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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

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When Passion Rules the Game | Part Two

CW: language

Part One//Part Three//Masterlist//2228 words

There was something Aelin had to do today.

She had been lying in bed semiconscious, held tightly by strong arms for a few minutes now. And there was this nagging sensation at the back of her mind that something important was happening today.

Maybe to do with Fleetfoot. No, Dorian was staying over because his girlfriend was pissed at him, as she tended to be, and he had promised to feed and walk the dog in exchange for a couple days on Aelin’s couch.

What, then?

Was she missing some sort of event? Like… work? Did Aelin work? She probably did. Most people had jobs. What was hers, then?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Aelin did have a job. And not only was she supposed to be on time on a regular day, a new employee was joining the office, transferring from his position in Doranelle. Whitethorn. Yes, Rowan Whitethorn. That was what she had to do today.

Aelin jolted into a sitting position the second she remembered. All tiredness vanished from her body, leaving her an anxious wreck. She had a fucking job.

Someone groaned in their sleep, protesting her sudden movements. Aelin glanced over to find the hot guy from last night reaching for her drowsily. Mournfully, Aelin shook off his grasp and crawled out of bed, landing on the floor unsteadily. She spotted her dress on the floor and reached for it, tugging it on as quickly as humanly possible. Then she grabbed her heels, knowing putting them on would only slow her down.

Her underwear… had been in the man’s pocket last she checked. Fuck. She’d just have to leave it. And damn if that didn’t upset her; it was her favorite pair.

Sighing, Aelin exited the bedroom with one last backward glance at the sleeping man. Then she navigated her way down the thankfully simple hallway and to the front door.

Half an hour later, Aelin was at work.

She had raced home, getting lost only a couple of times. Then she had stripped and taken the fastest shower of her life. Pulling on a pantsuit and flats, Aelin had ignored her growling stomach, desperate for breakfast, and bolted out to her car. In which she had broken about five different traffic laws trying to make it to work. She had probably set the world record for getting out of a one night stand’s bed and to her job.

Maybe no one would notice. Maybe she wasn’t actually late, and her watch, and her phone, and the clock on the way to the elevator were all an hour off. Maybe her new employee, who she was supposed to make a good first impression on, would believe her if she said her dog had been run over by a train. So many maybes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” a voice hissed. So much for no one noticing.

Aelin glanced over at Elide, her assistant and closest friend. “Who, me?”

Elide crossed her arms. “You’re an hour late.”

“I was just…” She waved her arms vaguely.

A death stare was all she received in return. “I don’t care whose bed you find you way into on your own time, but I expect you to make it to work, especially when you have a new employee.” Elide could be terrifying when she was angry, and she often acted as more of a mother to Aelin than an assistant or friend, despite the fact that she was two years younger.

Aelin winced. “Is he pissed? Did you tell him he got the wrong time and I’m actually early? Where is he?”

Elide sighed. “By the gods’ good grace, I suppose as a second chance for you to pull yourself together, he isn’t fucking here.” She didn’t curse often. When she did, it meant run in the other direction.

“He’s not here? Like actually?”

“Yes, like actually,” Elide said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with the world. His first day of work, and he’s not here. Go to your office. Now.” Elide thrust a cup of coffee Aelin.

Knowing better than to argue with the petite woman, Aelin nodded guiltily, grabbed the coffee, and headed back. She closed the door behind her, taking a seat behind her desk. Then she took a much-needed sip of caffeine.

She was really an hour late, and Rowan Whitethorn still wasn’t here? As relieved as Aelin was, she was also pissed. What right did he have to be absent of his first day? That took some nerve. He better have a damn good excuse.

Aelin tried to catch up on some paperwork while she waited, but her mind was far away, in the bedroom of the sex god she had encountered last night. She drank some more coffee.

Not five minutes after she sat down, a firm knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Aelin called, scrambling to put some papers in front of herself and pretend she had been doing something of consequence.

The door opened to reveal Elide. “Mr. Whitethorn here to see you.” Her voice was innocent enough, but the look on her face said, You may have been spared by the universe, but I will come for you later.

“Send him in,” Aelin said impatiently. How dare this man be… five minutes later than her? The nerve!

Elide backed away, revealing a figure. A figure that Aelin knew. She froze.

Tall, well-built, silver-haired. Green eyes and a light stubble, probably forfeiting shaving for making it to his new job. A long-sleeve buttoned shirt covering what Aelin knew to be a tattoo. A long and sexy tattoo. He looked like a wreck, circles under his eyes and a guilty, terrified expression. He must be concerned he was going to be fired, and he was almost certainly regretting last night. Aelin knew the feeling.

Aelin could see the exact moment he recognized her, his steps faltering and his guilt and fear turned into surprise. Elide sent a confused look to Aelin, and she quickly mastered her shock. “Please take a seat, Mr. Whitethorn.”

His eyes no less conveying the rude awakening he was feeling, he walked forward and took a seat on the other side of Aelin’s desk.

Satisfied, Elide said, “Let me know if you need anything,” shutting the door behind her. And then they were alone.

“You’re Aelin Galathynius,” the man stated in disbelief. Rowan.

“And you’re Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin said dryly. “A pleasure.”

Rowan blinked. “You—”

“I expect you not to be late in the future,” Aelin said, not bothering to acknowledge him.

“But… Aelin… fuck.”

Aelin frowned, taking a deep breath. “We are going to pretend last night never happened. Nor will there be any repeats. As far as I’m concerned I’ve never met you before.”

Rowan opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitethorn.” Aelin stood and extended her arm over the desk.

“Aelin—”

“Miss Galathynius,” she corrected sharply.

“Miss Galathynius,” he repeated, still dazed. And from the prominent marks under his eyes, he was as tired as she. “Nice to meet you, too,” he finally replied, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”

Aelin almost shivered when his strong, calloused hand grasped hers, and she was instantly flooded with shame. This man, her employee, had had those fingers inside of her. He had gagged her and bound her and spanked her and called her a slut. And she had begged for him.

She pulled her hand from his grip a bit too sharply. “Good, it better not,” Aelin said, pretending that nothing had happened, pretending that her face wasn’t flushed with humiliation. She was a fucking CEO, and now this man probably wasn’t thinking about that, or about all the work she had put into making it to this position. He was likely thinking about what she had let him do to her. Maybe he was even thinking about trying to do it again. Gods damn it all to hell.

Glancing at his wary posture once more, Aelin slid her coffee cup to him. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

Needless to say, they had a long day.

—

“Was it worth it, Aelin?” Elide asked with a frown.

She and Dorian were on one of Aelin’s couches, Aelin herself sprawled across the other one. Apparently Elide was not over today’s late appearance.

“Was what worth it?” Dorian asked, giving Fleetfoot a rub.

Elide sighed. “She came in an hour late, a whole hour, because she got held up in some dude’s bed, or so I’m assuming. Nearly missed meeting with a new worker.”

Aelin remained silent.

“Ooh, sounds like fun,” Dorian said, earning a glare from Elide. “Well? Was it worth it?”

“No,” Aelin said flatly.

“That bad?” Dorian asked sympathetically.

Aelin shot him her best glare. “Fuck off.”

“You weren’t this pissed off this morning,” Elide said. Sly little bitch.

“You fuck off, too.”

“What happened?” Dorian pleaded. “I have no gossip these days. Manon won’t let me back into the apartment until I apologize for staining her favorite dress. I am literally starved for anything.”

Aelin couldn’t even bring herself to laugh at his conundrum. Instead, she buried her face in a pillow and let out a muffled yell.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Lin?” Elide asked, all annoyance gone from her tone.

As much as she didn’t want to talk about it, she also wanted to scream to somebody. “Remember Mr. Whitethorn, the new guy?”

“Yeah,” Elide said hesitantly, probably thinking this no longer had anything to do with last night. How wrong she was.

“Remember how he was also late this morning?”

“Yeah…”

A moment of confusion passed before Elide and Dorian started yelling at the same time. They were speaking over each other, so it was hard to decipher, but Aelin caught a few ‘what the fuck’s, ‘oh gods really’s, and ‘you did not!’s.

“Shut up,” she moaned, banging her head on the couch. “I’m so fucking screwed.”

“Seriously, Aelin?” Elide asked in exasperation.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snapped. “I didn’t know it was him.”

Dorian laughed gleefully. “He slept with his boss.”

Aelin grunted.

“Was it bad?” he asked.

She grunted again.

“Was it good?”

Aelin’s silence had Dorian cackling. “How good are we talking?”

“I didn’t say it was good,” she muttered.

Elide snorted. “Just answer the question so we can decide how much we need to make fun of you.”

Aelin scowled. “Miscreants.” She blushed. “It was pretty good.”

Dorian just about howled. “We need details.”

“We do not!” Elide protested, but she was laughing.

“Ugh!” For all of Aelin’s complaints, she was a total gossip at heart and sharing with two of her best friends always made her feel better. Not that she was going to give them any actual details. “We hooked up in the bar’s bathroom. And then I was in his apartment. Fuck, I was in my employee’s apartment! I was in my employee’s bed!”

They both laughed. Traitors.

“Tell us about him,” Dorian said suggestively.

“I will not, damn it. I’m done talking about it.”

“Come on. At least tell us what happened this morning.”

Aelin debated it. “I woke up. And then I remembered that I had places to be.” Elide snorted here. “I pulled on my dress and ran out the door. I went home for like five minutes. Then at work, some little bitch yelled at me for being late.” Aelin glared at Elide, and Dorian grinned. “And then that little fucker walked in my office.” Aelin detailed the rest of the day, from the initial conversation, to the awkward interactions later on, to their uncomfortable farewell as the work day ended.

Elide was giggling hysterically by the end of it, pleased that Aelin had been thoroughly punished for being late. And then some. Dorian was overjoyed, because he was a little shit. Aelin wanted to murder them both by the end of it, but of course, they had made her tell them. She needed to talk about it, if only because she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Elide left after a little while, leaving Aelin with a threat to be on time tomorrow. Dorian stayed on the couch, and Aelin went back to her room very early, with a lot of sleep to catch up on.

In bed, though, sleep did not come. Aelin just couldn’t stop imagining last night: the way Rowan’s cock had filled her deliciously, the way he had brought her over the edge three times, and probably would have done it more if he’d felt like it.

No matter the shame that welled up inside of her for the thoughts that were coursing through her mind, Aelin just couldn’t stop wanting him, couldn’t control herself from feeling wet at the thought of their handshake this morning, his fingers gripping her strongly. The fact that she knew his name made it so much worse. Now all Aelin wanted to do was scream his name to the gods.

It took every molecule of willpower in her not to slide her fingers down her body and imagine they were Rowan’s. Instead, she eventually fell asleep with her hands clenched into fists and tears of frustration and self-resentment drying on her cheeks.

In other words, Aelin was screwed.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #when passion rules the game #my writing

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Rock ‘n’ Roll People In A Disco World

Part 1- Disco Down

Intro: It's range day. SWAT vs LAPD Special Crimes branch. You and your finance decide to have a bit of fun with the interdepartmental competition.

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: So yeah, I started another series. Bad WIYBUPT. But there aint enough Disco out there so I thought I’d rectify that situation. This is also another entry for @imanuglywombat ‘s “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “Juicy Ass”. See here for more information.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

It was early in the morning, the first warm rays of the LA sunshine had barely begun warming the pavement when the two of you had started your day. Paul was already pouring you both coffee to go as you met him in the kitchen, dressed in your Swat training tee, utility pants and standard issue uniform boots, hair French braided back. You smirked at the dapper young detective before you, slacks, dress shoes, button down and tie.

It'd been a gruelling last few weeks for you both. You were working a SWAT case with your unit and Paul was busy working an LAPD Vice officer's homicide. He would trudge in late at night, either from the precinct or more recently from a night out with Vice following some leads. You were always already asleep and he didn't want to wake you. He'd kiss you softly, shower, kiss you again and crawl into bed, hugging you close.

Now, you were both getting ready to head out, finally having slept in the same bed together for the first time in weeks. Given your nature, the two of you were playfully squabbling over the upcoming late afternoon's task, a joint fire arms training session between your unit, LAPD SWAT and Paul's unit. The joint time spent at the range always turned into pool of who'd win and, usually, was too close to call rounding off with each team going head to head in a final duel.

And things were getting competitive in the Diskant home.

"If I can make it," Paul grumbled, "we should sweeten the deal."

"You'll make it.” You popped a shoulder. “Paul Diskant doesn't miss a day at the range, nor friendly competition. So, name your terms?" You smirked mischievously over the rim of your mug, watching him adjust his tie.

"Winner gets a favor." Paul devilishly replied.

"What kind of favor?" You played along and the look on his face already made your insides squirm as he raised a brow and curled his lips further in his smirk. "Paul!"

"Y/N!" Paul mimicked, cutting the distance between you, big hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing along your shirt. "Baby, it's been days. This Vice case has me pulled away longer than I have been since I was a beat cop."

You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arm around his shoulder, fingers grazing the point where the short hairs of his buzz-cut met his neck.

“Fine." You kissed him deeply, the taste of coffee on both your tongues but something that was just him too. "We'll call it a bonus." “Bonus...” he nodded. “I can run with that.”

“You couldn’t run a fucking bath, Disco.” "Oh Sweetheart, you're on." The challenge in his voice and mischief in his eyes lit a fire under you. You kissed him again and moved away, a swift smack from his hand to your ass made you yip but you kept walking.

****

The drive into the station was quiet, you reading over your training schedule for the day and Paul driving. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the sound of him humming along to the radio, thumb tapping along to the beat of the song on his steering wheel, before you heard him let out a loud sigh.

"I have some stuff to chase down this morning but if nothing pans out, I should be at the range with the rest of my unit."

"Well, then I'll hope it doesn't pan out, just so I can kick your ass with my Glock," you chuckled as he let out a groan.

"Baby, you know, watching you handle that Glock and riffle makes me horny as fuck right? Nothing like a woman that can shoot," Paul admitted. He took your left hand away from the file and pressed his lips to the top of it. He knew why you did it, but he still hated not seeing your diamond flashing on your finger all day.

"Oh yeah?" You turned your standard issued sunglass covered eyes to him, "is that why you wanted to marry me?"

Paul chortled, “one reason among the many."

He pulled into the carport and parked in his designated spot. You exited the vehicle and gathered your bag from the popped trunk.

"See you at the range, don't be late, or I'll have to listen to Rodriguez bitch as she drives me home." You gave him a teasing kiss and slung your bag over your shoulder, walking away.

"Hey, Y/N?" He called after you. You stopped and turned around to look at him, lifting your sunglasses to the top of your head. "Don’t waste too much energy today, huh? You’re gonna need all the strength you have tonight, Baby."

You chuckled to yourself, "Just show up, we'll talk energy later," you rolled your eyes and walked off, flipping him the bird over your shoulder.

The scorching sun boiled across the training facility tucked between the hills of the valley, away from the hustle of the city and just far enough out of reach for civilians. Abandoned buildings and, green fields and a simulated neighborhood made up the grand, multi-million dollar facility. You and your team had been at it all morning, moving through the buildings in full tactical gear and safety equipment. Together you cleared buildings, fired upon fake assailants and suspects. You and your partner, Alma Rodriguez, even hit the weights and boxing bags to keep loose after a hand to hand session against Everett and Evans. To keep your trigger fingers hot and ready, you played a round of long range sniper poker, you of course beating the team with a straight flush, bullets hitting their targets dead center.

It was the last hours of daylight by the time Special Branch showed up and you couldn't help but smirk as you watched Paul set up his gear from across the field. Long gone were his slacks and tie, and now, he was dressed in a tight black tee with the edges of his two bicep tattoos peeking out from the hem, and uniform issue pants and boots, his wrap arounds shielding those beautiful blues you loved getting lost in.

You smirked as the two of you locked glances, his smile forming across plump lips. A cocky flick of his head was sent in your direction and you laughed, pulling a hundred dollar bill from your pocket and slapping it flat against the table.

The competition started, pairing SWAT members against Specials, two by two until both your captains were the final two.

"Shooters on the line," the facility command officer called. Each shooter stepped up, readying their rifles. Your team lined up behind your boss, Paul and his desk buddies watching from their side. "Stand by... Ready..." The whistle sounded and the first shots at their prospective targets were fired.

Firing judges followed behind each shooter, judging accuracy, safety and protocol. Three rifle shots fired down range and the shooters tossed their weapons to the side, tucking and rolling one roll with their hand on their pistol all while watchful eyes looked on. Your boss didn't roll, but Paul's did and the snickering started from Special Branch. It didn't deter your focus as you watched your boss, Captain Rogers, finish the round. Three shots fired at metal targets, each one going down in accuracy, then a clip reload and three more shots fired at a close range target before the commanding judge asked both men to put their weapons on safe and holster them. He approached each target for accuracy and declared Paul's boss, Captain Wilson, the winner of the round. That brought the two teams to a tie.

The Detectives cheered and razzed SWAT but both captains settled their groups down. The field judge confirmed the tie in the competition and groans sounded from both teams.

"I'll tell you what, I'll toss in an extra two hundred bucks to pit Y/L/N against your pick," Rogers held two one hundred dollar bills up, handing them over to the field judge for safe keeping.

"Alright, I see your two and raise two," Captain Wilson held out his bills, "for Diskant to take that challenge."

"Oooooooh", both teams razzed the real life couple.

You couldn’t help the smirk on your face as one of Paul’s colleagues piped up that this could back fire spectacularly as would Paul really want to risk pissing off the woman who controlled his sex life.

“That’s exactly why he wants to win,” you jibed back, causing him to roll his eyes and scoff, “because his sex life is on the line if he doesn’t.”

More laughter rang out across the area as Paul merely shrugged, a smile flickering across his face as you heard Rogers speak loudly to Wilson from behind you.

“Between us, two hundred on my girl to blow your man outta the water."

Paul leaned down, to whisper into your ear, a smirk plying on his lips, "something's gonna get blown."

"What was that?" You coyly played.

“Sure you wanna do this?” He asked, turning to look at you, his brow arched. “I mean you could just forfeit now and save yourself the embarrassment.”

You held his gaze for a moment before you made a show of dragging your eyes down his body, your gaze lingering on his crotch as if you were contemplating his offer, before you raised your head, your tongue poking out from between your lips a little.

“Did you forget to zip up?" You asked. Paul gave a start, his head jerking down to look at his ‘piece’ so to speak, and at that moment the whistle was blown to start.

The first shots were fired, Paul's just seconds behind yours. Tucking behind the mailboxes for your next shot, you nailed your target and moved forward to fire your final rifle round, using a metal barrel as your cover. You laid your riffle to rest, took a few steps, tucked your chin and rolled, planting your feet and rising up to draw your personal firearm. Poised for your next quick shot behind a mock window frame, you fired at the target and moved on, Paul's form in your peripheral, matching you shot for shot. Coming around the frame you fired a walking shot at your next target and then took your place at the final marker, firing away before the expected reload and emptying your clip into the standing paper target with his hostage.

"Safety on... Holsters." The range judge called after he blew his whistle. You and Paul followed his commands and waited as he examined your individual targets. It was close, you knew it. Paul was an excellent shot.

You watched as the judge looked over Paul's target first, poking his finger through two holes in the face before moving on to yours. You nailed your target, all three shots hitting the suspect. One dead shot to the center of his head, the other in the chest and the last in the torso.

"Here's your winner," the judge declared, pointing at your target.

Cheers began to ring out and you heard Paul groan loudly, turning to you. "You cheated.”

"I guess the favor's on you," You quipped as behind him you saw Captain Rogers holding his hand out, ready to receive the cash prize from Wilson.

“You still cheated.”

“I did no such thing!” You scoffed.

“You distracted me.” He folded his arms across his chest, a sullen pout on his handsome face.

“Well, you should know better than to take your eye off the target, Disco,” you smirked and he narrowed his eyes playfully. “On second thought, I think I will let Rodriguez take me home. Burgers and beer on you. Don't forget the extra pickles."

He smirked, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, "come on, ride back with me, I'll make it worth your while."

"Erm, unless I'm mistaken you just lost so..." You popped a shoulder, your eyes not leaving his as you began walking backwards away from him. "I'm in charge."

“I want a divorce.” He shot back and you laughed, shaking your head.

“We’re not married yet, hot shot.” You winked.

“Details.” He waved his hand and you snorted, before you turned and jogged to catch up with your colleagues.

*****

As per your instructions, Paul didn’t forget the extra pickles and later that evening the pair of you were sat on the sofa in your comfy clothes, food and beer in hand as you lounged back watching a film on the Television. You stole a glance at your fiancé for a moment, his sharp profile illuminated in the soft light of the lamp to his right. He really was incredibly handsome, and you often wondered daily how the hell you’d gotten so lucky, as he could have had his pick of women, they tended to fall at his feet wherever you went. But he’d chosen you. Not only that, he’d pursued you. It had taken him a good few weeks after you’d both met on a case when he was in Uniform to finally accept his offer of a date. The dates had continued, and six months later you’d moved in together, and a year or so after that, he’d gotten down on one knee in the middle of your apartment and asked you to be his wife.

Which, reminded you of something you’d heard before.

With a smirk you turned your attention back to the film, took another bite of your burger before you spoke, your tone light and airy.

"So... strippers huh?"

Paul hastily swallowed his food and turned to look at you. "What?"

"Nothing, just typical."

"No, what?" He chuckled.

"I just heard one of the guys before commenting about how the wedding is getting closer so the stag do needs planning. The words Vegas and strippers were mentioned. Several times"

"Fucking Adler, man," he shook his head, dropping his empty burger container into the paper bag on the table in front of you.

“So you are going to Vegas, then?” You shoved another fry in your mouth to stop the smirk from spreading at the teasing.

"Uh, yeah," his reply was nonchalant, but he rubbed at his neck in that way he always did when he was a little nervous or uncomfortable. His big tell.

"Right. And there will be strippers?”

“Yes, there PROBABLY will be strippers." He side eyed you a little as he reached for his beer, the faint flush of red visible on the back of his neck as you took the final bite of your food.

“How probably?”

"There MAYBE be a night at the club." He leaned back, bottle in hand.

"Dicks." You gave a dramatic sigh, dropping your now empty food container into the bag with his. You made a show of scrunching down the top of the bag, dropping it to the floor by the side of the sofa, ready to be taken to the trash, before you leaned back, shaking your head.

"What?" he turned to you, beer paused halfway to his mouth.

"Oh, no, I was just saying, at my hen do there will be dicks. Lots of dicks."

“What the fuck?” He spluttered and you shrugged, not looking at him, feigning concentration on the television.

“I can't have strippers too? Tut, tut Disco, that's very old fashioned."

There was a pause, and you waited for his reaction, knowing it could go one of two ways. Out and out petulant protesting, or some sort of childish, half witty come back.

"You know, my dick is by far the most important." He chose the latter.

"You mean you are the most important dick?"

“Yeah.” He conceded. “Hey, least I’m important in some way.”

At that you laughed and moved a little closer to him. He shifted, allowing you to snuggle under his arm, pressing a kiss to your head.

“You know what else is important?” You asked, your hand gently tracing shapes on his white tee.

“What?”

“That you don’t forget that you owe me a favor, Detective Diskant." “That I do.” He agreed, and you felt him nod.

“So, there’s a pile of ironing that needs doing and the bed sheets need changing tomorrow. Can you manage?”

At that he let out a loud guffaw, his chest rumbling against your cheek. "Seriously, Baby?" He glanced down at you as you tipped your head up to look at him. "Absolutely," you winked

“I am at your complete mercy to satisfy you in any way you want... and you ask me to do chores?” He rolled his eyes. “You’re losing your sense of adventure, Sweetheart.” "Oh I have a sense of adventure, but a bet is a bet and we've pulled three doubles between the two of us so shits gotta get done, and you lost, therefore, you... are... my... bitch.” Your words were punctuated by soft jabs to his chest with your index finger and Paul groaned, throwing his head back against the sofa as he scrunched his eyes closed.

“Fuck my life.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You looked at him and he opened his eyes. “Fuck my wife?”

“We’re not married yet.” He smirked, arching an eyebrow at you as he played back your words from earlier.

“Details,” you played along and he laughed as you shifted a little more so your face was level with his. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

With a cheeky grin he leaned over, pressing his lips to yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as the kiss grew deeper, his tongue slowly sliding against yours. You let out a soft moan, shifting a little, your hand cupping his face and then he pulled back. You pouted at the loss of contact and opened your eyes to shoot him a glare, to find him smirking a little.

"Double or nothing, I bet I can make you cum in less than two minutes.”

“Two minutes?” You arched a brow, biting your lip a little as you squirmed at the frankly filthy look in his eyes. “Now?”

“Yup.”

“Bring it on.” You threw down the gauntlet. “But that doesn’t include the time it takes me to get you naked.” He grinned, shifting a little so he was side on, facing you.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “Or the foreplay.”

“Jesus Christ, Paul, just get on with it. You said two minutes. Clock starts the second you start, your challenge not mine. He grabbed your beer bottle and placed it along with his on the table with a bang. “You saying you don’t want me to love on you a little bit before I bang you into next week?” His voice was low as he hovered over you a little, his face inches from yours. "I'm saying I'm fucking desperate, that's what I'm saying."

"Then I won't need two minutes.” He grinned, pressing further into you, causing you to lay back on the sofa.

“God, you’re so full of it.” You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re gonna be full of it soon.” He smirked, his lips pressing to yours. "Stop... Talking... And... Do... It," you demanded between his dizzying, little pecks. His lips curled into a smile against yours as his hands gently trailed up the outside of your smooth thighs, thumbs grazing under the hem of your cut offs. The assault from his lips already soaking you.

It wouldn't take much, you both were fully aware of it. Nearly a week apart or just missing each other had you two desperately seeking release. The question was, who would cave first. He said two minutes and you knew he could hold off until you were good and worked over. His fingers slipped between your denim shorts and he gave a low groan as he felt your damp panties. His kiss grew hungrier and he was quickly on your flies, your shorts were down your leg in a matter of seconds, tossed over the back of the sofa, panties with them.

He moved to a kneel, one hand gently hooking your right leg up to rest against the back of the couch, knocking the other to the side, your foot falling automatically to the floor, toes pressing onto the soft carpet, leg bent at the knee. You don't even register how fast he moved downwards, and part of you wondered if he lost on purpose. A flat long swipe tasted at your folds.

"Jesus," it felt glorious and your back arched off the sofa in delight. There was a wee bit of scruff causing a tease of friction against your inner thighs and although you weren't timing him, you knew it couldn't have been more than sixty seconds when his tongue dipped into your hole causing you to cry out.

"Fuck, Paul..."

He gave a little chuckle, mouth vibrating against your nub which he grazed with his teeth. You bit your lip as your insides began to tremble, you were so desperately trying to hold off just to get that last win over him, but it was useless. That rumble had you in the throes of it and you were gone, your legs shaking as you came, your walls clamping around nothing as you gasped, your body shuddering with pleasure.

The smirk and glisten that was evident on his lips as he sat up and caged you in, had you clawing at his shorts. "I win."

"Yeah, okay, you smug little shit,” your voice was breathy as you recovered from your high, your hands pulling at the drawstring in the middle of his abs. “Dare I ask how you want me?”

His baby blues, already dark with desire, flashed and he pressed his lips to yours, his mouth dominating and you could taste yourself on him. You groaned as his hands slid up, cupping your face and he pulled back.

“Hands on the floor, feet on the coffee table, knees bent.”

You blinked, “what?”

“Hands on the floor, feet on the coffee table, knees bent.” He repeated.

Okay, so this was new…

With a final, suspicious look at him as he moved back, you stood, jumping and emitting a little squeak as he slapped your ass as you went. Taking a deep breath you turned, placed your hands on the floor and rested the tops of your feet on the coffee table, your knees bent.

“So you can do as you’re told.” Paul smirked, standing up off the sofa.

“When I want to.” You peeked up at him as best you could to see him sliding his shorts down his legs, stepping out of them before he moved round and threw his leg over your shins. His hands slid up the outside of your thighs, coming to rest on your waist as he pulled you back a little, his erection pressing into your behind as he ground against you, giving a little hiss.

“Fuck, baby you look so good from back here.” He moaned, bending over slightly to press a kiss to your spin and you shivered, your arms wobbling a little and you began to worry just how much of this you could take.

“Paul, seriously, just…”

“Patience.” He cut you off as he gave your ass a soft slap making you emit a noise that was half way between a squeal and a laugh as he positioned himself behind you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his chest where it had been pressed to your back moments ago.

You felt the tip of his dick as it poked at your entrance, and he had no problem slipping inside your already soaked folds. But the angle and the pressure of your body closed off as he slipped inside you set your nerves on fire. You both moaned out together as he slid home, his balls to your clit.

You felt how thick he was against your walls. A little twitch and flutter from his shaft as you both remained still, you silently begging and waiting for him to move. His fingertips gently dug into your hips as he slowly pulled back and moved forward again.

"Fuck, baby, so fucking tight, like this," Paul ground out as he pumped slowly in and out of you. He was taking his time, slow thrusts and long pulls back. In truth, it was agony, but a beautiful torture. And a torture that he continued again, and again, and again. Over and over, in no rush whatsoever, a sharp contrast to where he’d brought you off before on the couch as fast as he could.

Your arms were shaking from baring the position but you wanted more. And as the bubbles of pleasure slowly simmered through your core and deep into your belly, you moaned out your demand. "Harder."

"Oh, fuck," Paul quivered inside you but picked up his pace, his hips slamming into yours, your insides squeezing him tightly as his hands gripped at your hips, blunt nails biting against your skin. With every thrust forward you were jolted, your palms sliding on the rough surface of the rug underneath you, and you curled your fingertips into the deep, cream coloured shag in an attempt to prevent yourself from face planting straight onto the floor.

"Yeah, just like that," you panted, your elbows locking as you pushed yourself up slightly, "oh fuck, Paul!" You could tell by his breathing and how he felt inside you that he was ready to cum but he could always hold off until you had yours. "So close," you managed to pant out, letting him know you weren’t far.

He slowed his pace, bending his body down your spine again, and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, "just," he thrusted, "let", again, "go".

His words flipped the switch inside your body and you felt yourself going, the blood already rushing to your head from the position you were in, and the pressure was pounding in your ears as you came, hard. "Oh my God!" You cried out as your walls clamped down around him, milking his hot seed to explode inside you.

"That’s my girl, fuck!" He roared at the feel of you around him, and his hips grew sloppy as he came, grunting, pulling you back onto him as he let go of his thick payload.

With your chests heaving, bodies stilled, his fingers still around your hips, his thumbs drew lazy circles on your back. You felt his blue gaze on you and you couldn't see it, but you knew he was smirking.

“Paul.” You managed to swallow, “baby, my arms.”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” He moved gently to pull out of you, curling his arm around your waist in the nick of time as your elbows gave way and the pair of you tumbled rather ungracefully to the rug by the table in a tangle of limbs, your giggles ringing around the room, drowning out the sound of the television.

“You okay?” He asked gently, as you moved so you were lay on your back looking up at him as he lay on his side, propped on his left elbow. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear with his right hand as you nodded, leaning up to kiss him deeply.

“I’m not even gonna ask where you saw or read about that.” You chuckled and he grinned, glancing around the room cheekily before he looked down at you.

“Boys talk, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “But admit it, that was better than making me fold sheets.”

You chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours again, your fingers gently twisting his silver chain between them as you looked at him and arched your eyebrow. “If I admit it will you do it again? Only not tonight, don’t think my arms could take another round.”

Paul let out a laugh which rumbled in his chest and he pressed his lips to yours again. “Maybe we can make a game out of it, see how many other surfaces I can use to I prop your feet on and fuck you from behind.”

You scoffed, slapping at his arm as he grinned down at you cheekily, and you bit your lip.

“I can run with that.” Your hands moved so they slipped round his back, gently tracing shapes over the muscles, making them twitch a little and he sighed as your nails reached that spot on his neck that always turned him to putty in your hands.

“Stop, you know what that does to me.” He looked down at you.

“I do.” You agreed, continuing nonetheless.

“Seriously, you want more?”

“Well, like you said.” Your fingers curled round the nape of his neck, pulling his face down so it was inches from yours. “It’s been a while since we got time together, best make the most of it.”

“Oooh, you’re a bad, bad woman future Mrs Disco…” he smirked, kissing you deeply. “And I’m so down for that.”

****

It was late in the evening, the two of you having carried your sex-capades from the lounge to the bedroom, both of you spent and spooning in the aftermath of bliss when Paul's cell rang out.

He grumbled and shifted slightly, turning to grab the offending item form the night stand before he answered, "Diskant."

You strained your ears to listen to who was on the other end but it wasn't audible.

"Yeah, okay, got it. I'll call you back," he replied and hung up. Then he quickly made an outgoing call. "Hey, so I just talked to Scribble. Freemont and Coates, or whoever they are, want to meet us." There was a brief pause, "tonight." Another pause and he closed his phone.

He sighed, turning to you, "I got to go."

"Okay," you sat up, an uneasiness filling your veins.

"I'll be back," he slipped out of bed, dressing quickly in black jeans, a black button down and hat. He clipped his badge from the nightstand to his belt after slipping into his uniform boots. Then leaned over and gave you a long, deep kiss. "I love you."

"I love you. Come home to me," you kissed him and pulled back, your fingers pressing the medallion of safe keeping against his chest. Paul touched his forehead to yours before he pressed his lips to your own in a soft kiss and headed out. You heard the door click as he left your apartment, and you gave a sigh, settling down into the bed, pulling his pillow to your naked chest as you closed your eyes. Whilst you knew that this was the job, hell, you’d done it yourself for long enough, it still never made it easier and for some inexplicable reason, tonight it made you even more twitchy than normal. But, that was more than likely down to the fact you’d managed to enjoy some quality time together tonight, and it had been so good.

Before long you drifted off to sleep, and you had no idea what time it was when the cordless rang, shrilling through the apartment, raising you from your slumber, but as you blinked yourself awake, it was still pitch black outside.

"Hello," you croaked.

"Y/N," you recognized the voice immediately, given your own happenings with IA.

"Captain Biggs," you replied, suddenly fully awake as you sat up in bed, the covers clutched to your chest.

"It's Paul,” his voice was low and serious and instantly you felt a cold, icy dread floor your system from your head to your toes as he passed, taking a breath, “a unit is on its way for you."

***** Part 2

#rock n roll people in a disco world #paul diskant #uglywombatsexpositionchallenge #paul diskant x reader #paul diskant x you #street kings #street kings fan fic #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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flyinglotus777 · 3 years

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Netflix’s Squid Game

SPOILER ALERT! If you are interested in watching the series, I HIGHLY suggest you do so. This article will be an overall synopsis and my review of the show. For an in-depth analysis of the symbolism of the show and ending, scroll down to the fourth to last paragraph.

The Netflix show, “Squid Game,” written and directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk is a phenomenal Korean drama centered around our victor, Seong Gi-hun, played by Lee Jung-jae. Contestants were recruited to play in a life or death competition due to their lack of luck, financial knowledge, and influx of impending debt they have accumulated throughout their lives. We first meet Gi-hun as he is down on his luck. Living with his elderly, overworked mother (which in countries outside of the United States is not strange nor uncommon) Gi-hun was a friend to gambling, but that toxic love caused him to be in debt to a gang of (what seemed to be) loan sharks. When luck finally strikes him on the race track, life simultaneously decides to take an excrement on his reality. His debt seekers catch him on his hot streak and involuntarily sign him up to be a participant in the Squid Game.

Similar to many other of the 456 participants, they all shared a common denominator of being in situations it seemed only money could fix. Upon arrival the contestants were asked to voluntarily sign wavers in order to participate in the game, while unknowingly risking their lives, for the opportunity to win 456 billion won (which would be roughly over $3.5 million in US currency). The challenges were mostly based on nostalgic childhood games, both based in the United States and South Korea.

Now I knew due to the explanation in the introduction of episode one that if any player were to lose, they would die. So during the first challenge of red light green light, when players were bulletly penalized for losing I was not surprised. After the game, the players decided to rally together and quit playing. The influence of the cash prize split the decision down the middle, leaving the old man, player 1, to be the final decision. To my surprise he actually chose to decline, freeing all of the players. During the voting, many players screamed at each other as to why they would choose to stay in the hell hole as other players responded that the outside world was not any better if not the same as the harsh environment they were already in. This reality struck many contestants as they returned back to their reality of debt, dependents, and for some bounty hunts, thus resulting in them returning to the game.

During the whole season, I was trying to find the purpose of these games. We knew why the participants felt motivated to play, but I wondered what was the purpose of having them fight for their lives in the first place. When the PlayStation faced soldiers forced the doctor (player 111) to dissect the bodies for organs to sell at the black market, at first I thought that it was what the original game maker wanted which I thought was genius. Soon to learn that it was actually a violation to a code of equality that was placed inside the arena applying to all of those who existed, soldiers and participants alike. Which struck me as odd due to the soldiers being able to tote guns and wear masks based on their own hierarchy and the participants being collectively isolated and given numbers as if it was a remake of the Stanford Prison experiment. Nonetheless many soldiers faced the same fate as the players, and my pondering would meet the solution come the finale.

Let’s discuss players. I only favored Gi-hun because he was the protagonist, but throughout the story he grew on me as his big heart prevailed through the madness. I knew Choo Sang-woo, the embezzling business man and hometown friend of Gi-hun played by Park Hae-soo, was a psychopath when I saw him in a fully filled bathtub with his suit on. Running from the police, in debt or not, that’s just as much of a red flag for serial killer tendencies as sleeping with socks on or having too thin and highly arched eyebrows. The episode that he crossed Ali, the father of one from Pakistan with the missing fingers, made me hate Sang-woo for the rest of the series. I was infuriated and frustrated with Ali for being that naïve to believe that they could escape the round as a duo, but understood his perspective since up until that point Sang-woo was a dependable, trusted ally to Ali. However after that episode I didn’t care who won, I was just ready for Sang-woo to die.

Kang Sae-byeok, the skeptical and beautiful warrior from North Korea played by Jung Ho-yeon, deserves her own paragraph. Along with her beauty, her presence and demeanor was so bad ass. She was thrifty and intelligent, as her talent being pick pocketing. I was waiting for her to just be so bad ass. As the punk disguised to be gangster, Jang Deok-su, pushed her around which seemed to be normal behavior between the two, I was ready for Sae-byeok to twist his arm, send a plunging round house kick to his nuts, and cut his snake tattoo right off of his face. Although her exterior was tough, her heart was made of malleable gold which we got to see as she opened up to her female companion during the marble challenge and sobbed from her loss afterwards. Although she was not the killer bad ass queen I had wanted her to be, I still call her a warrior because of her resiliency throughout life’s and the game’s many obstacles and her drive to provide her younger brother with a better life.

Thankfully Deok-su got what he deserved as Han Mi-nyeo poetically decided to take both of their lives during the glass challenge. “You said we would be together till the end,” she said before diving into her inevitable death with her short lived lover. Mi-nyeo was incredibly annoying as I would often pinch the inside corners of my eyes and scratch my eyebrows when she would appear. However that crazy bitch served justice, and I love her for that.

I was highly disappointed by the demise of the detective Hwang Jun-ho, played by the handsome Wi Ha-joon. I was rooting for detective Jun-ho, as I’m sure we all were, on his pursuit to find his brother. I was not surprised that his brother was Front Man, as I had suspected that his brother must’ve died or been apart of the game making due to his absence in real life and the current game. After discovering his brother was the victor of his year, to me it only made sense that he would be apart of the game enforcement. As we saw from Gi-hun, a normal life is impossible to live after experiencing something so traumatic as a series of death ridden children games. However I was saddened and surprised that detective Jun-ho was unsuccessful in closing down the whole operation. I mean the man was close to performing forced, aristocratic fellatio in the name of serving and protecting the law. I truly thought because he had gotten so far and was so close to exposing the operation that the only choice he had was to be successful. At last he was shot and killed by his own blood, the one he had been looking for; providing us with a cinematic and heart jerking ending to detective Jun-ho.

Lastly lets discuss the old man, player 001 named O Yeong-su, whom I also nicknamed Poppy during the series. Deceivingly innocent and weak, I genuinely liked Yeong-su throughout the game play. I thoroughly enjoyed his relationship with Gi-hun and saw him as a valuable player in most instances. I believe he was one of the main reasons that Gi-hun continued to lead with his heart. Gi-hun claimed that Yeong-su was the reason he returned to the games and later found out that Yeong-su was the reason there were games in the first place. The climatic episode of the marble challenge was when their relationship had been defined as “gganbu” (which is a term for trusted, close friends in Korean, as explained in the series), thus Yeong-su establishing a special place in Gi-hun’s heart. During the challenge, Yeong-su begins to have an episode of what we all assumed to be dementia as the arena they are playing in is designed like his old neighborhood and he abandons the game to take a trip down memory lane. Gi-hun screams in frustration at the old man to play with him only to end up losing in their even and odd game and resulting in deceit, tricking the old man to let him be the victor. Now if I was Gi-hun, I would’ve convinced Yeong-su to let me hold his marbles for safe keeping and let him have a fun time reminiscing on his life while he ran down the clock. Then when it was time, I would’ve turned in all 20 marbles just as Sang-woo did and went about my business. It would’ve only been right for the old man to forfeit as he was already on his death bed, or so we innocently thought. Before I get into the ending, I want to talk about the last match between Sang-woo and Gi-hun.

Finally, the last game to see who would be victorious in a highly anticipated game of Squid between Gi-hun and Sang-woo. It seemed as if it were a battle between good vs evil; Gi-hun representing a more benevolent side as he would often optimistically look to help other competitors and extend the kindness he had been shown versus Sang-woo who represented a more vindictive and ruthless side, determined to hurt anyone in order to receive his highly coveted and long awaited prize in an arena that erased any foundation of morals or ethics as soon as the light turned red. Luck was on Gi-hun’s side as he had the opportunity to play offense. With a cunning mind and a vengeance for Sae-byeok’s death, Gi-hun delivered a can of whoop ass to his opponent. As the saying goes, the good shall always prevail. Perhaps his heart was too pure as Gi-hun halted from crossing the finish line and offered Sang-woo a chance to live, thus forfeiting the prize money. Needless to say, I applauded when Sang-woo committed suicide as it was the only right thing to do in his position.

A year passed by and Gi-hun seemed worse than before. Physically his style was bummy wealthy, a look pioneered by Bill Gates, but mentally he was in shambles. How could you blame him? Gi-hun discovered that the responsible party for these horrendous events was none other than his ggangbu, old man Yeong-su. The biggest, jaw dropping plot twist of the entire series. As they were joined on Christmas Eve and Yeong-su on his death bed, they placed one final bet on an assumed to be drunken, homeless man who sat on the streets as it snowed and waited for help to arrive. Yeong-su explained how he actually wanted to help people and give his money to people who needed it, but wanted to do it in an “entertaining way.” As Gi-hun flared with outrage towards the old man for finding amusement in killing people, the old man rebutted using horse races as an example of people’s amusement. Yeong-su also said he participated in the games because it was more fun to play than to be a spectator, which I had noticed him treating the competition as if it were adult summer camp. I had just assumed since he was old, he didn’t care if he had died or not.

I think most people will think that this show was a metaphor about how money and rich people are evil. However I think it can be seen as commentary on society as a whole, not just the wealthy. Yeong-su says on his death bed that it’s a test of humanity, and asks Gi-hun if he still has faith in humanity after what he has experienced. Although money was the luring motivator to win the game, people still chose to return to the competition to escape their problems. Sure, money was apart of their problems as all of the players (excluding Yeong-su) were in debt, but that was due to choices that they had made. Whether it had been through embezzling, gambling, lack of luck, or financial ignorance, it was the people who had gotten themselves into those situations. Money doesn’t have a personal vendetta against anyone nor does it have an inherent quality of good or evil. Money is a neutral energy used to be exchanged for goods and services. It’s people who designate that energy to their humane or inhumane desires.

Leading to the next point of the wealthy and how they are seen to be evil due to having wealth. Although I do believe that there are some wealthy people who act as villains, money didn’t create the villain inside of them. Those people were going to behave maliciously whether they have money or not. The VIPs, who were spectating the finale of challenges, were tied to a bank devoted to the wealthy and gambled on the competitors who played (and most likely helped subsidize the events). We place judgement on them, but as Yeong-su said, people gamble on horse races. Although people are not animals and by my knowledge I don’t believe most or any horses die during these races, it is still the principle of watching an entity being tortured for amusement, which is not only confined to the wealthy population. When the concept of killing and tormenting living breathing beings for amusement is normalized within society, the lines begin to blur on who is okay to perform and who is not. Take the audience of this show for example, we all watched a show where hundreds of people were mercilessly killed for the desire of winning a cash prize for our own amusement, thus making “Squid Game” the number one show on Netflix at the moment. Although the show is fictional and brilliantly written, this Hunger Games concept is not new. We come in contact again and again with the idea of people who are disadvantaged given an opportunity to better their lives through inhumane means, including risking their own lives or actively sacrificing the life of another, and being spectators on the edge of our seats who can’t seem to look away. It is no different than a Roman gladiator match in a grand colosseum, which in modern day would be a MMA fight at the MGM hotel. We blame it on the rich who are ridiculed for creating these events, but at the end of the day it is the people, rich,poor, and everyone in between, who continue to still go along with it and to some extent desire it. Which makes me question, what does that say about humanity, and do I actually have faith in us? Although Gi-hun went through hell and back, he still remained pure of heart and used his wealth to enhance his life and those around him; proving that wealthy people can still be benevolent and desire righteous good. Similar to Gi-hun, the optimist in me wants to believe that there are still people in this world with good hearts, but I guess we just have to wait until the time comes to see.

Ultimately the show was phenomenal, and definitely sparked a desire inside of me to watch more Korean dramas. I don’t think the show will have a second season. Simply because I think the story line would be better cut off there, thus leaving the audience always wanting more. However if season 2 ever comes out, I’m ready for Gi-hun to take a Liam Neeson approach to ending the Squid Game and hopefully with a beard. Thank you for reading my article. I know it was incredibly lengthy. I have just finished the season after a 2 day binge watch, and have a lot of emotions and thoughts ruminating in my brain. Let me know what you think of the show and what you think of the article. Did anyone else notice the paintings of the games on the walls of the dormitory?

God bless.

#squid game #netflix #review #korean drama #kdrama #series review #web series

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 30: Waiting

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Some comic relief. Kung Lao and Liu Kang have an adult-ish conversation before it turns into a much less mature conversation. Mostly about you. About some other stuff too. Sure hope that no one overheard it or anything.

A/N: Some humor to break up those last few chapters. Saturday is the chapter with the choice at the end then my posting schedule has to swap around a bit, will probably be Monday and Friday? One for Liu one for Lao? That cool?

Part 29 Part 31 Chapter Index

Liu Kang changed his bandages while seated on the floor of his room with his door open. Kung Lao leaned against the frame of the door with his arms folded across his chest. Liu turned his attention to his brother and offered a weary smile. Kung Lao had been checking on you for them both since Chen had sent them away. Liu had suggested that they wait patiently but even he’d had a difficult time not worrying about you. When Kung Lao had told him where to shove that idea, he’d relented. Liu had been the one to care for you when you’d first arrived. He wanted to be the one to care for you now.

Raiden had said something about them both becoming too attached.

Liu hadn’t argued even if he thought that was a ridiculous reason to keep their distance.

“Have you heard anything yet?”

“That woman taking care of Y/N turned me away again and this time she was mean.” The annoyance in Kung Lao’s voice was completely unjustified. His vendetta against the people working in the infirmary was extremely silly. But Kung Lao wouldn’t talk about it and Liu Kang couldn’t make him.

“She needs taking care of, Lao.”

“Yeah, which I am perfectly capable of doing.”

“You are not qualified.” Liu chuckled as he finished wrapping up his arm. It had healed as well as could be expected over the last few days. It would take a few weeks to be back to normal, but he was prepared for the climb. “You don’t even take of yourself when you need it.

“Only because they make me go to the infirmary every time. They don’t trust me to do it alone.”

“Because you don’t do it.” Liu stood and dusted himself off. “When was the last time that you checked your bandages or your wounds? Are you even bothering with them anymore?”

“No, because they’re fine.”

“I think I just made my point. Everyone’s point.”

“You get to take care of your wounds. Why do I have to go to the infirmary to do it?”

“Because I’m qualified. And I actually do it.” He threw away the old bandages.

Kung Lao grumbled and then tilted the door closed behind him before leaning against the nearby wall. Liu sat on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh. He was listless. Doing nothing and waiting patiently was part of what they did in Raiden’s Temple, but it didn’t mean that he was content to do it. While he composed himself better than Kung Lao, he was just as worried and frustrated by the lack of control he had.

“I’m going to sneak in through her window. She can’t stop me from there. I’ll fall to my death. She doesn’t want to be responsible for that.”

“That’s a terrible idea. One of your worst.” Liu laughed in disbelief at his brother. “Sure, you’ll get in, but she’ll kick you right out after. Not to mention that you’re going to terrify the poor woman. And Y/N’s bed is right beneath the window. You could hurt her.”

“I could just use my hat.” He tapped the brim.

“Same results, Lao.” Liu rested his elbow on his knee and ran his fingers through his hair. “Chen is good at what she does. Y/N is in capable hands.”

Kung Lao took a seat next to him with a frustrated huff. They sat in tense silence.

“How is your arm doing, anyway?”

“It’s healing fine. Stitches will be coming out soon.” Liu patted the bandage on his left arm. He had a relatively high pain tolerance, and he wasn’t the type to complain. It’d hurt like a son of a bitch when the ink had sliced through his flesh, but he’d been more worried about you in the moment. “No more fever which has helped tremendously.”

“I hear that.” Kung Lao was staring wide-eyed in front of him. He had so little patience, which was something Liu usually gave him hell for, but in this situation, he was right there alongside him. They sat in silence again, a frequent occurrence over the past few days. So much had happened since they had last had a chance to speak and neither one of them seemed willing to talk about it. They’d spent plenty of time together waiting for you to wake up, but it had mostly been in frustrated silence.

“Did she tell you?” Lao didn’t turn his wide-eyed gaze away from the floor.

“Tell me what?

“That we kissed.” Kung Lao clasped his hands together in front of him and tapped his fingers nervously against his other hand. Liu Kang heaved a sigh and tried not to let it bother him, but he was sure that his silence said more than enough. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“No, she didn’t. But I suspected as much after how she behaved in Huangshan. You had her all mixed up.” Liu tapped his foot and then let go of his frustration with a breath. He had gotten into his head that you were his Y/N. This wasn’t easy to talk about for either of them. “I think she was afraid to tell me. Afraid of how I’d react.” Rationalizing it had been enough to wipe the remaining frustration completely away. “She carries more guilt than she lets on, I think.”

“Funny that you put it that way because she didn’t seem to have a problem telling me that she’d kissed you.”

Was Kung Lao trying to get on his nerves? He did that sometimes, but Liu had gotten good at navigating his way around it. He laughed under his breath and Kung Lao seemed genuinely surprised not to have annoyed him.

“You have known her since you were nine, Kung Lao. You have a connection that is deeply rooted in your childhood. It’s nothing like the one I have with her. It is worlds apart.”

“Wow, I don’t think that I’ve heard that kind of jealousy from you since we were teenagers.” Kung Lao smirked. Liu tapped his foot and heaved another sigh. It wasn’t the connection that had caused his renewed frustration. This had gone on for too long.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore.” Liu frowned. “I can’t get it out of my head. I want out of the bet. I never felt good about it to begin with, Kung Lao. It’s making me act differently. I don’t want any part of it.”

“So, you’re chickening out, huh?”

Liu rolled his eyes.

“Why are you doing this, Lao?”

“What kind of question is that? Did I not explain the bet to you?”

“Are you sabotaging any chance you might actually have with someone you care about?” Liu watched Kung Lao instantly stiffen up and knew he’d hit the nail right on the head. “When I was brought to the temple and we became family, you spoke of Y/N so fondly. Now she’s here and you’re willing to risk any relationship that you have rebuilt with her so that you don’t have to do a few chores? It’s absurd, Lao. You don’t think she’s going to be upset? Feel gross about it? Because I feel gross about it.”

Kung Lao clenched his jaw and stopped tapping his foot and fingers and stared at the floor again instead. Liu waited patiently and rotated his left shoulder, feeling the stinging in his arm and the pain that radiated down to his fingertips. He would focus on stretching his muscles until Kung Lao was done arguing in his head. He did that sometimes, especially when he was arguing with Liu. This wasn’t the first time that he’d told Kung Lao a harsh truth and it wouldn’t be the last. Kung Lao had done the same for him, but it had been less necessary over the years. Liu Kang was the type who saw his shortcomings before others did.

“I really hate when you call me out on my bullshit.” Kung Lao finally chuckled.

“Call it what you will, Lao. If you won’t let me back out of the bet, then I forfeit. I’ll do your chores. I don’t care. I stand by what I said when you first suggested it. I don’t want to bet on someone else’s feelings. Let her feel what she feels authentically so that I can feel what I feel authentically.” He mussed up his hair in annoyance.

“It’s fine.” Kung Lao deflated next to him. It was comical. His posture had completely changed. “Honestly, I felt pretty terrible about it by the end of our trip to Japan. Like I was… manipulating her. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I thought it was a harmless and fun thing but you’re probably right. I’m purposely… screwing it up.” Kung Lao unclasped his hands and stood then dragged the chair from Liu’s desk and sat on it backwards. He couldn’t seem to sit still since you had fallen unconscious. Liu had struggled with that too, but he’d always had an easier time focusing than Kung Lao had. “The bet’s off. I’ll tell her about it, I guess. I don’t want to feel like I’m hiding anything anymore.”

“Is that so?” Liu smiled, feeling a little relief. “Not going to make me do your chores?”

“Not over this at least. I’ll weasel out of them some other way, I’m sure.” Kung Lao grinned. He seemed like himself for the first time in days. Maybe it really had been weighing on him as heavily as it had been weighing on Liu.

“Does that mean I was right? Self-sabotage?”

“Ugh, can you not rub it in? Just for once?”

“Not a chance.” Liu Kang laughed, and Kung Lao leaned his arms on the back of the chair then rested his chin on them with a heavy sigh. Whatever happened, he knew that they would be okay. They’d broken the dam when it came to talking about it, which felt nice if not a little daunting. At some point, he had gotten nervous to bring it up again. He didn’t want to hurt Kung Lao, but he couldn’t give up on you either even if he couldn’t get it out of his head that it was selfish for him not to.

“So, she kissed you again, huh?” Kung Lao diverted attention away from his emotions, something he did very frequently. Funny enough, Liu thought that you did the same thing. You were similar in many ways. “…wait, you didn’t want to end the bet because you uh…” Kung Lao sat upright, and alert suddenly then made a motion with his hands that was rather crude. Liu Kang hesitated but then shook his head no. “You didn’t win and not tell me, did you?”

“Those weren’t the terms of the bet, remember? I would have never agreed if it had been.”

“That’s evasive, Liu.”

“I’m just saying that the conditions had to do with her choice and not any physical achievement, Kung Lao. We’re not stupid kids.”

“Wow, this is so incredibly defensive.” Kung Lao whispered in wonder.

“I dislike talking about this with you.” Liu Kang frowned. “Talking about her like this with you. It’s uncomfortable.”

“I hate it too!” Kung Lao laughed and threw his arms up in frustration then let them fall back over the chair dramatically. “Just… look, tell me if I lost. Tell me if I don’t stand a chance. I just want her to be happy.” He said this all with a grumble, as if it were like pulling teeth to say it. It was funny how uncomfortable he was with his emotions.

“That’s what I want too.” Liu Kang nodded to agree. “And I’m not the one to decide who wins or loses. And this isn’t a bet anymore.”

“No more bet.”

“The bet is off.” Liu Kang sighed with a relief. He wasn’t sure that Kung Lao was going to actually let it go. He was difficult to read. “That’s a huge relief.”

“Yeah, I mean… yes and no for me. You called me out and now I have to think about that.”

“Poor, poor Kung Lao. Having to think his own thoughts.”

“It’s a burden, really.”

“We have to tell her, Lao.”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t fix the self-sabotage thing if I don’t. And if you tell her and I don’t then that makes me look bad and we… we all know you and honesty, for the most part.”

“I can lie when I need to but I’m not going to lie about this.” Liu folded his arms over his chest. They sat in awkward silence again. There were plenty of things that they should have talked about, but it still felt weird to. Usually, they would have joked about this kind of thing and had the other to confide in, but they were both worried about hurting the other’s feelings and dashing their hopes.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Hmm?” Hadn’t he? He didn’t remember not answering Kung Lao.

“I asked if you two… you know.”

“Can you not say the words, Kung Lao? Are you not an adult?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to picture you two doing that.” Kung Lao stuck his tongue out and then shook his head as if to dismiss the mental image. “But did you?”

“No. I thought I told you no.” Liu had hesitated again. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to on your trip. No, he had wanted to, but he had thought about that stupid bet and how much it could potentially hurt you to have done that and then found out there had been stakes attached to your emotions. He’d pulled himself back because of it more than once while you were in Huangshan.

“How am I supposed to interpret that, Liu?” Kung Lao was laughing, at least. Liu Kang hung his head and Kung Lao only laughed harder.

“Look, she had a nightmare, so I let her sleep in my bed.”

“I’m sort of disappointed that you didn’t get laid at the end of this story.”

“It was your stupid bet that ruined it.” Liu chuckled but he could feel his face turning red.

“What, did you wake up with a half chub or something?” Kung Lao was teasing him, but he’d gotten to the end of the story before Liu had found a less crude way to tell it and Liu covered his face in embarrassment. Kung Lao was wheezing with laughter. “Liu! You didn’t!”

“In my defense, I was having a nice dream and she was right there in my arms and…”

“Wow, Liu. That’s more me than you.”

“I’m only human, Kung Lao.”

“Just, wow.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Liu pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. His face was still burning but it felt nice to laugh about it with Kung Lao. He hadn’t talked to you about it because that felt like opening a floodgate and he’d needed to end this stupid bet first. Plus, it was kind of a difficult conversation to start. It was easier just to make a move.

“Did she… notice… or?”

“…I hate that you guessed so accurately. I never would have told you outright.”

“It’s amazing.” Kung Lao smacked the back of the chair in glee. “So?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she noticed, Kung Lao.” Liu Kang hung his head again, hands on his knees. Kung Lao was practically choking to death with how hard he was laughing at him. “You could try to enjoy my misfortune a little less.”

“This is the funniest thing that has happened in weeks, Liu Kang.” He wiped a tear away and tried to regain his breath. “Why didn’t you just go for it? I would have gone for it. Wouldn’t have given it a second thought.”

“Well, I’m not you. All I could think about was how hurt she would be if we did that and then found out about the stupid bet. And she had been so frightened after her nightmare. I played it off the best that I could given the circumstances.” Liu was laughing now too. He couldn’t help it. It was funny. And it felt good to laugh after having done nothing but worry and stress for three days.

“You know what, Liu? You are a much better man than I am sometimes.” Kung Lao wiped his eyes and regained his composure. “I never would have let that opportunity pass.”

“I know. I had no intention of telling you the truth either.”

“I’m glad you did. I needed a good laugh.”

“At my expense, of course.”

“Of course.”

Silence fell again, but it was at least less awkward. Liu supposed if that came at his expense than he was okay with it.

“What do we do now?” Liu sighed. Kung Lao was avoiding his eyes again.

“I don’t think it’s really up to us what happens next with that.”

“Yeah.” Liu nodded to agree. “…no hard feelings no matter what happens, right?”

“Not going to be that simple, I think.”

“Of course not, Kung Lao. But above all things, you are my brother.”

“Yes. Nothing will change that. It might just be weird while we figure it out.”

“Yeah, probably.” Liu didn’t have much else to say on the matter. Silence again. While he felt relieved that they’d cleared the air and sorted things out, it still weighed heavily on them both.

“…I’m going to check on her again.” Kung Lao stood and stretched his arms before nodding toward the door. “Want to come with me? Might overwhelm her.”

“No, I don’t need to see you harassing that poor woman again. She said that she’d tell us when Y/N wakes up.”

“I don’t believe her, Liu.”

“You have made that abundantly clear.” Liu Kang smiled, and Kung Lao bowed his head to say goodbye. “If I hear any jokes at my expense throughout the rest of the temple, Kung Lao, you will be sorry.”

“My lips are sealed, Liu.” Kung Lao chuckled again under his breath and then left Liu Kang alone with his thoughts.

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thewildomega · 3 years

Text

Alpha Whitebeard headcanons

A/N: Thank you for the request anon! This took me longer to do than I intended but manly because I was trying to figure out how to make this work. So The idea I have came up with is the reader(Omega) will have the Saizu Saizu No Mi (Size size fruit) same as the reader had in my Katakuri fic. Basically the reader has the ability to change size. Minimum is 6 inches, Maximum is 15 feet. Now that we have that settled let’s get started.

P.s. Probably going to be some little stories added in with the headcanons. Beware it’s probably going to be long because my love for this man is too strong to be contained.

Sfw

If normal alphas are known to be large, strong, leaders then Whitebeard is the fucking Apex Alpha by traits alone. However Edward isn’t necessarily aggressive unless you fuck with his family.

The man is highly protective over what he considers his. This includes his territory, his crew, his ship and most importantly his omega.When it comes to his mate he can at times be considers possesive.

The two of you have been together for years, since before he was known as Whitebeard, before he was a captain himself.

Pillaging the city Edward made quick work of gathering all the treasure and anything else he could find. Captain Rocks was causing his usual mayhem along with most of the other crew. Cutting down the few men that tried taking him on he was about to leave the high class home when he heard muffled crying.

“...elp...omeon...ease..”

Knitting his brows he looked to one of the other crew members as he passed by the kicked in door. “Here, take this back to the ship.” he told him, tossing him the bag of loot.

“Whatcha doin’ Newgate?”

“Heard somethin’.” was all he said before he started walking down the stairs to the basement. Ducking his head to fit he got down to the dark room and looked over to the far corner only for his breath to catch in his throat. It was a woman, a young woman. She was chained up and in a cage, a blindfold over her eyes and a gag tied around her mouth. Without another thought he was moving over to unlock the cage with the keys placed on a hook not too far away. The woman who he saw was dressed in nothing but a raggedy cream colored gown curled up as best she could at the sudden noise. Bruises and bloody cuts decorated her skin. Crouching down he reached into the cage and felt a low growl rumble in his chest when the strong scent filled his nose, she was an omega. Hooking his finger under the blindfold he lifted it up and off her head.

You were shaking at the noise, your cage being opened. The person, whoever it was hadn’t aid anything. When something warm touched your cheek you flinched and felt as the person removed your blindfold. When you saw the two yellow eyes looking at you you froze, it was a man, a large man.

Staring into her e/c eyes he blinked, his heart hammering in his chest. Coming back to his eyes dropped to the gag. Pulling out his knife he saw her scared eyes snap to the blade and her frail body tense. “It’s alright.” he told her. Moving the knife towards her he saw tear fall onto her dirty cheek, she thought he was going to kill her.

As the knife moved towards you you braced yourself for the pain, and closed your eyes but to your surprise there was no pain and you felt the gag in your mouth fall slack and then get pulled away. Wincing at the ache you closed your sore mouth, your lips cracked from dehydration.

Dropping the gag to the floor he looked again to the woman, he bet under all that grit and blood there was a right pretty woman. She looked to be maybe nineteen or so. No doubt she had been taken as a slave, omegas normally were taken young, as soon as they showed signs. “What’s your name darling?”

Staring at the no doubt alpha male you said nothing. Hearing him hum and then tilt his head you watched as he moved to unlock the seastone cuffs around your wrists and then ankles.

Moving to put up his knife he leaned up, “Well my name is Edwa...’ before he could finish she had lunged forward. Going to stop her she suddenly shrunk down to only a few inches tall making him sit there stund or a moment. Quickly snapping out of it he moved to grab her. “Hey.. now you just..”

Growing to your full size which had to be close to his own you threw your fist through the air and into his jaw. As soon as he was knocked backwards you shrunk back down to your normal size and ran for it, hearing him right behind you. You made it to only the top of the stairs before you were lifted into the air and thrown back into the wall hard.

Hearing the feminine yelp he hurried up the stairs and skidded to a stop when he saw Rocks standing there along with a few more, Kido and Linlin being two of them. Snapping his eyes to the omega laying on the floor by the wall he saw Rocks and the other looking to her in amusement.

“Now what do we have here?” Rocks asked in a laugh. “An omega? Well aren’t you a rare treasure.”

Breathing heavily he snapped his eyes between that of his captain and the omega who was now backing into the corner. Watching as Rocks made to go towards her he stood tall, “I want her.”

Stopping mid step Rocks looked towards Newgate and rose a brow, tilting his head with a sinister grin on his face. “What was that Newgate?”

Looking Rocks in the eyes he took a deep breath. “I want her. I’m the one who found her so by right she belongs to me. I will forfeit my share of the treasure in exchange for her.”

Narrowing his eyes Rocks looked to the large male, holding up his hand when Kido went to butt in. Newgate was a strong asset to his crew he knew this and he also knew how easy it would be to keep control over him with an omega to be able to threaten. Smiling he glanced to the omega and then back to Newgate. “This island and then the next two.”

Sighing he nodded firmly.

Chuckling Rocks tilted his head towards the female. “The bitch is your responsibility.”

Sfw headcanons continued

Edward had taken care of you from then after, no matter how hard you made it.

Like all alphas your health is very important to him, he doesn’t put up with you skipping meals or doing anything to put yourself in danger.

He claimed you quickly. Making you shift to your larger size with a deep command in his alpha voice he held you tightly and sunk his large, sharp teeth into your neck. It seemed to last forever but once he pulled away, holding your small limp body against his massive one. For the remainder of the night he had held you close, holding you in one of his hands while his large tongue lapped at the deep bite.

You call him Ed and he calls you Darling, lass, sweetheart, little one and omega. When he does call you by name you know he means business and there is a good chance you are in trouble.

If you call him alpha though and sit on his lap then you can pretty much get away with murder and he will give you whatever you want.

While still in Rocks crew he keeps you locked away in his room, he doesn’t trust any one else on that ship. He will however take you out when the ship docks.

Once the big man gets a ship of his own you are allowed to roam wherever you like.

The crew he gets are your sons just as much as they are his. Some like Marco call you ‘Ma’.

He has never been a controlling alpha. You are your own person and he allows you to dress, talk and do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t put you in danger. That being said you are not allowed off ship alone he knows all too well that an omega is always a target, even more so when she is the omega of a notorious pirate such as himself.

You sit on his lap or on his shoulder.

The man practically drowns you in his scent. There is no doubt that you are a taken omega.

Sleeping is a bit of this and that. Sometimes you sleep on his chest with his hand overtop of you (That is his favorite) Other times you sleep beside him, curled up into his side. No matter which way you sleep it always gives him a heart attack if he wakes up and you aren’t there. You have been known to shrink down when you have nightmares and he is always afraid he may have crushed you.

Some may look at the both of you and wonder how it works and if you were just some poor omega that he took. At first it was rough, you loathed him but he never treated you wrongly. Now you were proud to call him yours as he is you. You love him and he loves you.

Hope this was okay. I didn’t do NSFW because I thought this was long enough, but if anyone wants it just let me know. Thank you for reading!

#Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #one piece whitebeard #whitebeard headcanons #whitebeard x reader #edward newgate #edward newgate x reader #shirohige

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s Daughter (The Aftermath)

Tony Stark x daughter!reader

warnings:

a/n: y/n is about 17 or 18; i cried while writing this. sorry this is really long!!! pls forgive me 🥺

prompt: takes place from a3 to smffh

The Early Years (1) The Teenage Years (2) The Intense Years (3) Continued (5)

let’s start on a happy note! ahahah

so for a while, earth was calm

you, pepper, and tony got to be a family for a while

wedding planning!

of course you got to try the ben&jerry’s ice cream named after your dad: Stark Raving Hazelnuts

“it’s not fair that you got ice cream named after you and i didn’t”

“well, when you grow up to be as awesome as me, maybe you’ll get your own ice cream flavor”

developing nanotech suits together for a Bonding Experience(tm)

speechless after the first test

“dad, this is...”

“the coolest thing to ever exist?”

“yes!!”

yall ready for some shit?

the day that ebony maw invaded was pretty—what’s the word? interesting? no. well, yes, but...HORRIBLE.

it all started when you got the call from your dad

“y/n, incoming call from ‘big fat meanie’”

“god, i really have to change that. okay, JOSHIE, answer it. hey, dad? what’s up?”

“hey, kid! you know that weird ass building on bleecker street? how fast can you get here?”

“JOSH can you track FRIDAY really quick? lets see how far dad is...uh, okay, be there in five, see ya”

taking your suit for a spin and realizing how GREAT it was to be able to basically fold up your suit and put it in your back pocket

knocking on the door and it opened on its own, it was kinda cool

“is this a museum? cool.”

bruce turning around to see you after about three years and giving you an awkward smile and a wave while you stood frozen around the wizard-guys

“y/n, god, you’ve grown up!”

charging into him for a long overdue hug

“you don’t know how much i missed you. it’s been chaotic without you”

“i can...i can only imagine”

a debriefing on the situation you were about to face, and bonus! having to play the catch-up game with bruce

“just call him, dad. we need as much help as we can. steve will understand”

rushing outside to face off with some ugly-ass aliens

“oh nooo, it’s roger smith from american dad”

bruce: 👀, stephen: 👀, wong: 👀, tony: 👏👏🥰 that’s my girl

simultaneous nanosuit unveiling

“you ready for this one, pops?”

“of course! ive waited years to kick some more alien ass”

montage of you and tony getting your asses beat together (as a family <3)

peter showing up

“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t send you back to that school bus”

“because i’m good company?”

“whatever, just listen to whatever dad has to say, i forfeit my responsibilities over you”

pew pew, repulsors, pew, tiny rockets! fun! action! destroying new york again and again. good times...

until JOSHUA gave you notice that your dad was flying high

“call him. now.”

“hey! how’s it going down there?”

“dad, you know how i feel about you and space”

“i know, i know. i just...i gotta take care of this. keep pepper safe for your old man, okay?”

“i lo—l—ve y—”

“y/n? y/n?! i love you! shit!”

“we lost connection with her, sir”

trying to call peter

“call failed, y/n. should i try again?”

“i’m gonna kill them...”

walking through the rubble to find bruce, the only sensible man you know

taking him to the avengers compound asap to get to rhodey and figure out what comes next

meanwhile, tony was dealing with space and another teenager

and worrying a lot about leaving you on earth

“i mean, mr. stark, y/n’s one of the most capable people i know. she’s probably trying to fix this whole mess as we speak”

“i didn’t get to tell her i love her”

“oh...”

having a lovely meeting with thaddeus ross with rhodey, having a lovely time watching them passive-aggresively argue until your former teammates arrived

having to patiently (and professionally) wait for ross to hang up before running into them for a hug

“holy shit, you guys have no idea how bad i’ve wanted to see you. it sucks not being all together anymore”

“i know, y/n. we’ve all missed you.” -cap

“a lot” -nat added

bruce’s little entrance that was sure to bring some awkwardness

you, secretly freaking out about your dad

sam was the one that found you crying after you “stepped out” for a few minutes too long

“oh, y/n,” he was contemplating grabbing someone else to step in, but decided to sit next to you in the hallway, “i’m sorry, kiddo. i can’t promise you anything, but your dad is a fighter. a big pain in the ass. i think your odds are good”

laughing through your tears

“yeah, you’re right. thanks, sammy”

he gave you a little hug while you calmed down

getting to business, the ass-kicking kind

as the wise natasha romanoff once said to your father, you were being “uncharacteristically non-hyper verbal”

your mind did this funny thing...wandered into places it really should not go

the talk about sacrificing vision led to wakanda, where you had a swell time patrolling

“guys! we’ve got incoming. a lot of incoming”

well-deserved uncle/niece team up. who wouldve thought?

you would have nightmares about these aliens for years to come

“you get to die, and you get to die! everybody gets to die!”

“y/n, what did we talk about?” -rhodey

“using humor as a defense mechanism makes the team uncomfortable...”

covering the girls 😌 because we gotta have those all-girl teamups, uh-huh?

some more blasting

thor made his comeback and you just could not miss it

“hi, thor!”

you landed next to him and your helmet receded

“well, hello, miss y/n! good to see you again! my, you got taller...oh! meet my friends: rabbit and tree”

having a “what the actual fuck” moment upon seeing thanos for the first time

and flying at him from behind with a massive nanotech blade ready to kill this purple bastard

but he grabbed your arm and flung you into the dirt, that was gonna leave a mark

“i just had to make a suit when i was ten...no one stopped me, huh? i couldn’t be elon’s kid, he was a nice guy”

watching thanos snap his fingers and looking around to see dust floating through the air and thanos retreat

“rhodey? uncle rhodey?!”

“i’m right here, kid, don’t worry”

he grabbed your hand while you were dusting

“tell my dad i love him, promise?”

fading away and leaving rhodey with your last words

he was mad before anything else

all he could think about was a promise your dad made him take years back

“rhodey, you keep my daughter safe no matter what, promise?”

the avengers recooperating at the compound, waiting to figure out whether any of the space-crew survived

they had to let pepper know that you didn’t make it, she was a mess upon hearing that news

tony finally making his way back to earth

and stumbling out of that ship

“where’s y/n? where is she?!”

“tony, tony, calm down”

“dont tell me to calm down! where is my daughter?!”

“she made me promise to tell you thay she loves you”

tony knew the answer by now, he lost his mind over your death

it didn’t feel right not having you by his side, for the past 18 years you’ve been with him

after a long period of recovery, tony and pepper moved on, got married, built a home, had a new daughter...

tony made sure there was a spare room for you

he put all the things you left behind in it

there were so many photos of you in the house

and he’d show your sister, morgan, all of them. he wanted morgan to know her sister

“that’s y/n when she built her first robot. it snuck up on me a few times. it went ‘boo!’”

morgan loved the stories about you, but she didn’t understand why she couldn’t see you

“when do i get to meet her?”

“uh...maybe someday, sweetie”

after being unbothered for almost 5 years, the remaining avengers came back with a plan that was so tempting, he just wanted his little girl back

cracking under pressure and telling pepper that he couldn’t ignore this mission because it was his chance to get you back

“get her back, tony”

“you think so?”

“i miss her, too.”

and so it began, he made it his mission to get you back

peeking at the wallet picture of you on his shoulders when you were so little

tony travelling to 2012; loki’s invasion

and there you were, the sassy genius 12 year old that he missed so much

“we’ve got this, tony, we’ll bring her home” -scott

and then things went badly and also 2012 tony went into cardiac arrest and 2012 y/n dove onto the floor to tend to him

“dad? give us some room, would you?!”

2023 tony smiling at how much he missed you worrying about him and how reckless he was

but also...the mission kinda went bad so that sucked

push it a bit farther back and now tony was with grandpa stark! asking how to be a dad and all that!

he could barely stand still waiting for you to come back to him, god he missed you more than he thought

and after a bit of hard work, it was time to snap

just like that, you were back in wakanda, puzzled by the gap in time before one of dr. strange’s portals opened in front of you

and then you were in the ruins of the avengers compound

“JOSHUA, can you locate my dad?”

“i think you’ll be able to see him”

“wow, i cant believe i programmed your cocky artificial ass”

“i think you can”

seeing your dad flying high and patching into the comms

“miss me, old man?”

and then he hit the gas to get to you and when this man hugged you, you almost couldn’t let go

“i’m so sorry, y/n. god, i’m sorry. these last five years...i was so lost without you”

“it’s okay, dad, i’m here now”

getting shot at during your reunion

“son of a bitch...we’re having a family moment here, asshole!”

yes, im gonna say it again. of course i am! and.........father/daugher team-up

the last one

“peter, is that you? you asshole! i cant believe you went to space without me!”

“missed you too!”

rhodey!! cant forget about uncle rhodey!!

“you gave my dad the message, right?”

“it was your dying wish, of course i did!”

“great. don’t forget i love you, too, rhodey!”

“couldn’t let me forget it”

lest we forget that pepper joined the fight?

plot twist: (step)mother/daughter team-up

mother/father/daugher team up!!!! ultimate stark machine!!!!!!!

and then you left him alone for 5 minutes and he’s got the infinity stones and you know it’s the last time you’re going to see him and you cant decide what your next move is and you’re just frozen and you cant catch your breath and he snaps and your heart plummets

you have to rush to his side, the last time you can sit beside his tired body and let him know that its going to be okay

“hey dad, it’s okay, we’re gonna be fine. thank you for everything”

peter grabbing your hand as you both sobbed next to your dad, feeling robbed of your time with him

pepper brought you home where she told you all about the five years you missed

both of you just cried harder than you’ve ever cried before

“so i have a sister?”

morgan was so happy to meet you, she couldn’t contain herself, practically latched onto you

and she didn’t fully understand what happened to tony

you saw your new room for the first time and didn’t leave it for a while, occasionally pepper or morgan would pop in

morgan actually crawled into bed with you a few times

the funeral was one of the worst days of your life

the remnants of your young life pulled back together for one day

then you hid back in your room before you heard a knock

“who is it?”

“it’s happy”

“come in”

“hey, kiddo. me and morgan are gonna get some cheeseburgers, you wanna come?”

she really was a stark

after a long hibernation, you started to get back into the groove of your old life

but the press was brutal and harsh, you were bombarded with questions regarding your dad

it took everything not to explode on camera

you stayed in contact with the rest of the avengers, mourning your dead, keeping the support system, staying a family

it was all you could get...for now

#tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #tony stark #iron man x daughter!reader #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

Conversation

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 6 "Seven Minutes in Hell" (Note: Offensive content, use at own discretion)

Everyone would immediately assume the killer is me.

Are you one of those idiot savants who's heavy on the idiot, light on the savant?

I am simply a victim of my times.

Are you aware your pants are on backwards?

Then whose fault is it?

I am never talking about anything ever again!

Yeah, super sorry about what happened down there.

Why are you laughing?

What about that fit you threw down there?

You're not mad at me?

Oh, I meant everything I said about you.

I still think you're useless. I'm just not sad about it.

You never, ever want to be the boss in a time of extreme crisis.

As soon as you become the boss, you get a target on your back, from the feds, the other families, ambitious underlings.

Sure, seems like you have all the power, but you also take on the most risk.

Oh, don't judge me for trying to stay alive.

Do not give an inch.

What's your game here?

I trust you about as far as I can throw you.

I know we don't know who the killer is, but we know it traces back to this house.

There are two things that always happen at a slumber party; someone experiments with lesbianism and secrets are revealed.

We can create situations and scenarios to really prime the pump.

We'll lock everybody up overnight, and we're bound to find out something.

A slumber party sounds fun.

Let's play spin the bottle.

Someone always goes lesbian.

We're playing spin the damn bottle.

Why spin the bottle?

That is not a nasty rumor. That is a true rumor.

So I propose a panty raid.

You taste like wax.

I guess we have to kiss.

You're a great kisser.

Was I interrupting you?

I was just practicing looking disinterested.

I'm pretty sure I was born without that part of the brain that actually feels stuff.

We have so much in common.

I'm starting to think we have something very important and specific in common.

My sex life up until this point is what you'd call unusual.

I think the only way to be sure of your feelings is if you let me gently rub your uterus right now.

When I love someone, it drives them insane.

Believe me when I say that if it was possible for me to feel anything I would totally be crying right now.

That doesn't seem healthy.

All the doors are locked solid. Windows, too. Upstairs and down.

I decided to have the whole house turned into a panic room.

But wait, doesn't that mean that there's some sort of switch somewhere to deactivate it?

I hate being trapped in small places.

There's only one reason why the killer would do something like this-- to pick us off one by one.

Guess it's just a matter of time before one of us or all of us ends up dead.

You have to help us.

Look, I'm prepared to say I'm sorry I did that.

What I'm not prepared to do is say the sex was bad.

Yeah. I'm not gonna apologize for that one.

I'm about to get murdered, so can you please just hang up and get over here?

How on earth are we supposed to get in if all the doors and windows are locked?

Dude, we climb up the ladder, break the windows upstairs, save all the girls, climb back down, then it's vagina city for all of us.

Why would you bomb-proof upstairs windows? For what, like, a flying bomb?

Don't be an idiot.

It's hero time.

Save me and I'm yours forever.

I'm not really sure I'm ready for that level of commitment.

Break the glass!

Stand back, fair maiden.

Give him the dignity of watching him die.

Someone in this house definitely knows who the killer is.

It's truth or dare time.

Whatever it takes to stop the douche that's trying to kill everybody.

I mean, do you ever just stop and ask yourself if we can actually pull this off?

Maybe we all just need to get out of here.

The best way to avoid a shark attack is to not go in the water.

We all have a crisis of faith sometimes.

Maybe you're hiding something.

I'd pick truth and then just lie.

If you want to lie, you can just pick dare.

That's the whole point of truth or dare. You can't lie.

Does your vagina have teeth?

I'm not lying.

My vagina doesn't have teeth.

Does your vagina still have teeth?

So it used to have teeth, but you got them removed?

So your vagina still has teeth.

Sounds like you're trapped in a web of lies.

You're forfeiting your turn, bitch.

Okay, I guess it's my turn, then.

You promised you wouldn't tell.

Sorry. I had to tell the truth.

Of course you're the killer.

I propose we take a little break, You know, take a whiz, get a refill.

You know what? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever trusted you.

I wanted to talk about the other thing you said, about how you thought you had feelings for me.

The only feelings I have for you now are rage and pissed offedness.

Now go sit in that bathtub and think about what you've done. And try not to rub one out, okay?

Come on! I said I was sorry!

If anybody's down here, please don't jump out at me.

Is that blood?

Wait. If you're gonna kill me, at least show me who you are first.

I knew it. I knew it was you.

Please. You don't have to do this. I could help you.

There's never any food in there. Just laxatives.

I got the impression that you and I are on the verge of being the next "it" couple.

See, this is the problem with texting, you know? You can't hear the context.

Even though I decided to not wear a bra, you haven't been staring at my shirt raisins once.

Okay, look, I was waiting to talk to you about this 'cause secretly I was hoping you'd be killed and I wouldn't have to hurt your feelings.

I just don't think it would work out with us.

You're nuts, and not like a typical crazy-eyes co-ed, but wake-up-with-my penis-in-a-jar lunatic.

I love space mountain. Best ride at Disneyland. But I love my penis more.

Number one-- I never take second place. And number two-- I don't stop till I get what I want.

Was that salad spinner hitting on you?

I am super turned on from her, and I need some sweet release.

Is there any, like, Crisco or cooking oil here? Just, like, dry handies bum me out.

I propose we treat ourselves to a little heaven. Seven minutes in heaven.

Whatever your plan was, it isn't working.

Would you like to pat the little man in the canoe?

I want to take our relationship to the next level.

I want us to be together, but I want it to mean something.

I love boning girls all over this great land. But really, at the end of the day, I just kind of want to bone one girl. Like, that one special girl.

I just didn't think that girl was you. Because, obviously, there's so much wrong with you.

Will you get back together with me?

I would consider taking you back under one condition.

You have to pinky-pledge that you will be monogamous to me.

You will not have sex with anyone else. Do you understand me?

Dude, she looks like prepackaged meat from the supermarket.

Oh, god, has someone checked on the kids?

Pretty convenient that you're the one who found the body.

You're the darkest bitch of them all.

Those are some serious accusations, and they make no sense.

I would be opening myself up to a lot of trouble if I were to turn you in to the authorities.

It doesn't do any of us any good to start accusing each other with no evidence.

I suggest that we just have someone stand guard and watch me for the rest of the night, or until someone else dies, therefore proving that I am not the killer.

This feels so good.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out!

Interesting. That's all I'm gonna say. Interesting.

There is a trapdoor with, like, a tunnel system.

But wait, there are secret tunnels in this house perfect for a killer to use, and you neglected to tell us?

That's a little suspicious.

We are losing sight of the big picture here.

I'm not going down there. I do not dig on cobwebs, and I'm guessing there are loads of cobwebs down there.

If you get murdered in those tunnels, I promise I will never bang anyone harder than I banged you.

You're so rich and hot.

These are the nicest secret tunnels I've ever seen.

Wow. What amazing legacies they all have. What do you think ours will be?

If we can get through this year without everyone getting killed, I think we'll go down as the greatest of them all.

You came back for me.

Purely selfish.

You are probably the worst cop ever.

Wait, where are we going?

I won't go!

In three seconds, I'm gonna pick you up and carry you out of here.

I just kind of came over here because I farted over there and it smelled bad.

Wait, you're a lesbian?

Basically, I'm in love with love.

The next time I feel love for someone, I'm going to tell them. Right away. Just in case they're murdered before I can.

I just feel like I'm never gonna find a guy who likes me.

I'm a freak.

Nobody actually likes me.

You are totally gonna find another guy.

They're custom-made pink nunchaku.

Thank you for making that announcement that no one cared about.

No slumber party is finished without a kickass dance party.

This is so wonderfully random.

What a great way to pretend all these people we know weren't brutally murdered.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay memes #scream queens

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Killer Combo - Ch 8 Epilogue

Luka sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, as he played the song again, listening hard for that wrong note, that chord that was just a little bit off, or whatever it was that he needed to fix. He shook his head slightly as he finished it, pressing his lips together. All the songs he’d written in the months since he’d gotten Claire back, some that he’d even been able to record in the studio thanks to his tournament winnings, and this had to be the one that didn’t want to come together. He’d been working on it the longest and it still wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“I like this lovesick tune so much better than the last one,” Juleka sighed from where she was fussing with her hair in her mirror.

“Color me shocked,” Luka chuckled, slipping Claire off and setting her carefully in her stand. “You and Casey never did get along.”

“Yeah, well,” Juleka muttered, not looking at him. “This is why.”

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t follow.”

Juleka sighed and fidgeted, nervously rearranging the things on her table. “Because I know you didn’t feel like this with her. And this is what you deserve to feel. I felt like you were settling for less than you deserved and I didn’t want that for you.”

Luka paused, considering that. She was right, he knew. He’d been happy enough with Casey, but even the best parts of his relationship with Casey paled in comparison with the things he felt for Marinette.

He wasn’t going to admit it to Juleka’s face though. “Since when did you become the love expert?” Luka asked instead, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Juleka tossed her hair over her shoulder and put her nose in the air. “We all have our talents.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just lying and I thought from the beginning that she was a high-maintenance, over-dramatic bitch who thought having a hot potential rock star boyfriend doting on her made her look good to her friends.”

Luka barked a laugh and turned away to cover the sting he still felt at her words, pulling off his shirt and dropping it on his bed as he dug through his drawers for a clean one. The one he wasn’t wearing wasn’t bad, but he’d been working on deck in the sun. If he hurried, he still had enough time to shower before he went to see Marinette. He grinned stupidly at the thought.

“Are you going to play it for her?” Juleka asked, leaning her chin on one hand and giving him a knowing look.

“I will,” he said, still smiling. “When it’s right. It’s just...not there yet. I don’t know, something’s just not quite right, it just...needs something. I’ll figure it out though.”

“You’re going to see her now, aren’t you?” Juleka snickered, and Luka rolled his eyes.

“She asked me to come by,” he shrugged, hoping he wasn’t blushing too much.

“I’ll bet she did,” Juleka leered. “I bet she loves it when you come.”

Luka rolled his eyes, snatching up the shirt he’d just changed out of and throwing it at her. “What are you, twelve?”

“Ew,” she complained, pulling off his shirt with two fingers and dropping it on the floor with an expression of disgust.

“I’m going to shower,” he huffed on his way out the door, and shut the door quickly before Juleka could make any comment on his shower temperature or activities. He was starting to think the benefits of his own place would start to outweigh the money he was saving living at home.

Half an hour later Luka stepped off the boat and headed toward the bakery with a grin on his face that he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried.

Luka Couffaine had never been a big believer in fate. He didn’t believe in predetermined destinies or that he was bound to adhere to some kind of cosmic will.

He did believe he was one damn lucky bastard.

Even in the depths of frustration and betrayal and heartbreak, he’d known that. Maybe things weren’t going his way, but he was lucky in so many ways. Luka was lucky to have a family that loved and supported him. He was lucky to have grown out of his lanky teenage ugly duckling stage into a young man that many people found attractive. He was lucky to have a talent and the means and passion to pursue it. He was lucky to have connections and friends all over the local music scene who helped him out when he needed it.

He was lucky to have met Marinette.

Luka had spent a long time wondering after his plans to tour with the band went to hell in a handbasket. About whether his friends had ever really been friends. About how much of his relationship with Casey had been a lie. Had they all been users from the start, and he just hadn’t seen it? Or had their friendship been sincere, had they been content with the plan, until Xavier had come in and dazzled them with promises of something greater? Had Casey been satisfied in their relationship until Xavier was whispering in her ear about what she deserved, how she ought to be treated, and who knew what else Luka hadn’t been around to hear?

It took a lot of thinking, a lot of sad and angry songs played on borrowed guitars that never sounded quite right, a lot of long talks with his mother, and even a few with his sister, to get him out of the spiral of self-recrimination and get his focus back on the future, on what he had to do next.

Luka hadn’t been thinking about fate or destiny or karma or even luck when he looked into Ladybug’s stunning blue eyes for the first time and shook her small hand. Oh, he’d been impressed with her from the beginning. Her entire vibe was intense and alive and she was sassy and competitive without being cruel, and she was really, really cute. But romance couldn’t have been farther from his mind at that moment.

Then she kept being thrown in his way, spirited and determined and clearly attracted to him. Marinette had a terrible poker face, and some part of him was delighted by her blushes and glances, but he squashed down the remnant of that ugly duckling teenage boy and kept his cool. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, he wasn’t interested in a fling, and he wasn’t about to lead her on just to flatter his vanity. She dealt with enough bullshit already, so he tried to show her he liked and respected her without letting it go any further.

Luka kept his cool right up until she was standing there, tough as nails, cute as a button, trying and utterly failing to cover up what a blow it was to have to forfeit an entire event’s worth of matches, knowing it would more than likely knock them out of the running for the finals. Marinette’s frustration was obvious, as was her care for her friend and her determination not to blame him.

In hindsight Luka wasn’t sure if Marinette was lucky, or he was, that he was there in that moment, ready to swoop in and save the day with his impulsive decision to stand in for Max. He’d had no idea what he was getting into. Playing with her was a blast, but he already knew she was smart and capable and powerful. He could handle Ladybug.

He was completely unprepared for Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the beating heart and passionate spirit behind that tough gamer girl front she put on.

Luka knew he was in trouble when he left the bakery with weak knees and a frantically beating heart.

He knew he was in deep trouble when she was sewing his hoodie on the Liberty and he began thoughtlessly composing a song to fit her.

He knew he was doomed when she stood on the gangplank practically glowing with the sun behind her, looking at him with those big gorgeous eyes, her perfect lips curved into a sweet smile, and all the warmth of their easy companionship still fresh in his heart.

Still, Luka had hesitated, willing to explore a tentative friendship with her but telling himself he wasn’t ready for anything more. He didn’t trust the attraction he felt towards her. Her crush on him might not even be that serious. He shouldn’t read too much into it. He would just go and compete and they would go back to being casual acquaintances and…

And then she’d taken that first step after him, reached out to him despite her obvious fear, almost expectation that he would reject her, and opened the door to so much more.

And now he had a beautiful, impossibly sweet, deliciously passionate, insanely brilliant girlfriend with a creative mind like nothing he’d ever seen, and he was the most lovestruck, useless sap on the planet. Marinette was as dramatic as Casey had ever been, but even her drama was comfortable, accommodating, nothing she ever expected him to solve or eliminate. He just stood back and sympathized as she ranted and fumed and had her dramatic movement and then she moved on to actually solving the problem. She was incredibly driven, incredibly kind, and no matter how much time they spent together, he never wished it was less. Maybe Marinette wasn’t a musician but she was an artist, and she always seemed to know how to give him the space to pursue his own passions without ever being out of reach and every time he was with her he felt like the luckiest dumbass on the planet, whether they were doing something together or just existing near each other as they did their own thing.

Or making out. Oh Marinette was a fantastic kisser, sweet and attentive and exciting, tuned in to his every reaction. The height difference took some getting used to, but before long he found that he loved the way she fitted against him, the way he could curl around her, how small her hands were in his, how big his own looked on her hips or her back. She had learned impressively quickly how to tempt him into taking charge or reduce him to a pile of goo. And she made the best sounds when he returned the favor.

Focus, Luka , he told himself as he opened the door to the bakery. He’d already been on the receiving end of one gentle, if mildly embarrassing, reminder from her mother that Marinette was eighteen and could make her own choices, but that she was still younger than him and he should be cautious about pushing her into things she might not be ready for. Sabine had been so mild about it that Luka couldn’t really feel insulted, though Marinette would probably be mortified if she knew her mother had said any such thing to him.

Still. Better not to have those kinds of thoughts in his mind just now. Luka always came into the house through the bakery so that they knew he was there, mostly as a courtesy (and partly so they would know to knock before barging into Marinette’s room). He greeted Sabine and waved at Tom in the back, then went on up the stairs.

Luka knocked on the apartment door but went ahead and let himself in, not expecting her to hear him if she was up in her room.

Marinette wasn’t in her room, as it turned out, but in the kitchen, singing to herself as she flitted back and forth in the small space. She waved at him and he grinned, setting his bag down on the couch and coming over to her. “You came,” she smiled, stretching up on her toes as he leaned down to meet her for a quick kiss.

“You asked me to,” he pointed out, choking back a laugh at the memory of Juleka’s teasing.

Marinette ignored him, and Luka waited until she had set down whatever mysterious baking implements she was holding before catching her wrist and pulling her close. Marinette hummed happily as he leaned down to kiss her more fully, resting her forearms on his shoulders but keeping her flour-covered hands away from him.

Not that he would have cared. He was more than happy to let her cover him in flour paste if it meant she was holding him. This was good enough for now, though, as long as her plush lips were under his. She’d clearly been nibbling on whatever she was making and she tasted amazing.

Marinette pulled back a little when he tried to press close to her. “Don’t, I’m dirty,” she whispered, and Luka couldn’t help laughing even as a twinge of heat shot through him. Marinette backed away from him and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he grinned at her. “Juleka was picking on me before I left and it’s got my mind in the gutter.”

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly and then she blushed and pouted as she thought back to what she’d said. “Juleka should keep her mouth shut,” she grumbled, turning away from him to wash her hands.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Luka chuckled, putting his hands on her hips and stepping up so her back, which was mostly clean, was against his chest. “Why are you stress baking?” he asked, and leaned down to trail kisses along the side of her neck.

“What makes you think I’m stress b-baking?” she asked, tilting her head, breath hitching slightly as she reached blindly for a towel that was well out of her reach.

“Mmm.” Luka reached out and snagged the towel off of the oven handle easily, putting it in her hand. Then he lifted his face and looked pointedly at the mess around them, and then back down at her. “When you’re baking from a project, you’re super organized and everything is set out carefully. You only make this kind of a mess—” He gestured down at the pile of baking dishes in the sink and then at the haphazard collection of ingredients crowded on the small counter. “—when you’re stress baking.” He returned to her neck, pressing a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. “So tell me why you’re stressed, and how I can help make it better.”

Marinette huffed and shoved an elbow back into him. “It’s your fault to begin with,” she muttered, and Luka straightened immediately, frowning.

“Me?”

Marinette sighed. “Yeah, I—” She blew out a sigh and pulled away from him, turning around to face him. “I just, I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“That sounds ominous,” Luka said slowly, shifting back a little.

Marinette put her hands over her face and made a frustrated noise. “No, it’s not that bad, I’m—I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

Luka coughed to cover the laugh that he couldn’t quite keep in, and it was a supreme act of will to say nothing.

Marinette dropped her hands and glared at him, clearly knowing what he was thinking, and reached back to untie her apron with quick, decisive movements (which shouldn’t have affected him the way it did, damnit Juleka). Once it was off, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen behind her. “Shouldn’t we clean up?” he asked, glancing back with concern.

“We’ll do it later,” Marinette said.

“But your baking—”

“I just put the dough in the fridge to chill, it’s fine,” she said, pulling him up the stairs to her room.

Luka couldn’t say he hated where this was going but he was pretty confused. He followed Marinette up into her room, where she let go of his hand and kept walking. Taking that as his cue to stay put, Luka shut the trapdoor gently behind them and nudged the lock into place with his foot. Just in case.

“Well. I, um...I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this,” Marinette was saying, bending over a large chest in the corner of her room to get at something behind it, and Luka had to look at the floor. “And I want you to know I had nothing to do with it—well, I mean not nothing, because I did tell Jagged something about what happened with, you know, before, with XY and how he stole your music, but I didn’t use any names and I kept everything really general, it’s just I was thinking about it while I was working on his fitting and I guess I was making a mad face and he wanted to know what I was thinking about and, well I know it’s not my story to tell so I—but Jagged is so—so—” she paused, making a grunt of effort as she hauled something up and over the chest.

“Okay, I only followed about half of that,” Luka said as evenly as he could, glancing up from his determined study of the toes of his boots just as Marinette turned to him, both hands wrapped around the handle of a heavy black case that was...very familiar in shape.

Luka looked from the guitar case in her hands to her face, uncomprehending. Marinette shrugged, and bit her lip, shuffling across the floor towards him. “It’s for you. From Jagged. Take it,” she muttered, blushing.

That stunned him speechless. Luka took the case from her on autopilot, crossing the room to lay it on the chaise and flip up the latches as Marinette began babbling again, insisting that she didn’t deserve the credit (or the blame) for this, and then he opened the case lid and felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Marinette shoved a chair under him just in time as his knees went weak and he sat down, bringing one hand to cover his mouth as he stared down at the sleek professional quality acoustic guitar in front of him. It was black, with Jagged Stone’s logo emblazoned off-center on the lower half in purple.

“It’s from the new line he’s sponsoring,” Marinette said uncomfortably, shifting her feet. “Not released yet,” she added quickly, before he could gather his wits enough to question her. “They sent it to him to demo and approve, and well...once he played it and decided it was good enough he gave it to me, to give to you. He said a pro should have both kinds. Which is weird, really, because I’ve never seen him play anything but an electric, but...” She cringed as Luka’s fingers hovered over the unmistakable signature scrawled up one side in some kind of glitter ink. “He insisted on signing it. I hope that’s okay.” She reached forward and plucked a note tucked into a pocket of the case and handed it to him.

Luka took it absently, still staring. He touched the guitar lightly, taking in the silky texture of the finish and the quality of the wood, the elegant shape, the gleaming hardware. It was beautiful. He loved Claire, he really did, but sometimes you needed a different sound for different songs—

His brain screeched to a halt. A different sound. A different sound.

Marinette nudged him, startling him out of his thoughts. He unfolded the note.

Hey kid, he read, I heard your story. Wanna be’s always hate the real deal, and you’re it. I wouldn’t blame you if you want to keep things to yourself for a while, but I’d love to hear what those songs were meant to sound like before that baby-faced nobody murdered them. If you’ve got more to share, Marinette’s got my number.

Rock ‘n roll!

Jagged Stone

P.S. Fuck with my girl and I’ll stick this guitar where the sun don’t shine, and that’s just for starters.

He looked up at Marinette, and she fidgeted. “You don’t have to take it,” she said weakly.

There were about a thousand things he could have said at that moment, but what came out was, “Is this why you asked me not to bring Claire?”

Marinette shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know if she was the jealous type.”

Luka chuckled. Marinette always seemed fondly exasperated with his tendency to anthropomorphize his instruments, skeptical but indulgent, willing to play along without actually trying to compete with an inanimate object (one of Casey’s more annoying habits).

“So...is it okay? You’re not...mad?” she asked, and Luka laughed weakly.

“I’m not mad,” he said, leaning back and reaching for her. She let him pull her over and sit her on his knee. “It’s amazing, Marinette, really.” He squeezed her, and trying hard not to sound like a total fanboy, asked, “Jagged really played it himself?”

“He did,” Marinette confirmed. “For over an hour. First time I’ve ever heard him play an acoustic, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda sorry I missed that,” he said, leaning into her as she put her arms around him. “Jagged Stone.” He looked at the paper in his hand and shook his head slightly. “He wants to hear my music? Wow, Marinette, this is just...I’m speechless.”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, pressing her face into his neck. “I shouldn’t even have said anything to him without your permission, I just...I was distracted fitting the jacket, and I didn’t even realize I’d said it until he screamed ‘I knew that little shit didn’t have that kind of talent!’ and I nearly jumped out of my skin.”

Luka laughed and kissed her hair, and he felt her lips curve against his skin. “Did he really say that?”

“Mmhm,” she said, responding to his nudges against her temple by lifting her face so he could kiss her. He took his time about it, savoring her soft lips and the smooth, soft skin under his thumb as he stroked her cheek. Marinette’s hands slipped under his hoodie and he gladly shifted so she could push it down his arms and off, feeling more than a little warm as it was. His hand went to her waist instead of her face, slipping under her shirt to settle against her abs where he could feel the rippling muscle beneath the slight softness as she moved. He didn’t even know that was a thing for him until he met Marinette and now he couldn’t get enough of it. It was just more luck for him that she liked his rough hands against her skin. Her hands slid up and down his chest and over his shoulders and arms and he pressed into her touch with a little moan.

Luka loved that she understood that about him, how much he craved the connection of touch. Even before they were together, it had been a struggle to keep his hands to himself as they grew closer. The night of the party, up on the roof, he’d been so lost in a confusing whirl of emotion that he nearly felt sick, and her small, strong arms around him had grounded him, soothed him, without him even having to ask. She’d been amazing that night, beautiful and fun and temptation itself as they danced, and fire and fury as she defended him and Juleka both, and gentle and comforting when he needed her.

Somewhere in that confusing ball of emotion it had suddenly dawned on him, with the clarity and sharpness of cut glass, that he would be an idiot to let her go, if she still wanted him. He was so lucky that she’d waited for him, that she’d had the patience to let him go and settle things with Casey, that she’d decided he was worth steeling her courage and facing up to the memory of whatever idiot had hurt her in the past. It was hard, waiting that last week, unsure and nervous but choosing to trust her, and choosing to trust his own instincts again—instincts that were telling him whatever you do, don’t let this one go. But she’d waited on him for far longer, so he could hardly refuse to wait for her. And it was...so worth it.

He was so, so lucky.

“So, are you going to try it out?” Marinette asked, bringing him back to the moment. Her hands were still flexing against him and she was kiss-bruised and ruffled and breathless and God he had never been less interested in a new guitar, he was so stupid for her, he half-expected violins and rose petals and fucking rainbows and unicorns every time they were together. She blinked slowly, smile shifting into a smirk, and Luka swallowed hard.

Focus.

“Only if you get off my lap,” he told her, voice a little rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat as Marinette giggled and slid off his knee.

“What are you going to call this one?” Marinette asked, amusement plain in her face.

“I don’t know,” Luka said, lifting the guitar out of the case. He noticed with amusement the strap, and glanced knowingly up at Marinette. She blushed and shrugged, looking away.

“It had that skinny kind you don’t like,” she mumbled, “So I made a new one.”

“I love it,” Luka grinned, unreasonably pleased by her fancy signature in gold embroidery on the inside of the strap. It took him a moment to get his stupid grin under control and slip the strap over his shoulder.

He ran long fingers over the neck and body lightly. “I have to get to know them before I can name them,” he continued. Luka set his fingers and then strummed slowly down the strings, but he winced at the sound. He worked on the tuning, noting the silky feel of the wood under his hands, the way he hardly had to adjust his hands at all, like the guitar had been made for him. When the strings were in tune he strummed slowly down them again, and this time the sound was…

His pulse increased, and he glanced up at Marinette. “I’ve been working on something,” he said. “I wanted you to hear it, but it wasn’t quite right. I think I’d like to try it now, if that’s okay.”

“Oh,” Marinette blinked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Of course.”

Luka moved the guitar case and slid onto the chaise, patting the spot next to him. Marinette sat down, fidgeting with her fingers and watching him with gratifying anticipation. It always gave him a thrill, to see how eager she was to hear him play.

Luka set his fingers on the fretboard again, took a settling breath, and played the song he’d been crafting and refining in his mind since the day she came to practice at the boat.

Marinette gasped quietly, and laid her hand over her heart, closing her eyes. Luka let his own lids fall as he played, though the instrument wasn’t quite familiar enough yet for him to close them all the way.

He knew as soon as he began that he wasn’t wrong, that this was what he’d been missing and trying to find all this time. The melody was just right, but the sound had been off. Ladybug might be the jangling twang and sassy attitude of the electric, flashy and exciting, but Marinette...Marinette was the mellow, sweet sound of the acoustic, authentic and sincere. Simple, but quality, resonating with craftsmanship and passion and warmth. He took a shaky breath as he listened to the last chord resonate and fade away, and then lifted his eyes to hers.

She swallowed at the look he was giving her, and then whispered, “How was it?”

“Perfect,” he breathed, gazing at her with all the wonder and love she inspired in him. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Great,” she said breathlessly. “Now put it down.”

Luka did, setting it carefully in its case, and before he’d even straightened up all the way Marinette was crawling onto him. She straddled his lap and took his face in her hands, as she kissed him hard, drawing an answering passion from him. Luka wrapped his arms around her, drawing her as close as he could get her, overwhelmed and overflowing with feelings he couldn’t contain or ignore.

He wanted to be sure she understood, though. He’d been told before that some things had to be said out loud, and Luka didn’t want to mess this up.

“Hey,” he mumbled, as soon as he had space to, but Marinette was kissing him again before he could get any more out. She made an inquisitive noise, moving her kisses to his jaw so he could speak, but Luka pulled back gently, just enough to be able to look her in the eye—in those beautiful, breathtaking eyes, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. “I love you,” he breathed, and Marinette’s smile shone like the sun.

“I know, silly,” she said, rubbing her nose along his, and then she nodded at the guitar. “I heard you the first time.”

He felt the slow, stupid grin spreading across his face.

It made Marinette blush from her collar to her hairline, and she kissed him again fiercely. “I can’t say it as beautifully as you did,” she whispered against his lips, “But I love you too.” Then she yelped as Luka moved suddenly, dumping her off his lap back onto the chaise. Marinette moved back against the arm, shifting to accommodate him automatically as he crawled over her; by now they had plenty of practice arranging themselves in the small space.

“Is this all right?” Luka asked, even as she was running her hands appreciatively over his arms braced on either side of her.

“It’s perfect,” she sighed, leaning up to meet him as he kissed her, intent on showing her just how lucky he felt to know her, to hold her, to love her.

It was totally worth the lecture they got from Tom for leaving a mess in the kitchen.

#quickspins #killer combo #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #reverse crush #gamer au #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug

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isthisthingeven0n · 5 years

Text

unintentional mess : j.w

brief summary: being involved in the challenger games with jeff (lol so I combined it with the video from the funk bros as I got confused as to what the challenger games were)

word count: 758 requested: yes by an anon. this is an old idea as I completely forgot tbh, but I hope you like it! warnings: idk if there are any?

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

“What the fuck are we doing?” You ask as you motion down to your costume for the day as you stand beside Natalie.

You’re both dressed in very short flimsy superhero outfits. Natalie being Wonder Woman whilst you’re dressed as a version of Captain Marvel if she were to be a sorority girl on Halloween.

“Hey, you knew the terms you agreed to.” Jeff steps forward, pointing a finger in your face as a smirk begins to form as his eyes wander.

You swat his finger away, letting out a small sigh. “And I regret agreeing to it.” You respond as the others make their way over, all wearing poor quality costumes as well.

David claps his hands, a bright smile on his face from excitement. “Okay, who’s first to be launched?”

Jeff turns to look at you, but you turn and look to Natalie. “Ugh, fine.” Natalie sighs as she makes her way over to the large blob,

Sliding down, you watch as Spider-Man jumps and she is launched into the air. You immediately gasp as she flashes everyone and smacks the water.

“Fuck, that would’ve hurt!” You exclaim, looking at Jeff who remains shocked. “Seriously?” You chuckle as everyone is silent watching Natalie near the float where David is sat.

“Well, wanna go next?” Jeff asks you, watching you squirm. “You lost the challenge, you gotta face the forfeit.” He reminds you, watching as you roll your eyes in response.

Walking away from him, you near the large blob as you slide down. “Stupid challenger games.” You mutter under your breath, thinking back to the events that took place.

* flash back *

“You’re going down, Wittek!” You yell over to him as you stand at the start line, looking out to see the track you’ve got to run.

Jeff laughs lightly, shaking his head to you. “Oh, baby. I admire your fighting talk.” He tells you before blowing a kiss which you push away.

“Looks like the love birds aren’t taking it easy on one another.” The cameraman announces as he moves in on you both. “There a forfeit for the loser?”

You raise an eyebrow, looking over to see a mischievous look on Jeffs's face. “Well, I guess there will be now.” You chuckle. “If Jeff loses, he’s got to let me cut his hair.” You state, watching the fear cross in his eyes.

“If Y/n loses, she’s got to come compete in a water assault course.” He states and you furrow your brows.

“What is so bad about that?” You ask, and Jeff laughs to himself.

“Oh, you’ll see Princess. For your sake, you might wanna win.” He tells you before you’re all told to get into position before the klaxons sounds.

Sadly, losing the race lead you to this. Wearing a skimpy costume that left little to the imagination along with the fact you aren’t the fondest of water or heights.

“Okay, you ready, Y/n?” You hear Connor yell as you give him a thumbs up.

You shut your eyes as you hear the sound of the frame moving behind you, and a weight landing on the blob shooting you into the air.

A scream escapes your lips as you open your eyes, watching you heading straight toward the float. “Y/n!” Jeff yells, watching your head hit the float before you fall back into the water.

David puts his camera down, about to jump in when Jeff dives in wearing the puffy Superman costume.

Grabbing a hold of you, Jeff can see blood pouring out of your nose as he helps you onto the float, lying you on your back. “Fuck, baby.” He mutters as he takes a hold of your head in his arms, resting you on his thighs.

“Ow.” You mumble, reaching up to your face as you open your eyes. “I knew it was a stupid idea.” You tell him, seeing guilt evident in his eyes as he looks over at David with fear.

“I’m sorry I made you do that.” Jeff apologises as you shuffle to sit upright, resting your hand on his cheek.

“And I’m sorry that you actually fell for that!” You laugh to him as you reach into your top, pulling out some fake blood.

The colour returns to Jeffs face as he pushes you back into the water, cutting your laughter short. “You’re such a bitch sometimes.” He jokes as he holds his hand out to you.

You reach up, only to pull him in. “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

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tcheschirewrites · 3 years

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Hhhhhh and because I am In A Good Place right now, let’s have a little bonus short. You want to know what Justin and Jen have been up to, those two wiliest of snakes, while RC and Dick have been in Japane? Well, let’s find out!

(Considering the length - I accidentally 1.7k - and technically it’s plot-advancing, I guess we can consider this chapter 20.5? lol)

The dim lighting of so many of the gastropubs in the city gave him a headache. Like, sure. He understood the ambiance, along with the pulsing music at just a few decibels shy of a migraine, and yes, all right, he had spent his fair share of time in joints with far lower lighting and beats with far deeper bass, but in his regular day to day, the need to hobknob frustrated him.

Justin adjusted his tie, tugging it further away from his Adam’s apple.

From her seat across the table, texting Richard or checking her emails or scrolling Instagram or whatever it was she was doing when she was pretending she wasn’t paying attention, Jennifer scowled at him. She reached over to him, fussing lightly with his lapels, the creases of his shirt against his slouched posture.

“Stop doing that,” she chided, sliding the knot of the tie back to its position against his throat. “Can you seriously not keep still for two hours? You’re incredible.”

“This is what happens when I don’t have you to take care of me Jen,” he groused, discreetly loosening his tie just slightly when she looked away for half a moment.

“Can it,” she replied, sipping neatly from her water. “I think I see him coming.”

Out of reflex, Justin tightened his tie, running a hand over his hair. “You’re sure we’ve got everything we need this time?”

Jen glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes aglow in the low lighting of the restaurant, reminding him so very much of the Jennifer he had met during university, and his chest ached. “Oh yeah,” she said, and her tone was so self-assured he allowed himself a glimmer of a real smile.

His father strode up to the table, seating himself without waiting for a greeting. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Kaiba. His terms are outstanding. I hope you’ve decided as one that this acquisition is well within business interests?”

Justin was practiced at swallowing the dark bile of his father’s reptilian cruelty – Jen less so, though her tenure as a legal counselor had left her well equipped to don the proper mask for the situation. “You know, pops, we have. We’ve spoken with Dick Grant and our Chief Marketing Officer, and we all agreed that a total sale at these terms was an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

“Justin, you know I don’t abide movie references.”

Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, mostly to field Jennifer leaping across the table to strangle his father, Justin allowed himself a chuckle. “I know, old man, but I think you’ll find it’s appropriate, considering the situation. We nailed that Japanese bastard hook, line, and sinker.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’ve read the proposal, and the extra numbers packet you provided me earlier. Third Star stands to make quite a bit of money from the sale of the market shares.”

“Fuck yeah, they do.” Justin’s lips curled into a grin at the furrow in his father’s brow. He knew exactly what was going through the scaly fucker’s mind – Justin had never been so crass in his presence before, never stooped so low as to be anything but formal in front of James. “As my C Suite are majority shareholders, I’m real happy for the decision they made. Gonna net them a shitload of a nest egg. And you know what? They earned it.”

There was an intense silence, obstructed only briefly by the server swinging by the table to gather a drink order from James only to be met with a brusque wave of his hand; he did not take his eyes off of his son’s face.

The silence lasted a beat longer, then; “You mean you earned it. Second-person plural. As CEO of the company, you’ve invested in the largest amount of shares – “

“Ahhh, yeah,” Justin cut him off smoothly, leaning back against the booth and threading his fingers to a basket behind his head. “About that.”

Jennifer stepped in here, digging into her bag for a brief moment before retrieving a manila folder. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Carriger, sir, but Justin is actually no longer eligible to his rights as a shareholder in the event of a buyout.”

James did not take his eyes from Justin’s face. “You don’t say.”

“Mm.” She flicked open the folder expertly, spreading a couple of key documents over the table before situating herself back into her chair, taking another dainty sip of her water. “In the company bylaws, section thirteen article D, in the event of a buyout, any shareholder who has brought direct hard to an employee must forfeit the market value of those shares.”

The disgust in James’ eyes was palpable, and here he finally turned away from his son with a curl of his lip, rounding his attention to Jennifer. “I think you must be forgetting section sixteen, article B, that any executive who has lost their shares in the event of an accident will cede the market value of those shares to their next of kin.”

“Accident?” Jennifer batted her lashes at him, playing coy, playing dumb in a way that Justin knew she had learned in her years at law school and had only heard about second-hand. “Which accident are we talking about, sir?”

Verging on the edge of his patience, James replied, “The train accident – now, Justin is not directly responsible for the accident on the KaibaCorporation bullet train, but it can be acknowledged that his decisions as Chief Executive Officer are what led to your fiancé and that poor woman’s injuries. It’s my understanding they did not seek extraordinary compensation, and their dedication to the company is to be acknowledged, but – “

Jennifer let out a cooing laugh, grating and pretty and eminently false. “Oh, no, sir. To my understanding, neither party involved in the train accident in Domino were seeking punitive damages for their injuries. But that has absolutely no bearing on the sexual assault your son was involved in earlier this week with his subordinate, the Chief Marketing Officer of Third Star Gaming.”

Justin had to hand it to her: he had never seen his father so speechless, and even from his position as an observer, he had to crack a smile.

“He what.”

The smile plastered on Jennifer’s face widened, all glimmering teeth and threatening promise. “Oh yes, sir. It was reported to me only hours after it occurred, and I confirmed it with the victim shortly thereafter. Her statement is here, if you care to read it. I had it transcribed this afternoon for your convenience.”

From the mutinous look on James’ usually cool face, he did not care to read it. His cheeks began to spot with red, and Justin thought he saw his father’s pulse jump in his neck.

He retained his composure, though, turning back to his son, who raised his brows and shoulders in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “I find it difficult to believe that you would be so careless as to let your libido get the better of you, Justin. At such a critical juncture.”

The accusation was plain, and Justin said nothing, nodding briefly at Jen.

“Now, as you are aware, sir, pursuant to article 13 section D is the following addendum – “ She cleared her throat before continuing; “’If any executive person or persons from party A – that is, Third Star, as specified in line two of the company bylaws – bring egregious bodily harm or otherwise inflict considerable pain and suffering, then during the event of a complete corporate acquisition those shares would not transfer to next of kin (see: article ten, section K et al), but would instead be split amongst the remaining executives of party A.”

Jennifer smiled prettily at his father, and Justin had to admire the irony of the picture. “Now, I’m sure you’d agree that a confessed sexual assault falls into the category of both bodily harm and pain and suffering, but – “ She paused here to dig into her purse for another manila folder, this time much thicker, and slapped it onto the table in front of James with such force that the silverware rattled. “Even if you don’t agree, it’s all right, because we’ve checked with insurance and HR.”

James did not move, instead staring at the thick folder before him with such intensity that Justin thought it might catch fire. Finally, he raised his sharp blue eyes to his son’s face, and Justin had to wonder at the electricity in those eyes – eyes he had so long been spellbound by, locked into place by some wretched sense of duty.

“You son of a bitch.”

Under any other circumstances, Justin would have seized the other man by his collar, throttled him, laid him out with a cold cock to the nose – but considering the situation, he could only laugh. “Hey, now, I don’t think it’s right to speak that way about the dead. I dunno about Irish culture, but I know for sure mom’s people wouldn’t like you talking about her that way.”

“I’m not talking about her, you raving buffoon. I’m talking about you. You absolutely incompetent monkey. What on earth were you thinking?”

What was he thinking? He’d had a primer on the bylaws when his father had installed him as CEO of this venture, but after the train accident in the spring, Jennifer had sat him down and gone over them with him in depth, and he realized how stupid everything was. How so little was dictated by fate, and how if he wanted to have any say, he would have to seize control of what little he had. There was no evidence to support his deepest of thoughts, of course, the suspicions and conspiracies he’d concocted in the middle of the night when only his bottle of cheap tequila was there to keep him company.

But he’d had a gut feeling like this before.

And this time, he would not allow someone he loved to die for it.

“What can I say dad?” he finally said, spreading his hands wide into a shrug, his grin turning sharp. “I never was good with your money.”

#culture shock #ch: justin #ch: jennifer #i've said it before and i'll say it over and over until i am hoarse:#i love justin's backstory #i could write an entire story just for him #there are some Hints that i am dropping here #that we will go further into in arc three #but i just wanted to get this out and posted

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

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Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Hello my Tumblr Lovelys!

I know you all hate it when I get to the last part of the story but this is the last part to this story and of Robyn and Taron’s St Patrick’s Day adventure. It has been a whirlwind!

Thank you so much for all the love, reads, comments and folllowers! You are all so wonderful!

Suze xx

“Never borrow trouble, the payback's a bitch”

“She did what and you did what back?” Tina questioned.

“She kissed me.”

“And you kissed her back?”

“Well yes mam, of course I did. She kissed me.”

“Taron!”

“What?” He hoped his one-word argument was enough to save himself from a lecture from his mother.

“Don’t what me. You kissed her back. Do you remember what I said about waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Taron…” Warned Tina.

“What you said was she would figure it out eventually that she loved me loved me.”

“Doesn’t mean you kiss her back.”

“Well what was I going to do mam? Just let her stand there and kiss me and not do anything? I didn’t want her to think I was disgusted by what she was doing because I wasn’t. I definitely wasn’t.”

Tian sighed as she heard his voice soften. “Taron…”

“It was perfect mam. Just… perfect.”

“Ok love, save the details for your friends. I don’t need to know but I do want to know how you are.”

“How I am?”

“Straight from work to a flight and onto a busy day.”

Taron sighed a little. “I am fine mam.” He heard some silence. “I slept, I have eaten and I have had a wonderful day. I won the duck race, had bacon and cabbage and the céilí is a lot of fun and Robyn’s friends are fantastic and mam I already have Robyn on my case over going back to work and I know you are only thinking about me and you know I love you but you know this is what I do and what I have to do and I cannot have two women fretting over me.”

“I know you love her, but have I told you yet that I love her?”

“Not during this phone call.”

“I love her.”

“Me too mam, me too.”

After a quick five-minute chat with his sisters, Taron ended the call and slipping his phone into his trouser pocket, made his way back towards the door of the GAA club house. His heart had finally slowed down back to its normal rhythm and he prayed the cool air had lifted the rosy tint from his cheeks too. The night air could do nothing for his butterflies and Taron was becoming accustomed to the resident fuzzy feelings that now permanently lived in him and to be honest, he liked having them around and if he was being even more honest with himself, that kiss with Robyn was exactly what he had thought his first kiss with her would have been and was suddenly so thankful for girl talk and the sneaky deals and ways of women, because he most definitely benefited from it. The only negative thing he could take from the kiss, was the fact that he was wanted another and another and as many more as he could get but knew there wasn’t a hope in hell of that happening, so Taron was going to take the one kiss he got and hold it in his heart and memories.

He shook his head as he showed his shamrock stamp on the inside of his wrist to the man at the table so he could get back into the gym and once inside was met with the heat of the room and the Irish music, the next dance in full swing on the dance floor. He glanced to his left and saw Robyn and her friends at the table in the corner and he shuffled his way through and around tables to get back to them.

As he walked his pulled his shirt off and threw it over his chair before he sat down next to Robyn, grinning her way as from the corner of his eye he saw Claire and Nick sitting right beside each other, almost practically on top of each other, holding hands.

“All ok with your mam?” She asked him as she handed him a new beer, ice cold from the bar.

Yep.” He took a drink, enjoying the coolness from the beer. “Just a chat.”

“And the girls?”

“Wishing they were here of course.”

“Of course.” She repeated. She saw Taron hide a yawn behind his beer and chose to ignore it. “So, you ready to give the dancing another go?” She asked him instead. “The céilí is on for another hour before you get your next Irish portion of the evening, where there is a DJ who plays cheesy Irish rebel songs for a few hours and then the obligatory Irish sing song begins as the night winds down and those stragglers find a way to stay even longer.”

Taron grinned. “I am ready for it all!”

After taking part and learning every other céilí dance, Taron was jumping with everyone else on the dance floor as Whiskey in the Jar played over the speakers and he was buzzing just from the energy and excitement he was feeling. He hadn’t drunk much at all and had passed that point of over tiredness where now he felt fully awake and was taking in the atmosphere and party around him. The music was exactly what he hoped it would be and the Irish classics kept on coming and when Robyn sat down for a break, he kept going, Shane and Darragh staying with him, taking every opportunity they had to dance with him.

“He is like an energiser bunny.” Laughed Claire as she watched the boys on the dance floor. Nick had gone to bar the get some more drinks for everyone and it left the two to have another chat.

“He has past the point of exhaustion and is just wired now.”

“He is going to crash hard.”

“Yes, he is.” Robyn caught his eyes on the dance floor and he gave her a wonderful smile, singing the words he knew even louder for her benefit before he turned away from her and mingled back into the crowd. “So hard and he is straight back into work on Thursday, working right through until he is back for RENT and then off on a promotional tour around the world for Kingsman.”

“And you sound like his mother worrying about him.”

“I do worry about him.

“Because you love him.”

“Because I love him.” She repeated.

Claire had reached for her glass but stopped. “Did you just admit to me that you love him?”

Robyn nodded.

“Robyn! The kiss.”

“That bloody kiss.” Robyn sat back in her chair and sighed. “It was perfect.”

Claire grinned. “Shane is entirely jealous. His first kiss with Darragh was no where was beautiful as that one.” Robyn smiled shyly. “Details and now.”

“That boy sure can kiss.” Robyn answered simply, a slight sing song tone to her voice, her hands running through her hair. She tucked the strands behind her ears but her fingers moved to her lips, her eyes closing for a brief second as she could still feel the kiss from Taron. “It was soft but had the perfect tension and pressure and wasn’t in any way awkward as first kisses can be and he kept changing his head position and it was tingly and sweet and caring and I could feel his heart racing and God Claire, I love him. I love his laugh and his beautiful eyes and his family and his heart and his chuckles and when his voice hits those lower tones and when he just sits in the corner of my couch and just sits and does nothing and eats everything I bake for him and how he does this adorable little crinkly nose thing when he doesn’t like something and the little sighs he makes when I scratch his head.”

“You realise how bad you have it right?”

Robyn nodded again. “I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

Robyn shook her head. “He means everything to me and I still stand by my mantra of I would rather have him as a friend then not at all.”

“Robyn…”

“We have been through too much together and I got a taste of what it would be like to lose him in New York and I can’t lose him.”

“Robyn that man is practically glued to you. You won’t lose him but he is so perfect for you.”

“The logistics of it all is just…”

“And I am going to stop you there. Please don’t Robyn.” Claire reached over and took her hands. “He is just what you need and what you deserve and he adores you. You two need to talk over all of this.”

“He is so busy.”

“But yet he came over for two nights for you.”

Robyn glanced to the dancefloor, just about seeing Taron in the crowd of people and she couldn’t remember seeing him so relaxed and happy in a crowd, except for when he was in Aber with his friends and she smiled.

“Any more kisses in your future?”

Robyn felt a slight frown fill her face. “What about your kisses with Nick?” She countered to distract her friend from the topic of her kiss with Taron.

Claire grinned wickedly. “I don’t know why I waited so long.”

“Me either.” Laughed Robyn.

“We are going to dinner at the weekend.”

“You move fast.”

“And you move way too slow.”

“And you are going to be quiet now.” Robyn saw Taron walking back to their table with Shane and Darragh, Nick arriving back to the table with a tray of drinks at the same time. Emma and Tommy had left after the céilí, needing to get home to let the babysitter go home too, so the group of eight had dwindled to a group of six.

“I promise.”

“And just so you know I haven’t forgotten about the forfeit. It is just going to wait until I have the time to think about it.”

The four men took their seats at the table, all taking a long drink from their glasses, Taron moving back in his chair, swinging an arm around the back of Robyn’s chair.

“You ok?” He asked her as the others engaged in conversation around them.

“Yep. You?”

“I am great.”

“You are going to crash and burn in about an hour.”

“Yep.” Agreed Taron. When he was up and dancing, he could feel the music flowing through his blood, the energy keeping him going but once he sat, his whole body flooded with a tiredness that settled deep in his bones and he knew himself, once he got back to Robyn’s he would sit on her wonderfully comfortable couch and just hit a brick wall. “But I have enjoyed every minute so far and I can sleep for a while tomorrow.”

Robyn inched a little closer to him. “Did you bring your Robyn cuddle voucher?” She asked and saw him shake his head, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Did I mention that getting a cuddle with an Irish person at the end of St Patrick’s Day is also a compulsory part of the day?”

That grin she adored, filled his face and his eyes were an emerald green colour, the glow of the lights in the hall helping their natural green to stand out more. “Have I told you that I love St Patrick’s Day?” He chuckled.

“Been one of my favourites too.”

At the end of the DJ’s set, the Irish national Anthem played and Taron was full of giggles as he listened to the people around him singing along, even more so when Robyn elbowed him to get him to quit laughing.

“Thought you said a lot of Irish people can’t speak Irish.” He said to her as they sat back in their chairs, a lovely breeze blowing their way from the open door near their tables. Someone had the great idea to throw open the fire exit doors to help circulate some fresh air into the gym and it was very welcomed as the heat inside was stuffy and dry.

“They can’t but everyone knows their national anthem.” Robyn took a drink from her glass of water handing it to Taron when she was done, the Welshman taking a long drink. He had switched to water just after the céilí finished, knowing he had to work tomorrow not wanting to risk a headache sitting through another tough script read through. “Actually, they know the beginning and last few words. The rest is a bit of a blur to most.”

“Right Robyn, I demand a song!” Although Robyn and Taron had only had a couple of drinks, Shane had more than a few and was happily quite tipsy and he leaned over the table towards them. “And then he has to sing too.”

“He has a name.”

“Yeah he does. We call him…”

“And I think you should go first Shane.” Robyn interrupted him quickly only imagining what name Shane would come out with for Taron, guessing it was worse than ‘sex God’. “You always like to lead with the first song.”

“Only because we normally get kicked out of the gym after the fifth or sixth one.” Piped up Darragh. “And he has to get his sing song in.”

“And because these poor people want to go home.” Answered Robyn. It was near one thirty in the morning and there were another two tables with people still sitting talking but the staff were lingering around, waiting for everyone to go so they could finish clearing the tables. “We won’t be staying too long.” She looked to Taron who nodded so glad Robyn wasn’t planning on staying much longer. He had definitely the best night but was ready to head back to hers to cool down with a shower and get some sleep but didn’t want to be rude and say it out right but Robyn always knew what he needed and was always thinking about him.

“You are not allowed to move until you sing us one song and if you are going to go, you need to sing one now!”

“Shane…”

“It is our St Patrick’s Day traditions and no offense to Taron, he is awesome and all but you were ours first.”

Robyn frowned while Taron laughed a little. “I am not trying to take her away from you.”

“You can’t have her.” Replied Shane but he re-thought his words. “No, wait. You can have her but we have our…”

“Traditions.” Finished Taron a little tiredly. “And I am not here to break them. I am here to join in with them.”

“So, you can give us a tune too?” Asked Shane hopefully.

“Shane what are you going to sing?” Asked Claire, seeing the look of concern on Robyn’s face as she looked to Taron. Although Robyn’s guest had been full of energy and definitely had a great time, now as he sat, Claire could see the exhaustion in his face and his body as he leant against Robyn a little as they sat close together on their chair, she knew Robyn was already wary of how tired Taron was and knew by her words and face that she was ready to call it a night, wanting to get Taron home at a decent hour so he could get some rest before he went back to work. “You start us off Shane, then Robyn can have her turn and then I think we will call it a night too.”

With no disagreements, Shane launched into a version of The Wild Rover with a much more over pronounced Irish accent then he actually had and as the group around him and those at the other tables joined in for the chorus, Shane ended the song to a round of applause.

“Now your turn.” Shane leaned across the table again to Robyn, nearly tipping a glass over but Nick caught it before it fell. “And you know what I want to hear.”

Sitting up a little, Robyn quickly started to sing a song she knew Taron would never have heard of by an Irish artist called Frances Black. Legal Illegal was a song poking fun at Ireland in the nineties and it was comedic song that was sung accapella, making a mockery of the government and rules and regulations the Irish people had to live by. It was a good song for the end of a St Patrick’s Day and she grinned once finished as everyone clapped, Taron leading the applause.

“Now Taron!” Shouted Shane and Robyn was so glad the gym was mostly empty because keeping his privacy in Kilcreen was so important to her.

“And how about no.” She said as she stood up. “We agreed one song by me and that was it.”

“Robyn!” Whined Shane.

“Sorry Shane.” She picked up her jacket to put it on and was so glad to see Taron on his feet too, pulling on his shirt and jacket too, wrapping his flag around his shoulders. “Been a long day.”

“Spoil sport.” He answered.

“I think it is time for us to go too.” Smiled Darragh. “Time for bed.”

Claire and Nick had also stood up and pulled on their coats. “I am going to walk Claire home.” Said Nick with a shy little smile on his face.

Robyn grinned his way. “I will see you in rehearsal next week.”

Nick moved to say goodnight to Taron while Robyn stepped to Claire. “I want details.” She said to her friend mid-hug.

“Ditto.”

Once a few more goodbyes had been said and hugs returned, Taron and Robyn finally walked out the door of the GAA and made their way through the main gate rather than taking the risk to go through the hedge in the dark and took a left.

“It’s nice to be outside. It got so hot in there.”

“Yeah it did.”

“Thanks for asking me over Robyn. It has just been the best day and exactly what I needed to clear my head.”

Robyn linked her arm with his as they walked down the dark cull de sac that led to her house. “You are so welcome. I am glad you came. I had a lot of fun.”

“I am a céilí master now.”

Robyn chuckled. “Sure Taron. You can play Michael Flatley in your next chosen biopic.”

Taron grinned. “In the bag chicken. I liked the song you sang.”

“Thanks Taron.”

“Really a tradition?” He asked her.

“Same songs ever year.”

Taron chuckled. “Shane is a character. Thanks for the save back there.”

“You are very welcome.” She grinned.

“He is very protective of you though I am glad he is willing to share you with me.”

“I wish I had a better explanation then that’s just Shane but it’s all I have.”

“I really like your friends Robyn.”

“They are all right.” She replied back. “But yeah a good bunch.”

Taron wrapped his arm around her shoulders, covering her and him in the flag for the last few meters before they reached her front door. Once inside Robyn’s home, Taron stripped himself down to his t-shirt again, still feeling a little warm from the evening. He walked into the bedroom and dropped his coat, shirt and flag on the bed and stretched, rolling his neck little. The tiredness was rapidly setting in but he was desperate for a shower, feeling a little sticky after the dancing the whole night.

“Hey Robyn, I am just going to grab a shower.”

“Sure Taron. You want me to make you something to drink?”

“Nah I am good thanks. I will be quick.”

“Take your time. No rush.”

Taron was pulling his green t-shirt off as answered her and he walked through the closet and closed the bathroom door behind him, grabbing some clean towels from the second closet before he closed that door too. He set the shower to a colder temperature and once he stepped in, just stood with his face under the stream. He reached for Robyn’s shampoo, ready to wash the green from his hair and as he lathered up some suds and washed them out, he was happy to see the water turn green under his feet. Robyn was a creature of habit and the lime and tea tree shower gel was a staple in her shower and it helped to wake him up a little bit. It was a real quick five-minute shower and he wrapped a towel around his waist, feeling a little chill in her bathroom as the water droplets dripped down his back. He grabbed the second towel and rubbed his hair getting most if the wetness out. He had had his hair cut since he last saw Robyn but it was only a trim, keeping his hair a little longer than he normally would because he knew Robyn liked it that way and he would be seeing her again before he had to completely change his look for the new movie but he definitely was hoping that maybe he might get a little head scratch before he had to go home the next day. Using his hand, he wiped the condensation from the mirror and stalled mid stroke as he looked at his reflection and stared at himself in the mirror.

“What the…”

He dropped the hand towel into the sink and reached his arms up so he could touch his hair. Instead of his normal dark chestnut brown colour, where he had put the green hair dye on his hair that morning was still green. He ran his two hands through his wet hair and his eyes opened wide.

“Oh no.” He said quietly. “No, no, no, no!” His words got louder as he saw that the green hair dye was not coming out and realisation was quickly hitting him. “Oh no! No! Robyn!”

The door to the laundry room was closest to him so he pulled it open and walked past the washing machine and out into the small hallway at the front door and saw Robyn sitting on the island engrossed in her phone.

“Robyn! What have you done!”

The Irish woman had been texting Claire to tell her they had made it home safely and that she should definitely invite Nick in for some coffee when Taron burst out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel through the laundry room, his body still wet from his shower. Robyn had to double take her eyes going straight to his bare chest before she hopped down from the island, Taron coming to stand right in front of her.

“Robyn insert your middle name here Quinn, what have you done!” He repeated.

“Rose.”

“What?” Asked Taron.

“Rose, my middle name is Rose.”

“Robyn!” Taron’s face was a mixture of confusion and irritation. “Not the time and place for that.”

“But you said insert your middle name…”

Taron stepped forward and placed two wet hands on her face. “What have you done to my hair!”

“Your hair?” She asked, her eyes moving up to look at his hair.

“It’s green!”

“Well I can see that Taron. Why is your hair green?”

“Robyn!” Taron’s voice was the deepest she had ever heard it and she couldn’t even explain how it made her head spin but she could also hear the desperation in his tone too. “My hair is green!”

She lifted her hands and ran them through his wet hair, giving his scalp a little scratch at which Taron closed his eyes at but quickly remembered why he standing in a towel in front of her and stopped her hands. “Robyn, what did you do!”

“I didn’t do anything Taron. You put the green in your hair, not me.”

“You told me it was on your make-up table and that was the one I used. Is your hair going to stay green?”

Robyn squinted a little at him. “No because I used the hair chalk.” Her words faltered at the end of her sentence. “Taron you did use the hair chalk, right?”

“I used whatever was in the bottle.” He watched as Robyn’s eyes opened wide. “What! What did I do?”

“You didn’t use the bottle, did you?”

“Yes Robyn. The bottle of green hair dye on the make-up table.”

“Oh no Taron.”

She walked around him and into her bedroom and over to the make-up table, Taron right on her heels. She picked up the small white circular hair chalk. “This is what I used. It’s like what I brought to give your sisters Elsa hair.”

“That is not what I used.” Taron picked up the bottle of hair dye. “I used this.” He took the hair chalk from her. “This was not on the table when I sat down here earlier.”

“Taron of course it was. I left it here when I was finished while you were sleeping.”

“What is hell is this?” Taron almost shoved the bottle in her face.

“Taron that is semi-permanent hair dye.” She told him. “I bought that thinking it was a wash out one but only when I read the bottle, I realised it wasn’t. Taron you dyed your hair green.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I am afraid you did Taron. You have dyed your hair green and because it has been in your hair all day, it has really developed and gone nice and dark.” Robyn reached up and ran her hands through his hair again. “Well this is a St Patrick’s Day you won’t forget in a hurry.”

Taron took the few steps backwards to sit on the bed. “Robyn, I have another read-through tomorrow. I can’t have green hair.”

“I hate to break it to you rocketman but you have green hair and it will be with you tomorrow at your read through and for a good few days after that until it washes out and even after that, you will still have a slightly green hue.”

Taron placed his head in his hands, his fingers running through the wet strands. He took a deep calming breath and sighed heavily. “Fuck.” He muttered. “Fuckity fuck fuck.” He sighed once more and taking his hands from his head sat up straight and had to do a double take as he looked to Robyn who had both her hands over her mouth and her eyes were crinkled at the sides and he knew what that look was. It was when Robyn was laughing and not just a little laugh, but side hurting ready to cry with tears laughing and suddenly he was on his feet and standing beside her. “Robyn…” He warned. “Robyn what did you do.”

She took her hands away. “I did nothing.” She squeaked.

“Robyn Rose Quinn what have you done!” Taron reached for her and she turned her back to him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and hugged her back against his chest, his wet skin warm against the gap of her crop top. “I am not going to let you go until you…” Taron loosened his gip a little as she moved her hands to tickle his bare sides. “Why you little!” He moved his hands to he could tickle her back and even though he tried not too, he laughed a little as she struggled against him. Feeling his towel slip a little, her had to let her go and she moved right away from him as he tightened the towel, making sure it was tucked in really well. “Spill Robyn.”

“Payback is a bitch Mr Egerton.” She simply said, winking at him, jumping up onto the bed and hopping off near the closet door as Taron went to swipe for her and she moved completely out of his way before he could reach for her.

Taron watched as she ran across the duvet and jumped off the other side. He didn’t dare follow her, already having a little towel slip, he wouldn’t risk a bigger mishap so now they both stood on opposite sides of the bed.

“I told you I would get you back.”

“So, you did do this to me!” He groaned running his hands through his hair again.

“Not really not. You did it to yourself. You just happened to pick up the wrong hair dye.”

“Robyn I can’t believe you did this.” He watched as she started to laugh again, her whole body shaking with her giggles, even seeing tears form in the corner of her eyes. “Jesus Christ you sneaky Irish woman.”

His words just made Robyn laugh harder and she had to put her two hands on the bedside locker to stop herself from falling over she was laughing so hard. The day Taron had snuck glitter into her body wash, she had warned him she would get him back and saw the perfect opportunity with the hair dye. She knew Taron would have been up for anything today, wanting to get the most out of his trip to Ireland for St Patrick’s Day. Initially she was going to suggest the hair chalk but when she was out shopping, she saw the green semi-permanent hair dye made by the same brand that she used when she dyed her hair pink and a little sly smile filled her face and plan her mind. Her payback for Taron.

“Robyn stop laughing.”

“Oh, I can’t! It is just too funny Taron. Your hair is green! Smile!” Robyn pulled her phone from her pocket in her skirt and quickly snapped a picture of him, laughing some more. “Oh, one for the wall.”

“Robyn…” He warned but as he took her bright eyes and the wonderful sound of her laughter, he groaned. “Well played Robyn.”

“Why thank you Taron.” She took a little bow.

“Please tell me it does actually wash out at some stage.” He watched as she walked around the bed to him, a wide smile still on her face.

“Most of it will.” She reached up and brushed her hands through his hair. “Good thing you stuck with just the tips and didn’t try to dye your whole head, or your growing beard.” She heard the intake of breath he made. “Oh, dear God that thought crossed your mind, didn’t it?” Robyn took to laugh again, her hands going to her eyes, to wipe unfallen tears away. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall at your read through tomorrow.”

“You do realise I am going to have to get my hair cut now, right? This hair that you love so much.”

“But it was so worth it and we are completely even now.”

“Robyn….” Taron rolled his eyes as he realised he had been well and truly tricked. “I guess I could wear a hat.”

She chuckled again and ran her hands through his hair, this time giving his scalp another scratch. “Oh God, it is brilliant.”

“May I remind you that the glitter washed off the same day.” His eyes closed automatically as she deeply grazed his head from the nape of his neck the whole way to the top of his head.

“After I scrubbed every inch of my body red raw.”

“And may I also remind you that I rubbed your body lotion in after too.” He opened his eyes to look at her.

“And I have gotten my payback.” She took her hands from his wet hair and tapped the tip of his nose. “No more pranks. We are done. Ok?”

Taron thought for a moment but quickly realising he had been completely out-pranked, he nodded and then shook his head at her grin. “Let’s take a proper picture then.”

“And then another when your hair is dry.”

“And I am not in a towel.”

Robyn looked down to his waist, little nervous sparks running through her as she gazed over his stomach and to the top of the towel that sat neatly at his hips. “Sure. Let’s do that.”

When Taron was eventually dressed in a pair of sweats and a dark green t-shirt and Robyn had changed into more comfortable clothes too, they moved to lay on Robyn’s bed and when the topic of Taron’s new hair colour, once more pictures were taken, was finally talked to death, they were watching as Taron requested, the most typically Irish movie Robyn could find. She came through with Darby O Gill and The Little People and while Robyn cringed at the terrible Irish accent of Sean Connery, Taron repeated every word in an accent just as bad, Robyn just laughing at him.

“I think you have spent the majority of your day laughing at me.” He said to her as they lay propped up on the pillows shoulder to shoulder.

“You have made me laugh so much today Taron and I have seen you laughing too. It nice to see you laughing too.”

“It felt good Robyn.”

“Please keep laughing over the next two months.”

He heard the slight turn in her voice and knew her concerns about his travelling for his promotion was at the back of her mind. “I make it sound like I hate the promotion. I don’t. I really enjoy it. I am so proud of Kingsman and I can only hope it gets such a great reception as the others and I want to go and promote it and talk about it. It’s the travelling and jet lag that I don’t enjoy as much.”

“You already know your schedule though.”

“Yep.”

“And…”

He sighed a little. “It’s gonna be tough and a lot of jet lag. A lot to cram in within a three-week period and there is even going to be some travelling before I come back to see you in two weeks.”

“Seriously?”

“More interviews were added for Europe for next week, so Matthew and I are travelling to go and do them.”

“Is there a lot?”

“Quite a few and a day in New York too.”

“I think I liked it better when I could keep you in my house and know where you were at all times and make sure you were sleeping and eating.”

“Me too.” He admitted. “But I do enjoy it Robyn. I really do”

Although she knew he tried to hide it, Robyn heard the slightly bothered sigh he made. “You worried about them bringing me and you up and what happened in Florida?”

“Always.” He answered straight away. “But thankfully it’s a topic that’s easy for me to talk about now and because we have been seen out together, it takes the heat away a little.”

“Doesn’t open up more questions?”

“Probably but Lyndsey will be there.”

“Good.”

“More protection for me, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Taron smiled a little. “I don’t think I am ever going to get used to how protective you can be of me.”

“I don’t mean to be but you know there was a time I literally had your life in my hands and I still don’t know why I feel somewhat responsible for you even though you are a big boy and have done so many of these tour things and can look after yourself but…”

“It is just the way you are Robyn and I wouldn’t change it for anything. You do it for the people in your life you love and care for and I don’t have a lot of those people in my life, those who I can truly trust and rely on so believe me, I very much appreciate it.” He moved a little so he could lay his head right beside her right shoulder. “I know I can always turn to you Robyn, no matter what. Talk to you about anything, kiss you outside lifts and GAA clubhouses.” He laughed as she gently swotted at his stomach. “On the neck and lips.” He added with a smile. “But please know that you can rely and trust me too ok?” He reached over and took her left hand in his left hand, making lazy circles over the back of her hand with the fingers of his right hand. “I might be busy and you may not be able to talk to be as often but leave me a message and I will text or call you back as soon as I can and I am always here for you, for a rant or a chat or just to say hello and I will be back to see you in two weeks. I will be there front and centre for RENT.”

Robyn knew Taron was thinking about Keith as he spoke and she could hear the promise and assurance he spoke with. “I know Taron and thank you. I know I can without a doubt trust you.” He lifted her hand and placed the tiniest and softest of kisses on her skin, his lips lingering longer than they should have but it was a perfectly sweet gesture, furthering his vow to her.

“I am looking forward to seeing you again in two weeks and on the stage.” Snuggling a little more into her, he felt Robyn move with him so they were now laying down on the bed.

“I think you will enjoy it.” She linked the fingers of her right hand with his left hand. “I am excited for it.”

“Nervous?”

“Always.”

“You will be amazing.”

“You haven’t even seen the show yet.”

“I just know.”

Robyn lifted her left hand and ran it through his now dry and still green hair. “You are a tosspot.”

“But I am your tosspot.” He said into her shoulder.

“You got that right.” She agreed. “Now time for an Irish cuddle. Last thing to get in to fully fulfil the requirements for St Patrick’s Day.”

Taron didn’t need any further encouragement and with a closer snuggle he was soon in his favourite cuddling position, his eyes closed as her hand went straight into his hair once he was settled. “Thanks for today Robyn. It was so much more than I could have asked for.”

“Even the green hair?”

“Even the bloody green hair.” He laughed.

“And the kiss?” She asked.

“And the kiss.” He mumbled. “Everything was perfect. Thank you, chicken.”

“Any time Rocketman.” Robyn continued to play with his hair a little.

“Robyn?”

“Hmmm…” She hummed.

“Would you mind if we turned on the air-con for a little while?” Taron lifted his head from her shoulder so he could look at her. “I think I gave too much to the céilí and am still feeling ridiculously warm and I want my cuddle from an Irish woman too but don’t want to overheat as I tend to do.”

“Yeah of course. I don’t mind.” Taron moved his body from her so Robyn could stretch over to the bedside locker and reach for the white controller for the air-con and switched it on, choosing the middle setting so a nice cool breeze filled the room. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“That is what it is there for.” Robyn settled herself against the pillows again and opened her right arm, Taron crawling back into her cuddle. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just tired. Quickly hitting that wall now.”

“Well you can sleep now.”

“And I fully intend too.”

Nestling into her, Taron moved his head a little lower than he normally would, his face cuddled into her chest and he sighed. Comfy, cosy, warm and home. It was what Robyn was and as he felt her fingers on his upper arm, rubbing in circles into his skin and he completely relaxed into her touch. He was so glad it was only going to be two weeks before he got to see her again because every time he got to see her, he found it just a little bit harder to let go and say goodbye.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #love #Friendship #Cuddles #St Patrick's Day #Payback #Jokes #Laughter #Having fun #Green #Irish #Never mess with an Irish woman #Robyn and Taron

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starfirette · 4 years

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Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24 is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page.

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Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme.

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been.

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium.

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case.

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri.

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her.

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account.

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems.

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians.

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him.

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes.

Their children are equally unattractive.

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet.

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children.

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.”

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out.

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls.

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green.

The makeup can’t be a popular trend.

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga.

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it.

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short.

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri.

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked.

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief.

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core.

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital.

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact.

Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy.

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun.

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here.

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in.

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father.

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner.

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier.

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them.

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself.

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.”

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach.

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed.

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently.

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint.

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles.

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair.

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!”

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off.

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love.

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents.

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins.

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers.

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin.

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare. “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away.

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day.

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first.

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty.

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off.

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand.

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness.

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags.

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?”

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second.

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction.

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees.

“Emelea,”a voice booms.

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down.

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another.

Emelea broke it off with a nod.

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see.

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster.

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade.

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.”

What the fuck? Din thinks.

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?”

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him.

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king.

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain.

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge.

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain.

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead.

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried.

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse.

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace.

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members.

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike.

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name.

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass.

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before.

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you.

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again.

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom.

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough.

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice.

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship.

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit.

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed.

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you.

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain.

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened.

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own.

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle.

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind.

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles.

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship.

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety.

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe.

You stay hidden until your legs hurt.

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat.

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone.

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior.

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet.

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings.

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you.

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way.

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door.

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them?

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete.

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger.

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy.

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you.

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you.

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says.

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find.

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you.

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired.

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed.

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands.

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin.

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy.

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance.

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way.

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means.

"Bathe," Din corrects himself.

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety.

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward.

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline.

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm.

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint.

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water.

It's amazing.

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again.

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself.

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying.

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes.

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth.

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you.

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you.

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm.

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs.

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror.

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with.

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out.

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name.

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit.

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included.

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur.

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking.

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind.

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter.

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?"

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary.

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as pressing as what’s happening tomorrow.

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question.

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket.

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed.

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him.

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes.

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type.

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old.

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short.

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit.

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute.

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick.

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet.

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would.

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing.

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in.

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else?

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest.

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?”

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs?

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been.

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair.

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent.

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked.

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked.

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night.

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you.

You have never been cared for.

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him.

>> next chapter!

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pandastern · 4 years

Text

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 3: A Step too far? (past)

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count: 2200

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected.

Maybe it was because class 1A knew Bakugou better than Artemis did, or maybe it was because the little scene she’d caused in the cafeteria hadn’t gone unnoticed, but as she slowly made her way into the ring, all her classmates seemed to hold their breath.

All except for the ash blonde pissy pomeranian with anger issues. Bakugou looked ecstatic.

“Oh, I'm gonna kick your ass so bad you won’t be able to walk for a week!” he hissed.

Judging by his murderous eyes, she figured she was heading straight to a situation any normal person with a normal sense of self-care would want to avoid. Tough luck, though. She wasn’t a normal person. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure if she was a person to begin with.

“Now, now. That almost sounds like a proposition,” she chuckled.

Bakugou’s expression changed. Now he just looked like he wanted to tear her throat out. Lovely.

“Artemis.” Aizawa’s voice interrupted her little moment with Mr Anger Issues. “Neither you nor Bakugou know the other’s quirk. Why is this a perfect example for what you can expect as a Pro Hero, and why is it a good lesson?”

Tearing her eyes away from her opponent, Artemis focused on her teacher again.

She scoffed. “We need to be ready for any type of quirk because we often go into the field blind. You cannot choose who to face on the battlefield.”

Her nonchalant tone made a brow rise on Aizawa’s usually bored face. A few hairs on the back of her head started to rise. So, her first impression of this man had been correct. He was a dangerous one.

“Correct,” Aizawa replied, pulling out a tablet. “Let's see how you pull your weight, newbie. Begin!”

Artemis took a deep breath and turned her attention back to her opponent. A devilish smirk had spread across Bakugou’s face. He was ready to throw down.

“Come at me!” he roared, his voice booming with confidence. “I'll show you what a real hero can do.”

She narrowed her eyes. The air around her was rather dry, so not much water could be drawn out of it. There were no fountains or bodies of water she could use, nor had she brought any herself. There were, however, trees and grass close to the ring. So, how best to start this?

Judging by what she’d seen of Bakugou, he was so full of himself that he probably didn’t expect much of her. She could draw out the water from the vegetation, but that would turn them into dust. Artemis shook her head. No, Aizawa probably wouldn’t appreciate her destroying school property, even if it was to defend herself.

Her best bet was to move fast and punch Bakugou as hard as she could. Preferably somewhere it really hurt.

Artemis moved. Keeping herself low to avoid exposing an opening, she rushed forward, swinging for his ribs on his right side. Bakugou was quick to read her movements and dodged, trying and failing to grab her by the scruff of her neck. She brought her foot forward and spun out of the way, plunging her elbow into his abdomen. At least, that’s what she thought she was hitting.

Something exploded in her side, sending her flying several feet. White pain exploded in her head as she hit the ground like a sack of flour, too shocked to roll her own body to avoid a harsh landing. The blast had knocked the wind out of her.

What the hell had just happened?

Bakugou’s laugh rang in her ears as she forced herself back onto her feet. Then it dawned on her. The weird scent of nitroglycerin in the cafe finally made sense.

“How’d you like that, fucking loser? Is that all you got?” Bakugou spat at her.

“So, an explosion quirk, huh?” she growled.

“Yeah so what? What do you think you're doing by not using your quirk against me? Do you think you can win like that? I’ll grind you into the dust, just watch!”

The familiar feeling of anger bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. This guy was really starting to piss her off. But he was right. Going against a power that could literally blow her up wasn’t really something she should take lightly.

Grinding her teeth, Artemis shrugged off her singed jacket and rolled her shoulders. It looked like protecting school property was out the window, then.

“You want my quirk?” she growled. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Bakugou charged at her, his speed boosted by another blast of his power, but this time Artemis was prepared. Reaching out with her powers, she spun to the side, evading his fist before grabbing hold of the water molecules in the air, a couple of trees and the grass surrounding her. She concentrated the liquid into a powerful blast and sent it racing towards her opponent.

Bakugou was caught of guard, the powerful blast pulling him off his feet, encasing him in a whirlpool and swirling him around like a shirt in a washing machine before smashing him back on the ground on the other side of the ring.

Watching him sputter and shake himself like a doused poodle, Artemis couldn't help but smirk.

“What's wrong, blasty boy?” she cooed, pulling the water back to herself, swirling it around her body like snakes. “Can’t swim?”

Bakugou glared at her, eyes blazing. Artemis could see that she had struck a nerve right there. Perhaps he wasn’t into her nickname. The swirling wisps of water separated from her body and morphed into needles of ice that surrounded her, their sharp spines pointed at Bakugou.

The palms of his hands started to smoke.

“I'm gonna kill you,” he hissed.

Artemis charged. Water and heat clashed as they exchanged blows, explosions scattering her ice needles before she hit him with another blast of water. They couldn’t have been more opposite in character and fighting style. Bakugou moved with the aggression of a hellflame while Artemis danced away, spinning, dodging his swings and landing her own blows in between blasts.

That was when she noticed something: the angrier this guy got, the hotter and faster his blasts came. The downside to her quirk was that she never had an infinite amount of water to draw upon, unless of course it was raining or she was fighting in a body of water. With every blast of Bakugou’s explosion more and more water evaporated. Damnit. If she didn’t get him on his knees soon, she’d run out of a means to protect herself, let alone attack. She had to admit, Katsuki Bakugou was an outstanding fighter.

“Where the hell do you think you’re looking?” A booming voice behind her ripped her out of her thoughts. How the hell had he gotten behind her in just a split second?

White light and heat exploded right in her face, hurling her through the air for a second time. Her body hit the ground with a nasty smack and she wheezed. The impact of her fall had squeezed the air out of her lungs and for a moment the world went blurry.

Bakugou breathed heavily as he watched the flame-haired girl writhe on the ground,struggling to take a breath. He had to give it to her, she was tough. Her quirk was something he’d never seen before. Where had she got all that water from in the first place? Then he noticed the dried up trees close by, along with big patches of dried up grass. Even the ground was cracked as if it hadn’t rained in years. Had she pulled it out of her surroundings like that?

He heard Artemis curse as she struggled to her feet, and he narrowed his eyes. That last blast should have been enough to give her a proper concussion, and yet here she was back up on her knees, trying to steady herself. The water around her sprung alive again, swirling around her body protectively.

Her red hair had sprung free of its hair tie, falling wild and messy around her face. Then he noticed a good patch of the right side of her hair had been burned off by the heat of the blast.

He watched as Artemis slowly pushed a hand into her wild locks and pulled a good chunk of melted hair out of her bird’s nest.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Well, seems like you finally got a nice haircut! Keep this up and you won’t have to worry about that crazy colour of yours.”

Artemis didn’t move. She just stared at the chunk of hair in her hand as if she were struggling to process what had just happened.

“What’s wrong, carrot head?” Bakugou taunted. “Have you had enough? Are you gonna cry about it like a little bitch?”

For a moment, the whole world seemed to stand still. Slowly, the girl rose to her feet. Then her eyes met his.

A chill ran down Bakugou’s spine, and he took a step back. There was a look in her freaky green eyes that made his stomach churn, as if a switch had been flipped and in front of him was no longer a 15 year old girl but something different, something wrong. Artemis’ eyes held no emotion. No humanity. Just a cold and endless void. There was death in her eyes.

His death.

A strange sensation bubbled up in his gut, making him shiver. Run… He had to run. Everything in him screamed to turn away and forfeit the fight, yet he couldn't move. He was like a deer in headlights waiting to be charged.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet started rumbling. The concrete cracked, then broke wide open as water tendrils shot through the stone, grabbing at him.

“Fuck!” he gasped.

He propelled himself into the air, trying to evade whatever hell this girl had summoned. The water followed him up, encircling him like a snake, wrapping around his body, choking him, crushing him, extinguishing his explosions and rendering him helpless. Was she gonna drown him?

Then his eyes met hers again. Artemis was standing calmly where he’d last seen her. Her eyes were completely focused on him with a determination that made his blood freeze. In her hands was a bow made of swirling water, and she was aiming an arrow right between his eyes.

Bakugou tried to struggle against his restraints, tried to break free. He knew Artemis would shoot him without hesitation. This girl wanted him dead. Fear made his head spin. There was no way out, no way out!

The sound of a bowstring being released and an arrow slicing through air made his stomach drop. As if in slow motion, he saw the deadly projectile race towards him, ready to split his head like an overripe apple. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for the impact.

“Enough!”

Aizawa’s voice echoed through the training ground.

The feeling of a sudden vaccum of power made Artemis’ stomach turn. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, shaking.

The red mist of rage that had made her feel so incredibly hazy started to clear, and slowly feeling returned to her. The sound of human voices, the echo of hearts shaken up by fear, pounded in her ears.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was Bakugou’s blast sending her flying, the pain of having the wind knocked out of her, a handful of burned hair… and rage. Cold, deadly rage.

“F-fuck,” she rasped and curled up, trying not to vomit.

When she finally managed to look up, her eyes met the red ones of her teacher.

“This is a training session. A non-lethal training session!” he snarled.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Disgust bubbled up inside of her as she looked around and saw the carnage she’d created. Somehow in her rage, her quirk had taken control of the water that was running underground through pipes and had burst them, forcing the water upwards to attack bakugou.

The ash blond boy was on his hands and knees, sputtering and gasping for air.

Artemis realised that she’d gone too far.

She needed to get out. She needed to get away.

“I-im sorry… I… I’m sorry,” was all she managed to stutter.

Bakugou was being helped back onto his feet by a boy with spiked up red hair. His eyes met hers. The look in his crimson eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Artemis’ heart almost stopped. If Aizawa hadn’t stepped in, then she’d have… No… No.

“The class is dismissed,” the teacher growled. “Everyone go home. Bakugou, go get yourself checked out. As for you…”

But Artemis was gone. Aizawa’s eyes scanned around, catching a glimpse of red hair just before it disappeared behind a building. A groan rumbled in his chest. He’d have to go after her later. For how, he had to explain to the principal why the training grounds were in shambles. Fun. Why did he always end up with the most troublesome kids?

Something stirred in his gut as he remembered the look in Artemis’ eyes before she’d snapped. There was no denying it. Something wasn’t quite right with that girl.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x oc #bakugou #katsuki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #mha fanfic #mha x reader #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #oc #six gravity

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renaroo · 4 years

Text

Thinking Positive

Disclaimer: Doom Patrol and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics Warnings: internalized homophobia, depression Rating: T Synopsis: In order to heal, Larry will have to work on being more positive. It’s a long and difficult journey.

A/N: I watched Doom Patrol last year and to say I loved it would be a major understatement. But the thing that took me by surprise the most was just how meaningful Larry Trainor’s story was to me, someone who also grew up surrounded by a lot of homophobia and feels like openly living with pride is still a difficult and ongoing struggle into my adulthood.

And with global quarantine being what it is, I’ve had a lot of strange and curious time on my hands to work on things so far as mental health is concerned. And it’s had me thinking a lot about how sometimes negativity and cyncism is a coping mechanism that’s easy to use but damaging in the long run. I tend to take that perspective away from Larry’s story rather than the way the show sometimes dismisses valid personal fears of outing and shames closeting. So this rambling story came barreling out of me. I hope it makes some sense.

Larry dismissed himself from dinner with the rest of Doom Manor’s residents.

It didn’t take much more than some dismissive words on his part, easily ignored over the rambunctious antics of Jane and Cliff, or the attempts to quell said antics by Vic and Flex. Rita was the most difficult to escape, considering Larry was her main outlet for commentary, but even she was willing to let him go when he stressed that he was tired.

He had tired rather easily over the last few months, and Rita knew why even more than the others.

In some ways, it was like therapy. In other ways, it was like torture. But that had always been Larry’s dilemma. He was rarely allowed to have one over the other.

Even before the Negative Spirit melded to his very soul.

When Larry attempted to frame his fears in less selfish designs, he framed his need for more energy as being there for the others. Cliff needed to have someone counter his gutsier instincts. Jane’s sarcasm needed someone equally verbose in it. And Rita, of course, counted on Larry’s counsel more than anyone’s. But it was easier, lately, with each other, with the others like Vic and Flex and even Dorothy, young in appearance and still finding her place as she was.

Besides all that, Larry had made a promise to himself that he wasn’t going to blame his reluctance on others anymore.

Which led to the closing of the thick lead door behind Larry. The slow removal of his protective bindings as the Richter scale crackled in the decompression port. The daily walk through his metal room and his radiation proofed furniture.

It was funny to think that his room had changed so little from the minimal aesthetic it had when the Chief first offered him a place nearly half a century ago. Funny, but also uncomfortable. Like it was wrong and stupid of him, but it had been so long that it would be weirder if Larry attempted to make any big changes.

He laid down on his bed and made himself comfortable, his hands rested over his chest, close to his heart.

Larry gazed at the ceiling and felt the rumbles deep in his body which let him know that the spirit was aware of what time it was.

“Hey there, buddy,” Larry said, voice low and tired. “It’s that time again. The one where I try to get stuff off my chest.” His hands tapped rather nervously over his shirt. It was light enough that the nerve damage kept the tips of his fingers from truly feeling more than the slight pressure of it. “Literally.”

For the life of him, Larry couldn’t figure out why he always started out so nervous and uncomfortable every day.

Then again, Larry had lived his entire life nervous and uncomfortable. It was hard to break habits formed over a century, he supposed.

“Okay, well, here goes nothing,” Larry sighed, closing his eyes and preparing himself. Idioms aside, it did not feel like nothing, it felt like everything every time.

“Start from the top? Positive things?” Larry asked out loud. With his eyes closed, the rumble from the negative spirit felt even stronger, more enthusiastic perhaps. “Of course, you eat those up. Alright.

”Today my azaleas began to bloom early. I got some rhododendron seeds in the mail. Chief is offering to get me a new greenhouse on the property, to expand things. Dorothy made me a flower crown. She didn’t use any of my flowers. I think she used paper and then with her, ah, powers turned them into real flowers. Usually, her using her powers is disturbing, like the whole thing with the puppets. But this was, you know, cute. I liked it. I mean it’s quicker to use a Snapchat filter, but…”

The negative spirit rumbles more abruptly. It gives Larry a sense of warning or disapproval.

“I know, I know, staying positive,” he sucks in a deep breath. It’s the sort of deep, lung filling breath that he’s only capable of thanks to the negative spirit’s possession of him. Their temporary separation reminded him of that. That, however, was an unspoken positive between them.

“I tried a new recipe, everyone seemed to enjoy it,” Larry continued. “It’s curried roasted eggplant with smoked cardamom and coconut milk.” He couldn’t resist the huff of a laugh that escaped him as a result. “Sheryl would’ve never believed it.”

There was a numbness that spread out from his chest. It was an overwhelming sense, but Larry considered it a good development.

He and the Negative Spirit both took a long time to have a response to his ex-wife being invoked that was anything other than overwhelmingly negative.

Still, it was best to trade subjects and not linger on old regrets. As natural as it was for Larry to do that.

“With all the new residents, this place has really gotten lively,” he said, arching his neck back more comfortably on the pillow. “I know I’ve let you out a few times to explore that for yourself, but you probably miss a lot of the little things.”

A gentle hum radiated out from his chest. Positive? Affirmation? Larry was still deciphering the finer bits.

“It’s good for all of them,” Larry concluded. “They fit together well. Well, not fit. The whole point of this place is that fitting is…”

He trailed off, catching his own turn toward negativity long before the spirit had a chance to disrupt him.

“It’s nice, seeing how meaningful it is for Cliff and Jane to have someone…” Larry scowled and lifted up one of his hands from his chest to scrub at his face. Doom Manor was so hard to contextualize sometimes. “Not younger. She’s older than all of us. Smaller? It’s nice to see Cliff and Jane both have someone smaller to look out for. Daughter. Little sister. However it goes.” He lowered his hand down to his side, away from his chest where he’d more acutely feel the rumbles of the Negative Spirit’s responses. “Did I mention she made me a crown? That was nice.”

Larry lapsed into silence, his eyes unfocused as they stared at his ceiling and past it toward all the feelings and regrets of a long life.

He never felt the need to regain a sense of fatherhood like Cliff was haunted by. But he had been a father, too. He had been a father of two.

And he never saw either of them again. Never tried.

Sheryl had taken them away to a better life. Maybe she remarried, to a man who could love her the way she deserved to be love. Maybe the boys got a father who could teach them all the things about being a man that were beyond Larry’s comprehension.

It probably would have been simple enough to find out, if Larry had asked questions or reached out.

But he hadn’t. He forfeited that part of his life, just like he had forfeited so much else.

In some ways, he hoped Sheryl had told the boys he had died. That way they never grew up wondering why Larry hadn’t reached out. So they didn’t have the accurate picture of what a coward their fearless flyboy father had been.

There was no telling how much time he was prepared to spend down that path before his body jolted.

Not without warning, the Negative Spirit seized through Larry’s body with force and separated. His eyes rolled back into his head and everything went limp and dark.

When Larry woke with a gasp, he already knew what had happened, but he sat upon his bed all the same and grabbed at his head in frustration.

“Look! This is part of it!” he yelled toward his chest. His heart was racing, equal parts the Negative Spirit’s pulsing and Larry’s own anger. “I know, I know we need to work on being positive, but you got yourself paired with one of the most naturally negative sons of bitches on the planet. This wasn’t just about you, alright? We’ve talked about this before. I was born negative. I’ve been looking at the dark side of things since I was seven years old and that’s not changed in a century. You have to work with me here if we’re going to get anywhere.”

He was answered only by the creaks and groans of Doom Manor.

“I’m allowed to remember bad things, you know,” Larry continued to argue. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe everyone’s right and I’ve been letting them rule me. I-I know you’re all right about that. But completely avoiding and ignoring negative things doesn’t keep them from existing. It’s dangerous. And it’s wrong.” His frown deepened. “I’d be more of a monster than I ever dreamed myself being, if I thought anything less than the fact that the boys didn’t deserve what they had to go through. Alright? They may be old men now, but they are still my boys. And they deserved not losing everything they ever knew. And they didn’t deserve all the secondhand anxiety and paranoia from me. Those are just facts. Even if they were unavoidable.”

Finally, the Negative Spirit hummed again.

“What? That’s what you wanted from me?” Larry asked, splaying his hands against his chest to feel the rumble more. “You wanted me to say it was unavoidable? Look, how many times do I have to learn these lessons until you’re satisfied?”

There was quiet once more.

“If it’s until I believe them,” Larry’s voice softened to a murmur, “we’ll be doing this every day for a long time. Maybe until the day I finally die. And even then it might not be enough. You know that, right? I’m pretty majorly fucked in here, and a good amount of that came with the package before you joined in, buddy.”

The hum was unmistakable that time, Larry felt it through his core.

Okay.

“Okay,” Larry repeated, laying back down. “Stop having fits the second we go into some territory you don’t like, I’ll try to respond quicker.”

There was another unmistakable hum through his chest.

“If you’re wondering about the conversation with Rita about Flex, then you probably were already aware of most of it,” Larry snorted. “I’m coming up on one hundred years old, I don’t want to repeat what I said to my best friend about someone else’s quads.” He tossed his head a little from side to side and then sighed. “They are nice, though. And admitting it out loud didn’t light me on fire, so, who knows. Maybe being gay does get easier with practice.”

That seemed to satisfy the spirit, and it did Larry, too.

Small victories — victories so small that a previous version of himself might have argued they weren’t worth celebrating, not for the amount of time it took for him to get to that point. But he felt the accomplishment all the same.

There were so many regrets and so much fear in his life that was still there, and he still didn’t believe that erasing all of it was the fully responsible or realistic thing to do.

But he could make himself lighter, in whatever small increments he could. And that was surely worth the battle alone.

#writing #dc fic #Larry Trainor #Negative Man #Keeg Bovo

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