as well, seeing now just how much of a dick he could be with the people he deep down cared for. “Negative, spare.” he heard back, sighing in defeat. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Useless, waiting for them to come back, a celebration bound to happen only on paper, one of them lost.

Dagger, you are not to engage.

Hangman almost did engage, but didn’t. His job was to follow orders, and that’s what he did. Yet dagger two did not. Rooster hadn’t followed directions, flying right back to where Maverick had fallen, ignoring everything and everyone else and heading straight back into danger. After all, he had more courage than Hangman had.

Dagger two is hit. Dagger two, do you copy?

There was nothing more painful than that silence. They couldn’t lose someone two people in one mission. Couldn’t lose Rooster. If Hangman was to come home to you, hoping you’d at least listen to him, how could he come back without your best friend?

Hangman let out a low chuckle when Rooster signal was traced again, and fully laughed when it had been clear Maverick was along. Soon enough, no matter how good they were, he got the all clear to help them, flying out to save their asses just in time. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to their locked and upright position and prepare for landing.” He wasn’t hiding the smile he was brightly wearing, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he flew side by side with Maverick and Rooster, never happier to see both of their faces. They were okay. “Hey Hangman. You look good.” He could only see Rooster’s eyes, but it was evident that he was happy to see him, and god was he happy to see them. Alive. “I am good. I am very good.” He did feel very good indeed. This was the part of his job that kept him going, the adrenaline all the more intense when something bad almost happened, and while he never wanted to lose anyone again, he welcomed the feeling.

Celebrations done and hugs shared, everyone dispersed, preparing to go home again, each member of a team talking to someone while they still buzzed with adrenaline while Maverick talked to the Admiral. All except for Hangman. Everyone noticed, but no one approached him, knowing he had his times and not minding the silence his absence brought, yet Rooster eventually walked towards him, sitting by his side with a loud huff. “So what’s up, Hangman?” Rooster finally asked. He had been thankful of Hangman saving him, and despite not having had the best of relationships with him, his reaction to your words only adding to that, he seemed to have gotten over that once they landed, seeing a truthful relief in the aviator’s eyes. Hangman took a sharp breath in, looking down with a smirk on his lips. “You sure you want to talk about it?” He asked, looking up at Rooster. It felt weird, after so long of teasing and mocking to just open up to him, even if he was the only person he could open up to, considering that he was the only other person, besides you and him, to know about what had happened. “Hard to pick sides when you only know half the story. And realistically, I’m not going to pick your side, but you know.” Rooster shrugged, smiling nonetheless, glad to see the blond man relax, taking a seat by his side as he let out a breath he had been holding, glad for the mission to have gone the way it had, but still nervous to make his way back home. “She told me she’s got a crush on me.” Hangman muttered, letting his head fall back. “Yeah, and you just cut her short with a we’ll talk when I get back.” Rooster mocked, raising the pitch of his voice in mock-tone, rolling his eyes. “She told me.” He then added, noticing how Hangman’s eyes were back on him. “Was she upset?” He asked, and Rooster hadn’t always been the best judge of Jake “Hangman” Seresin, but if he had to judge him now he’d say the blond man was actually genuinely concerned.

And he would be right.

Jake had spent the night before the mission falling in and out of sleep, words left unsaid ghosting on his lips, along with worry in his chest, even if he hadn’t technically been chosen to fly, if not for backup, but the team he had warmed up to was, and he had grown to care for them, even if he didn’t always show it. ��She… was… fine?” Rooster spoke after a moment of thought, glaring at Hangman when he rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t answer my question.” He said, letting out a frustrated groan. He hadn’t want to make you upset. He knew he had, and that wouldn’t change that he was mad at himself for it, but still, he didn’t like hearing it. “Do you like her back?” Rooster asked instead of fixing his prior sentence, letting that go. “Clearly.” “So why did you leave?” Hangman sighed, closing his eyes and trying to find some words that wouldn’t earn a That makes no sense, Hangman, or something along those lines.

He knew it didn’t.

It didn’t make sense to run away when the person he did like told him they liked him back, and yet he did. It didn’t make sense to crave your touch even when he had never felt it like he wished, especially not when he’d never get to feel it now that it had messed up. And it didn’t make sense to be here, confiding his secrets and feelings to Bradley fucking Bradshaw, and yet. “I was going to tell her that I have a crush on her.” he said, grimacing at the way the words felt as he pronounced them. He raised a finger when he saw Rooster move to speak, not wanting him to chime in just yet, not having said enough words to potentially save his reputation, or what was left of it. “I had time. Not telling her meant I could choose the moment, be in control of the situation, see how it played out, say it was a joke if she happened to reject me.” “What a way to own up to your feelings.” Rooster mumbled, rolling his eyes but letting him go on. “But she told me, now. Power’s in her hands. I’m the one that has to answer, and I can’t hide behind anything if…” Hangman stopped mid-sentence, frowning as he thought about what he was afraid of. “If she doesn’t like you? She said she does. That’s solved. And power being in her hands…” Rooster sighed, shaking his head, “this ain’t about power. It’s about liking each other.” He waited for Hangman to add something, anything, but he was just looking ahead, studying the floor with particular interest. “Hangman, you know about it. People flirt with you, you flirt back-” “Yeah, but they don’t like me. They like the idea of the confident Navy man that could easily swoop them to bed and rock their world.” He said smirking, before his lips fell back down. “She doesn’t.” Rooster hummed, understanding where he was going with his words. “She likes you.” “I don’t know when last time someone actually liked me.” Hangman revealed, knowing he’d regret being this open with Rooster, but allowing it to happen for now. “Okay, listen. I hated it, trust me, before today you were probably my least liked person.” Hangman scoffed and Rooster’s words, but nodded at him to go on. “But she made me change my mind about you, in some small stupid way. She likes you because of the way you are when no one’s looking. She sees something more, something I don’t see, and arguably, maybe she’s the only one that does, but either way, she likes you.” Rooster went on, not allowing the blond aviator to add anything else until he was done. “She went on about you every time we were together, asking about how you were doing, how you were, yet openly bickering with you when you were around. It was, and is, infuriating. But what’s more infuriating is you letting this chance go, breaking your heart alongside hers just ‘cause you’re afraid.”

Rooster didn’t add anything other than that, didn’t give Hangman the chance to reply, just stood and left, walking back towards Bob and Fanboy, clapping his hands over their shoulders and pulling them into a hug. Hangman knew he’d join them in a few minutes, put on his smirk and go back to his usual self, but he allowed himself a moment to consider his words, his fear. Rooster was, ultimately, right, and he was being scared of something that he shouldn’t have been scared of in the first place.

Time seemed to slow down when they landed back in Miramar, everyone still chattering and bubbling with energy, leaving him sitting in the back until most of them had risen to their feet, eager to get off. Hangman descended the stairs slowly, having, for once, allowed - and insisted - for everyone to go ahead, getting to the tarmac before he did. He saw Rooster turn back to him and ignored him, trying to prepare himself for the conversation he was going to have with you, clenching his hands into fists. He gave Rooster the chance to walk up to you, keeping his steps slow as he walked towards you, weighing his words. I’m sorry for leaving without saying anything. I like you too, I’m just afraid to give you the power to break my heart. I’m not good at relationships. He cursed under his breath, knowing that as much as there words echoed the truth, there was no way he’d actually be able to speak them.

Rooster knew Hangman was approaching when your eyes left his to land on the blond aviator behind him, a small smile on your lips, expression softening, before you let it go back to a more distant one, smiling only when you met Bradley’s eyes again. “I’m so glad you’re back.” You hummed, ignoring the man that was now steadily approaching. “You should listen to what he’s got to say.” Bradley said in reply, reaching to hold your hand, then letting it go when he saw your nod. You were going to listen, yes, but seeing him there, okay and alive, you felt the emotions you had felt on that night bubble back up, buried by the worry and rising once it had gone, and you weren’t sure you could do much more than listen with the sadness and anger taking over again. “Need me to stay?” He asked before leaving, nodding once again when you muttered a no, thank you, watching him walk towards Hangman and pat him on the back as he went to join the others, leaving the two of you alone. “Can we talk?” He asked you when he reached you, expression pleading for something, anything, when the stare you gave him was colder than it had ever been. “Drive me home?” You asked instead, not wanting to be around the others in the off chance you’d end up crying. Drinks at the Hard Deck had already been planned, but you had a few hours before that, and could easily pull yourself back together when he told you that he didn’t feel the same way. Hangman nodded,

You walked in, keys jingling until you left them by the door, closing your eyes when the door shut behind you. “I’m sorry.” Hangman mumbled, voice low and raspy, and you hated it. Hated it because had it been any other word, it would’ve had you blushing, but this made you feel bad, for you more than for him. “I should’ve known. I pushed it.” You said instead, sitting on the couch with a huff, grabbing one of the pillows and holding onto it. He paced the floor, much like you had that first night, going back and forth and back and forth until you stopped him by throwing a pillow at him, laughing when he lost his balance and almost fell. “Fighter pilot and yet a pillow takes him down.” You teased, smirking. “Not my fault, you’re an excellent shot.” He answered back effortlessly, a smile making its appearance back on his face. “Am I?” Hangman nodded, smirking as he picked the pillow up, setting it at the foot of the couch and sitting on it, looking up at you from there. “I’m angry with you.” You added, shaking your head when he tried to speak. “Not ‘cause you don’t like me back, that’s fine. It’s not something I expected from you, anyway, it was just a secret I couldn’t carry anymore. But I’m angry ‘cause you left with barely a word, and you didn’t text before leaving, and as much as I know why you didn’t… I was still worried. I care for you, and I knew there was a chance I wasn’t going to see you again, and I just-” “Stop.” You looked down to see him, eyes closed and cheeks red, his eyebrows drawn together. Shifting slightly, you waited, not sure as to what he was going to say, but hoping his next words wouldn’t be the ones telling you that your whole friendship was over. “Kiss me.” “What?” It takes you a minute to respond, expecting to hear anything but that. You smirk, rolling your eyes at your next words, but go on anyway, quoting him. “Is this a joke?” “I’m not good with words.” He hisses, rolling his eyes too. “Ah, but you’re good with kisses, you sl-” Before you could mock him he reached for your arm, yanking you down so that you fell in his lap, his lips easily finding yours in a bruising kiss, letting go of a shallow he wasn’t aware he had been holding, groaning when he felt you melt against him, your hand reaching to rest over his shoulder, slowly trailing up into his hair, tugging on it slightly. “Don’t tease.” He hums, smirking as he pulls away, lips red and pupils blown, a completely different image from the one that was pacing in front of you a few minutes ago. “Wasn’t.” You say innocently, leaning your head into his hand as if comes up to cup your cheek, a softness taking over his features you hadn’t seen often, not with anyone but you, anyway. And you realize, then, that it had been foolish to think he’d want to end your friendship, his looks always different from the ones he reserved for his friends. “I promise I will find words to tell you how I feel, but for now just know that I like you too.” He whispers, watching you closely and pecking your lips again, happy to finally be able to. “You owe me a date.” You hum, running a hand in his hair again, loving the way his perfect strands get messed up under your touch. “I owe you a lot more than a date, but how does tomorrow sound?”

Taglist: (For those that didn’t explicitly ask me to tag them, I hope you don’t mind being tagged, but I thought you might like to read part 2!♡) @alana4610 @bookaholics-stuff @addietagglikesbands @asshlyyyy @malfoysqueen54

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman angst #hangman fluff #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #hangman

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years

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swallow you like sunshine when i smile [mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!reader]

A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls, I present some reunion sweetness with Fanboy and his cielita linda. Thanks for your patience. More fanboy is coming soon! (Remember, reblogs make the world go round!)

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!reader aka Fanboy x Cielo (no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latinx!reader in mind.)

Word Count: 8.6k (WHY OH MY GOD THIS WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 2K OF SMUT NONSENSE) of reconciliation, of promises, of cotton candy clouds and sweet nothings that mean just about everything.

Warnings: My writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, the vaguest bit of somnophilia, the vaguest bit of breeding kink, touching, biting, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving), my usual odd attempts at dirty talk, the barest hint of angst.

Summary: When all the drowsy metaphors about love and fruit have been peeled and devoured, there's just you, your love, a bowl full of summer peaches, two parentheses with nothing in between (just space) ...for the tongue's imagination. AKA you reunite with your love Mickey on his leave. He’s intent on making up for lost time with you. Every moment with him feels like home.

The line crackled in your ear. A tangible noise, a manifestation of the distance and the dated technology that separated you.

He was calling you from a landline. In some distant airport you weren’t sure you were allowed to know exactly where… But the words before the pause, before the crackle, had made your heart leap in your chest.

He was coming home.

“Did you hear me, cielo?” His voice was soft, murmured through the lines and slightly garbled, towers, oceans, and mountains between you. From his mouth, across countries, to your waiting ears. Always low, keeled, and beautiful. No exception, even in spite of the transatlantic call.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I can’t wait, Mickey. I can't wait to see you."

He can't help himself. He smiles into the receiver, though you aren't there to see it. He knows you'll hear it in his voice, picture this exact smile as the one he reserves for you, graces you with it whenever he sees you.

"Hasta entonces, mi alma."

—

"You're walking a little taller than usual," Reuben teases, walking in stride with his co-pilot up the ramp and into the airport’s gate area. "Excited to see anyone in particular?"

Mickey scoffs, rolling his eyes at his partner, nudging him with a teasing elbow as they close the distance between their plane and the gate. “Don’t hate, I’m sure she’ll give you a hug, too, Payback.”

“I’m just saying, man, you’re glowing. Isn’t he glowing, Bradshaw?,” Reuben asks.

“Radiant,” Rooster snickers from somewhere over Mickey’s shoulder. “Practically skipping.”

Reuben takes the moment to hold up his phone and take a quick snap of Mickey’s face as evidence. “See? Goofy-happy. Aaaaaand that one’s going on the story,” he types a quick caption that Mickey is sure he’ll see later before swiping on his screen and settling his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll thank me later. You’ll have a memory of this moment to cherish forever,” Reuben’s eyes flash, face lighting up with his toothpaste-ad smile.

Mickey grins at his partner’s antics, playfully flipping him the bird and shoving him once more as they walk through the sliding glass doors and into the gate area with the rest of the Dagger squad, careful not to crush the small bunch of fiery, sunset-hued marigolds clenched in his fist. His gift to you. A paltry peace offering for all of his time away, he thinks, but they’re your favorite flowers. And fitting.

Marigolds represent power, inner-strength, remembrance.

And not just anyone would wait for him as you have, he thinks. Not any woman would have that fortitude. And you’re his own personal sun, fiery as the blooms in his hand. His day rises and sets on you – the first and last thing to cross his mind each day – especially when he’s away. And he’s thrilled, it’s true. Here he is, seconds away from seeing you, from having you back in his arms … when an unwelcome little twinge of anxiety shoots through his chest, splicing his ribs to take root somewhere to the right of his heart.

What if you weren’t there? What if you’d changed your mind? What if it was all too much? What if, what if, what if —

“M!”

All feelings of anxiety are banished at the sound, and Mickey can’t help himself… The happy shriek shatters his thoughts.

Mickey looks up from the flowers he’s clutching just in time to catch the veritable blur that is you as you jump into his arms and lock your ankles around his waist, burying your face into his neck. The telltale wobble of posterboard met his ears as you dropped the sign you had been carrying, letting it sweep to the floor in favor of twining your arms around his neck.

The force of your body against his was a welcome jolt. And Mickey was alight. Elated at the feel of your person against his once more. If it wasn’t for you in his arms, keeping him to the earth, he thinks he might just float away back into the skies he’s just left.

But you were always good at that – making him feel simultaneously good and grounded, while also feeling like he swims amongst clouds. One of your many confounding abilities, he supposes.

He feels the quick press of your lips to his neck as you’ve burrowed there, and it’s like lightning has cracked through his body at the site, your lips like silken petals along his skin that result in tingling peals. Another confounding thing. Always novel, even if he's felt them on his body hundreds of times. Never enough. Never, ever enough.

Quick as you’d kissed his neck, you untuck yourself from the space beneath his jaw, reveling in the feel of his warm palms bracing against you, keeping you aloft, as you untwine your arms from their wrapped bow around his shoulders. Electing instead to cup the sharp curve of his jawline. And allowing yourself to truly take in the face of your beloved, the man you've missed for months on end…

Allowing yourself to recognize his eyes, swimming in warmth and mirroring your own enthusiasm (you hoped). To trace the features of his face, the curves and angles of his jaw, his cheeks – prominently angled as his mouth curved into a grin.

Granting yourself just a moment longer to bask in the radiant sunlight of your beloved’s smile, equal only to the summery golden-warmth of his honeyed eyes. For what was one more moment when you’d spent so many apart?

And you were glad you had. For you were sure your smile mirrored his own in enthusiasm, though few could smile as brightly as Mickey Garcia.

You trace the curve of his fine-boned cheeks with your thumbs before finally, finally allowing your lips to meet his own.

It’s a feeling he’s gone months without, wants to bottle. Like cheap, sticky soda kisses on a summer’s day at the beach – orange syrup and sunshine promise. Or the feeling of dragging your fingers through warm, soft sand … tingling and comforting, silken. Of the sagebrush scent of summer rain, clean and clear, sharp and sweet. Of sunsets and summer peaches, hued and happy.

He’s just as lost in the feeling of you, as you are in the feeling of him, your lips brushing as though they’ve always been meant for the other’s, facile and complete. His plush lower lip finds its way between yours, and he allows his mouth to smile (always, always smiling with you, isn’t he?) against yours.

As for you …It wasn’t fair, really, how he always made you feel as though you were adrift in the blue-green depths of the ocean. Untethered in cool depths, save for the feel of his hands, his arms wrapped around you – your soul escaping to the sea, ever beneath his blue skies as you found yourself reunited with your aviator.

Far, far too soon, your lips part. And was the resulting sigh yours? His? Or collective and colloquial, the both of you finally relieved? In tandem.

“You’re here,” you breathe against his lips, your forehead resting against his. “You’re actually here.”

“I’m here, cielo,” he murmurs, lips perpetually curved into a smile as they meet yours once more.

A wolf-whistle cracked through the air and the moment, causing you to break apart from your beloved once more, a laugh slipping from your lips as as Reuben’s voice met your ears,

“Get a room, you nerds."

Brushing your nose along the slope of Mickey’s, you press your lips quickly to his once more as you slide from his arms, allowing your feet to meet the floor. Back on solid ground.

You turn toward your approaching friend, and the current source of your playful ire, swatting Reuben’s arm before he swept you into a hug.

“Good to see you back, Reuben,” you say, his frame dwarfing your own as he gave you a playful squeeze.

“You too, pequeña,” he smiles as you wrinkle your nose at this – Mickey and Javy’s ‘little’ nickname for you having stuck, apparently. “You didn’t have to rush to him so quickly, ya know? You could’ve hid a bit. Taken your time, made him sweat. He needs to be humbled,” the teasing lilt of Reuben’s voice warm and pleasant to your ears.

“Don’t be cruel,” you chide your friend. “Or I’ll stop sending you sheet-masks.”

The pilot drew his hand to his heart, as though shot. “Don’t hurt me,” he gasps. “You know it doesn’t have to be like that.” He glances a wink at Mickey over your shoulder as you giggle at his antics.

“Don’t worry, Payback, you know I come bearing gifts.” And you’re rummaging through your purse now, finding the orange-red wrapper you were searching for.

It crinkled as you withdrew it from your purse and dropped into Reuben's waiting hand – a 100 Grand bar. A running joke between the two of you at the expense of his callsign.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, babe,” you reminded as you also plucked a folded piece of notebook paper from your bag and slipped it in his hand to join the candy bar.

Reuben smiled at the sight of the cartoonized version of himself you had sketched onto the paper – a battle-ready look on his little likeness’s face as he flew their spaceship into a dotted, sketched little asteroid field.

“The next edition of ‘Fanboy & Payback?’” he asked, mouth quirked.

“Just a little sneak peek at what awaits them next,” you shrugged, glancing over his shoulder and raising your hand in a small wave as Javy, Natasha and Bob walk by. "The two of you have to blast your way outta that asteroid field to escape the wretched Florgs. Think you're game, ace?"

Reuben laughed.

"Always," he breezed, his confidence seamless, as easy as breathing. Though you knew he'd approach real danger as smoothly, as boldly as your proposed, fictional peril.

You patted his hand that clutched your gifts.

"Thank you, Reuben," you murmur, locking eyes with your love's co-pilot – who, in many ways, felt like he was your co-pilot, too. Your voice cracked with the burbling brook of welled emotion inside of you – the feelings of fear every time you say goodbye clashing like waves with the feeling of relief that your beloved was back, safe before your very eyes.

"Thanks for keeping him safe up there. And getting him back to me. This isn't enough to say thank you, but …" when had your eyes started welling?

"Hey," Reuben sweeps you into another hug, "it's nothing, alright? We keep each other safe. Nothing to get bent outta shape about, okay?”

You nodded, Reuben patting your shoulder as he releases you. Mickey, ever-patient as you greeted his friend, is quick to fill the space, pulling you into his side with an arm over your shoulder.

“Thanks, pequeña. It’s good to see you. Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one for me while he’s home, yeah?” Reuben juts his chin in Mickey’s direction before leaving the two of you with a departing smile, already unwrapping the chocolate bar you had gifted him.

“I won’t let him out of my sight, sir,” you called after him, mock-saluting, before turning and burrowing into Mickey’s waiting arms once more, greeted with the sight of a bunch of orange-hued blooms held in fine-boned hands.

“For me?”

Mickey’s nodded, offering you the fiery marigolds, insides warming at the look of adoration on your face at his gift.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured. “They’re perfect.” You took the hued florals in a bunch and held beneath your chin to frame your face, striking a bit of a pose for your beloved. “How do I look?”

“Like an angel, mi alma,” Mickey smiled, admiring the sunset-hue of the petals against your skin, its contrast to your smile. How had you only been back in his arms for mere minutes, and it’s enough to make him feel like he’s never left? That’s the atmospheric pull of you, he supposes. So like his very own sky.

You’ve wrapped your arms around his neck once more, reveling in the feeling of him against you, thanking him for the flowers and basking in this moment together, when…

“Told ya,” Rooster whispered into Mickey’s ear as he breezed by the two of you, “Marigolds are her favorite.”

Mickey nodded in thanks at his friend as he passed.

“Good call,” he mouthed.

Rooster grinned before plucking his aviators from the front of his uniform and sliding them up the bridge of his nose,

“Adios, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You waved at Rooster’s exit, gently holding the flowers as Mickey slung an arm over your shoulder, his duffel in the other.

You bent quickly to scoop up the absconded posterboard, tucking it beneath your arm and tucking yourself back into your boyfriend’s side.

“What did it say?” Mickey raised a brow at you, nodding to the posterboard under your arm. Was that the Star Trek font?

“Ah,” you shook your head in mild embarrassment, flourishing the board before the two of you with a hollow, reverberating wobble to allow him to see your greeting of “World’s Sexiest Pilot!” in loud, block letters that did indeed match the Star Trek font – and matched his helmet, in screaming electric blue, embellished with silver streaks.

“It’s a bit much now that I look at it,” you lamented with a sigh. “But I know how the guys get. Egos, and all. I didn’t want there to be any question that it was for you.” You were adorably sheepish about it.

Mickey, meanwhile, tossed his head back with a laugh.

“It’s great, baby,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Though you’re right. Hangman would definitely ignore the design if he thought you meant him.”

“Oh, well, if you think Hangman would like it…” you made to leave Mickey’s hold, making a show of looking around for Hangman, only to turn back to your besotted boyfriend, shrugging in feigned resignation and easing back beneath his arm. “Don’t see him. Guess you’ll do,” you pecked a kiss to his cheek, your own insides warming in kind as you delightedly take in the flush that blooms across the apples of his cheeks.

Mickey guided you toward the airport’s exit, savoring the feel of your side pressed to his once more as you walked, steps in-tandem as always.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered into your ear. “I can think of a few things I don’t think Rooster would do that I’d sure like to.”

–

If you had thought your greeting for your longtime boyfriend was enthusiastic, your golden retriever had put you to shame. Artoo had bowled Mickey over the moment he stepped through the door.

“It’s my fault,” you choked through your giggles as your boyfriend looked up at you from his place on the floor, as your dog relentlessly endeavored to clean Mickey’s ears. “I told him you were coming home today. And you know that I think he can understand us.”

It was silly, Mickey thought, watching you watch him play with the dog, to have been worried in the first place. The anxiety of traveling, of seeing you again after so long. The annoying, persistent little jab of fear that he wouldn’t be able to gel back into your lives – that he had missed too much while he was away… that you had developed a routine without him…. Learned only how to live with the absence of him instead of with him… But it was incredible, he thought – How you were able to make it all melt away as you guided him into your shared space. Into your forever home, together.

Your beachside home smelled just as he remembered it – sun-warmed earth, coffee grounds, and the clear smell of ocean air. The accent wall in the living room was the same earthy, terra cotta color you had picked to remind yourself of gardening all year round, offset by the sweet creme color of the remaining walls and the slate blue of your overstuffed couch. The mirror that hung along one wall still caught the late afternoon sun as it poured in, dazzling the room with beams and prisms of natural light. Your laptop was set up at your workstation in the corner of the dining room table, haphazardly-tossed sketchpad teeming with design proposals. You had left the blender out on the kitchen counter, likely in your haste to get to the airport – the vestiges of your morning protein shake congealing at the bottom. It was lived-in, comfortable, comforting. A space that you had made a home, waiting for him to weave his way seamlessly into when he returned.

“So?” you padded behind him, having left him with Artoo while you had taken his duffel to the bedroom and waited for him to kick off his boots by the sunroom door. You rested your chin on his shoulder and took in the living room from his perspective. “Does it pass inspection, Lieutenant?”

Mickey snorted, turning and guiding your arms to wrap around his waist. “I’d need to see the rest of the premises, I think. Specifically, our bedroom?”

Our.

You quirked an eyebrow at your boyfriend. At his sweet smile and swirling, Bambi eyes. The curls you loved to lose your fingers in, loved to braid on lazy mornings together were long-gone, shorn and replaced with a regulation buzzed-cut that you still loved, even if it meant you wouldn’t have hair to tug when… well….

And you'd pondered on the kind of love you'd read about in novels. The sort of novel a sixteen-year-old girl would sneak beneath her pillow, the better to dream of romance with. Like some sort of amorous osmosis. The fact that the man before you personified that rosy, sunny feeling you’d hoped one day to feel – that you’d found something you could recognize in another. Well, you meant to capitalize.

“Aye, aye, sir,” you lilted, propping forward on tip-toes to brush your lips along Mickey’s. “You’re not going to make me beg for it, are you?”

“That all depends on you, cielo,” he rumbled, taking in the sight of you before him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Now lead the way, cadet.”

With that, he gently patted your rear, ushering you forward, down the hall on slippery-stockinged feet to your shared bedroom that he hadn’t seen in months. You were biting back your lilting, champagne giggles as he chased you down the hall, pulling you into your room with him, and toppling the two of you onto your cloud-like, powdery comforter.

“Baby,” you gasped as Mickey rolled himself over you, meeting your lips with his own in a firm, honeyed kiss.

This feeling, so sweet, that you could almost taste it when your beloved slipped his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, a true saccharine sacrament. And just what type of sweet it was, and how could you describe it…

Mickey kissed like …. Like the feeling of warm honey meeting your tongue when you take your first sip of well-loved tea. Or the feeling of sugar between your teeth as cotton candy dissolves on your tongue – cloudlike, yet textured.

All was sunset-hued as his lips moved over yours, his hands coming up to cup your face, to trace every bit of you, to feel you as he tasted you, caging you into the cotton softness of your comforter as his warmth rolled over you like a summer storm.

And you knew he wasn’t home for good. A sad reality that made you want to savor every moment he was home with you, that made you resolved to taste him, to feel that sugared sweetness as often as you could –

But, as your beloved trailed his hands to your hips to toy with the hemline of the soft cotton t-shirt that you had tucked into your jeans, you knew you had to stop him… at least, momentarily. Lest he get ahead of you when you had planned for your surprise.

“Baby,” you gasped again, palms flat against the starchy front of the uniform Mickey had been traveling in, “I know you’re gonna kill me, but you have to give me a minute.”

With that, you gently pushed, causing his warm lips to part with the skin of your neck – and when had they gotten there?

“Cieloooo,” Mickey groaned, part in exasperation, part in warning, as his hands cupped your waist, his warm skin burning through the thin material of your t-shirt. He brought a hand back up to caress your jawline with the backs of loving fingers, elongating your neck so he could press another kiss there before tucking your chin down to allow his eyes to search your own. “What could be so important?”

“I promise,” you skimmed your hands over his cheeks in kind, drawing him in for another full kiss before gracefully extricating yourself from beneath him. “It’s worth it. Get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

With that, you closed yourself into the en suite bathroom, your reunion surprise for your beloved tucked into a fabric drawstring bag you had left for the occasion.

You changed into the lacey lingerie that you pulled from the bag, shimmying your way into the straps and lace that adorned your curves.

Once you were satisfied that everything was in place, you fluffed your hair in the mirror, eager to see your beloved’s reaction.

Before walking through to the bedroom, you rested your ear gently along the door to see if you could hear him, only to be met with the silence of your home.

Perhaps Mickey was patiently (impatiently) awaiting your return with a warm expanse of newly-exposed tanned skin and bated breath. Perhaps he would gasp when he saw you, bedecked in your soft, floral lace. Perhaps he would let you take control, guiding his hands to where you wanted – no, needed them most after months with nothing but your memories of him, your own hands, and the occasional clandestine, dirty FaceTime call. Perhaps he would let you ride him, his hands clasped to your hips, guiding you both to your respective peaks as his mouth trailed every part of you he could reach.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

But what greeted you on the other side of the door was not any of your supposed perhapses.

Instead, your Mickey, having shucked his stiff uniform, which now lay pooled at the foot of your shared bed, had tucked himself into the comforter in preparation for your arrival. His bicep bulged where he had tucked his arm behind his head, all the better to see you with when you emerged from the bathroom…

And there he was, asleep.

You chuckled to yourself, gazing adoringly at the sweet sight of Mickey’s chest, gently rising and falling, his eyes closed, enviable eyelashes fluttering against pretty, prominent cheekbones. You scooped his uniform quietly from the floor and into your closet hamper before turning back to him.

Funny, you thought, as you eased your way in beside him – all thoughts of racy, lacey fun with Mickey slipping from your mind as you allowed yourself to curve around him and bask in his warmth. It was funny how he called you cielo, alma, angelita… when he was the one who looked so like an angel as he slept.

Your last thoughts were of him as you drifted off. And weren’t they always? But the very real feeling of him next to you, of his chest beneath your stretched arm, breathing easily in the restful sleep of someone comfortable at home … It was perfect. As you held him and cuddled into his side, you were struck with how this was so much better than what your mind could conjure in your nights alone.

This was tangible, palpable, genuine.

You closed your eyes against the late afternoon sun and allowed the warm, cinnamon scent of him to invade you, visions of marigolds and planned sunset beach picnics dancing in your head as you gave in to the static fuzziness of sleep.

–

You dreamt of him.

… Were you dreaming? Or was it real?

He hmms into your neck through the smile you know to be there in the darkness of your bedroom – a sweet and honeyed little noise, like the tufty soft buzz of bee's wings. And there, now … you feel his lips part, warm, silken and amorous, before pressing against the column of your throat. Loving the feel of his kisses along your skin, as only his could feel. Radiant and true. You were sure it wasn’t just a dream now…

For you could feel him everywhere. Through your haze of sleep now rapidly-fading. You were swaddled in the dim lighting of the room and the veritable TV static that was the prickling vestiges of your sleep, and your own climbing, buzzing pleasure at Mickey's attentions.

Your love, on the other hand, was wide awake. Surging over you like a wave at sea, gentle at first, and then all-consuming – as though he were a slave to your moon's gravitational pull. No choice but to cover you, devour you in loving sweetness.

His warmth surrounded you as he pressed tender kisses into whatever skin he could find in the darkness of your room during the witching hour.

First was the skin of your wrist and the minimalist sun inked there – a tender question placed at the site of your matched dedication, something to gauge your wakefulness against his own desire. At the pleased hum emanating from your dreamy throat, he continued… trailing his way up your bared arm with intentional, insistent presses of his lips. Urging you into ever-present consciousness with his lips.

Mickey's nose skimmed the regal curve of your shoulder, along your collarbone. Delighting himself in the way your skin felt along the velvet warmth of his own – something he could never fully appreciate in the depths of his own imagination when he was away.

Nothing like the real thing, baby.

And he was content to repeat the process, allowing himself to slide down to begin anew with the skin of your hip, kissing along the ridges of your ribs and allowing himself to drown once more in the feel of you.

Was he the ocean, or were you? Desirous, greedy, wrathful as it was…

Mickey brought himself up to you, chest-to-chest, as you stirred, reveling in the feel of your chest meeting his own with every heaving inhalation. The soft lace of your lingerie brushed his chest, catching the curves and edges of his skin, tickling and teasing as though you meant it. And perhaps you did, your smile coy, sleepy, sweet.

“Is this for me, my love?” Mickey murmured in the low-light of your bedroom, toying with the bra strap that had slid down your shoulder in your sleep, admiring the contrast of the white lace against your skin. “Te ves como un ángel.”

“It was your surprise,” you breathed, urging yourself ever-into wakefulness as Mickey bent to kiss your neck, trailing his fingertips from your arm, over your clothed breast, and down, down, down, to rest on your hip.

Mickey's fingertips are honeyed. They drag along your skin, sticky with desire … leaving a tingling trail where he's touched you, enough to drive you to absolute madness, fully awake now.

With no thought but the desire to see if he tastes as good as he makes you feel – thick honey and cloves, sweetly heavy when you grip his wrist and bring his fingers to your lips, taking them into your mouth – nectar.

Mickey groans as you suck on his fingers. He is devotional, devout, and ever-enamoured with you, and if the kissing and touching to urge you into wakefulness didn’t leave him half-hard already, the sight of you, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep and stardust, lips pouty and sinful with the feel of his fingers in your mouth, warm, wet, enticing … was enough to get him the rest of the way. And it had been so long since he’d had you, how a man could be expected to wait, he didn’t know.

He smiles into your skin – million-watt, apparent to you through the curve of his lips against your skin.

"I love it. You're pretty," he murmurs. "So pretty, mi cielita linda."

You released Mickey’s fingers from your lips, pressing a kiss to his open palm, and make to guide his hand down your body, your eyes adjusted to the dark of the room now, appreciative of the curve of your love’s body above yours, the curve of his biceps, the feel of his torso against yours. And it had been so long since you’d felt his touch rather than imagined it. How you could be expected to wait, you didn’t know. The promise of his touch against your skin, of his kisses to your neck and shoulders in the darkness of your shared bedroom, was enough to dampen your panties, to urge in the slow, pulsing ache between your legs.

You guided Mickey’s hand down to your center now, allowing his fingers autonomy to explore you. And for his part, the resulting groan Mickey emitted at the feeling of the damp fabric as he slid a finger over your clothed slit, was enough to cause you to shiver.

Pleased with himself, and more than a little turned on, Mickey rolled his hips into the bedspread, to alleviate just a little of the tension he was feeling. The two of you had barely touched, and he was ready to bury himself in you, to die if it meant it was with you.

Gently pushing the white lace aside, Mickey stroked his way along your now-bare slit, pleased at the way your hips involuntarily rolled into his touch, the way your chest heaved just that little bit more at his touch.

Your silken slickness is a direct contract to the pulsing ache you feel. And he adores you, he abets you, encouraging the pent-up want with pressing, pretty kisses along the line of your throat as he eases a long finger inside of you, beckoning you to him from inside as he curls his finger, allowing you to buck yourself, your clit, against the heel of his hand, your eyes rolling back at the saintly, sinful feel of him.

“Gotta taste you, amor,” Mickey breathed, pulling down the lacey cups of your bra to kiss along your breasts, sucking your nipple into his mouth as his fingers continued to play with your center.

You arched your back, urging him down as he kissed his way down your torso, awash in intentional adoration. Chuckling at your chagrin as he withdrew his fingers from your center to pull your panties down your legs, kissing your hipbones as he went.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Mickey rewarded your (im)patience as he kissed along your thighs, the oceanic pull of you rendering him senseless in his singular desire as he urged himself closer, closer to your center, caught in your orbit, the waves of your desire (or were they his own?) washing over him as he kissed you.

You yelped at a particularly invested nip of his teeth against the skin of your thigh.

"Sorry, sorry, amor," he breathed, sweeping an apologetic brush of his lips over the offending spot, not-so-secretly marveling at the minor indentations of his teeth now adorning the fullness of your thigh – all glittering, mischievous nightsky eyes in the low light of your bedroom. Another sincere, soft kiss to the spot, belying his remorse. "We can stop if you want."

"D-don't you dare."

It was so easy, Mickey thought, to give you what you wanted. To kneel before you and acquiesce to your every demand – simply because you didn’t demand.

It was easy for him to, he knew, when your gratitude was reflected in starry, wan eyes as you gazed down at your beloved, your expression one of idle worship that he drank in.

It was easy, when you asked so pretty, breathy moans of “please, please, please,” meeting his ears as though you were inside of his mind.

It was easy, because you were beautiful. And beautiful people have a way of getting what they want, and Mickey understood you were beautiful – made beautiful as you were, and moreso, if he asked you, because he loved you.

It was easy, Mickey knew, so easy to give you anything you wanted … simply because he would do anything for you.

Mickey gripped your thighs now, pushing them apart to better bare yourself to him. He buried himself in the cleft of your thighs, the flash of his hot tongue like electrostatic shock, jolting through you from the very center as he licked a long, loving stripe along the seam of your cunt.

And if you’d thought the first taste of his mouth on you was heavenly – And how was that, when it was him who was tasting you? You were falling in love with him all over again, with every bit of attention he showered you with as he licked you, wriggling his finger once more inside of you and rendering you senseless at the feeling of him pulling you into his depths.

The feel of him was like the slow drip and drizzle of honey in tea – warm, sweet, tingling.

Your fingers scraped their way along his scalp, lamenting once more the lack of hair to tug. Nevertheless, your keening moans in the room sounded unfamiliar to your own ears, but you knew, distantly, that they were coming from your own mouth, building within the finite space of your room as Mickey urged you closer, closer to your peak.

And the feel of his mouth, of his fingers, is divine… wretchedly and wrathfully so. You cursed your own fingers in comparison, cursed the ache you felt in the months of his absence, for they could never quite match the exquisite feel of his. And yet, and yet, and yet…

It wasn’t enough.

You needed more. As your chest heaved in tortuous pleaser, as you groaned at his attentions. You realized –

You need all of him.

“Mi cielita linda,” Mickey breathed, sitting back on his heels and taking your thighs with him in warm, prayer-like palms, to continue to press kisses to your legs. "I'm wild for you, amor … Does it feel good? When I touch you like this?"

A villain.

“Please, M,” you keened at Mickey’s tickling kisses. “Please. I c-can’t… I need you.”

He chuckles darkly, like the slow pour of golden-dark, honeyed syrup, slow, low, and full of the promise of something.

"You're sweet," he murmurs into your thigh, trailing his lips to where he knows you want him most, before withdrawing once more. "So sweet."

With that, he releases your thighs, guiding them down to the soft bedspread on either side of him as he lifts himself to his knees, sliding his boxers down his legs and slipping out of them. You made to assist, slipping your hands down your body and to your center, gathering some of your own slick onto your fingers and onto Mickey’s hardness, stroking him with the evidence of your own desire, reveling in the choked noise that caught in his throat. The way his eyes fluttered shut as he paused in his movements.

“Goddamn, cielo,” He surged forward, caging you with his strong arms as he fell forward, capturing your lips with his own, the taste of you as much a tease as his own mouth.

Mickey broke from you far too soon, as you continued to work him, leaning past you to your bedside to shuffle in the drawer for a condom when you stopped him.

“It’s fine, baby,” you assured, urging him back to you as you wrapped your legs around his tapered waist, your hand cupping his jaw and guiding his lips to yours once more.

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked, wanting to make sure he understood your intention behind the decision to forego protection.

“Of course, corazón,” you assured. “I just want to feel you."

And you didn’t have to tell him twice.

"Have I told you today I love you?" he asked, aligning himself with your entrance, teasing you with his length along your slit and causing you to buck, chuckling at your impatience, your impertinence. That wild streak he loves so much.

“I love you,” you urged. “Now, please, M, c’mon. Don’t you wanna show me how much you missed me?”

And that did it.

Mickey slid himself into you, rejoicing in the slick feel of you, in the snug warmth of your tightness, ever as though you were made for him as he began to thrust into you, measured, keeled. In the way he knew you liked.

"Shit, baby," Mickey groaned. "Fuck."

And he’s so desperate, desperate to feel some part of you that he’d mimic whatever gets him closest. But he needn’t mimic. Because, truly, there was nothing like the real thing. Like the very real feel of you wrapped around him, squeezing him ever-tighter.

Of the feel of your thighs around his waist, your ankles locking behind him, urging him for more, more. Your nails along his back, and your breathy moans in his ear, begging, begging – he swears, for him to fuck you harder.

“Oh, fuck, you undo me, Mickey,” you sighed, relishing in the honey warmth languidly sweeping its way through your veins with each of his thrusts. Following the swirling pathway of Mickey’s attentions, the heated, silken traipse of his body along yours, inside of yours.

And Mickey whispers in your ear, incoherent, dirty little nothings as he fucks into you, his body curled over yours, one hand on your neck, his face pressed into the side of yours and his full lips gently brushing the shell of your ear.

And you were an angel, the way you took it, took him. A silver-screen siren, a hazy dream, sent straight from the kind of grainy, overfiltered pretentious indie flicks he'd loved in college.

Mickey’s thrusts urged you closer, ever closer to the edge as he rolled his hips into yours, the thrust-and-drag of him heavy inside of you, his fingers circling your clit as you resorted to incoherent murmurings for “more.”

Selfishly, you prayed, he’d give you an ache you'll remember long after he leaves again – never mind the one in your heart that's sure to follow– but you couldn’t dwell on that now as the staticy pleasure of your orgasm started to sweep through you, tingling your toes to your scalp.

You felt your release surging through you, a wave of pleasure pulling you back to your love, his arms wrapped around you just as you tightened around him with a sweet sigh, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he kissed you, coaxed you through it.

His own release followed after the feel of him emptying himself inside of you one you would never tire of, the anchoring sound of his satisfied groan like music to your ears as you guided him to rest alongside you, pleased at the sweat-sheen glow adorning his warm, tanned skin. Pressing a kiss to his bicep, his neck, and his lips once more.

Out of habit, you made to sweep his hair from his eyes, the soft pads of your fingertips meeting the side of his face instead, admiring every inch of your man in the low light of your bedroom.

"You've got galaxies in your eyes, love," you whispered to him, your thumb brushing a soothing, sweeping line over Mickey's prominent cheekbone. “Always in the sky.”

“Yeah?” he breathed back, his eyes sweeping your face, taking you in in-kind. “You have the sea in yours.” He brought your wrist to his mouth to place another kiss to the sun there. “I’m sorry I fell asleep before. I'll make it up to you tomorrow once I’ve had my coffee.”

You tore your wrist away gently to swat his bicep, the little thwack resounding in the relative silence of your bedroom.

“Oh, don't be silly,” you chided. “You know you were good.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey puffed his chest a bit, pleased at your praise. “Then I’ll take power-naps every time before.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him. Noting his hum of agreement.

–

You lie together, Mickey in your arms, legs tangled, as you gently scraped your nails over his scalp.

“The curls, I miss,” you confessed, the tickling buzz of short hair a strange prickle against the pads of your fingertips. “But this is cute, too.”

Mickey’s eyes were closed at your attentions, contented. You were almost certain he was moments away from purring like a large jungle cat, a panther, with inky dark hair and eyes made for targeting its prey (he was good at that, after all, being a WSO…).

“Glad to know you approve, seeing as I didn’t have much of a choice,” Mickey sighed, taking the opportunity to admire your features in the soft lamplight of your bedroom, the two of you caught in the witching hour, the lurch of a late-night-come-early-morning – grey skies dotted with the final holdouts of twinkling, winking stars.

“Does your C.O. know how cute you look with the curls, though?” you pondered. “Should I write to my congressman?”

“You’re too much, cielo,” Mickey hummed, his lips turning in a half smile as he gazed up at you in moonlight adoration.

“You love it though,” you replied, bending to press a kiss to his cheek, your hands never ceasing in their movements.

“I do,” Mickey groaned in satisfaction at a particularly rewarding scrape of your nails through his cropped hair. “I hope our kids end up with one-tenth of your tenacity – ready to take on the entire U.S. Navy over a haircut.”

You brought your hands down from his scalp to his shoulders, kneading the muscles there as he rested against you. What he assumed was a gift for him – the massage– truly a gift for you, as you took every opportunity to feel his skin against yours. A reminder that he was here. He was home.

You quirked your lips as you worked.

“Our kids, huh?” You queried. “And when is this happening?”

“As soon as you’ll let me,” he laughed, the radiance of his smile a secondary source of light in your bedroom, blindingly dazzling, as always. “If it’s a boy, he’ll be a Jedi like his father before him,” he said, voice bold, assured.

“You seem to have thought a great deal about this. And this boy’s name?”

“Vero,” Mickey replied, not missing a beat.

“Ah,” you kneaded a particularly stubborn knot of muscle in his shoulder, causing him to let out a deep groan. “Great hero, a warrior. Good name for a Jedi. And if it’s a girl?”

“Valencia,” he said, sitting up and turning to face you now, allowing your hands to fall from his shoulders so that he could take them in his own. “Our gift in winter. Something we’d share.”

And you could envision it, you could. An entire life with the man before you, packing school lunches together, planning summertime road trips. Backpacks, bonfires, the whole nine yards. There was never any question that you wanted your life to enmesh with his – to share everything together.

Still. Wasn’t it always nice to hear that he felt the same?

“I see,” you murmured, voice hitching a bit with the tenderness of the moment, “And you see that in our future, do you?”

Mickey’s eyes were dark, searching as he gazed upon you, appreciating the filtering purple-grey of twilight through your window and how it played upon your features. You truly were his dream girl.

“Of course,” Mickey replied, voice emboldened with confidence and warmth. Pressing his lips to yours before confessing, “I’m going to marry you, cielo.”

–

A few short hours and one doggy walk later found you and Mickey in the morning drive-through queue, waiting to pick up your coffee at the pick-up window, Artoo contentedly sprawled along the backseat, gnawing on his favorite Nyla-bone as the two of you hummed along to your current playlist.

Mickey laced his fingers through yours, resting your joined hands on the center console as the song changed to Sam Cooke’s sweet warble, begging Cupid to pierce his lover’s heart with his arrow, promising to love her for eternity.

“A lot of motown on this playlist,” he mused. “Any particular reason?”

“This one,” you sighed dreamily, “… This one I made when I was thinking of you.”

Mickey turned to look at you, the sunlight glancing off of the lenses of his flattering, wire-rimmed glasses. His worn San Diego Padres hat fit more loosely than you had remembered, thanks to his closely-cropped hair, and the distinct lack of voluminous curls that he would typically need to wrestle in order to fit the hat to his head. He smiled at your admission, sparkling and cruelly-perfect.

“Sam Cooke makes you think of me?”

“A lot of things make me think of you,” you retorted. “Be grateful I don’t serenade you with ‘Lovefool.’”

“You know I don’t mind your singing, amor,” he breezed, bringing your joined hands to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of yours. “Even if you sound like a bag of angry cats in a hurricane.”

You arched a brow at Mickey as he took his foot off the brake, inching you forward to the pick-up window.

“I seemed to recall you saying you’d be nicer to me once you’d had your coffee,” you chided, swatting the brim of his hat and causing it to fall over his eyes.

“Well, I haven’t had my coffee yet, amor,” Mickey adjusted his brim and eased his foot onto the brake, rolling down his window before greeting the barista. “So there’s still time.”

He winked at you before collecting your coffees through the window.

You scoffed, toggling your playlist over to Curtis Mayfield and rolling your eyes in mock-consternation at your beloved, grabbing the cup with your name on it with greedy fingers and taking a deep, appreciative sip.

The two of you drove off in the easy silence borne of enjoying your respective beverages.

At the next stoplight, you offered your cup to Mickey, per your tradition. The two of you swapped cups, him taking a swig of your coffee as you sipped his overly-sweetened cold brew.

True to form, Mickey visibly grimaced at the pungent taste of hot, black coffee on his tongue, shuddering and causing you to giggle at his overwrought reaction. It never changed, and yet he insisted on sipping your extra-shot Americanos, even though he hated them.

“Cielo, I say this because I love you… Is, like, is your stomach lining okay? This is SO acidic. I just don't understand how you can drink something so bitter.”

“I have all the sweetness I need right here,” you leaned across the console to peck his cheek. "Mhmm," you nodded. "Super-sweet."

"Corny," Mickey chuckled, pressing your coffee back into your hands and navigating the two of you back home. "So, is tonight a movie night?"

"Of course," you replied. "The projector is up and ready. You decide – Alien or Predator?"

Artoo sighs in the backseat, settling in for the drive home.

Mickey glances over at you, savoring the sweetness of the cold brew on his tongue, though of course it has nothing on the sweetness that is you.

On this, you both can agree – coffee is nice. But nothing quite makes you feel alive as the person next to you.

"You're perfect, cielo."

–

Time is cruel. It passes quickly in joyful moments, slipping like cool water through cupped hands in the desert. In moments you wish would pass, it somehow stagnates, stuck like boots in mud during an uphill climb.

Mickey’s two weeks home seemed to fly by – no pun intended, really, because you knew he’d be flying away soon. And you didn’t want to resent it. Really, you didn’t. You knew he lived to fly. When you stared at the night sky when the two of you were apart, you’d imagine him up there, watching over you. If you’d catch a falling star out of the corner of your eye, you’d wished for more time. For the sky – beautiful as it was – to stop calling your love to its endless vastness. To allow him to stay on the ground with you, for even just a touch longer.

But the sun rose and set, the same way it ever does. And it rose again on the morning Mickey was to leave.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder as the two of you lay in bed together – content to never move, to bask in this moment forever.

His words hang heavy on you, weigh even more heavily on your heart. An ache borne equally of love and pain. Of the promise of a future (which he was clearly planning for), but devoid of togetherness in the present.

"I miss you when you're gone," is all you manage to choke out, voice soft so as not to belay any of the fissures in your heart that are making their traitorous way up to your lips.

Mickey laces his fingers through yours, giving them a gentle squeeze as he pulls you back into the bed, into the warmth of his embrace.

“I know, cielo,” he sighs into your hair, gifting you with another kiss, this time to the top of your head as he takes in the warm, rosy paint of your bedroom walls. “I don’t want to go.”

“Mickey,” you break from his hold to look at him, to cup his cheeks, the sheets swishing as you turn to face him. “Of course you do. And that’s okay. You’re supposed to love your job. And you… You’ve got your head in the clouds."

Mickey made to protest, to tell you that he doesn’t love it more than you, when you press your finger to his lips,

“It’s okay, love. I’ll always be here when you get back. We have plans for our anniversary, remember? Disneyland.”

Mickey had always thought you like the ocean to his sky, parallelled, but so different. Turbulent, soft. Untameable, endless. When, really, you were always with him.

He removed your hand from his lips, gently guiding it next to his own and holding your wrists together so as to admire the two suns inked on your respective wrists.

(“Like the twin suns of Tatooine,” Mickey had joked – quick to silence his laughing when you reminded him this was supposed to be a metaphor for your love, and did he really want to equate it to the most uninhabitable planet in Star Wars? You delicately chose to ignore Mickey’s rejoinder that Hoth was the most uninhabitable planet in Star Wars, content that your point had been taken.)

And whether it was the suns adorning your wrists, or the bunch of fiery marigolds in water next to your bedside, or the theft of his favorite ballcap, you knew Mickey was with you each day. Even if he wasn’t. He was part of your day each day, just as you were part of his, when he affirmed –

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” Mickey rested his head against yours, eyes never leaving your wrists. “We have these because you’re in the clouds with me, remember? You're mi cielo."

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @andallthatmishigas @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @ilovepretttystuff @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @shakira-sasha @siriusfahey @hopefulinlove @s-u-t @Criminalmindsandmarvel @joaquinwhorres @gingerbreadandpaper @jakexfmc @the-navistar-carol @alexxavicry @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid @buckyytorres

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skyloftian-nutcase · 11 months

Text

A Feathery Encounter (Dad Squad)

The stables were by far Rusl's favorite part of Abel's world... at least the ones that were somewhat functional. It gave him a little piece of home, though it made his heart ache because oh how Link would adore these places.

Rusl found his heart heavy once more, riddled with worry for his boy. He tried to push past it as best as possible. Link was a strong young man, and though Rusl was absolutely doing everything in his power to find him, he had to remind himself that Link was a capable fighter on his own as well.

But if those Yiga hurt a hair on his head... or pelt...

"A what?"

Rusl turned as he listened to the gossip of the few travelers in the area. Most of Abel's Hyrule was fairly desolate, but this one stable was known to be the most visited in the entire country. They'd headed here in the hopes of getting some intel since it would be a haven for people from all over Hyrule, each of whom might have some different information for them.

"I'm telling you, it's true!" the other person said to her companion. "The cucco actually spoke! The rumors were true! This was so worth the journey."

Rusl furrowed his brow. A talking cucco? What?

"I need to go talk to it too!" her companion announced excitedly. "I hear its prophecies are always true!"

A prophetic talking cucco??

Rusl watched the pair rush up a hill, tracing their path towards a large tree. A distinct clucking emitted from just in front of it, though the small crowd gathered there made the cucco impossible to see.

Well. It certainly wasn't the strangest thing that Rusl had encountered. The Ordonian headed to the other side of the stable where Abel and Fierce were quietly eating some food Rusl had forced into their hands. It was already apparent that Abel was quickly slipping into an exhausted and food-driven nap, barely able to hold himself up. Rusl really wanted to let his friend sleep, but this phenomenon required investigating. It could potentially give them a lead, assuming it was true.

"Have you heard of a clairvoyant cucco?" Rusl asked.

Abel froze mid bite and stared at him, brow furrowing in a manner that quite clearly said what the actual hell did you just say.

He supposed he hadn't heard of it, then.

"Is it your golden cucco?" Fierce questioned curiously.

Rusl laughed. "Oh, no, she isn't clairvoyant, just strong as an Ordonian goat."

Abel remained motionless as if he were still trying to process Rusl's first statement.

"The folk here are talking about it," Rusl explained before his friend's mind shorted out. "They say there's a cucco that can talk and tell prophecy. Everyone's flocking here for answers."

The joke immediately went over the deity's head, as predicted, but it at least spurred Abel to unfreeze. The former knight straightened instead, lowering his food to his bowl, though the look of utter bemusement hadn't faded.

"Perhaps it can guide us in finding the yoga performers," Fierce suggested, rising.

"They're not--never mind," Abel tried to say before sighing heavily.

Rusl was going to offer to investigate the matter himself; he simply wanted them to be informed. Nevertheless, both Fierce and Abel followed him to the hill where people had gathered. The warrior god clearly didn't understand the concept of a line and walked by everyone, and though some threw him annoyed looks, no one dared speak to the massive otherworldly man. Rusl gave an apologetic smile as he followed him, while Abel had the look of a man who would prefer the sweet embrace of death over investigating a talking cucco.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Rusl offered to his friend.

"Oh no," Abel replied dully. "I have to see this."

The clucking grew ever louder until Rusl saw Fierce approach the seemingly normal-looking cucco. The bird watched him a moment before flapping its feathers excitedly.

"Thou hast come," came a strange voice from the cucco, though its beak didn't quite move in sync.

Rusl and Abel stared.

"It does talk," Rusl commented aloud in wonder. "Ha! Maybe it can help us, after all."

"This doesn't... this is..." Abel muttered, clearly trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

Rusl laughed, patting him on the back. "The world is filled with far more strange wonders than you can imagine, friend."

Fierce cocked his head to the side. "You carry a strange magic to you, feathered one."

"I am a sage of prophecy," the cucco answered. "Thou must comprehend that I can give thee what thou seekest."

This cucco kind of spoke like the light spirits. Rusl stepped forward hopefully. "Do you protect this land?"

"I do," the cucco replied.

"I'd love to see it fight a guardian," Abel grumbled.

"Thou seekest... a Hero," the cucco said slowly, immediately garnering the men's attention.

"Yes!" Rusl immediately confirmed. "Do you know where they are?"

"For thou to gain such knowledge, thou must complete trials," the cucco pronounced gravely. "Dost thou wish to continue?"

"Speak," Fierce commanded, crossing his arms.

"The first trial... is to feed all the horses in the allotted time."

The men stared. That... was a trial? What?

Rusl glanced at the stable and back at the cucco. He supposed, sage or not, the little feathered creature was just a cucco. Its priorities would likely be different than his own. Not that he didn't mind feeding horses, but... that was supposed to be a trial?

"Prepare thyself."

Rusl turned as the cucco gave them their time limit and counted down. As he quickly made his way back to the stable, he saw that Abel remained behind while Fierce accompanied the blacksmith.

"What sort of trial is this?" Fierce thought aloud. "It tests very little of our abilities."

Rusl shrugged. "I suppose its intelligence only stretches... so... far..."

Honestly, the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. The light spirits were no fools, after all. Nevertheless, they completed the trial quickly enough, though Fierce's offering to 'gather all the horses together to feed them faster' was quickly shot down as Rusl did not want to watch the strange man haul horses singlehandedly into the air to pile them together.

When the pair returned to the cucco, Abel was waiting with his arms crossed, and he cut them off.

"I know what's going on," he hissed quietly. "This is a Yiga trick."

"You think everything is a Yiga trick," Rusl pointed out. "I'll admit this is odd, but it's at least worth inspecting."

"Yoga performers do not have this magic," Fierce assured him.

"They're not--" Abel cut himself off, frustrated. "You know what, just watch."

Storming over to the cucco, Abel glared at it. "Oh great sage, I have a question for you."

The cucco clucked noncommittally.

"Do you like bananas?"

"Oh! I adore bananas!" the cucco immediately answered, its voice pitching in excitement. "They are the most blessed of all food!"

Abel looked pointedly at the pair.

"That... what?" Rusl stared at Abel, confused. Sure, a cucco liking some food he'd never heard of was different, but what in the world was Abel getting at?

"What do you mean what?!" Abel snapped, gesturing irritably at the innocent bird. "Don't you understand?!"

"We have completed the task," Fierce said instead, looking at the cucco as he gently plucked Abel out of the way, making the man hiss expletives his way and flail helplessly in the air, held in place by the back of his tunic. "Give us the information we seek."

"Oh, that's it!" Abel finally yelled, pulling out a bow and arrow.

Rusl yelled at his friend, trying to stop him from slaying a harmless cucco, but he loosed the arrow just as Fierce jerked him away. The knight really was erratic, attacking people (and now animals) at random. Thankfully, the deity's quick motion prevented the arrow from hitting its mark, but the bird jumped nonetheless.

And then vanished in a puff of smoke and red paper.

Rusl finally felt his patience growing thin. "Could you not attack everyone who isn't us?!"

"It's Yiga!" Abel snapped. "Now put me down, dammit!"

A laugh rung through the air, setting Rusl on edge, and immediately four people dressed in red--

Dressed in red. Like the attackers from before.

Fierce immediately dropped Abel as the knight drew his sword, and Rusl followed suit quickly. They dispatched the attackers swiftly, who left behind ruppees and yellow fruit in their wake.

"Those... weren't the performers from Clock Town," Fierce finally said.

"That's because they're not yoga performers." Abel said exasperatedly as he picked up the treasure. "They're Yiga traitors, and they're the ones who took my son."

"They're on to us, then," Rusl figured. Staring at the yellow fruit, he asked hesitantly, "Are those bananas?"

Abel shot him a flat look. "Yes. They are. Glad you have your priorities straight. The good thing about this is that it means we're close. They usually travel alone if they're venturing far from their base."

Fierce glanced off into the distance. "Then we should keep moving before their leaders notice their absence."

Rusl nodded in agreement, glancing a little worriedly at where the cucco had been. He had no idea how they could disguise themselves as such an animal, so he hoped they weren't actually abusing a cucco to use it as bait. When he saw no animal in sight, he figured it did indeed have to be some sort of magic disguise, and he sighed.

This place was stranger than he thought. Perhaps Abel's paranoia was... somewhat warranted. But at least now they had a lead.

I'm coming, Link.

#this is what happens when totk insanity inspires me #that game is just so delightful #so spoilers technically for a silly little side mission #I'm not tagging it officially though because like... it's a yiga chicken. I don't think that spoils any of the main story stuff LOL #it's just yiga antics XD #writing #Dad Squad #rusl #abel #fierce dadity #Rusl: so uh there's a talking chicken #Fierce: cool let's talk to it #Abel: *brain short circuiting*

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fantastic-nonsense · 1 year

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Harley Quinn's insane popularity during the mid-2010s is a super interesting phenomenon precisely because her abrupt rise in popularity was less about her unique appeal as an individual character and more about everything else DC Comics was doing at the time

Harley's New 52 aesthetic revamp from her classic harlequin costume to a corset, booty shorts, and two-toned hair happened entirely because people loved her look in the Arkham games and DC was trying to capitalize on it. Also almost entirely on the basis of her popularity in those games (and because the company was in desperate need of positive PR after mass criticism about their treatment of female characters in the early New 52, including Harley), editorial greenlit a solo book for her.

Her 2014 solo book outsold most of DC's line partially because of the character, story, and the creative team of course; there's no way it could have been that successful without people liking those things. But its success was massively helped by Harley being one of the few characters who (outside of Glass's Suicide Squad run, which was promptly yeeted into oblivion and never mentioned again) wasn't completely fucked over by the reboot and whose book DC editorial largely left alone during the notoriously micromanaged New 52 era.

She also had one of the few decent "fun" books at a time when DC's offerings were mostly either grimdark and edgy, disliked, or doing something radically different with their protagonists than normal (for example...Lobdell's Teen Titans and Red Hood and the Outlaws, making Supergirl a Red Lantern, and having Dick Grayson fake his death and go undercover as a super spy), making Harley Quinn a breath of fresh air for anyone seeking to escape the melodrama of Forever Evil, Future's End, and Convergence or find a new book after the ones they were reading ended or became unpalatable.

Over in the DCEU, people had two lukewarm movies they weren't really that excited about despite starring DC's Trinity. And then you got Suicide Squad, which was kinda hot garbage and a critical failure but made bank and had the wonderful Margot Robbie playing Harley Quinn. No one else really made it out of that movie looking good, but Margot's depiction of Harley was widely praised and her look in that movie became wildly popular, selling tons of merch. So DC went "oh she's a seller!" and then greenlit the Harley Quinn cartoon and Birds of Prey 2020 while generally refusing to acknowledge that the lack of decent DCEU movies overall, Robbie's performance compared to her co-stars, and Harley's grunge Hot Girl look were the main drivers of Harley's seemingly unique popularity following the movie's release.

Basically: Harley got incredibly lucky because she got a major internal editorial push as a character at the exact same time basically every other character whose comics would have normally outsold hers got fucked over, and then got lucky twice when DC cast Margot Robbie to play her in Suicide Squad while the movie's Hot Topic Aesthetic™ was still somewhat en vogue.

Combine those two things with the fact that her relationship with Poison Ivy (an A-list Batman Rogue) was confirmed at the same time same-sex marriage was legalized and DC was looking to promote a diverse character slate...and you get the wild popularity she's enjoyed since ~2012 that nonetheless is obviously starting to slowly return back to base levels. Which you can tell when you look at, for example, Harley's sales numbers post-Rebirth/Infinite Frontier (since facing actual competition from DC's staple characters) and the number of new Harley-led projects that have been greenlit since the 2020 management massacre that took out Didio.

At the end of the day, The Harley Phenomenon is less about Harley Quinn and more about what happens when a company capitalizes on a character's aesthetic appeal and Cool Girl Status while largely abandoning the goal of making quality content starring the rest of their staple characters. She's certainly popular on her own and has individual appeal, but she never would have achieved the level of mainstream popularity she's enjoyed over the past 10 years without an astounding set of major coincidences all falling in her direction.

#dc comics #harley quinn #comic book history #dceu #margot robbie #long post

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barrenclan · 10 months

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AUGHGHGHG THIS ISSUE DUDE. THIS GOES SO HARD. I'm a little obsessed with the idea that the fox (i remember you gave them a name i just don't remember) that Rainhaze killed seems to share Redpelt's color scheme and then his feelings about how similar Defiance is to Barrenclan structurally...driving me nuts dude. Also, I'm a little obsessed with the idea of a low-to-the-ground animal like a porcupine being in charge of almost entirely birds...Dunno, feels like something

Well, the fox sharing Redpelt's color scheme is probably just a coincidence, to be honest. I kinda like orange and brown colors and blue eyes. But! I like the way you're thinking.

Fang is a very interesting character conceptually, and I'd have loved to explore her more. Her squad of birds is absolutely crazy about her, they're like Team Yell but for a middle-aged porcupine.

Ethel is extremely haughty and if she were human, would be draped in furs and expensive pearls and talk about the country club all the time, darling. She and Fang don't have much in common, but they excel in finding that middle ground and enjoy sharing their life experiences with the others.

Ranger and Hacksaw think that Ethel is no fun and takes things too seriously, but they can get behind Pointsettia's rabid violence. They just wish she had more panache.

Ethel thinks that Hacksaw absolutely settled for Ranger and that she is way out of his league, but she likes the falcon's drive. Her trying to speak to Poinsettia is a disaster every time, but it is funny.

Poinsettia thinks it is absolutely hilarious to get a rise out of Ethel, and acts extra intense every time they meet. Ranger and Hacksaw weird her out, to be honest.

#ask #anon #rainhaze #fang #ethel #poinsettia #ranger #hacksaw

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jacks-little-jacky · 3 hours

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hiii could i request a headcanon (or fic) of jack & yami playing fuck, marry, kill (and they ask each other about fellow captains/Julius/Marx/Owen/Mereo included) thank u!! kekeke 💚

Fuck, Marry, Kill | Jack & Yami Shenanigans

I love this. Yes. Please ask me for bestie-content of my idiots. Also reading this a couple days later I just noticed I missed Owen, fuck, so sorry.

Warnings: consumption of alcohol, the men are talking and arguing about their choices and it's a shallow game, the b in their bromance almost escaping, mentioning of "this was so gay lmao"

Jack was spread over the couch of the black bull's base, the sun had already left for the darkness as he and the other Captain shared a few more drinks. They talked and chatted, the tension of the meeting regarding border secrutiy sliding off their shoulders.

"Yeah, did you see Nozel? He was all like 'My squad and I will rise up to the need..' ... Ugh, why does he talk like that?", Jack mocked. "Cause he's a fancy little prince with his fancy little prince talk.", Yami giggled.

"Fancy little braid.", Jack muttered before breaking out in a laughter. Yami couldn't help but howl out a laugh too. "But it's kinda cute, no? He has it done every morning just to be a presentable prince." Yami chuckled. "Very cute. Just like a shiny bird. Just too bad he can't attract a mate.", Jack snorted.

"He can't? That's news to me." "Yeah well, he doesn't have one. So he can't attract one he wants?" Jack changed his thought.

"Okay but I don't get his fanclub. Is it like... a bunch of groupies who wants him to step on them with those sandals?", Yami chuckled, leaning back in his seat before taking another swig of beer. "God, urk... Why do ya' make me imagine this?" "Do you like it, scarface?"

"No!" Jack yelled out before sticking out his tongue to illustrate his distaste. Yami couldn't help but further laugh at his friend's disgust.

"Ah... I have an idea." Yami mused. Jack raised an eyebrow at this, waiting for the bull to continue. "Fuck, marry, kill. Our pretty bird, William and the little one, Rill.", Yami mused. Jack thought for a while. "... You make me feel weird saying this but Fuck William, Marry Nozel and kill Rill.", Jack said after a while.

"Care to elaborate?" Yami asked, trying to hold in a laugh. "Rill is too young for me. What am I? A nobel? I'm not thinking about someone younger than twenty in that way, that's weird... So kill, besides he's kind of annoying." Jack reasons which makes Yami nod. "And Nozel... Well... He's a pretty bird. And imagine him married to me, that'd be his worst nightmare. That would be hilarious."

"So you'd marry Nozel just to spite him?" "And cut off his braid when he sleeps, keke!" Jack laughed which Yami heartily joined in. "What about you?"

"Honestly, kill Rill too, same reason. Marry William and fuck Nozel. I don't think seeing Nozel all that much would do me any good." Yami mused which Jack could only confirm in a nod.

"Me next," Jack decided, thinking for a moment about the next three candidates, "Dorothy, Charlotte, and Mereoleona." "All the girls, I see... Ugh... I don't know where to place Sisleon..." "Just kill her off?", Jack suggested. "I can't. I can't fuck or marry Dorothy, she's always asleep, that would be weird."

By now it was clear both of these men were thinking for this game.

"Okay... Kill Mereleona, fuck Charlotte, and marry Dorothy.", Yami decided after a while. "I think Dorothy would be chill, and I don't have to fuck her. Like... platonic marriage, we just say we completed the wedding. Or she wakes up, I don't know."

Jack nodded, thinking about his answer. "Honestly with the asleep point, you kinda did something. Kill Dorothy, fuck Mereoleona, and marry Charlotte, keke." "Marry Charlotte?", Yami asked with a raised brow.

"She's cute, isn't she?", Jack answered. "And I like tough women, keke." "I can see where you're coming from but... If you like tough how come you didn't pick Sisleon?" "I know Charlotte better." Jack shrugged it off.

"Oh?" "We patrolled together sometimes when our people were busy preparing for the exam.", Jack added before rolling his eyes.

"Okay... Fuegoleon, Kaiser and... me?", Yami suggested before chuckling. "... You're so weird, keke." Jack mumbled. "Are you like into me or why do you put yourself in the roster?" "We're out of people, scrawny dude!"

"... Alright... Uhh... Kill Kaiser, I'm not about to homewreck for someone like that." Jack muttered. "Like that?" "Aw c'mon he's boring! Maybe the missus is satisfied but I wouldn't be!... Anyways, kill Kaiser, fuck Fuegoleon and... Marry... You?", Jack said, getting a lot quieter towards the end. "Aw, are you blushing?", Yami asked before laughing loudly.

"Shut up! I'm not! It's just weird, keke!" Jack answered laughing too.

"Alright, for the roster; Me, Marx and our dear chief, Julius.", Jack said with a cocky grin. "... Julius? Are you serious?" Yami asked with a deadpan face which send Jack into a laughing fit.

"Man up to the challenge, keke!" "Alright, alright!", Yami called, raising his hands in the air, "Fuck Marx, Kill Julius because I can't do the other two with him, and Marry you."

"Aww, you'd marry me." Jack cooed before strechting out his tongue. "Go away and kill yourself.", Yami shot back as he watched Jack stumble off the couch toward him.

"Aww, don't be like that. Give your husband a kiss.", Jack giggled before creeping above Yami, caging him in his seat underneath the taller man.

"Jack, what the-" "Awww, are you blushing?", Jack teased, using the same tone Yami had pulled earlier on him. He leaned in a little. "Are you sure you're not into me?"

"Very.", Yami said before shoving Jack back by his face. The taller man stumbled back laughing before letting himself fall on the couch again.

There was a certain silence hanging in the air between them before Jack spoke up again. "This was the gayest fuck, marry, kill I've ever played, not gonna lie."

Yami couldn't help but laugh too and nod along.

#jack black clover #jack the ripper #black clover #jack the ripper black clover #black clover jack #jack the ripper (bc)#black clover imagine #yami sukehiro #yami black clover #yami and jack #my idiots #i love them

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princessmisery666 · 1 year

Text

Flowers of Fate

Summary: Serendipity, luck, coincidence – call it what you will, but Bradley is sure his parents may have had a hand in his good fortune.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, slight angst, meet-cute.

W/C: 2.5k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, OFC. Small Parts/Mentions: Carole & Nick Bradshaw (the OG relationship goals), Penny Benjamin, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, Dagger Squad.

Pairing: Rooster x OFC

A/N: Not sure where this one came from.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @writercole

Graphics: made by me.

Master Lists: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw // All The Fandoms

The sunrise accompanied Bradley’s jog around the lake like it did most mornings. He loved to get up before the sun and go jogging, not running, jogging. If he ran, he couldn’t appreciate the sound of the early bird song or how the rising sun shimmered across the lake while he did laps around the well-trampled path.

He savored the quiet, never putting music on, enjoying the peace before his day of jet engines and Hangman’s ego truly started.

Bradley’s mom had shown him the lake years before. It was where she and Goose snuck off for time alone while Mav babysat a much younger Bradley. A large oak stood at the lake’s edge, and Nick, being the romantic he was, had carved their initials and the date into it - ‘To show our love will last an eternity, like this tree.’ Carole had told him that story so many times. And his dad had been right; their love was eternal and forever immortalized by that tree.

His parents were gone, and the tree had aged, but new life sprang up every year around its base, which always made Bradley smile. It was as if their love still lived, and they were letting him know they were watching over him. He felt close to them here and often imagined them smiling down on him.

Though it was his favorite place to jog, today, he had another reason to be there. It was the date that had been carved into the bark, and he had a bouquet of purple calla lilies, his mother’s favorite, that he planned to leave at its base.

With years of growth, large branches now shaded the path, creating dappled patterns on the packed dirt below. As Bradley rounded the curve, the sturdy trunk coming into view, he saw her. Leaning against the oak, her hand covering his parents’ initials for balance while stretching her legs out behind her. His feet stalled, rooting themselves in place as he watched her roll her shoulders and neck, limbering up. Eyes closed, she twisted, stretching her back, and he was stunned by her beauty—face free of makeup, full lips, curves and edges that begged to be squeezed and hair that looked velvety smooth with skin to match—a goddess in lycra and sneakers.

“Thank you,” he whispered up to the sky, believing it was a sign from his parents.

Eyelids fluttering open, she caught his gaze, giving him a smile that was prettier than the newly budding flowers around her feet. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hey,” he smiled.

She kept eye contact for a moment, then looked down at the flowers in his hand, and he realized he'd been gawking.

Way to be creepy, Bradshaw.

“Those are beautiful,” she said, “Calla lilies, right?”

“Um, yeah,” he said.

“Those are my favorite. How did you know?” She teased, smiling.

He chuckled, and a second before his brain told him to take a step closer and start a real conversation, someone jogged into his peripheral. A tall, light-haired man ran to her side and kissed her cheek.

“I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour,” she griped at the man, “you're lucky I love you!”

Bradley’s heart sank to his feet, and a weight of discontent settled on his shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he continued on his way. He’d set the flowers down on his next lap.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Since Maverick introduced the Dagger squad to Dogfight Football, they went down to the beach as often as possible to play a game and let off steam after a long day of training.

Jake threw a long ball, and Bradley jogged backward, watching it arch through the sky. The ball hit the sand, and he reached out to catch it on the bounce but missed, fingers skimming the side as the oval ball bounced out of reach.

“Here,” a familiar voice said, and he turned to see the woman from the lake holding the ball out to him.

“Uh, thanks,” Bradley muttered, taking the ball from her outstretched hand. He was thankful he was wearing sunglasses because his eyes roamed her body from head to toe. Her hair was down, sitting in thick waves over her left shoulder. She’d applied light makeup, a gray sweater, and jeans that accentuated the curves he’d admired earlier.

“Calla lily guy, right?” she asked, recognizing him too.

“Yeah,” he nodded and felt his cheeks heat up. He’d been staring again. He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and then offered it to her, “I’m -”

“Hen, come on! Penny’s got our drinks ready,” the light-haired man from earlier stood on the deck of the bar, waving her over.

Bradley stuttered. Her name was Hen. It had to be divine intervention. Had to be. Like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, he tried to find air to form words.

Before he succeeded, Jake yelled, “Rise and shine, chicken boy. Get off the perch and back in the game!”

“Looks like we’re both wanted elsewhere,” she chuckled and shied from Bradley's gaze, tucking her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, “Good luck with the game.”

He watched her cross the beach, and she looked back over her shoulder at him once, smirking. He was gawking again, but he couldn’t look away. She sat on the bench opposite the man who had called her, and they spoke for a moment. She laughed, eyes creasing, shoulder shaking, and tipped her head back. It was as blinding as looking into the sun.

Until Hen had left, she’d had Bradley’s attention. Distracted by her lilting laughter, he kept glancing over, catching her eye while she chatted and joked with her friends. The lack of attention to the game subsequently meant a loss for his team.

Hangman would never let them live it down, and as Bradley was to blame, he’d promised that drinks were on him for the night. That was the only reason he’d gone to the Hard Deck, to pay off his debt.

He entered to rapturous cheers and orders of “Tequila and beers!”

So it was going to be one of those nights. Bad decisions that led to good stories to tell. As he made his way through the crowd to the bar, he made a mental note to give his keys to Bob.

“Hey, Mav,” Rooster said, clapping the man on the back as he reached the bar.

“Hi, kid,” Maverick smiled.

“Hey, Penny,” he greeted, “can I get six beers, six shots of tequila, and a soda, please?”

“Opening a tab?” Penny asked, lining up the glasses on the bar.

“Probably best.”

Pete leaned back to look at him, quickly deducing, “So you lost a bet, huh?”

“I did,” Rooster nodded, shaking his head, “let myself get distracted.”

“Come on,” Mav chided, “I taught you better than that.”

“She was a real pretty distraction,” Rooster defended, “and I don’t know, kinda felt like…” he cut himself off. It seemed ridiculous to be talking about fate and love at first sight. “It’s stupid. I barely spoke three words to her, but it all felt like a sign. She was at Mom and Dad’s tree, then she picked up Dad’s ball, and I just… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“You sound like your dad talking about Carole,” Mav chuckled fondly, but quickly it shifted to a sad smile. His focus drifted to a spot beyond the room, losing himself in memories how he often did.

Bradley turned back to Penny. “Maybe you should pour an extra shot,” he sighed as he scrubbed his hand down his face.

“You got it,” Penny replied, tapping her knuckles on the counter as she turned to pull their favored brand of liquor. “Hey, Hen, grab six bottles of Budweiser’s.”

Bradley’s head snapped up as he heard her name, and his eyes landed on the brunette he’d seen twice - now three times - in the same day. She was focused on popping the caps off the bottles before gathering them up, and as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes landed on Bradley.

“Hey you,” she said as if they were old friends. “Three times in one day? Is this a coincidence, or are you stalking me?”

He stuttered, struggling to find a suitable reply that didn’t make him sound like a creep. Instead, for the third time, all he could do was gawk at her.

Hen laughed, placing the bottles on the bar in front of him beside the tequila shots. She winked, “I hope it’s the latter.”

Bradley’s brain continued to forget the concept of speech, his lips moved, but no words came out, and he couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes were soft and kind, the color of burnt caramel, and he was drowning in them.

Wait, she said something, right? He grabbed a glass and shot back the tequila with a wince, hoping the sour taste would kickstart his brain.

“Oh, this is going about as well as it did when your Dad met your Mom,” Maverick snickered under his breath.

“Henrietta, this is Bradley,” Penny offered, “Bradley, this is Henrietta.”

“Hen,” she said, “my grandma was Henrietta. I’m Hen.” She stretched her hand over the bar. “Nice to finally officially meet you.”

Hen. Her name is Hen?! Bradley stared at her hand, and it took Maverick literally kicking him to get his brain to catch up. He shot his hand out, knocking over a bottle, and she jumped back, a splash of beer splattering her sweater, before he could make the connection.

Mortified, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Penny set about cleaning up the spill and sent Hen out the back to attend to her shirt.

“I’m an idiot,” Rooster grumbled, watching her maneuver through the crowd to the back. He sighed, exhaling the embarrassment he felt. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. She has a boyfriend.” He shrugged, the image of the man crisp in his mind. “He’s as gorgeous as she is, probably a pediatrician or saves puppies or something, blonder than Hangman too, so I’m not even her type.”

A boisterous bark of laughter startled Bradley, and he turned toward the sound. Of course, it was the gorgeous boyfriend, and now that Bradley was closer, he saw he had amazing eyes too. Flecks of gold highlighted the green hues that couldn’t decide if they were hazel.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He asked, smiling.

“Yes, and oh crap,” realization hit Bradley like a bat to the chest, and he was mortified all over again. “You’ve been there the entire time I’ve been swooning over your girlfriend.”

“And throwing drinks on her,” Gorgeous eyes laughed.

“I didn’t… it was an…”

The man’s laughter intensified, and he slapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder, “I’m messing with you,” he interrupted. “I’m Derek, the gay brother,” he explained, laughter subdued to an amused chuckle, “And for the record, I do save puppies.”

“She’s single?”

“Very much so,” Derek said. “And she’s been swooning over you too. Seeing you, she thought it was a sign. She’d sworn off men - bad breakup a while ago. Decided to dip her toe back in the dating pool, but it’s been a bit disastrous. Seeing you today, with her favorite flowers, at her favorite place to jog, wearing a t-shirt of her favorite band, she thought the universe was trying to tell her something.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bradley felt his heart skip a beat. It had been a sign for both of them. “Excuse me,” he said, already pushing through the queue at the bar.

He ignored the questions yelled at him by his friends. Their drinks could wait. He had something he needed to do.

Hen was at the sink, dabbing a damp cloth against the stain, when he barged through the door, but she looked up at him as the doors swung shut, blocking out the noisy bar.

He gawked again, tongue-tied, a million questions firing through his head, but he didn’t ask any of them. Her friendly smile began to fall, perhaps wondering if he was suffering from a mental breakdown.

“Your name is Hen,” he said. She nodded once. He walked closer while he rambled, “Your name is Hen, and I’m Rooster, and you like Calla Lilies and my mom and dad’s tree, and you have a gay brother, not a boyfriend. And your name is Hen. And now I’ve said that three times but that’s not what I wanted to say, but you're so beautiful I keep forgetting what words are, and then you smile at me, and I forget how to breathe, and I’m usually not this much of an idiot, but I think I might… ”

She stole his breath by placing her hands flat on his chest. “Take a breath.”

Oh yeah. Breathe between sentences. If he got out of this alive, he’d have a serious word with himself.

She waited for him to follow her suggestion before asking, “What did you want to say?”

‘Please have my babies’ seemed a little too forward, so he settled for, “Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”

There was no hesitation or thought, only a playful, happy smile followed by a decisive and firm “yes.”

Bradley may have lost the football game, but Hen seemed to be a good luck charm, she’d said yes to a date, and now he just couldn’t lose. Darts, pool, cards he’d won every game, looking over at her every time he scored or won a hand, to find her looking back at him.

He’d decided against drinking. He didn’t need any more fuel to make a fool of himself, so he left his tab open for the rest of the Daggers and whistled a happy tune as he strolled to his Bronco.

“Hey, Rooster,” Hen called.

His heart sank as he spun to face her. She looked uneasy, and he knew she was going to tell him she’d changed her mind about the date. She stopped in front of him and smiled, but there was something in it he couldn’t quite put his finger on, nerves, remorse perhaps.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, and if I don’t do it, I’ll be nervous for our date, and I don’t want to be nervous. Not scared, nervous, more excited, nervous. You know? I want to enjoy it so um… could you… I mean, can I… screw it.” She stepped into his space, swiftly cupped his cheeks, and rose to the tips of her toes while pulling him down to meet her lips.

He was shocked for maybe half a second before he leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist to tug her closer to him. She tasted like tequila. He imagined she’d done a shot for liquid courage before following him outside.

It may have lasted for a minute. It could have lasted for an hour. He didn’t know. He’d kissed a few women in his life, but nothing had ever felt like this, and he didn’t know it until her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss, but Bradley had been waiting for her.

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 1 month

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Is It Really That Bad?

“The hierarchy of power in the DC universe is about to change.”

So said Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson many, many times in the lead up to the debut of his superhero vehicle Black Adam. And, at the time, it sounded like he may have been telling the truth. Johnson was at a point in his career where he’d gained a bit of respect as an actor after his early career was plagued by boring garbage like Doom and campy cheese like The Scorpion King; he now had showcased some comedic acting prowess in films like Moana and Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, and in the former film he also got to show a bit of emotion when needed. Also in the case of the former, he was clearly very passionate about playing Maui, and it seemed like he was passionate about portraying Captain Mar—Er, SHAZAM’S archenemy as well, seeing as he’d been attached to a movie about the guy since about 2007 and was now able to swing his Hollywood clout around to push it out of development hell. And while the DCEU was on a bit of shaky ground thanks to Wonder Woman 1984 being infamously bad even for a film shat out during COVID, James Gunn’s one-two punch of critically acclaimed cult classic The Suicide Squad and the fantastic spin-off series Peacemaker gave people hope that DC was on the rise and we were about to be given some of the best Johnson we’d ever experienced.

Unfortunately, that’s just not how things panned out. Black Adam ended up being yet another in a string of bombs for DC, and this wouldn’t be so noteworthy if not for a certain cameo.

Leaked online ahead of the film’s premier, people got super hyped that Henry Cavill was finally back as Superman after faceless teases of the character in Peacemaker and Shazam! No more jerking the audience around, this was full confirmation Cavill was back, and he’d be fighting Adam (a longstanding dream of Johnson’s)! The audience was absolutely ecstatic, and whatever else could be said about the movie everyone was hopeful about the future of DC!

But let’s be real here: A couple of good films notwithstanding, the DCEU was a disease-ridden old pooch, and it had to be put out of its misery with a Gunn. James Gunn was announced to be taking over the DC movie universe and ushering in a continuity reboot to unfuck the messy and convoluted universe, one of the exceedingly rare good decisions WB has made in the past decade. But such a change in the hierarchy of power was not something that was good for this film (or any of the forthcoming DC films), and not helping matters were some of Johnson’s more egotistical decisions coming to light, such as vetoing an appearance by Zachary Levi and forcing in the aforementioned Supernan cameo.

The result was yet another bomb on DC’s hands, losing an estimated $100 million due to its budget ballooning. But this didn’t have the issues that the other recents bombs had; it didn’t have to compete with a Sonic movie like Birds of Prey, it didn’t have to deal with having an abysmal predecessor that scared audiences away like The Suicide Squad, and it wasn’t an astonishingly awful piece of dogshit with horrendous writing starring and directed by two phenomenally terrible human beings like Wonder Woman 1984. It failed because Johnson got too big for his britches and couldn’t just change course to deliver a Shazam sequel and instead tried to swing his Hollywood superstar dick around when the writing was on the wall for the franchise.

But now that some time has passed and we’re on our way to seeing what Gunn’s new take on DC will be, let’s take a look at the death rattle of the DCEU and see if it’s really that bad.

THE GOOD

Dwayne Johnson’s genuine passion for Adam honestly shines through. Like this isn’t really a character who is breaking new ground or reinventing the wheel or anything, but within the framework of the story the film is telling Johnson does an exceptional job bringing the character to life and manages to inject quality acting into the performance. The emotional backstory moments land, the humor lands, it’s just a Rock-solid superhero movie performance. And while he doesn’t end up feeling very antiheroic overall, he rips the bad guy in half with his bare hands while shooting off a one-liner, a moment so fucking cool it makes me a lot more lenient with some of the film’s flaws.

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Of course, as much as he’d like to be the best thing in the movie, Johnson really can’t hold a candle to Pierce Brosnan as Dr. Fate. You can always count on a former Bond actor to deliver, and he adds a sense of class to the proceedings, especially in his interactions with Aldis Hodge’s Hawkman. Hodge is a bit more of a mixed bag, but when he’s bouncing off of Brosnan he really shines. Seriously, Brosnan is just the MVP of this movie. This might be his best late-career role since Mamma Mia!

All of the action in the movie is great, even by superhero movie standards. That’s not to say everything is amazingly plot relevant, but all of the fight scenes are exceptionally well done and exciting. When two dudes are punching the shit out of each other or Adam is vaporizing thugs, it’s a lot of dumb fun. Going off of the previous point, they actually manage to utilize Fate's powers in a lot of fun and interesting ways that make him a delight to watch in his few battles, and Hawkman is no slouch being a winged dude who can have a midair battle with Adam.

Also, there’s just something really nice and refreshing about seeing a Middle Eastern country being liberated from its oppressors by a powerful guardian who wants them free from tyranny. It feels very topical even though it pretty obviously wasn’t intentional at all. If you wanted to be extremely charitable, you could call this a pro-Palestine response to Wonder Woman 1984 and its blatant Islamophobia. Do I personally believe that? Uh, no. Does it really make the film any better if it is the case? Er...

THE BAD

I think one of the things that absolutely wounds this film is its steadfast refusal to engage with the source material it’s adapting. Shazam laid the groundwork for this movie, setting up Adam’s appearance down the road, and then this movie doesn’t even mention Billy Batson at all. We get a cameo from Superman, sure, but Superman isn’t Adam’s archenemy is he? And this issue is apparently directly traceable to the Big Johnson himself. There’s this idea that he has it that he can never look stupid in movies or lose big battles, and I don’t necessarily believe that’s an actual thing, but it feels really true here. How’re you gonna be a badass anti-hero and get your ass whupped by a teenager? It’s a dumb thing to worry about when you’re playing a character known for it though, and it’s even dumber to veto a cameo of that character just because you wanna be a big tough guy who only fights macho men like Superman—and that’s exactly what Johnson used his clout to do. It honestly makes me wonder why he wanted to play a villain most famous for going up against the original Captain Marvel if he didn’t want to engage with the character at all.

Maybe this would be easier to swallow if we had a villain who wasn’t a forgettable CGI sack of shit, but sadly as badass a concept as SABBAC the demonic anti-Shazam sounds on paper this is all he ends up amounting to. His human form, Ishmael, is even worse and blander, though I do find it funny Marwan Kenzari has twice now performed as an underwhelming villain who turned into a big red CGI demon turd.

Also, as cool as Dr. Fate and Hawkman are, the other members of the Justice Society are so utterly forgettable and superfluous to the plot that it’s easy to forget they’re even there most of the time. I can’t remember a single thing of note they did. It’s a shame too, since they have interesting powers and designs, but they are just so unimportant to what’s going on that it’s hard to care about them. And it’s not even the heroes who are dull and forgettable; the Kandaq people we follow throughout the film are just really forgettable as well. The fact only a handful of characters will make any impression on you in a film with this chunky runtime is really troubling.

But the biggest crime of the film is just that it plays everything way too safe. This is strictly formula, plain and simple, hitting all the beats of your generic origin story for a hero with just a teeny tiny bit more brutality because they’re trying to sell Adam as a badass anti-hero. Except, no, it doesn’t really work because he’s neutered by the PG-13 rating for the most part and he never really comes off as morally gray or unscrupulous. This man ain’t a badass, he’s a badbutt. The point is, you’ve seen this exact story play out a million times before—and usually better—to the point where you could probably guess certain lines of dialogue before they happen and you’ll likely figure out where the plot’s going ages ahead of the characters.

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Black Adam is pretty much the definition of “mid.” It’s not an awful film. It’s not a great film. It’s not a film that really brings about much of a strong emotional response no matter what way you slice it. But it’s not a wholly unpleasant viewing experience either. It’s just… fine. It’s an okay movie.

But “okay” is not what DC needed, and it’s certainly not what Johnson wanted for this character he was so passionate about that he stuck with him for almost twenty years and used his massive star power he’d accumulated to get it made when he could have easily swung that power into making some dramatic passion project. He wanted this to be big, he wanted to be the next big anti-hero, he wanted to fight Superman so goddamn bad… But it’s ultimately this ego that held the film back. This is a dude who is supposed to fight Shazam, but Johnson was dead set on him fighting the other buff flying super dude; if he really wanted to fight Superman so bad, why not push to play a Superman villain? He has proven time and time again he’s funny, so why not make him Bizarro? Or get really crazy and cast him as Lex Luthor, bald and occasionally buff super genius archenemy of Superman? There are so many dudes who actually fight Superman that Johnson could pull off and yet he chose to forcefully repurpose another hero’s villain instead of shifting gears a bit. The whole film just ends up feeling like a massive monument to his ego and hubris as opposed to the passion project it obviously was, and he unfortunately only has himself to blame there.

Ultimately, while I don’t think Black Adam is responsible for the DCEU dying—this film series was on life support since Dawn of Justice—it definitely is emblematic of every single problem that brought down the series. It just genuinely doesn’t understand what fans of the character would want to see, it features a bland and underwhelming villain only there for some cool action scenes, and it sets up so many things that would never be delivered upon. Sure, there’s plenty to like here, but why bother when you can watch something else with these same good qualities and actually have it be more than decent background noise? You wanna see some great Pierce Brosnan acting in an action movie? I have great news! He made three James Bond movies worth watching, and also Die Another Day! You want a good comic book anti-hero movie? Go watch Dredd, The Suicide Squad, or even Punisher: War Zone. Dead set on a movie where a buff hero with your typical flying brick powers fights some evil demons? Just go watch Shazam!

I hope this movie failing so hard and leaving so much egg on Johnson’s face humbles him a bit and gets him to check his ego in the future, because I do genuinely enjoy the guy’s movies. He’s got good comedic chops, he’s pretty charming when he wants to be, and he’s great at elevating batshit material if given the chance as Southland Tales’ unorthodox use of him goes to show. I’d like to see him go back to doing weirder, smaller stuff for a while and maybe build back confidence in his acting career again because right now he’s almost as big a joke as the Scorpion King CGI in The Mummy Returns. He’s just not respected as much as he was a few years ago, and this overhyped bomb is what did it.

I’d say the score here is just about right. This really isn’t a bad movie, but it’s not anything special either; it’s just some mindless entertainment to put on in the background while you do something else. It genuinely is a shame, because this could have been a great movie that ushered in a fantastic new age for the DCEU, with Johnson saving the franchise after the past blunders of Snyder almost tanked it… But he came too little, too late and his movie ended up paying the price. And while it’s not fair to lay all the blame on Black Adam, it’s hard to feel too sorry when it does next to nothing to justify its existence beyond a scant few memes, and even in that regard it is outdone by far worse (and thus more entertaining) films like Morbius and Madame Web. This movie is, sadly, just nothing. It is a nothing film that elicits no strong feelings and you’ll likely forget it soon after watching it. It won’t be an unpleasant experience to view, but I’d be shocked if it leaves anything beyond the most minimal impact on you. It is the dictionary definition of “mid.”

#is it really that bad?#IIRTB #review #movie review #Black Adam #DCEU #Dwayne Johnson #DC #DC comics #comic book movie #superhero movie #Youtube

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