#Cool your jets- it’s coming •queue• | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsasainz · 1 year ago

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the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Shiv had been, and is your friend—in many ways, your best friend—but you’d always had a sweet spot for Roman. It wasn’t until you moved to New York more permanently, right after you graduated, that you actually befriended him, your work at his father’s company at first forcing you into the odd work dinner or late night at the office, but routines were formed, at some point. Thursday lunches together, Monday morning coffees. At some point, he’d stopped seeming like Shiv’s whiney older brother, and become funny—most of the time. Roman, you had, at some point understood, took time. But most of your relationship with him came after Greece.

The first time you went on holiday with them—beyond the Hamptons or British countryside—you were twenty-three, and had found yourself on a ten-day trip through the Greek islands on Logan’s oversized yacht. It was that ten days that you realised that you were in, not particularly intentionally, but in nonetheless. You remembered everything about that trip; the private jet that took you to Thessaloniki, the starting point of the trip—you’d fly back to New York from Heraklion, with the entire family, who were coming from various outposts across the globe. To start with, though, it was just the two of you, walking on the scorched tarmac of Thessaloniki’s international airport, leaving the gleaming private jet behind, already feeling slick with set in the hot, midsummer air. You had appreciated the perks of a private jet that day—no queues, no crying babies or seats reclined into your knees—and didn’t have to think twice about where your luggage was, because everything had been taken care of by a team of people you barely saw, working like ants under the foliage. A refreshingly air conditioned car had brought you smoothly to the port, where a smaller boat, already stacked with your luggage, had taken you quickly to the gleaming palace on water that was the Roys’ yacht. The boat was like a small, disturbingly empty, city; an almost utopian place, gleaming and shimmering under the Mediterranean sun, a labyrinthe of rooms and decks and corridors. Despite the surplus of space, it was split between a select few; Logan Roy, of course, his four siblings and their own guests, a selection of board members and his third wife, who you’d met only once or twice before, Marcia. That day was languid, a steady flow of arrivals as the hours passed and the yacht sat just outside of the port, watched by the locals and tourists alike, most likely speculating about the owners of such a gratuitous yacht, carelessly waiting for all the world to see.

You and Shiv had been greeted by Connor, in his pre-Willa days, already in his forties though; Kendall had appeared at first without your notice, but the sound of his children, still babies then, had alerted you of his arrival, alongside his then-wife, Rava, who you still respected wholeheartedly. Roman had been next, harder to miss, making sure to “jokingly” insult everyone aboard within five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered when it took him a minute or so to come up with an insult for you, but that train of thought was quickly lost to the arrival of the man himself; Logan Roy came with a fleet of people. He spoke about three words to you directly on that first day, but you supposed that wasn’t so bad—you were hardly novel to him anymore, given how your recent promotions had drastically increased your time spent with him and Kendall. Roman, however, was a different matter entirely.

You’d seen him around an awful lot, and spoken to him maybe twice, never for longer than a passing comment or introduction, though he knew of your friendship with his sister. And yet, here you were, on holiday with his family, and he was suddenly fascinated. Over those ten days, between your hours spent gossiping with Rava and his hours spent talking business with his brother and father, you somehow found time to get attached to the youngest son of the Roy dynasty.

Roman was a piece of a work, there was no denying it. He was insulting, defensive, childish, et cetera, et cetera, but he was often funny, too, and within days you had understood him well—he, like Kendall, Shiv and Connor, was driven by his father’s approval, but as is the way in any family, each of the siblings had manifested the same fears and motivations in different ways. Shiv’s fear of intimacy made for relationships with people who depended on her—for money or status—but who she could keep at an arm's length, and cast aside if they got too attached. Roman more openly craved connection, but his fears and traumas came to light in a more physical expression. The jokes at his expense had swiftly enlightened you to his troubled relationship with sex and affection, while, even this early on, Kendall’s addictions were beginning to form cracks in his determinedly “hip” façade. Most of these things you had already understood, but an extended amount of time on a vehicle that you can’t exactly leave had opened it all up to you—unlike the Hamptons, you couldn’t piss off to the other side of the island or back to the city, but only to the other side of the yacht, and even for a big yacht, it never allowed you to genuinely leave. The thoughts that would later become a strange, fucked up mantra began to formulate on that holiday; before you’d put it into words, or understood what you were asking yourself, the statement was swirling around your consciousness; the poison drips through.

Each of the Roy siblings was broken and damaged in a way you’d never seen before, but your long standing practice of people-reading and your love of untangling the dynamics within groups made the holiday a sort of project—by the end, you’d created a map in your head of the different events and people that made up the complex web of Roy troubles, built off the foundations laid by your friendship with Shiv and many brief interactions with her extensive family over the decade. It was an incomplete map—there would be things you didn’t discover until his death, a decade later, and things you would never know, but that initial map, fraction of what it would become, was the starting point for your relationship with Roman.

Your morbid fascination with the family, and apparent loyalty (though you only realised it years later) met with his intrigue with you. Shiv never brought friends on holiday, he disclosed on the third or fourth day—as such, everyone was trying to work you out, your game, your presence, beyond the limited stuff they already knew. But at the end of the trip, it wasn’t Shiv who you’d spent the most time with, but Roman.

You’d thought of it as a ten-day deep-dive into the family, one that wouldn’t be repeated and that would have few repercussions—for you, anyway, but something had been pushed into being on that yacht that would change the trajectory of your life.

Upon your return to the company, tanned and rested from your break, you found that your routine at work changed a little at first, and then a little more, and then completely. A week after the end of the holiday, Roman had barged into your office at around lunchtime, insulted a photo on your desk and dragged you out for an overpriced lunch to discuss work stuff—a legitimate offer, you later found out from Gerri, about an actual deal that he genuinely wanted to pick your brains about. The work-related talk had lasted maybe fifteen minutes before the two of you were side-tracked by something entirely inconsequential and spent the rest of the hour essentially gossiping. His coarseness surprised you a little, though it shouldn’t have, and you remember your initial reservations about his overt slights and hyperactivity—though nowadays you’ve grown to love both. The deal—the one he’d wanted to pick your brains about—had gone better than anticipated, partially, it was said, due to your counsel. So it became more regular—Thursday lunchtimes became your lunches with Roman, and he would stop by your office for discussions almost every day, uncharacteristically invested in his work, according to his siblings. You started to move up through the company too, taking on more responsibility, spending more time with the family, getting closer to the top.

At some point, you and Roman had become friends. You gravitated towards each other at galas and occasionally went for drinks after work on a Friday night. But, despite your time together, there was something odd about the dynamic—neither of you particularly spoke about your pasts, your childhoods. There was a certain shame you had about your upbringing—you knew it was entirely unfounded, that you’d been better off than the vast, vast majority, but then again, you spent most of your time with multibillionaires these days. Generally, you avoided discussions about family wealth, and guarded the inner-workings of your family, and all its troubles, in a way that is far more impossible for a family of the Roys’ calibre—you had your own secrets, a great many things you refused to discuss, and he knew that. In turn, Roman didn’t seem to want to delve into what it was like to grow up with the mighty Logan Roy as a father; so neither of you pushed it, and the subject of who you were pre-Roman began to fade; it would take a couple of years for it all to be disclosed, and even then, most of your big revelations about your relationship with him seemed to come in times of crisis.

You were friends. Work friends, really, but edging into the ground of the simpler terms; you were friends. You were, perhaps, his only one, or one of very few, and he was one of a fair few on your part, though he and Shiv were almost entirely separate from the company you kept outside of Waystar; you’d sometimes wondered what they’d think of the people you spent your Saturday nights with, or the clubs you frequented. But for years, he was your friend, and only your friend.

You’re not entirely sure when things began to get muddled, and lines began to blur. After one crisis or another, he had turned up at your door, late into the night, too tired and too upset to take the piss out of your apartment—a sure sign something was wrong—and ended up in your bed. You hadn’t slept together, but had spent the night beside one another, in hushed conversation or drifting into restless slumber. You’d woken up with his back to you, and it hadn’t been brought up again, not even when he turned up at your door a week later. Sleeping in the same bed as Roman became more common, though it was never sexual—it eased slowly from the simple need for company to admissions of wanting some form of affection—you would sometimes wake up to find that you had curled into one another, that in your unconscious states you had found an intimacy that was impossible in your waking lives.

And then, at some point, something had changed. You’d created a setting in which Roman could actually communicate—not without difficulty, but a space where he could say what he thought and attempt to move away from what he felt he should think. The emotional stuff took longer, but with those changes came a definite change in the nature of your relationship—namely, there was a newfound romance to it.

You’d held off the idea of a relationship with Roman for a long time—through all his joking, overly casual proposals, which you suspected were a way of him affirming some need for rejection, assuring himself that he was unlovable by presenting the ridiculous to have it shot down, as expected. But that had changed as he had, gradually, changed. As he became more open, more honest in that mesocosm of your apartment, developing a unique ecosystem of trust and loyalty and, you supposed, love, allowed him to become accessible to you in new ways.

Sex had taken longer. You were, to all intensive purposes, his girlfriend for a long while before you actually had sex. It was tentative, a slow process of breaking down barriers and rebuilding his relationship with a lot of things, in order to create a version of him that was capable of vulnerability. It’s still a work in progress. At some point (a nonchalant way of putting it—your milestones with him may have been muddled, but they were still deeply significant to you), the relationship had been opened for scrutiny at the hands of his family. You had, in some senses, created a healing process that they couldn’t comprehend, and you think that for that they will always resent you, but for the most part his siblings saw someone who made their brother a little happier and a little less skittish, and his father saw someone who could talk business and keep his son in check.

You didn’t know if there would ever be a wedding to commemorate it, and you doubted there would be children, but your ever-evolving relationship with him made you happy, and you knew it made him happy. Sometimes, you just wished that all that progress you’d made with him would translate to other aspects of his life, but such hopes never came to fruition—at the end of the day, he was still the young boy desperate for the approval of his hard-headed, abusive father.

It was that relationship with his father that made his relationship with his siblings so twisted. You and Shiv weren’t so close these days, but there was still amiable respect and remnants of that original loving friendship, but circumstance had torn rifts in the friendship of your teen- and twenty-something selves. In your thirties, that love had been somewhat lost, or changed—you’d probably always feel that friendly love for Shiv, the one responsible for this entire trajectory of your life.

Now, however, feels simultaneously like the best and worst time for a reflection on the ins and outs of your relationship with Roman Roy. Your bed is a mess, sheets tangled from Roman’s tossing and turning, his frame tense as he paces back and forth, pink flashcards clutched in his grasp. You’d helped him write them over the last few days, through the frustrations that he couldn’t get the words right or couldn’t express his true feelings.

It is only natural that on the morning of a funeral, you think of the funerals you have been to before. The one that stands out, the paradox, is the funeral that exposed your true upbringing to him; it wasn’t the wealth—Roman had hardly expected anything quite so extreme as his own family, but rather the people, your people, and how different they were from his.

You’d received the call late at night—UK and US time differences had gotten confused, your uncle thought you were five hours ahead, not behind—and had tried to gloss over the reason you were suddenly going back home for a week. Of course, in registering your time off with work—paid compassionate leave—he had discovered the truth, and insisted he accompany you. So Roman had met your family at a wake—not ideal, but it made sense. Your family, for all their flaws, had an open, friendly attitude; anyone was welcome in your home, and help was always offered where it could be, a notion so foreign to him that he’d never quite managed to grasp it.

Your family had been confused but welcoming of him; the context of your mother’s death was a strange setting to first impressions, but they liked him nevertheless. Your brother found his jokes more than a little amusing, and your little cousin seemed to think he’d hung the moon, which had more than baffled him—he’d never liked kids, even when they looked like you might have when you were little, even (perhaps especially) when they made him wonder about having children with you. That funeral had been a modest affair with a large turnout—most of the neighbourhood seemed to be there, but there was no fancy coffin or grand church; it was a small funeral, as your mother had wished, and as fitted the circumstances.

You remember a conversation with your sister a day or two later; sat in the garden, smoking, she had turned to you, posed that fatal question; What if the poison drips through? You had dismissed it initially, but at some point, probably after another depressive episode after, you had understood it. The poison drips through. But that was then, and this is now. This is not a modest funeral in your mother’s hometown, but a lavish one, in New York City.

No, this funeral is different.

Logan Roy’s funeral is not a neighbourhood affair, but an international one, and your Roman is doing the eulogy—hence the pacing and the flashcards. He is already dressed, and you are still in your pyjamas, but that is hardly the consideration—in this moment, you are simply concerned over whether or not Roman will make it through the eulogy; with every hour that passes, you become less convinced by his claim that he has “pre-grieved” his father’s death. If Roman breaks, the whole world will see it, abuse it, manipulate it; but everyone, Roy or not, should be able to grieve their parent’s death—no matter how awful they were—without judgement or manipulation.

He looks up from his cards— “You’re not dressed yet.”

“We have time.” you chide, but slip out of the tangle of bedsheets and turn the shower on. “Getting there on time is not going to be an issue.”

He dismisses you again, announcing the lines from his flashcards to himself as you shower, still going as you do your make up and dress, eat a little food—as much as you can stomach on a day like this, and make sure everything in terms of logistics will run smoothly, send a quick text to Shiv to make sure she’s coping—you’re sure none of them are—and eventually let Roman know it’s just about time to go.

His composure is already cracking by the time you get to the car. There is a sense of foreboding, and though you can’t bring yourself to iterate the thought, you have a distinct premonition that Roman’s eulogy will not happen as planned. You’re even wondering if he’ll sneak out before it’s his turn to speak, but you push the thought away. Roman would be okay, he always managed to scrape himself out of trouble, somehow.

The funeral is sombre, to no one’s surprise. You end up on the front pew, between Roman and Kendall, though you’re not entirely sure how. The service is long, as Roman Catholic funerals usually are, in your experience, and Roman will have to sit through the rest of it after his eulogy—whether it’s good that he’ll get it over with, or bad that he’ll have to sit with it for ages after is something you can’t decide on. You suppose that regardless of which point in the service he did the eulogy, he will always have to sit with his words.

And then it’s his part, and he doesn’t even manage the first sentence. You realise, the moment that he looks over to the coffin, that it’s over. You’re the first to get to him at the front, pulling the cards from his hands and letting him collapse into you, the cards getting taken by Kendall, the Roys all there to offer some form of support to their faltering sibling. His questions, his grief, are concerned with Logan’s body, lying and waiting in that coffin. It does, admittedly, seem unnatural that such a force could be contained in such a simple box. You feel almost like you are carrying him back to the pew, tucked under your arm, and welcoming him into your side, his body pressed into yours as though you are the only thing keeping him on earth, as if he would be gone without you. You let him cling, you make it to the end of the service without a further disruption, and then tell Shiv you’ll walk him back to the reception yourself, make sure he’s in a better state before you present him to the world once more. You sneak him out somehow, find a long route back that is not impacted by protests or by paparazzi.

The walk is slow, and he comes to himself little by little by the simple process of walking. He calms his breathing, starts to look about, register his surroundings and the events of the last few hours.

“Why’d you take us this route?” he asks. It’s not the quickest route, and it’s too strange a route to simply be about avoiding photos or crowds. He’s frowning, but you don’t seem embarrassed or confused by his line of questioning.

“My grandparents used to say that you should leave a funeral in small groups, and never all take the same route. It was some superstitious thing—like, if you all took the same route back then the soul of the dead would be able to follow you home, and they’d never leave.” You don’t say that you would hate for Logan’s soul to remain here, to follow him for the rest of his life.

He frowns at you. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop him from staying.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll never escape him, will I?”

“Roman, for the first time in your life you can step out of this sphere. You can look at the world without the oversight of that bastard, and you can pick a direction. You have the choice, the ability to choose for yourself without his consequence. If you want so badly to escape him, then you can. It’s in your grasp.”

He doesn’t respond, meandering toward your destination. Eventually, he formulates a response. “He’s gone, but the rest of them aren’t.”

You don’t push it—it’s for another day. Instead, you hold his hands in the street, and the pair of you head towards the reception.

He’s beside you for the majority of the evening, until you go to get a drink so that kendall can have a word—a bad idea, in retrospect—and you return to find him gone. Kendall shrugs you off, and no one else knows or cares where he’s gone. You call him a few times, wonder if he just needs some quiet, and then feel your instincts correct you; Roman has not gone for a moment of quiet, you know him better than that, and there is no guarantee he is safe or calm or well.

So you leave, try his phone a few more times, and some morbid curiosity leads you toward the sounds of the protestors. Perhaps it’s your gut, perhaps there is something that viscerally understands his masochism and self destruction. You know you’ll find him in that mob, at the mercy of the only people who will show him violence like his father used to. You feel sick with the thought, nauseous with the understanding of what he is doing to himself.

Sure enough, by the time you find him he has been beaten to a pulp, he is black and blue and bloody, damn near smiling with the pain despite being barely able to stand or walk, destroyed by a sadistic crowd. They do not know this man, you think, as you bundle him into a car, they do not understand grief if they can do this to a man who had freshly lost his father.

At your apartment, you sit him against the bathroom wall, on the floor, splatters of blood on his clothes, tainting the white tiles. He’s incoherent as you sort the first aid kit, and find a cloth to clean him up with. You work methodically, sure to keep him conscious in case of a concussion, as you clean and dress every part of broken skin, and treat his bruises with an ointment you find in the bottom of the kit, and strip him of his stained clothes, providing him with a change. You do not leave him alone, for fear of what might happen, and help him into some new clothes, sweaters and top, too casual for him to ever actually wear—you’d bought the joggers over a year ago and seen him wear them twice—before settling him into bed. You know enough about concussions to know you should wake him up frequently to check on him, but for now you let the tears come in waves. You’ve cleaned the physical wounds, and you hope that with every round of tears comes a cleanse, one that will make the wounds of his broken life easier to heal come the morning, as though the tears themselves will act to wash the grit from the graze, or to pick the shrapnel out from the marred flesh of this open wound.

You look around your apartment, out the window at the city below, and an idea strikes you—almost certainly a bad one, but you’re beyond the point of caring. “Rome,” you say, “You wanna go to Barbados?”

Caroline’s place in Barbados is lovely, if a little mosquito-ridden, and it feels oddly bonding to care for Roman together with his distant, almost neglectful mother. She loves him, that much is true, but it’s never enough.

You have thought more about your own mother in the last two weeks than in the last few years—not because you’d wanted to forget her, you saw her in everything—these thoughts were more active, like you were searching for the memories that might guide you in how to deal with this, or help Roman to cope. Your mother had been a different kind of a parent to Logan, and her issues had never been sought out—it was like no matter what she did, she would always have been claimed the same way, her life would always have made yours worse, despite anyone’s efforts to change that.

The poison drips through. That had been your sister’s line, and now Kendall’s. You’d experienced some of what your mother had first-hand, and it always made you wonder if everyone is destined to become their parents, to mirror their lives no matter how consciously they tried to avoid it; whether they resign themselves to it, or try so hard to avoid it that they do a full circle, returning to the likeness of their parents, everyone you’ve ever known is the product of their parents; it is biological, cultural, psychological.

It’s no surprise when Shiv arrives, ready to turn Roman to her side of the discussion about the board meeting. It’s late afternoon when you and Shiv find a moment—Roman has disappeared, and you sit on the paved surrounding to the pool, legs soaked up to your knees, weight leant back on your arms. The youngest Roy is somewhere behind you, to the right, probably on a deck chair.

“Do you think—and tell me to fuck off if you like—that maybe this whole deal is a good thing?”

You hear her sit up, and turn to look at her. She’s frowning at you, “How so?”

“I don’t know, ‘cause, like, you guys—all of you—have just been trapped in this sphere of Waystar and ATN and your dad, and all of you are just fucking miserable. What if you—what would be so bad about just getting out? You could free yourselves from all this bullshit, and there’s no Logan to pull you back in, so you could just… be. Just, y’know, learn a bit more about who you are outside of your father’s sphere of influence. Plus, like, Kendall’s gonna break, Roman already has, and you—all of you—are, frankly, pretty fucking fragile at the minute.”

She moves to come and sit next to you, slipping her feet into the pool beside yours. “You don’t understand.”

You shrug. “I’m sure I don’t.”

“We’re never, really, going to be free of it. Any of it.”

She shifts, her head resting on the bare skin of your shoulder, hair ticklish on your neck. You rest the side of your face on the crown of her head. “Maybe, maybe that��s true. But for the first time in your lives, the door’s open.”

The silence stretches out over the pool, filling the air, making you wonder what’s going on in her head. You sit like that for a while and at some point you realise she’s crying— not sobbing, not shaking with the force of it, but just sitting there, letting the tears stream; you don’t think she’s even really blinking, but the stillness remains, you don’t move. She needs this. You know about the scheduled meeting rooms for crying—Roman mentioned it—but this doesn’t feel like mourning. Not for her father, at least.

“Hey, fucknuts,” Roman calls, appearing at the edge of the courtyard, still barefoot in the shorts and top Caroline had gotten him when you first arrived. Shiv swiftly brushes the tears away, smiling up at him. He looks between you. “Ah, fuck—what… nevermind.”

Suddenly, you are plunging through the chlorinated water, lungs straining at the shock, hands splaying out through the cyan waters, in some momentarily suspended, bubbly universe, the tiled walls of the pool reflecting its pale, eggshell blue translucence onto your skin. You burst upward, drawing in a deep breath and flicking your hair from your face as your toes find the floor of the pool. “Argh, fuck you!”

Roman is laughing, Shiv in a similar state to you, and the moment feels distinctly child-like. You wade through the neck-deep water to the edge, and reach up to him to help you out, but he shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he chides, “I’m not that stupid.”

Shiv is laughing now, and you realise that you’re smiling despite yourself. “Rome, come on, at least help the pregnant lady.”

“Yeah, Rome, help the pregnant lady!” Shiv echoes, joining you at the edge and reaching for him. He knows what’s about to happen and submits himself to it regardless, letting her get a grip of his hands and be practically thrown over your heads, crashing sidelong into water. The splash and waves lap at your chin but you and Shiv are too busy laughing to notice; he struggles upright and rolls his eyes through his smile.

“Cunts.” he groans.

Shiv splashes him in the face with some water, and he swears again, splashing her back and catching you in the process. The ensuing water fight is short and chaotic, halted by Caroline’s arrival to tell you all to be quiet. Roman is laughing, the three of you paddling to the shallow end through some half-hearted apologies. Clambering out and grabbing some towels, you meander down to the seats and drinks table overlooking the seas, drying out your hair and letting conversation turn to business. This is where Kendall finds you, twenty minutes later, in a serious discussion about the board meeting.

The next few hours are a rollercoaster. Calls, discussions, debates, the classic Roy egoistical outlook on why each of them are better suited to the CEO position and why they have been groomed for it. Privately, as you meander in and out of their discussions, conscious that you’re not really involved in their family stuff at all, you settle on the idea that perhaps none of them are. Your feelings about the deal are one thing, meant to be separate from your feelings about them, but they intertwine now—the future of the company lies with them, and their capabilities, and their decisions. That’s not particularly your concern, you’ve been starting to manoeuvre your way out of your current position of influence, toying with the idea of leaving completely, selling your shares and heading elsewhere, but the idea of leaving them behind, leaving Roman behind, is too difficult to consider. What if you didn’t have to factor that in? What if you could walk away knowing it wasn’t them you were walking away from?

It’s this spiralling thought process that subdues you during dinner, ignoring Peter’s friend—James? John?—and knocking back continuous cocktails. Shiv frowns at you, “Trying to get hungover before the board meeting?”

You let out a half laugh. “If I drink a bit more tomorrow I won’t get the hangover.”

Kendall watches you for a second. “Clear minds tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. Caroline glares at you all for ignoring the pitch you’re currently being presented with and you glance at Roman beside you. He’s anxious, he has been since the morning of the funeral, and you get the sense that he—body, mind and soul—is consuming himself, like he’s just destroying the fabric of himself from the inside out, so destroyed by his father’s death. The whole structure of his life, its fabric and its character, has been defined by his father’s presence and absence, and the man’s ability to maintain his presence even through his absence, but that presence, that famed presence, their “dear, dear world of a father” diminishes with every passing second.

Roman’s hand finds yours under the table, slightly clammy, taking you by surprise. His initiation is uncharacteristic. You give his hand a slight squeeze, and in response he laces his fingers into yours, a more substantial hold. Be here, he seems to ask. The world goes quiet—it’s just you, Roman, and your palms against one another under the table.

Like all things, the moment passes, the chaos returns. More phone calls, an equivocal end to the dinner, and you end up at the house, the Roys down at the beach. You lie at the end of Roman’s bed, feet still on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan; there could be any manner of discussions going on between the siblings at the sea, you could wake up to find they’ve drowned one another or something. Knocked each other out with a coconut or some shit. Roman, your Roman, and his grief, his deep felt love and guilt and terror, lost in the storm of this entire shitshow. You think of that day at Connor’s ranch when you saw the scars on Logan’s back, Ewan’s eulogy about his polio and self-blame, the mirror he made his children look in when they cried. Broken people make broken people. It’s easy to think of time as linear—past, present, future—but it’s more of a circle, you think. Infinite, never-ending, always repeating the same old mistakes. Kendall’s distant fathering, Logan’s abusive fathering—were they really so different?

The poison drips through.

It’s difficult to compare your childhood with the Roys’, but you remember those same thoughts, of a different nature—you’d been lucky enough to live in a world where things were talked about, and you had been able to process things as they happened, rather than let them bubble under the surface, but there had always been that idea. Your family history, the mental health troubles, ECT treatments and various crises in your family history, long before your time, and the effects that you had grown up with. You remember the first time you understood that your mother wasn’t quite right. You remember trying to get her out of bed to walk you to school and the realisation that she wasn’t really there, not in her mind, anyway. And in your teenage years, when you felt that yourself for the first time, you remember the terror of becoming her, of losing all feeling until you couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

When you took Roman to her funeral, you hadn’t told him how she’d died, too scared it would be weird or uncomfortable. He’d worked it out, and confronted you in the bathroom at the wake. Sat on the bath met, you had unleashed it all on him, and it had been one of the few genuine conversations you’d had with him in those first years. It had been a different kind of a struggle to his—it wasn’t actively inflicted by your parents, it wasn’t an intentional abuse like the kind he had experienced, but an enforced bystander effect—instead, you had had to stand at the sidelines as your mother collapsed in on herself, decaying before your eyes until you gave up and left. Half the world away, you had learned to understand those things, but now Roman had hints of it in him—he was barely even a bystander in his father’s death, but the grief and guilt were parallel.

This deal was his version of moving to NYC. An escape, an out.

You must drift off, because you open your eyes to the muffled chant; a meal fit for a king. Downstairs, you find them, concocting some awful smoothie, cackling like maniacs. As teenagers, it had been one of those games you’d played when their parents were away, seeing who could stomach the most awful of concoctions for trivial prizes and rewards—apparently this is similar, an initiation to a proper CEO position, on Kendall’s part. You make yourself known by handing Shiv a bottle of Tabasco, Kendall groaning and the other two cheering.

Caroline’s interruption only spurs it on, and by the time you’re heading back to bed, the smoothie having been dumped on Kendall’s head, a crown, you can barely stand you’re so tired.

Still vaguely unfamiliar, you wake up with Roman’s face pressed into your neck, his breath warm and ticklish on your skin, arm thrown over your waist and legs tangled together, a position that makes you think he really is comfortable with you, even if it’s taken a ridiculously long time to get here. You wonder if he can hear the air in your lungs or the blood in your arteries, or whether he notices the patter of your heart as you recognise this display of unconscious affection. Eventually, the rest of the building comes to life, and Roman wakes, moves from you with a sort of embarrassment, changing from his Walmart shirt into business attire. You wear the pantsuit you’d gotten with this board meeting in mind a while back, your office fashion being a slight point of pride—you weren’t the biggest fan of the drab stuff people usually wore, and liked to use interesting cuts and shapes to create range in the endless blouses and blazers and skirts and trousers of your work clothes. Subtle, but not boring.

Back in NYC, after a morning of calls and diplomacy and last minute bids for votes, you are greeted with a room full of people in expensive suits waiting and chattering anxiously as board members start to file in. You still don’t know how to vote, whether you’ll side with the siblings or not. Instead of stressing, you wrangle some gossip out of Stewy and do a shot in the bathroom. Zero hour.

With a pencil, you tally up each vote on a Post-It note stuck to the page of your notebook where you were planning to take notes, both Shiv, to your right, and Roman, to your left, glance at the tally every few seconds. You will be the last three votes.

When it reaches Roman’s turn, it is 6-4 toward the deal, he votes against and you are faced with a choice. If you vote for the deal, Shiv’s vote is purely nominal, and the deal will go through whether she likes it or not—you will be the decider; if you vote against, then it is an even 6-6 and she will cast the deciding vote. You look at the faces of each of the Roys, the children who have grown up to get to this moment. It feels ridiculous that it might be your choice. In the end, that is what makes you vote how you do—this is their livelihood more than it is yours, and you want Shiv to have the options in front of her—you can cope either way. So you vote against the deal—not for any loyalty to Kendall, but for one of your oldest friends, to give her some ounce of autonomy when you know that’s something that has been scarce in her life. Perhaps it's cruel to give her the choice between her brother and her husband, but, selfishly, you don’t want Roman to hate you.

“No, I vote against.” you eventually utter out, earning a triumphant nod from Kendall. Shiv glances at your tally, confirming the equal scores, confirming that it is her choice that makes or breaks the deal—literally.

And she breaks.

You see them, the Roy children, through the glass walls that separate the various conference rooms. You see the pain, the anger, the fear; it comes to a head, and all of the raw emotion of the last days is borne into the world, witnessed through the glass. You listen to Kendall’s rage, and for a minute you are a teenager, listening to one of Logan’s tantrums after one of Roman’s misdemeanours. For a minute, you realise how quickly Kendall turns into his father. For a minute, you feel your heart break on their behalf—at the end of the day, they are children, mourning for a father whose love was confusing and hateful.

The poison drips through.

You are your mother’s daughter, and he is his father’s son.

Afterwards, as you stand beside Shiv in a commemorative photograph, it is understood that there is no singular reason behind this. The freedom of her siblings; the power as the wife of a CEO, not the sister; the wishes of her late father; Kendall’s rage; Roman’s breakdown; the inevitable becoming of one’s own mother. When you and Roman leave, despite the knowledge that Roman is emotional and angry and probably confused by a sense of relief, you resolve that you will call her in the morning. You’ll make your exit as quietly as you can, but you will try to book Saturday morning brunches with her like you used to when you were in your early twenties. You’ll text Rava a little more, and try to create some positive influences in the next generations of Roy children.

You think of your parents. Of Logan, of Caroline, of your own siblings and your own childhood. The poison drips through. What if it doesn’t have to?

#roman roy x reader #shiv roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #roman roy #shiv roy #Kendall roy #succession fanfiction

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xwildatheartx · 3 years ago

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Little Character Things

Colors - Hot pink, red, yellow, black

Scents - peroxide, hubba bubba, fruity candy scents,

Objects - scissors, roller skates, make up, diy clothes

Aesthetics - punk rock, hair salons, roller derby, smudged makeup,

Songs - Rich Boyz - Aqua dolls, I eat boys like you for breakfast- Ida Maria, Sheena is a punk rocker- Ramones, Cherry bomb - Runaways

tagged by : no one (I stole it off one of my other blogs lol) tagging: whoever wants to do this

#she’s dangerous {brooklyn}#Cool your jets- it’s coming •queue•

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falling-solar-system · 3 years ago

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I needed to pee? // Danny Wagner

Authors note: Hi lovelies, this is my first time writing for Danny. So if you guys have any feedback good or bad I would greatly appreciate it.

Summary: when you and Danny met

Warnings: Some cursing. Rude security guards. Harassment. A little bit of mean Josh.

Pairing: Danny Wagner x FemReader

Genre:Fluff with some angst

Word count: 1.5k

Date posted: April 22, 2022

“Come on y/n, we’re gonna be late!” Alex shouts from the living room. Finally finding your favorite pair of boots, you quickly put them on, you head towards your living room. “I'm coming, I’m coming. Cool your jets, we have 30 minutes before the show starts and the walk there is only 5 minutes,” you laughed, as you followed Alex out the door. “Babe, come on, this is Greta Van Fleet here, we gotta get merch, find our seats and get drinks!” With that Alex launches into a full-blown one-sided conversation about how you need to learn proper concert etiquette.

The cool breeze of April made the walk pleasant enough to enjoy the time it took to walk to the venue. Alex and you stood in the queue and talked about what songs you were excited to see performed live. As you guys waited, you chatted with a few people in line, all of them excited to see the guys play as well. You and Alex were lucky enough to score two tickets close to the pit. The Dreams in Gold tour would be the first concert you guys saw together since the pandemic.

As the line moved along and you made it into the building you could hear the chatter of everyone else in the venue. “I'm both nervous and excited,” you tell Alex, as you couldn’t help but feel both the excitement and nervousness bubble in your stomach.” Me too. This is going to be great, I can’t wait to see Jake in all his glory.” Alex sighs, putting a hand over her heart. “ I can’t wait to see Danny,” you smile, joining Alex as you guys lean against each other swooning over your crushes. It’s another 10 minutes of waiting in line before you guys make it through the checkpoint and show security your tickets.

Once you and Alex got through you first went to buy a few items from the merch tables they had. You both were able to get a t-shirt and a cute little keychain. Thankfully Alex had brought a small clear backpack, so you guys put everything in there and went to get drinks before finding your seats. Getting two bottles of water and some candy to snack on while you guys watched the concert, you guys went to look for your seats. “Can you believe we’re finally going to see Greta Van Fleet in concert,” doing a little dance and a little happy scream, you and Alex couldn't contain your excitement.

It’s a little past an hour into the opening act and half a liter of water later that you ask Alex if they need to use the bathroom. “No I’m good, but can you get me some more candy, please,” she asks, handing you her card, “yeah, what kind?” You ask leaning even closer as the band performing picks up in volume. “ Surprise me!” She yells, laughing, you tell her you’ll be back in a few minutes. As you made your way through the mostly empty hallways, you seemed to have taken a wrong turn halfway down. Groaning in frustration when you go through another set of doors and still don’t see a restroom sign anywhere in sight, you continue.

At some points, you could hear the music and the crowd pick up in volume with each door and hallway you passed. Another two minutes and you finally see the sign for a restroom come into sight, with a sigh of relief you carry on the last few feet. When the door suddenly opens and out walks Danny Wagner. A little shocked and confused, you halt your steps and just stand there. I mean come on it’s Danny ( A total Babe) Wagner! That’s when he chooses to look up, which makes you feel like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here?” He says confused and a little apprehensive, not knowing if you’re a fan and how you’ll react to him being there.

A little at a loss for words, you blush as you manage to get out, “ I was looking for the restroom.” You even managed to point out the sign that read restroom, as if he didn’t just come from there. Chuckling a little he nods his head, “ ah right the bathroom, sure you did.” Blushing even harder, you shake your head, “ scouts honor I promise, I just need to pee, but I guess I went too far and there wasn’t anyone around to ask for help. I’m sorry I’m just gonna go find another bathroom. So, umm thanks, your hair looks amazing, and you know enjoy the show.” And there goes any chance you had with him, you think as you turn on your heels ready to book it out of there and go die of embarrassment.

“Hey wait!” You can’t help but wince a little, you just embarrassed yourself in front of Danny and know he’s actively trying to talk to you. Turning around you look at him in all his gorgeous gorgeous glory, long wavy hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a cute smile that could melt you on the spot. “You there?” snapping out of your little daydream of him. You look at him a little confused, “sorry, what did you say?” “ I said you can just use this restroom,” he laughs a little and then adds. “If you want, no pressure.” Now it’s his turn to have a light dusting of a rose tint to his cheeks.

Right as you go to tell him you're fine, Josh comes jogging in to let Danny know they’re on in 30. Although as he sees Danny talking to you, he assumes you snuck backstage to see them. Frowning Josh yells for security, while also addressing you, “Hey you can’t be back here.” Having someone sneak in a few shows back, Josh and the guys made sure there was more security. They didn’t want some crazed person trying to harass them again like last time.” Hey man, it’s fine, she was just looking for the restroom.” Danny tells Josh, wanting to defuse the situation before it escalates. “Yeah sure she did, Sammy almost had his arm broken by a so-called fan that got backstage. No fans,” Josh says as he points at you on the last part.

Being star-struck by seeing, and being near two members of your favorite band, it takes you a second too long to register that Josh has called for security. “ It's fine I’m leaving, I didn't mean to start anything like Danny said I just need to use the restroom.” Knowing it wasn’t anything against you, you knew Josh is just worried about his friend and brothers, as you go to turn, you hear. “Alright kid, let’s go.” A voice from behind you says as another security guard comes towards you and Danny. Still thrown off and confused you back away from them, panicking a little you go to step away from, not wanting them to touch you again. “Hey don’t touch me, I’m going” apparently one of the guards didn’t like how slow you were moving and gave you a shove.

“keep walking kid we don’t have all day,” “hey, what the fuck is your problem I’m going. Don’t put your hands on me!” You yell moving away from the guard, getting upset that they were being rude to you. “Woah hey, that wasn’t necessary, she’s complying.” At this point, Danny is standing next to you again. “We’re doing our job by keeping crazed fans away.” The guards’ tell Danny, as his friend grabs your arm to drag you with them. “ Hey let go of her,” Danny steps in, pulling the guard's arm off yours. “Sir let us do our job, we’re here to make sure you guys stay safe. Now, why don’t you go do yours, pretty boy” the guard tells Danny mockingly.

You could see the annoyance on Danny’s face at the guards' comment, but he stays quiet, instead, he turns to Josh. “Josh please, tell them she's fine man.” Danny looks pleadingly at Josh, conflicted Josh looks at Danny then at you. “I’m sorry man, no fans backstage.” Josh shrugs and walks away, huffing Danny turns to the guards. “ Can I at least be the one to walk her out?” He asks looking at them both, “Danny it’s fine. You have a show to get ready for. I’ll be fine.” You tell him, placing your hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze for reassurance. “No it’s not, I don't like the way these guys are treating you, you came here to have fun and enjoy the show!” he tries to reason with you, “not to be harassed by security.” he huffs out the last part.

“It’s fine I caused enough trouble. Just go get ready, you got a lot of other people here that want to see you play your heart out.” You smile at him, taking your hand off of his arm. “I also still really need to pee.” “Right, yeah haha, but at least tell me where you’re seating,” he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “ close to the pit.” You giggle starting to walk away with the guards, having them follow you now. “At least tell me your name?” He shouts after you, right before you get to the double doors leading away from Danny. You turn, smiling at his stance, his arms thrown in the air, “It's Y/N, and don’t forget it!” You shout back, turning around you make your way to the nearest restroom!

Author’s note: let me know if you guys would like a part 2.

Here’s the link to part two

#danny wagner x y/n #danny wagner x reader #greta van fleet fic #falling-solar-system #I needed to pee D.W.

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mxvladdy · 3 years ago

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Kinktober: Day One- Mammon

Prompt: Verbal instruction, edging, touch

Word Count: 1k

NSFW

You tried to touch yourself, didn't you?

Mammon sinks lower into his chair trying his hardest not to look back to where you sit. His phone buzzes non-stop in his lap. He really shouldn't look...he really needs to focus.

What did we discuss last week? Was I not clear?

You promised to be a good boy Mams.

Mammon can’t control the low whine. Satan shoots him a quizzical glance, his fidgeting, and noises disrupting his studies. "S-sorry." Mammon coughs, tucking his phone into his pocket before curling over his desk. His leg bouncing underneath the desk.

"Where is your puzzle cube?" Satan asks, putting down his pen to focus on his brother. Mammon shrugs.

"Don't need it." He says too quickly. Satan snorts a stim toy already in hand from his own bag. "Really," Mammon rises to his feet, throwing his school jacket on. He feels hot and tight in his skin. Doubly so knowing that your eyes were roaming hungrily down his broad back. "I'll be back in time for theory."

He jets, not sparing a glance at his other brothers or you. You would be hot on his heels shortly anyway. As he rounds the corner his phone chimes.

Meet me at our usual spot. Clothes on and in position.

Mammon's stomach swoops low, his dick trying valiantly to rise in the confines of his tight pants. His whole body is hungry for something, anything. It has been too long. Hells, even this morning when he tried to relieve himself he couldn’t. The thought of you knowing he had disobeyed you was enough to kill the mood.

The back equipment room of the auditorium was blessedly quiet. The drama club was out on tour and only you and Asmo had keys back here now. There will be no one to interrupt or distract you. Cushioning his knees with his jacket Mammon sits on his heels with his knees tucked and spread wide showing off the strain in his slacks to the door. Resting his hands on his ankles he closes his eyes and tries to collect himself.

Time moves differently in the dark cool room. The cold room causes goosebumps to bloom across his skin. The anticipation of what to come was a headier drug than he ever could have realized. Mammon bares his fangs in a hungry smile when he hears the creak of the old door hinges groaning loudly when you open and close the door.

“Thank you for waiting.” Your low voice wafts towards him. It is smoky and seductive to his ears, promising a reward if he continues like he is. Already he is whimpering, leaning into your voice as you come closer. Your fingers dig into his hair stroking his bedridden locks. “Listen carefully now, we only have a lunch break.” He feels you shift forward, your hands trailing down to his shoulders to message them tenderly, lips hovering close to his ear. “I want you to put on a show for me. Show me that pretty body of yours that you keep teasing me with all morning.”

“Wasn’t teasin’-” Your finger digs cruelly into his cheeks cupping his chin to pull his face up to yours.

“No? Not even with your shirt half-buttoned, and finding every opportunity to rub against me while cleaning the dishes?” His blue gaze skirts to the left. “Look at me Mammon.” He bites his lower lip, the commanding tone in your voice sending a shiver down his spine. “Don’t play coy. We both know you want to show me.”

You step away leaning against a long-forgotten prop crate. Taking that as his queue he waits only a moment for your eyes to settle back on him before he is moving his hands back up his body. Mammon traces all the places your hands had just been. His long white-tipped fingers tap along the hollow of his collarbone, edging dangerously close to the buttons of his shirt. He pops the first one with a flick of his thumb and forefinger teasing you by swiping his tongue along his teeth-redden lower lip and gyrating his hips. He takes pleasure in how your eyes dart up and down unsure of just what to look at.

The next two buttons go quickly showing off more of his hairless chest. He sighs, breath hitching when a nail catches a dusky nipple. You echo his little gasps, encouraging him with coos and featherlight kisses to his mouth. “Slower now, take it off.” You command with no heat. Mammon grins at the pull of his shirt collar. You were as greedy as he. Mammon throws it off into the corner before thrusting his chest out to you.

“Have I been good?” Mammon asks, eyes following yours as you pace. He hears you hum somewhere behind him.

“Yes,” His hearts soar. “But you know you could have been better.” You come back around taking your seat again, arms crossed. “Tell me the truth.”

Mammon looks away nervously. “I touched myself.” He admits. “This morning. I-I know you said not to but it’s been weeks and...and…” You look unimpressed. “I’m sorry.”

“There.” You smile, shoulders relaxing at his confession. “I know it was hard, but thank you for your honesty.” You glance at your watch. “Good- we still have plenty of time. Let’s make every moment count, ye?”

“How?”

You grin devilishly. “You can come-when I say, but I won’t help you.”

“Wha-” Mammon moans. You said you would touch him. He frowns, that was supposed to be his reward-if he had been good.

“If you don’t like it I can leave and we can try again next week. If not, strip and let me see how well you can handle instruction today.” Mammon jumps fumbling with his zipper pulling down his pants and underwear in one swift movement. He is hot and throbbing in his palm.

“Start slow.” You lean back staring hungrily. “I want this to last.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me kinktober #Imma try my best!

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soupbabe · 4 years ago

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Shun Kaidou x Male! Reader HCs

Best boy best boy best boy!!! also may or may not sneak some Transguy!Kaidou in this too, hope that y'all don't mind!

Poor boy saw you for the first time and automatically thought you were the prettiest boy he ever saw, so when you introduced yourself to him he stammered like a fool for 2 minutes, then went on with the dramatic 'Jet Black Wings' introduction

You had to discreetly ask other students if you were allowed to play along with his hero delusion or if you had to break it to him that the Dark Reunion doesn't exist

You went a long with it just a tad, you couldn't fully shut him down because of the sad and discouraged look on his face when people made fun of him for it

I can imagine once Kaidou starts developing feelings for you, he was on edge and harsher (?) because in his mind you suddenly became an undercover villain the Dark Reunion sent to befriend him and then get rid of

Even though the reality of it was that he just never dealt with a genuine crush before and it scares him

Queue Saiki stepping in to set things straight because it did hurt you a bit to see Kaidou go on and claim that you're some evil enchanter dude out to get him and he started distancing himself away from you. Don't be mistaken, Kaidou definitely felt the effects of his own actions too. He apologized so many times once Saiki had to get involved because it weirded him out to see his friend classmate get so down because of a guy

Also Saiki was the one to clarify to Kaidou that what he was experiencing was a crush, unintentionally starting too many plans on how Kaidou will win you over and you'll become his boyfriend

Project "Make Y/N my super amazing and cute and handsome boyfriend" is a go!

It starts off with daily compliments, that usually has him hyping himself up with his Hero persona, then him absolutely losing his cool once he actually sees you

"Hey Y/N! You look handsome today!" Oh my god did his voice just crack. "Oh thanks, but are you sick or something? Your face is red."

Okay okay Plan A isn't going that well,,, onto Plan B: Impress him!

This meant that you were constantly being "saved" by The Jet Black Wings, even though the saving was just preventing you from going through minor inconveniences

I swear to God it's like a 6th sense this simp had. Hands are full and the door almost closed on you? Boom, here's Kaidou to save the day! Almost tripped on some litter on the ground on your way to school? Kaidou literally yelled + kicked at it and claimed that it was a trap planted by the Dark Reunion since they knew that you were close to him

You aren't that dumb, you had that suspicion that he had a crush on you so you decided to talk to him privately about it via a study session at your house

So when it was time to address his recent behavior, his brain hit the panic button because this wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to catch on this early. He waved his hands around, frantically apologizing if he made you uncomfortable and if you wanted to stay friends that's 100% okay with him a-

You had to shut him up with a lil kiss on the cheek and told him that you want him to be your boyfriend too.

Nice going Y/N, not even a minute into your new relationship and you're already sure you killed your bf

He got so red faced he passed out-

Considering how he reacted to a little kiss, y'all don't do pda at all unless you want to fluster him

Which doesn't take much, hold his hand on the way to school and he goes "Y/N!!SJSNSKKSBZJSNSHAJ" "Shun, how were you able to even pronounce that?" "It's one of the many secret abilities the Jet Black Wings has yet to show you, darling Y/N!"

You're his sidekick now, even if you don't fully commit to the hero bit. He'll ask you for back up when he's faced with a great foe

You better back him up. Mostly to be a good boyfriend. Secondly, if he's trying to stand up to someone bigger than him (which to be fair. Is literally everyone) there's a good chance you need to be on standby just in case we need a trip to the nurse's office

He likes to call you his Second in Command or he shows you hero name ideas for you in his notebook

He has a separate notebook for your Relationship btw and it's very cute

When you both hang out at Shun's house, it has to be under the excuse of it being for studying just because he hasn't come out as gay yet to his mom yet. He has a feeling that his mom would be okay with it. Like she accepted that her son was trans, but it still makes him nervous

Mama Kaidou already knows and doesn't mind you dating her son. His grades actually have gone up since the relationship started so she's happy and will mind her own business

Y'all actually do study in this at home sessions and it's actually kind of cute. Celebratory kisses when he does well in reviews and at the end y'all cuddle while he gets to ramble about his plans on defeating the Dark Reunion

Dating Shun also involves making sure he's doing okay and he's not pushing himself too hard despite him being a kick ass "superhero"

This mostly comes in when he gets dysphoric and wears his binder for too long

"Shun, it's necessary for you to take breaks. Wearing your binder for longer than you should will mess up your transition in the future." "But I'm okay! You forget I'm not a mere mortal I can handl-" "I'll let you wear my sweaters." "*👀* Okay!"

Days like those are just the both of you cuddling, him wearing your sweater/hoodie, and you giving Shun little remarks to make him feel better

His favorite is when you call him "my hero" or simply "handsome man"

Please run your fingers through his hair it makes him so happy

If you don't wanna wear his hoodies or if you can't, he'll gladly lend you his various rings and necklaces

"This ring was blessed by the gods for ultimate protection against enemies! I think it's the best for you to wear this when I'm not around to protect you."

It was one of those glow in the dark rings you get at arcades, but you couldn't break the proud smile on his face.

Also likes to gift you crystals too! It doesn't matter if they end up not being 100% real, you still put them proudly on your desk and Shun gets so overjoyed when he finds out they aren't just casted aside

He's so happy with you, he finally has someone who loves him and doesn't judge him on his hero complex and doesn't mind the awkward guy behind it too. He gives you many kisses when he is reminded of that and constantly reminds you how lucky he is to have you as his boyfriend <3

#disastrous life of saiki k #shun kaidou #kaidou headcanons #kaidou shun #disastrous life of saiki k x reader #shun kaidou x reader #kaidou shun x reader #x male reader #x reader

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adorehs · 4 years ago

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wipeout

Hi the beginning of this story was stuck in my brain for a while… so here it is lol. Got lazy at the end and this really isn’t all that good to begin with.

Summary: Surfer!Harry meets Lifeguard!Y/N after a tragic fall. (6.4k words)

Warnings: unprotected smut, kinda cringey as fuck at the end

Harry was trying to decide how harsh the waves would be by looking at the sky. It was a difficult task but proved to be more accurate then looking at the ocean, so he opted to stare at the sky like a lunatic for a few minutes before each surf.

“What's the consensus?” Louis asks, slapping two hands on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry shot his coach, Louis, a pointed glare, “Probably a bit heavier than usual but it’ll be doable.”

Louis, only a two years senior of twenty four year old Harry, had a spine fracture, resulting in the stiffness of his lower back. It wasn’t an uncommon injury, but it was a bad one. He found himself unable to surf for almost a year so he began coaching other athletes in the meantime. Meeting Harry at twenty two was one of the best things he could’ve done for himself.

Harry was a natural athlete, meaning he learned quickly and took direction well. He was self taught and was unable to do more than a few basic skills when Louis met him. Originally, Louis wanted nothing to do with Harry but he heard some scouts were onto him so he introduced himself and taught the twenty year old how to do a floater- riding the breaking lip of a wave.

He was impressed with the speed Harry picked up the skill so he returned the following day and taught him another skill and cleaned up some of his older ones. They both returned again and again for weeks until one day Louis asked him if he was looking for a sponsor. Harry agreed, and not only did Louis' life turn around as a coach but his companies profits broke records in the industry.

And Harry’s life changed for the better too. His body changed rapidly as he learned more and he was soon able to do almost all skills thrown in a pro competition, though some were sloppy. Louis began enrolling him in surf competitions so he could get some experience and visuals of the skillset of other surfers. In a matter of a year, Harry was surfing in the men’s qualifier for the championship tour to come the following year. At twenty four Harry’s name was racing to the top of the men’s surfing leader board.

Harry stood next to the bed of Louis’ truck, deciding which board he would ride with for the first round. There were three that laid flat, bound together with a cord taught against the rails. Louis always told Harry to pick the one he practices with, but Harry theorizes that each board puts him in a different mood and helps with different aspects of surfing. He would have to do a test run before he decides.

He unwound the cord and pulled out his practice board, making Louis smile in victory. “Don’t get too excited,” Harry mumbles, “Gonna decide later.”

Louis nodded in response and rounded the car to get Harry’s all black wetsuit for the competition. “Bathrooms round the corner,” he pointed at a large tent, “I’ll sign ya in and get your board.”

Harry took approximately five minutes in the ocean before paddling back and telling Louis which board he wanted to use (to which Louis rolled his eyes before getting him the white board with black accents). The wind was becoming increasingly heavy and the lifeguards called out everyone who was not in the competition from the area.

Harry squinted as he watched the sun reappear from a sliver between a few clouds, before lining up behind the surfers who stood before him in the queue. There were four competitors before his turn and he was watching as other athletes shook their knees in an effort to stay steady on their board.

“Remember, keep your body forward and don’t take off your leg rope,” Louis scolded him from his right.

Harry had a habit of removing his leg rope before getting up on the board- he says he can’t get a steady stance and he feels restricted. Louis, on the other hand, always butts heads with Harry on that point, claiming taking it off can get him disqualified in some competitions so keeping it on always will help him adapt. Harry never listened until he had to.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious, but rather too carefree. He wasn’t one to watch for form and technique unless he had to. He enjoyed the addictive serotonin he seemed to gain from surfing more than anything else.

The queue moved steadily forward and Harry found himself gripping onto his board and digging his toes into the sand as he felt the cool air nip at his exposed feet, “Double pump around, stay tight,” he mumbles his maneuvers to himself. It was only a matter of minutes before it would be his turn to find a wave. The forty-eight seconds allotted to each surfer seemed so short until they were in the ocean.

Harry gets waved in by a judge and he nods kindly before jogging towards the ocean. His hair was beginning to whip around his neck so once he got a bit further in, he sat on his board and tied it up into a bun before continuing forward in search of a wave.

You watched as Harry Styles was announced from your spot on the jet ski you were stationed at. You were listening to the live radio broadcast of his turn from your post, the jet ski shaking smoothly and jumping over small waves as the surfers got weaker and weaker from the unpredictable weather.

“Styles starts the final pulling into the pin nice and easy… a clean entrance,” you listen as the wave covers Harry’s body entirely before he reappears on the other side, falling onto the backside of the wave in celebration. You hum in acceptance of the man as he climbs back onto his board, fiddling with his foot rope.

He pauses as he sees another wave approaching and he paddles to the top so he can drop in. “Setting it up clean from the back, Styles is going in with a calm top turn wrap,” you watch as Harry gracefully maneuvers his body along the back of the wave, turning up the back and onto the side, hardly backtracking towards the rush of water.

“Right there! A lay back dagger under the lip. Very smooth, nice and high up on the wave… look at that wave crash too! Good momentum,” the announcer rambles about Harry’s next turn. You cheer silently at his success as his head bops out from under the wave.

“Deep off the bottom, crushing the finish! Another big hack he lets go of!” You watch Harry’s body twist, slightly uncomfortable, through the harsh wave. The water higher than you’ve seen it before, nearly covering your view from the lighthouse on the other side of the beach.

Harry groans at the sight of another good wave- hardly having recovered from the last. His knees were weak and his back was growing stiff at the unearthly winds that whipped harsh water onto his wetsuit like a slap on the back.

He drops in, “Big whip on the oncoming section, holds the rail into a huge top turn wrap and he’s pulling back into the pin,” and Harry’s hand comes in contact with the water once again, making him pull his hand back harshly.

He panics at the feeling and shakes his hand vigorously, slowing down the direction of his surfing. He steps backwards slightly, shaking wildly at the wind hitting his unstable board. Within moments, the board flies out from beneath his feet and hits him square on the head.

Harry’s body falls flat onto the water as his leg lets off the loosened rope and his board comes up without him.

“Styles seems to have taken a trip under for a moment,” the announcer continues, “He has one wave left until competitor Horan makes start.”

Your eyes watch with shock as you wait for Harry to rise from the water- to see his mop of hair or the electric blue of his wet suit. Thirty, thirty one, thirty two, you counted in a rhythm. At forty, you were required to begin your ride towards the athlete.

“Y/N,” you hear on the radio channel, “Head out!”

That was all the invitation you needed as you stood up slightly, grasping onto a ring buoy with an extended cord and tying it to the base of your jet ski. You remained standing as you raced towards the waves, the wind almost knocking you over multiple times as you looked through the water for any indication of Harry.

Your heart drops as you hear the radio go silent with a short static ring and the ocean water grows darker as the sun falls behind a group of clouds. A clap of thunder startles you as you see other lifeguards arriving to take the other surfers back to shore.

You swam in large circles around the area for what felt like a few minutes, but in reality only lasted another thirty seconds.

Out of the blue, you see a small wave crash over Harry’s board and his head makes a light appearance.

Fighting to get his side as quickly as possible, you drag him up onto the buoy you held and tied it to the back of your jet ski. He lays flat on the floating donut, face up, as you wave your arms wildly to indicate you need help.

Harry was lying limp against your back as you rode back steadily, the weight of his buff body heavy on yours as you tried to keep the two of you steady without dropping him or falling over.

Coming to an abrupt stop, three men race towards you, “Jesus Harry,” you hear one curse. You look up and make eye contact with the man who is staring at the boy on your back, “Told you keep you fuckin’ leg rope on,” he continues. You conclude the man must be Harry’s coach.

The two other men help him off of you and you curse as you temporarily beach your jet ski. The men had grabbed Harry by the arms and were dragging him onto the ground to see if he needed CPR. “He has a pulse,” one mentions, “But he doesn’t seem to be breathing properly.”

You curse under your breath, “Move,” you mutter, leaning above Harry. Your hands meet his chest as you do a routine of thirty chest compressions and two rescue breaths, “Call first aid,” you scold.

Your mouth meets Harry’s for a second time and you feel his lips twitch under yours. You gasp and sit up, beginning chest compressions again so you don't get water in your own mouth when he starts breathing again.

Sure enough, Harry lets out a dramatic gasp and begins coughing up a bit of water. You lean back before he can project any of the salty water onto your body and continue doing chest compressions until you can feel him breathing normally again.

“You good?” You ask as his coach brings him a towel, “Fall seemed pretty harsh but your run was good.”

“Thanks,” he glanced at you dismissively. “Lou, do you know if I can get my time back?”

“Probably not,” ‘Lou’ replies, “They already started with Horan so I doubt they’d put you back in for just one run.”

Harry nods sadly at his coach and looks back at you, “Do you know where I can get some warmth?” he asks.

Your mouth opens then closes a bit, “Uh- not exactly?”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he counters.

“Yes,” you pause, “But I don’t know if I can take you there.”

He glares at you, “Well can you find out,” his teeth are chattering from the cold air and strong winds blowing his hair entirely to one side.

“Uh.. yeah,” you reply, “I’ll be back.” You walk out of earshot from Harry and his coach and find your dad, the head of the competition.

“Hey- uh Dad?” you ask, tapping on his shoulder. He is speaking to a group of coordinators for the event, moving his hands animatedly.

He turned with a large smile, “Hey honey,” he eyes your wet body, “Everyone good?”

You nod, “Yeah I- uh,” you hesitate, “I wanted to know if I could bring Harry to the lighthouse?”

“Harry Styles?” he asks with a grin, “He’s a great kid, how’s he doin’?”

“He’s alright now, he wanted to get some warmth. I just pulled him from the water.”

Your dad’s eyes widen, “Yeah.. take the bike and be safe.”

You nod a quick thanks before throwing an “I love you,” over your shoulder and finding your duffel bag with the keys and a spare change of clothes.

You present yourself in front of Harry once again, holding onto your duffel and spinning your motorbike keys around your finger, “Come on, gotta get there quick, hm?”

He looks at his coach and nods back at you, “Okay, let’s go.” He stands up and follows you as you lead the way to your motorbike.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly have a warm car,” you say, straddling the bike and kicking the stand up, steadying it with your legs. “Hop on, though, we’ll be there in a few minutes,” you tap the seat behind you, turning forward and holding your helmet back so Harry could use it.

“You should use it,” he comments, pushing your hand slightly back towards your body.

“I know how to be safe, you use it,” you counter, handing the helmet back. He takes a long look at your unwavering stare and sighs as he pushes the helmet onto the mop of curls that are slowly drying off the top of his head.

Once you are sure he is secure, you check around your shoulder before speeding out of the parking lot.

It was mildly uncomfortable- Harry in a skin tight wetsuit and you in an awkwardly fitting one piece. You were both extremely cold and Harry found himself wrapping his arms around you as best as he could to preserve any bit of warmth from both of your bodies as he could.

You sighed in content as you see the lighthouse approaching ahead of you. You slow the motorbike down and park it right before the miniature entrance to the large building, kicking the stand down and locking the bike.

“There are lots of stairs but the place is pretty modern,” you shrug. Between each loop of the spiral staircase there was a different room- a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, a study, and an observatory.

“You can stay down here, I have to turn the heater up,” you begin walking up the stairs before turning to look at him, who’s looking around the kitchen with wide eyes, “Do you want any clothes?”

“Umm,” Harry looks down at his current outfit, “Yes please.”

You nod, going up to the bedroom which was the next floor up. The thermostat dial makes a clicking noise as you increase the temperature in the building, the vents exhausting as air begins flowing. You then changed out of your wet bathing suit into a large sweater and some shorts before finding some of your dad’s clothes of a similar nature before going back down and handing them to Harry.

“They should fit, you can go up and change. I’ll make some food,” you point upstairs without looking at Harry, making your way up to make do with what was remaining in the lighthouse food storage.

You look through what your dad called the freezer- in reality, you thought it was more of a poor excuse of a fridge- and find the stash of frozen meals your family tends to keep there in case of emergencies. “Chicken parm,” you mumble aloud, turning the box over in your hands multiple times in an effort to find and read the expiration date. “Next week… guess I have no choice.”

You turn on the toaster oven that was hidden inside a cabinet and wait for it to heat up. You hear Harry’s heavy footing coming down the wooden paneling of the stairs and you glance at him as he walks over and opens a cupboard.

“Thanks for the clothes,” he mentions, hardly sparing you a glance. “Is there anything edible we can have with that?”

You shrug, “Feel free to look. I have a feeling everything else is just as bad as this.”

He nods, rummaging through the cardboard boxes and plastic containers that were half full from your quick meals. “Ah-ha!” he manages out- head buried deep into the cupboard. “Cocoa powder,” he grins childishly.

You let out a soft chuckle under your breath, “Be my guest,” you gesture towards the stove tops with a set of pants sitting on top of them.

He happily makes his way over, cracking open the box in the process. “Need to boil some water,” he mentions, looking at you.

You find a bottle on the table that hadn’t been opened and hand it to him. He pours the water into the pan and allows it to sit and boil as he watches you carefully reach your hand into the oven and check if the chicken parmesan was at the right temperature.

“Can you even tell like that?” he asks, back leaning against a counter and arms crossed over his chest, making him look even more buff.

“Kind of,” you shrug, glancing over your shoulder, “I bet it’ll need another minute in there before the inside actually warms up,” you conclude, pulling your hand from the oven and closing the door to it.

The water begins to boil in the pan and Harry brings the heat down to a simmer, adding the cocoa, sugar, and a pinch of salt that he found in the same cupboard. He hums in approval as he pours the hot chocolate into two mugs, adding the milk he heated up in another pan into each and mixing them until he is satisfied with the new consistency of the drink.

“Perfect for a rainy day!” he smacks his lips obnoxiously after taking a sip.

“This is definitely the weirdest food combo I’ve ever had,” you pull the chicken parmesan out of the oven.

Harry chuckles, using two forks to move the bulk of chicken onto a plate impatiently. “I’ve had worse. Eaten bugs and s’mores.”

“See, but at least that makes sense. I can guess you’ve had that when camping… this just seems odd.”

He shrugs, “I guess,” he takes a bite out of the chicken. “Why is this really good?” his eyes widened.

You let out a hearty laugh, “Because I cooked it fully and made sure it wasn’t expired?” you explain in a ‘duh’ tone.

Harry rolls his eyes, “Where’d all this sass come from? You were so shy twenty minutes ago.”

“You were a lot meaner twenty minutes ago,” you counter. Your eyes dart towards your phone when you hear it begin to vibrate abruptly.

“Hey dad,” you pick up.

“Hey hon, you guys being safe? Don’t think the storm’s gonna let up anytime soon, so if Harry’s gotta be somewhere he’s gotta go now,” your father's voice comes blaring through the speaker of your phone.

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks at the comment, you wanted to seem independent, “Yeah, we’re safe. I’ll ask him. You good? Need any help down there? I beached my ski by the way, not sure if you saw…” you rambled.

“No, just stay there hon. We got your ski docked and we’ll take care of everything. Check with Harry and don’t go out unless you absolutely need to!”

You hum a response of understanding and bid farewell before hanging up. “Do you need to go somewhere? Or are you staying here?”

“Am I allowed to stay?” he counters.

“If you don’t need to leave tonight then sure. There’s room,” you shrug, picking up your now completed dish and placing it in the sink to wash later.

“I’ll stay,” he confirms, getting up and placing his dish in the sink too before soaking them with water to get the grease off easier.

You nod and look out the small window in front of the sink. The wind was making boats rock and you could see a tree branch fly in front of the window, likely meaning the storm was going to turn into a full fledged hurricane.

You hear the water running smoothly as Harry scrubs each dish and sets them out to dry on the counter, “So what happened?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“Like, when you were surfing. How’d ya fall? You don’t seem like the type,” you shrug, turning to face him.

He glances at you before sitting back down at the dining table, “Lots a things… took off my leg rope, fucked up my footing, hit my head with my board… the list goes on.”

You squint at the man before nodding in disbelief, “Okay. What got you into surfing?”

“Thought it looked cool and I had moved to Malibu. Just rented a board and learned how to stand in a few days. Figured someone could show me the basics and then I met my coach Louis and he signed me,” Harry explains dismissively, “Why’re you a lifeguard? And how’d you get in here?”

“My dad owns this building and he’s the coordinator of the surfing events. Says he knows you but I don’t believe him-” you were cut off.

“No way! Your dad is Mr. Y/L/N? He’s so cool,” Harry gushes. “Paid for my first board and got me a waiver for my first competition out here.”

You let out a laugh, “Yeah, I told him to do that.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his eyes pleaded to know why you would ask for such a thing for an inexperienced surfer. “I was following Louis before his injury and I knew he wouldn’t put on a bad athlete. Started following you once you got signed,” you continued.

“Did you think I was good?” He asks after absorbing what you had said. You noticed he’s not particularly keen on talking about himself.

“At first I thought you sucked,” you chuckled, sitting down with him at the table, “But the more I watched of you the more drastically you improved. By 2018 I think I was sold completely on you as an athlete. Listened to most of your runs by radio.”

“Only took you two years?” Harry asked, surprised, “Most people are hardly starting with me. Just got my first offer to switch sponsors last week.”

“Always rooting for the underdog a bit, I guess,” you giggle. Though you’ve been sitting with Harry for quite some time now, you are just now realizing the gravity of the situation- you are sitting with an athlete you had admired for years. “I always knew you had potential, though. Went from mediocre to average in just a few months. Impressive,” you smile at him.

“Ah so you were a fan from the start,” Harry teases, “Attracted to my ambition and drive, I bet,” he continued on.

“Don’t let me inflate your head too much, but yes,” you laugh, “You could call me a fan.”

“Now are you a fan of me or a fan of my talent?” he asks.

“Hmmm...” you hum teasingly, “Both?”

“I’m a fan of you too,” Harry smiles. You thought he had some narcissistic qualities to him but he earned them from being so talented.

You step closer to him with a childish grin of your own, “Just me? Or do you like that I saved you?”

His eyes darken to a deeper sea green color at the thought of you, “I like you. And your actions,” he pauses in what seems to be appreciation, “And how fucking sick it is that you drive a motorcycle,” he adds thoughtfully.

You let out a laugh and a quick thanks, smiling at him widely. You didn’t realize you were staring until you heard him clear a hack from his throat, “So what now?”

“Umm,” you hesitate before carefully choosing your words, “You can kiss me?” you ask.

Harry pauses, eyes wide. You knew you made a mistake with that and you quickly tried to retract your previous question, “I- uh- sorry,” you apologize bashfully, “I definitely read the room wrong. I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfort-”

You were cut off by Harry taking an impulsive step forward, his left hand finding your waist and his right meeting your jaw. His lips met yours with such great force, you didn’t think moving your mouth against his would end well with all the pressure his mouth forced upon yours.

He pulls away from you slowly, letting the feeling of his lips linger on yours, “Read the room perfectly fine, love,” he comments before reattaching your lips.

This time, the kiss was filled with lust and executed more passion than the previous. You smile and let out a breathy gasp when Harry's fingers squeeze your waist where you find yourself very ticklish. He smiles back against your mouth and slides his hand under your sweatshirt, working it up towards your breast.

“Fuck,” you moan into his mouth as he begins to knead your breast with precise movements. His hand covered the majority of your breast, his palm directly on your hard nipple. He grunts as your hand lowers on his body, cupping his cock through the shorts you gave him.

“God, baby,” he moans as you start palming him through his shorts. Your treatment excites him and he starts rolling your hardened nipples between his index finger and thumb, switching breasts every few minutes so keep the pleasure ongoing.

You let out a whine as he pulls back, “Bedroom,” he pants.

You nod hastily, his hand meeting your lower back as he helps you walk the swirling steps that cover the perimeter of the room. You throw your body onto the bed that is laid in the middle of the room, shoving your shorts and panties off and flinging them to the foot of the bed. You do the same with your sweatshirt and Harry follows in suit, falling on top of you when he’s done.

Once again, his mouth finds yours, this time his hands making their way down to your dripping cunt. You let out an exaggerated, “Fuck,” when his cold finger makes contact with your swollen clit.

His legs are straddling your body, hand rubbing quick circles on your clit, and yours finds its way to his hardened cock.

It sat stiff against his stomach, begging to be teased so you obliged. You reach down and take his cock into your hand, squeezing it softly eliciting a loud moan from Harry’s pink lips. He moves his lips down to your neck, burying his head into the crook before sucking harshly, sure to leave you purple.

Your head rolls back and to the side giving him more access to your neck and you quicken your hand movements on his cock, sliding your hand up and down quickly, your thumb swiping on his opening and using precum as a lubricant.

You let out a wrangled moan as his fingers trail down to your hot cunt, sliding in fully, his finger gaining warmth quickly from your core, “Feels so good,” you let out.

He hums into your neck, sitting up and kissing you full on the lips. He lays down and finds himself leaving wet, hot kisses across your skin from your ankle up to your inner thigh. His teeth find a home on the soft flesh of your inner thigh and leave a dark mark on your skin, making you moan at the sight.

As his lips travel towards your clit, you find yourself unable to breathe, constantly gasping for air. Your heart is beating out of your chest as he lays his tongue flat on your core, licking you from the bottom to the top repeatedly.

Your hands find their way into his hair as you tug him closer to your body. He lets out a soft giggle at the motion and kisses your clit in appreciation. He begins his assault on your clit, nibbling it softly and moving it around his tongue as your gasp for air beneath him.

You begin tugging on his hair, begging for more. You needed to feel him fully. He understands your inverbal signal, standing up properly from his place, a bit of cum glistening on his chin. As if he senses your eyes on his chin, he uses his thumb to swipe the cum off, sucking his thumb clean.

You groan at the sight of him teasing you, using your hands to pull him on top of you again, “Please,” you beg.

He smirks at your desperation and lets out a simple, one word question, “Condom?”

You shake your head vigorously. No time for that, you thought. “Wanna feel you,” you tell him, “Is that okay?”

He lets out a laugh, “Yes, what kind of question is that?”

His cock finds its way into your hand again, you lining it up with your slick entrance. Slowly, you push your bodies together, letting them mold together perfectly. You gasp immediately at the feeling of him inside you. You understood his size, but when he was on top of you, you found he was much larger than you first anticipated.

You push him away once he gets halfway through, “Hold on,” you grunt, adjusting your position on your bed. He hums in acceptance, catching his breath as well.

He sighs in relief as you grant him permission to push further, both of you moaning in unison. Him at the tightness and you at the stretch. You both found immediate pleasure within each other without much else needed.

“Fuck,” you groan into his ear as he starts quickening his pace. His both moved in quick, deep strokes as your lips met over and over, making the room sound exclusively of your skin touching and breathy moans.

He slows down a bit, his strokes becoming a bit more sloppy, as he feels you begin to twitch beneath him. “Harry,” you plead.

He smiles, still working you up slowly, “Yes?”

“Fuck me please,” you beg, you head jerking back as he quickens his pace once more.

He increases speed and you shift your body to the side a bit to feel him deeper than before. You were nearing your orgasm and Harry could feel it too. That’s why he’s fucking with you, you tell yourself.

“I’m about to come,” he warns, pulling out of you completely. You whine at the loss, your hand reaching towards his again. “No,” he whispers, his hand swatting your hand away and meeting your clit once more. His fingers work fast, teasing you with soft touches, and soon enough you have come all over his fingers.

“Fuck,” you comment one last time.

You and Harry sat on the bed, him holding you close to him from behind, as you watched a film. As engrossed as you were with The Princess Bride, Harry could not relate. He had seen the film multiple times before- a result of growing up with an older sister- and could practically quote it with his eyes closed.

Harry was bored, to say the least.

At first, he tried to make you pay attention to him, but it didn’t work. This was one of your all time favorite movies, after all.

He tried to squeeze you closer to him, play with your hair, even tickle you. Nothing was working. You were zoned into the film, watching as Westley chants ‘As you wish!” as he tumbles from the hilltops, Buttercup quickly realizing her mistake and tumbling down after him.

Harry sighed in frustration. He was needy and horny. He wanted your attention.

His hand trailed down from where it sat on your waist to your legs, spreading them apart as he pleased. You hardly gave the action a second though, spreading your legs at his will and leaning further into his back.

Harry smirked, his hand rubbing up and down your bare thigh, making you shiver at his touch. He understood the effect he had on girls but you weren’t just a girl- you were a woman. A beautiful, sexy, kind woman.

He teased you for a bit, still attempting to get your attention. His goal was an utter failure, though. All he got was a few laughs caused by the film and some slight squirming- not what he expected.

You gasped loudly as Harry’s hand moved its way down towards your core for a second time that night, moving your panties to the side as his index finger met your clit.

He began slowly, rubbing soft, slow circles, “Keep watching,” he’d remind you.

You would let a weak nod through your poker face, trying to diverge your thoughts to the couple portrayed on the screen in front of you, but it was impossible. Harry was all consuming.

The soft and slow circles abruptly became quick, and the one finger became three. His hand laid flat against you, occasionally slipping down into your dripping cunt. You gasped every few moments at a new sensation you felt along your body, whether that be his lips on your ear or his other hand on your breast.

Your leg moves farther from your center, finding a new home propped up on Harry’s bent knee. He pushed your leg up when he brought his knee closer to his chest and rubbed you from what seemed to be the best angle yet, beckoning a, “Right there, fuck,” from your swollen lips.

“Feels good, hm?” Harry asks, his lips right on your ear. You feel your face begin to heat up as pleasure seems to overwhelm your body from the past days events.

“So good, don’t stop,” you edge on.

Harry obediently continues his assault on your clit- fingers moving quickly as your back arches against him in a continuous rhythm, your head thrashing back and forth in harmony, and it was safe to assume that the movie is long forgotten now.

You let out a loud moan, your body beginning to shake with pleasure, as Harry’s other hand found its way to your dripping core. He continued rubbing whilst also penetrating you slowly and teasingly with his fingers.

Within the next minute you came, the room filled with your screams and breathy moans and Harry’s smug laugh. You decided he enjoyed watching you struggle under his hands.

It was a longstanding tradition of yours to have tea at the observatory the night after a big storm. You felt it was nice to assess the damage from the one place it could look beautiful.

You woke up to the sound of seagulls pecking at a lighthouse window as they usually the night after a storm. It was theorized that they were on the hunt for food. You turned to look towards Harry, hoping they wouldn’t wake him up. He laid next to you, arm sprawled out and over your shoulder and you were forced to chuckle at the sight because you hadn't seen someone look so good while asleep in a while.

You carefully untangled yourself from his hold and walked downstairs to the kitchen in hopes of making some tea.

You went through the grueling ten minute process of boiling a pot of water on a gas stove before transferring the water into a mug and adding a green tea bag into it, making sure to add a note stating you would be on the top floor just in case Harry woke up before you were back.

The stairs took far too long then necessary to climb but they were long and drawn out, hardly stairs at the point. You reached the top deck with a significantly cooler mug but you didn’t mind. Part of the tradition.

You looked out over the beach- trash littered over the bleachers they didn’t have time to put away, tree branches all over the ground, the sand looking darker than usual- likely drenched from the previous night's rain.

It was an odd sensation- to see birds flying in circles looking for the food and their old homes.

“Well fuck,” you mutter, taking in what you would be cleaning up for the next few days with your dad.

“Woah it looks rough out here,” you hear Harry’s deep and groggy morning voice. You turned to look at him, his eyes hardly open as he stretched his arms out behind him, his torso out on display.

“Yeah, gotta clean it up soon,” you speak softly. Even through the darkest storms, the water stays relatively calm. The waves crashed just as intensely as before, claiming the sand as their own as you watched from a birds eye view.

“Need any help?” he offers.

You smile and shake your head before turning back towards the ocean, “No, that’s fine. You should probably train some more anyway.”

“It’s nice to take a break sometimes too,” he tells you, stepping forward so he is standing directly to your right.

“I guess,” you shrug, “Wasn’t last night a good enough break?”

“Definitely not,” Harry shakes his head.

You shoot him a glare, about to give him a piece of your mind before he continues, “Nowhere near long enough.”

“Well, how long would you like this break to be?” you ask him, turning so your chest is practically touching his.

“Like,” he pauses teasingly, “Like a long time,” he decides.

“Is this your corrupt way of asking me out?” you ask with a smile spread across your lips. Harry nods in response, making you squeal with happiness.

Your arms find their way around his broad shoulders as he hugs you, lifting you up and off the ground slightly.

“So that means you’ll help me clean right?” you ask Harry, making him groan. “I’m just kidding, you can stay here in this lighthouse with me,” you seal your promise with a deep kiss on his lips.

“Hmm, sit in this lighthouse with you all night, surf all day. Sounds like a dream,” Harry comments, his arms finding their way around your body, holding you close to him. Your chests heaved in unison as you found your heartbeat rising.

“You’re a dream.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles imagines #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shots #harry styles oneshots #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction

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lesbian-deadpool · 4 years ago

Text

Roses In A Storm

Part Three: What A Time To Be Alive

Prelude | Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 5,681

Warnings: Talks of alcoholism and recovery, family issues, Red-Skull (hes’s a Nazi, that’s a warning in its own lmao), heights, light angst, talks of self deprecation/hate, explosions, talks of abuse/violence/murder/death, space stuff, I thin that may just be it.

Request: Yes. Many times.

Summary: The end of the journey.

A/N: Welcome to the end of this story! I really hope you liked this fucked up ride. If you want someone to thank for making me writhe this fic, then you best go bother @missmonsters2 lol! Hope this is what you wanted wifey!

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

That's all it takes.

A few words from Tony Stark and you're on the right path again.

Well...

As right as it can be.

The past few months had been long and gruelling.

There were times, too many than you wanted to admit, where you just wanted to give up. But you never did. And that was largely thanks to Tony and his family.

You would colour or play adventure with Morgan, cook with Pepper and Tony. Helped where you could with Tony and his inventions, but mainly you would just watch him, letting him distract you as he worked away, while you two conversed. You even became a "stand-in Assistant" when Pepper was rushed with mass amounts of work.

Whenever you were craving alcohol, Tony would always say the same thing:

"Sorry, Strange's orders."

"Since when did you take anyone's orders?"

"Since we could get Natasha back."

He was a real bastard, sometimes.

"Have you seen your parents yet?" he had asked, a little over a month into your recovery.

In your silence, Tony knew your answer.

"It's been seven months, Y/N-"

"I know how long it's been," you snapped. You rubbed at your forehead with a frustrated sigh. Trying to fight off the spinning in your head, "I can't see them like this, Tony. They were so proud of me and everything I've done- Did. Everything I did," you clarified, "And If I go to them now. What are they going to see? An alcoholic failure, who quit their job, is now a fucking hitman. And is in love with a woman- who is, apparently, inside of a fucking stone! What are they gonna say to that? Huh?"

"They still love you, Y/N."

You had tears in your eyes as you shook your head. He was right, you knew that, but you still couldn't see them. You knew you wouldn't be able to bear it if they saw you like this.

"Please, Y/N. Go home. See them. Tell them you love them," Tony practically begged you, "Trust me. You only get so long with them. You should know that you've lost people you love, too."

"I know..." you said weakly.

And that was the end of that conversation.

Yeah.

He really was a bastard, sometimes.

But now, five and a half months later, you felt better.

You felt so much better.

And you had finally seen your parents.

For the first time, in a year.

Your interaction with them had been just as Tony had said it would be. They welcomed you with open arms. Telling you how much they loved you. How proud of you they still were. They told you there was no reason for you to apologise.

Fuck Tony Stark and how right he was.

That bastard.

***

You felt like a stranger walking through these halls, but familiar to the surroundings at the same time. Almost like you were walking the halls of your old school.

It was... eerie?

Was that even the best term to use, to describe this feeling? You didn't know. But it felt right.

Agents, visitors, and trainees all the like, regarded you as you walked. All knew of who you were. Most knew what had happened the last time you had been at HQ, from either witnessing it themselves or through the grape-vine.

But it was their own fault when they jumped out of their skin, as you kicked open the door of your destination, as they should have known you hadn't lost your spunk.

"Right! Listen up, motherfuckers!" you yelled, making the people inside the room snapped their attention to you, shock rippling throughout their bodies, as you slammed the door shoot behind you. "I'm coming back to work!"

You could tell Fury was about to say something, from where he sat at the top of the table, in between Tony and Strange. With Maria stood to the side behind her boss. Her eyebrows raised at you, and a small -almost unnoticeable- smile on her face.

"Don't you dare, I'm not done yet!" You pointed at Fury, who leaned back in his seat and regarded you, allowing you to carry on with what you were saying. "I'm coming back, but I have some conditions-!"

"'Conditions'?" he asked.

"Yes. Conditions. Firstly, this is a one-time thing. I'm not taking my job back. I don't work for you. I'm working with you. For. This. Mission. Only. Okay?" No objections. You nodded your head once. "Secondly. I will do as you say, but I have a say on who is involved in this mission. If I don't want them here. They don't get to be. Because if I have to look at Clint's face- Even though I do know that Nat wasn't really his fault. I'm still gonna rip his throat out-"

"Now, Y/N. You have no-"

"Ah- Ah- Ah," You cut Fury off. "I'm still not done yet. Coming off of my second point. Wade gets to be there when I say so."

"Now that's definitely not happening!"

"I agree with Fury, Y/N. That is total insanity," Strange voiced up.

"Well, I guess that's tough tittys for you guys. Because those are my conditions. If you don't like it, then that's your problem."

Fury was about to speak when Tony cut him off.

"Just give 'em what they want. It's not like you were gonna involve anyone else. And so what if this Wade guy joins? It's another pair of hands."

"You don't know him."

"You'd like him," you said.

“Oh, now I want him to join more. If I'd like him, and these guys can't stand him."

"I agree with Stark, no matter how much it pains me," Maria spoke, gaining everyone's attention.

"Maria?" Fury asked almost, shocked, "You know what Wilson is like. You've read his files."

"I have." She nodded. "And although he is unorthodox, as the best way to put it... he gets things done. And if he cares for Y/N as much as he said he does. He will do well in helping us."

"Thank you, Maria!"

"Jesus Christ," Fury sighed.

"Wait," Tony said, "Who is Wade to you?"

You shrugged. "He's my best friend. Well, one of them."

"But I'm your best friend!"

"You're one of them!"

"Are you best friend cheating on me?!"

"Can we not do this here?" you asked him, knowing that when you arrived back at the cabin, you were in for a mass amount of questions, and would be forced to say who your best-best friend was.

You suddenly never wanted to leave the small, closed off, conference room.

"Fine," he huffed.

"Fury?" you asked. Cocky smile on your face. Knowing he was at a crossroads, and one direction was blocked.

"Okay," he said slowly.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Nick."

"Anyway..." Strange began, "Now that we've got everything settled-"

"I missed the whole meeting?" you pointed out.

"-I should be taking my leave now."

"Yeah, send me home too, Dumbledore," Tony "asked", standing up, too.

"Y/N. I'll be in touch." And with that, he and Tony walked through separate portals.

"Wow. So, I've gotta make my own way home? Nice."

Walking over to the door, you spoke your goodbyes. Pausing, only when you were out of the door to say one last condition, "Oh, and also. I get paid three times of what my yearly salary was."

"For this one mission?"

"Yes. For this journey, as Mr Wizardly would put it."

With his silence, was his agreement.

"Bye!" You took your exit.

***

"Where are we going, now?" you asked, strutting into the office at Tony's cabin. Which had become your "base of operations" so to say. Knoticing that the whole team was there.

Tony, Stephen, Fury, Wade, and Maria. Who usually stayed behind, being everyone's eyes and ears.

This must be an essential part of the mission.

You had spent the last three months under Strange's order. You, Tony, and hell even Fury running around collecting all out the things he needed. Mainly books. Sometimes Wade accompanied you on your missions. Keeping things more than entertaining.

"Space."

"The final frontier," you whispered in a far off voice, the same look in your eyes. Tony, laughing at your overdramatics. "But seriously," you continued, words now sober from their previous humour, "Is this it? Are we going to finish this?"

"With any luck," Tony nodded.

"Our ride will be here soon," Fury informed you.

"Our ride?"

"The walking talking build a bear."

"That would be so cool to have," Wade gushed, gaining some weird looks in return.

"The raccoon?" you asked, but still smiling at your scarred friend.

"I believe his name was 'Rocket'."

"Rocket The Raccoon," you said, "D' ya think he got inspiration from The Beatles song 'Rocky Raccoon'?"

"That would be something, wouldn't it?" Maria asked not expecting a reply. But she did smile back at you when you threw her one.

Before anyone could say another word, a low rumbling shook the ground slightly, the sound of jets filling the air.

And that was everyone's queue to run out of the cabin, only to see the spaceship you assumed belonged to the raccoon and his crew, floating above the large lake next to Tony's property. The hatch slowly coming down to rest on the docks.

"Hey, losers!" The rough voiced raccoon called out, from the end of the ship, beginning to descend the hatch.

"Is that any way to talk to your friends?!" you called over.

"I don't know you! And yes!"

"Speaking of your friends, where are they?" you asked curiously, once he got close.

"I ditched em at a bar," Rocket shrugged. "They'll be fine. It's my ship anyway."

Everyone laughed at the exchange, soon rushing back inside to grab everything they needed, Tony saying bye to his family, before you all boarded the aircraft.

***

"Oh, yeah. He was in love with death."

Somehow, the conversation had spurred onto the subject of the purple titan, you loathed with your entire being.

"I'm sorry," you began, "What?"

"Thanos. He "killed" half of the universe to impress death," Wade explained.

"Oh! So that's the real reason he did it!" you yelled, beginning your rant, "He made up this whole bullshit story about overpopulation or something. Instead of just saying, "I'm doing this to impress a girl"! Wow. Good to know toxic masculinity exists in space too."

Thankfully the conversation soon changed to the mission back at hand, with small amounts of banter being thrown around, that always followed you guys around.

"Why couldn't you have just teleported us there?" you asked Strange, who was standing in front of you, a little off to the side, in the now space-born ship.

"Because I can only teleport on the same planet that I am on."

You paused, "Makes sense..." And then. "But, we're in space. Should that mean you're able to travel anywhere, then?

"That's not how it works."

"Sound's like bullshit, but okay."

Before Strange could voice his retort, Rocket spoke from the pilot's seat.

"Leave the idiot be. What's the worse that's happening here? You're having a day-trip, boo-hoo."

"Yeah. A "day-trip". To the place where the love of my life threw herself off of a cliff. Sacrificing herself for half of the universe. Great fucking day-trip."

"Okay, yeah. That's less good," he said.

***

The planet was truly beautiful, in a desolate way. Covered wholly in sand, and lakes. Everything taking on a purple hue from the sky and clouds surrounding it. A truly gigantic mountain stood strong before you. You didn't want to admit it, but you were considerably intimidated by the large mass. And to top it all off, there was a permanent solar-eclipsed sun sitting in the sky.

You would have loved experiencing a whole new planet. Even a seemingly empty one.

If you didn't hate this place that is.

Also, the fact that you had to. Climb. The Fucking. Mountain.

If someone would have told you there would be this much exercise involved, you would have convinced Colossus to come, just to carry you up there.

You arrived, panting, at the top of the mountain. Only to be greeted by a creepy floating man, with a red skull for a head.

Fury knew him. Quickly telling you that his name was Red-Skull -surprising- and that he was one of the most notorious Nazis from WWII.

Yep.

You instantly despised him.

He told you each the name of one of your parents, then continued on with an obviously well-rehearsed speech about the Soul Stone, and yada, yada, yada.

Tony brushing past him, saying "We're not interested in what you're selling, shitty evil Ghostrider." With you all trailing after him, smiles on your faces.

And you never heard another pep from the self-proclaimed, "Guardian Of The Stone".

"Well, spank me and call me "daddy"!" Wade called, peering over the ledge of the cliff. "That's a long way down."

You joined him in looking over the edge. Your heart instantly dropping into your stomach.

You couldn't even see the bottom.

You can't imagine how terrified Natasha must have been dangling off of this thing. Only to kick herself off, and into the cloudy abyss.

"Fuck," was all you could breathe.

You only just noticed Tony standing beside you, when he asked FRIDAY to scan the height fo the cliff. Her voice coming out through his suit, so that everyone could hear.

"The cliff's height is approximately three thousand six hundred and ninety point nine hundred and forty-five feet, boss."

"Jesus Christ," you uttered, moving away from the edge, palm resting on your forehead. As thoughts of Natasha falling all that way down filled your mind.

You gave yourself a few moments to breath through your incoming panic attack. Luckily you were unable to see the worried, yet understanding glances everyone was throwing you, behind your closed eyes.

"So... how does this shit work?" you then asked, wanting to hurry with all of this.

You just wanted to get your girl back.

"Y/N," Strange said, beginning to get irritated by you already, "We literally talked about this a few weeks ago."

"Yeah? And I've slept since then," you remarked back.

***

After strang had done whatever the fuck he had done with his magic. You watched in complete awe, as the portal to the Soul World opened up.

But it wasn't any "normal" portal.

The eclipsed sun slowly started to be revealed, only this time if you looked at it, it didn't burn your eyes. You only saw what could be best described as an orange-yellow coloured black hole.

That was the fucking portal.

"Oh." You swallowed, turning to face Strange, "How the hell do we get up there?"

"We already are."

"What-?" you asked confused until you looked over your shoulder at your surroundings. Everything was bare and coated in a warm light, not even an inch of water below your feet. "What the fuck?!"

"Welcome to the soul world."

You were still eternally shocked as Tony began to speak.

"So. So, how does this work?"

"The Soul World only allows "visitation" to the last to be sacrificed. All we need to do is find her, and pull her out."

"Seems simple enough," Wade said, hands on his hips as he looked around, "You think I can get some grub in this place?"

"Don't be an idiot, Wilson," Fury told him, "Now let's go find our girl."

It didn't take long. Only a few minutes of walking until you spotted the structure upfront.

Quickening your pace, you walked up to what seemed to be an open planned coffee shop. Open planned with the outside. And not just any coffee shop. It was the one you and Natasha used to frequent often.

With a red-head, back turned to you, sitting at your usual table.

"Natasha?" you asked voice close to a whisper, the silence surrounding the world you were in amplifying your volume, ensuring she could hear you.

Red-blonde hair swished over shoulder, as Natasha hastily turned to see you.

"Y/N?" she asked you, voice identical to how yours was. The Russian didn't wait for your answer, the chair sloshing through the water, as she sprinted over to you. Throwing herself into your arms.

It was like a dam broke. The moment she touched you, tears poured down your face, like rivers. You held her close to your body, head buried into her soft, wavy hair.

Natasha was sobbing into your shoulder. Hugging you tightly enough for it to hurt.

You finally had her in your arms, just like you had dreamt of for over a year. Ever since you came back.

And yet, all you could think of was how disappointed in yourself you were.

You didn't deserve her. After all of the shit, you had done while she was gone. All of the mercenary jobs, the violence, the drinking and drugs. The hate that settled in your stomach, which caused you to lash out at the world and people who dared to cross you.

Everything.

She deserved so much better.

However, all you could do was pull her closer, and repeat, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," into her bright auburn locks.

"What are you sorry for."

"I." You swallowed your tears, looking into Natasha's wet emerald eyes. "I've done awful things while you were gone, Natasha. I became someone awful."

"Hey," Wade said behind you, slightly insulted. Which you ignored.

"I killed people. Some in cold blood. And all because they said bad things about you. I was lost. And you don't deserve that."

Natasha placed her hands on your wet cheeks, yours staying on her waist, knowing what you were about to say.

"You should find someone who deserves to be with you."

"You do deserve me," she begged you to understand, "I don't want anyone else but you! If there's anyone who doesn't deserve the other, it's me."

"Don't say that."

"Then don't say you don't deserve me. I only want you," she repeated, to get it through your head, "Only you. No one else. I don't care what you've done, or who you were while I was gone. You're still you. Right now, you're you. And that's all I want. It's all I need. You."

You sniffled harshly, realising how stupid you were with a shake of your head.

"I love you," you confessed, "I'm so in love with you, Natasha. It's crazy."

"Then let's be crazy together."

That was the last thing either of you said before she helped guide your lips to hers.

Finally sharing your first kiss.

At long last.

There wasn't the stereotypical fireworks that everyone spoke about when your lips met.

Only warmth.

Kissing Natasha didn't feel like an explosion. It felt like coming home after a long day. Being welcomed with the warm glow of a fire, and a spiced drink warming up your chest.

That's what kissing Natasha felt like.

Heaven.

Home.

You pulled back to the sounds of sniffles.

Eyebrows furrowed, you both looked over to the men behind you. Never once moving away from the other.

They were crying.

All of them.

Even Wade was under his mask.

"Are you guys crying?" you asked with a smile.

"No." Tony nodded, telling you that his words were false.

Strange wiped at the wetness under his eyes, while Wade openly sobbed, his shoulders shaking, pulling one of his guns to his chest as a form of comfort. Rocket was even using his tail to wipe at his eyes, turning away from you all.

"Even you fury?"

"I'm not crying," the Director, said with a slight wave in his voice.

"Really? Because I think that you are. Don't you, Natasha?"

The red-head nodded at you in confirmation.

"I'm not." Was all Fury said before he grabbed his eye patch and moved it to cover his leaking eye. "See."

Natasha let out a wet laugh, rushing over to bring Tony and Fury into a shared hug. All of them letting out a few more tears at the reunion.

Her knees splashing in the water as she pulled the still crying fur-ball into her arms.

Then going over to greet Strange with a hug of his own. And finally giving Wade the same treatment.

"I'm Wade," he introduced himself when she pulled back, "I'm Y/N's best, best friend. Because I'm better than the billionaire Sherlock over there."

"Is that so?" she chuckled.

"It absolutely is not!" Tony yelled.

Natasha shook her head with a smile, making her way over to you, and tucking herself into your side. Her head coming to rest on your shoulder, as she watched two of your best friends bicker at who was your "best, best friend".

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," you apologised.

"You came. And that's all that matters."

"C'mon guys," Tony said, his fingers now wiping under his eyes, "Don't make us cry again."

"I didn't stop," Wade informed you all, raising his hand.

You all chuckled at the man.

Before you decided you wanted out. You wanted to take your girl home.

"Right, now how do we get out of here?"

"We already are," Strange told you.

Looking around, you saw that you were now standing on the cliff's ledge, of Vormir. Natasha still nestled under your arm.

"How in the fuck do you do that?"

"I wizard never reveals his tricks," Tony said, "You know that, Y/N."

"The other stones are destroyed," Strange suddenly said, gaining everyone's attention. "We have to destroy the soul stone."

"But that will require a sacrifice," Natasha said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, though you could hear hints of it.

"On it!" Wade yelled, making his way past you, and towards the edge of the cliff.

Only stopping when you fisted your hand into the arm of his suit, then pulling him back.

"No. None of us are dying today."

"But, Y/N. I'm immortal-

"No," you interrupted him, voice hardening as to get your point across. "It's a soul for a soul. You go off that cliff, you come back without a soul. And I'm not letting that happen."

"Then how in the fuck are we supposed to destroy the stone?!" Rocket gruffed.

At your prolonged silence, Tony asked, "What are you thinking?"

"This was built as a shrine for stone right?"

"That's what I've been told. Yes," Strange confirmed.

"You said before- Weeks ago. When we were talking about everything, that the word "tomb" would be better to describe it, than "shrine"."

"Yes..." he said slowly, watching as you pieced everything together.

"Tombs normally hold things."

"Yes."

"Oh my, God," Tony breathed in realisation.

"Rocket? How many explosives do you have on the ship?"

"What are you suggesting?" Natasha asked from where she was still tucked into your side.

"We blow the shrine off of the fucking rock."

"How do you know that will work?"

Not bothering to answer his question, you said, "Nick. Get Danvers down here. Once we blow the shrine to smithereens, she comes along and blasts it with all the power she has." You then turned to face him. "Only an infinity stone can destroy an infinity stone. Ergo, so can it's creations. I mean how do you explain Wanda?"

"Well, this seems to be settled then," Wade stated, "So, let's head back to the ship, call your friend Danvers, and get me some food to eat. Because I'm starving," he finished starting to make his way towards the many, many stairs. To where the ship was waiting for you down below.

"What about the creepy weirdo over here?" Rocket asked, moving his thumb towards Red-Skull.

"I heard my own stories about him... leave him. Nazi fucks like him deserve to rot in hell."

"Here, here!" Wade called, "Now, can we go?"

"But what if we accidentally blow up the planet?" Tony. Asking the sensible questions. And making, one of, your best friends groan at being made to stop his trek for food. "I mean. We don't know how resilient this place is."

"Who the fuck cares." Rocket said. His words meant to be a question. But he just didn't care for an answer.

"Well, I think the planets around would have something to say about that," Fury said.

You looked over your shoulder, as they continued to bicker, and right at Strange. Who stood silently between the two giant pillars. The look in his eye, telling you everything that you needed to know.

This was always what was meant to happen.

No more sacrifices.

Natasha would be the very last one to ever feel what that would be like.

No more would this place be one of death for the greed of power.

No more.

"It won't."

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Fury asked you.

With the hard look in your eyes when you meet his, he knew what you said to be right.

"It won't."

***

The ship was in the air. Facing the planet, you had grown to despise.

Every one of you looking out of the large window, that sat above the controls. Wade, finally munching on his much-needed food.

Well, with all the whining he made on your long way back to the ship, you sure fucking hoped he needed it, with the about of brain cells he killed.

Silently, Rocket moved to hand the detonator up to you. Ready to shoot the planet with all you had, missiles, C-4, and many other explosives with names that were unknown to you, that Rocket had stored away. Even Tony had hooked FRIDAY up to the detonator, his suit waiting outside the ship, and ready to fire.

Form what you knew of Rocket, you could tell he wasn't the type to just give away something destructive like this. So, you understood that what he was doing, showed that he cared.

With a nod to the raccoon in thanks, you moved to give the remote to Natasha.

"Ya like to do the honours?"

"I'd love too." Her smile saying "thank you" for her, as she took it from your grasp.

She never took her eyes off of you as she pressed the button, the small smile still on her face the whole time. That was until the explosions started. Drawing both of you attentions back to the planet.

The shrine lit up like a Christmas tree, it getting bombarded with blast upon blast.

The storm-looking, gas-clouds, that were once above you, that was seemingly attached to the planet, slowly started to morph into what looked to be a tornado of sorts. It only clearing when the bright orange gem, floated up. Being held only by the swaying ribbons of the cloud. Just ready for the taking.

Then at the speed of light, leaving a white trail behind her, as a shooting star would.

Carol Danvers flew in.

And blasted the fuck out of the fucking stone.

As quick as she came. She was off again. Intending to meet you back home.

Finally.

All the destruction just stopped.

The cliff. The shrine. And everything about it. Was destroyed.

But, within a blink of an eye, the portal you once thought was a permanently eclipsed sun, sunk in on its self. And it didn't take a genius to know that that wasn't the best thing to be around.

Not even a second later. A bright light shone around the dark centre, it taking on a light blue hue with how light it was. Before it began spreading throughout the shrinking dark core, bursting suddenly. Rays of light firing off all around.

Your eyes widened when they saw this, your instant reaction to when you saw the bright rays speeding towards the ship, was to pull Natasha into your chest. Raising your arm to block the side of her face from the explosion. Her doing the same by bringing your head closer to hers, covering it with her own arm.

If this was your end.

Then you would go together.

The ship shook vigorously. But, luckily, not enough to make you fall onto the hard floor.

People swore at the collision.

Wade crying, "Ah! My taco!" When the shaking had caused him to drop it.

"Fuck your taco. Luckily I reinforced the ship, that blast could have easily killed us if not," Rocket said, offhandedly.

But that was all background noise to you, and everyone else on the spaceship.

Too busy looking out the window.

"Oh my, God," Natasha breathed, at the sight before her.

"It's beautiful." You finished in the same voice. Unable to tear your eyes away from the sky before you. Along with coloured, smokey, gas-clouds, swimming in the open space.

The "sun" was no longer there. And in its wake. Millions upon millions of stars lit up the sky, dancing to a tune you could not hear, but you felt almost as if they were thanking you.

Looking over at Natasha, you saw the many emotions shining in her eyes. Relief, gratitude, freedom, peace. But most of all, you saw pure love.

Unable to hold yourself back, it's not like you would even try to anyway, you pressed your lips against hers, in a celebratory kiss.

Yeah.

You would never get enough of this.

"There must be so many new galaxies out there," Tony said.

"Well, they were always there," Rocket said in his gruff voice, "We can just see them from here now."

"Not just that," Strange spoke.

"What?" The raccoon asked.

"The soul stone has caused so much destruction and death since it was first created," he began, "Now, with its own destruction. It has given life from what it has taken."

"English, Strange."

The wizard sighed at you. "There are more stars in the sky. Ones unknown and unnamed. New planets. Maybe even galaxies. It's safe to assume there's life to go along with them."

"You mean..."

"Yes." He nodded at the raccoon. "You have many more planets to visit."

"Maybe try not to steal from them," you said, "They were only born two minutes ago."

Everyone laughed as your furry little friend flipped you off.

"For all we know," Strange said.

"You couldn't let me just have one joke, could you?"

"Not at all."

***

"So, Strangey-Boy," you gained the man's attention once you were back on solid ground, stopping him from walking too far away. As Natasha ran over to envelop Carol, Maria, and Pepper in a bone-crushing hug, "Is this the end of the journey?"

He took a deep breath, looking around at the green scenery all around. Looking like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. But then again. So did everyone. You sure felt like the weight of the world was finally off of yours.

Nodding, he said, "This one. Yes."

Strange held out a hand for you to shake, his cape flowing behind him.

"It was nice working with you, Y/L/N."

"You too," you said with sincerity, as you shook his offered hand. Surprising the greying man by pulling him in for a hug, only for you to whisper in his ear, "Thank you, you cryptic bastard."

You pulled away from the embrace, his laughs causing a chuckle to be brought out of you.

"Y/N?!"

Looking over, you spotted Natasha there, waiting for you. A bright smile on her face. And Tony not too far behind her, arms wrapped around his wife. The slight twitch of her head, indicating her silent ask, for you to follow her.

"Seriously. Thank you. And thank your mysterious friend, too."

With a nod and a smile from Strange. You were off.

Following Natasha wherever she so wished to go.

Walking towards the start of your new life.

***

(Two years later)

The soft thumping of your heartbeat calmed Natasha into a relaxed state. Head on your chest, hand over your heart, and curled into your side. She couldn't think of a better way to spend a day, than with you.

You had been relaxing in bed for most of the day. Only leaving it when one of you needed the bathroom, or to get food and drinks.

"What are you thinking?" you asked, with your eye's blinking heavily as you watched some TV show play.

Natasha hummed, the hand that was laying on your chest, previously stroking her fingertips on your chest, splayed and rubbed the body under it. She blinked open her eyes, spotting the perfect ring upon her finger. The one you had given her over half a year ago. A smile tugging on her lips at the sight.

"I'm thinking about how lucky I am."

"What?" You smiled, looking down at your beautiful fiance. "For this day off?"

"No. For you, you idiot."

"Oh, wow. Is that any way to speak to your fiance? To the love of your life? Your soulmate?"

"Shut up!" Natasha giggled, slapping at your chest. Which only made you grab her hand, running your thumb over the top of her palm, " I love you so much," she continued. Voice warm and full of adoration, "I can't believe I actually get the chance to spend my life with you. It's all I've ever dreamed of, ever since the day I met you."

The smile on your face turned soft as she spoke, delivering a gentle, loving kiss to her lips, you said, "Gross."

"You're a dick."

"I love you, too."

"As you should, I'm pretty fucking great."

A laugh burst from your chest, thankful for the woman in your arms. Excitement resting in your chest. At the thought of getting to spend the rest of your lives together. Even with everything that happened for you to get to this point, you were thankful. And if it meant it. You would do it over and over again, in a heartbeat. Just to get to this point.

The journey hadn't ended, the day you got back from Vormir. It was only the beginning.

You finally had your soulmate back.

And you were never gonna let her go, again.

***

Roses In A Storm Tag List:

(Crossed out means I couldn’t tag)

@uglipotata72829, @enderman359, @thelastavenger-3000, @blackwidowromonoff

Permanent Tag List:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU

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bigmeatymudcrabchitins · 4 years ago

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A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

#skyrim #skyrim oc #dragonborn #dovahkiin

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years ago

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Kloktober, Oct. 16th: Dethstaff or Klokateers

Klokateers/Dethstaff for this one, really. Since it doesn’t matter what you call them, if they’re in Dethklok’s employ, they risk death daily.

Synopsis: It’s Annual Klokateer Remembrance Day, and Charles is Feeling It a.k.a. having emotions and it is A Lot for him. But then, it’s a lot for the Klokateers too.

TW for death and mourning.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“This is always a hard day,” Charles said, and sighed deeply.

He meant it. He wasn’t an overtly emotional person, but he had to interview, hire, learn about and interact with every Klokateer. Whether he wanted to or not, he knew many of them incredibly well, which made it all the more difficult to bury them.

This day, Annual Klokateer Remembrance Day, was the hardest day though, even beyond the individual funerals.

“Thank you all for being here,” Charles continued. “We do offer this day off, for all who wish to commemorate it privately. But you all are here today, and that shows great strength and bravery. I appreciate your care for each other, that is evident here.”

The crowd of unmasked, in street clothes Klokateers was something else to face. It was odd, to be able to see all their features, to make out one from the other more easily than when they were in uniform.

A reminder that while they were dedicated to the literal death employees, they were still people. Still human.

“We have candles available for all who would like them, and the period of non-denominational prayer and remembrance will begin in five minutes,” Charles said, watching as they filtered up front in a careful queue to take candles from the boxes near the stage. “After, the boys have prepared video speeches that will play. We know that it can be a bit...raw, seeing them in person on this day, so they have been sent on vacation for the next few days. After that, the open mic period will commence. As always, you may come up and eulogize any fallen coworkers, in whatever manner you like. If you have prepared music, please hand it to Dick, who is handling our mixing for the event.”

Dick Knubbler, who had been keeping to the wings of the stage, leaned out and waved gently, wincing at Charles as he leaned back.

He couldn’t blame him. There were a lot of tears and open sobbing this year, and it was all perfectly valid. It had been a rough year for their staff, somehow even more of a bloodbath than usual. And that took a toll.

It choked him up, five minutes later, watching them all in their various forms of prayer, or deep thought. Heads bowed, shoulders shaking through quieted tears.

They gave everything for this job. He would do the same. But how could he ever explain it to anyone outside of the Dethklok empire, should anyone have ever asked?

He didn’t think he could. You either were ready to die for the boys, for the job, or you weren’t.

That had factored in when he had helped the boys tape their speeches as well. They’d been less tone-deaf than last year, but even so, his editing had been required.

Nathan’s was first.

“Hey guys,” Nathan looked uncomfortable. He had insisted upon sitting on his bed for the video, for reasons Charles hadn’t felt he wanted to know. “So...a lot of you died. And that sucks, and we’re really sorry about it. You do a lot for us. Uhhhh....like the time I was really drunk, and I threw up in my own hair. One of you washed my hair for me, and braided it after, and that was really cool. I got told that guy died in an accident with the jet...so, I wanna say I hope he’s doin’ good. Wherever dead people go. Braiding hair in heaven, ya know? Um...yeah.”

Pickles was next.

“So, people dyin’ sucks,” Pickles had, somehow, been sober for the video. It shocked Charles, but Pickles had insisted on staying put together for it. It was a nice but surprisingly mature thing for Pickles to do. “And I know that saying that doesn’t make it easier to deal with. You gotta...feel it, ya know? Feel the pain. Cry a bunch. Scream. Maybe kick something, or break a lamp. We got lots of extra lamps, if you need to do that, just ask Charles about it. But yeah...do all of that today, okay? For me. Maybe get drunk or stoned if ya gotta, but be safe. We don’t want any of ya dying during this thing, after all. Anyway. We love ya, and everything you do.”

Murderface had been the hardest one to film, mostly because Murderface didn’t want to film it at all. “This isch kind of schtupid, if I’m honest. I mean, my parentsch are dead, and I don’t do anything like this about it. Whatever, Charlesch is doing the ‘shut the fuck up’ hand gesture. Look, we’re schorry a bunch of you die all the time. You do good work, and dying isch rough. But hey, other people in the world are gettin’ fired from jobsch and dying in the street. At least that ain’t you, right?”

Skwisgaar had filmed his outside, with one of the yard wolves sleeping in his lap. Charles felt like the wolf helped, oddly enough. Like watching a puppy sleep, or something. Cute and soothing. “Yous guys ams the backbone of this place, but you does dies an awful lots. And that ams somethings regretables. But we don’ts wants you to dies, if that helps any. The jobs ams simply a dangerous one, but yous all knows that. Keeps up the good work, and wes will tries to gets less of you killed.”

Toki’s was...a mess. But a well-meaning and sweet mess, at least. “We loves you guys,” Toki sobbed. “Ams so sorrys you always dyings so much. You don’ts deserves that. You makes me Hot Pockets all the times, and gets Pickle weed, and braids Nathan’s hair, and I thinks a few of you fucks Skwisgaar which ams nice-” He brushed tears from his eyes. “Since he ams arguably the ugliest of all of us. But enoughs about how yous hold backs your vomits over him. You little guys ams the best. I loves you.”

Charles watched as Dick switched everything over to the open mic, and sighed. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay for the whole thing, or to slip out and leave them to it. He didn’t have to worry about them, he knew that. This was a holy day for everyone, and they always behaved well. Dick could handle the emcee duties, if needed.

But that wouldn’t be right, to leave. The part that was perhaps hardest to admit, was that his own hand played in these deaths, in various ways, even if unintentional.

He owed it to the lost Klokateers to stay, so he would.

#text post #LeeH writes #metalocalypse #metalocalypse fic #kloktober

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macabretrees · 4 years ago

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Title: Clouds Summary: Merus decides to teach Jaco how to fly. Pairing: Jaco x Merus (originally on ao3 un-betad wanted to bring it to Tumblr :D)

“What do you mean you were born able to do this Merus?!” Jaco latched onto his partner with all the strength his body would normally muster, finding somehow that it still wasn’t enough. Because presently, Agent Merus, or Angel Merus, as Jaco liked to think of him now, levitated thousands of feet in the air, balancing with no jet boots or any mechanical support of the sort.

“Created, Jaco.” He corrected as he climbed higher, “we angels were not born. We were created by—”

“By the Will of the Grand Minister, I know Merus, you’ve said that a hundred time—whoaahhh please go down! We’re too high.”

“I won’t let you fall, Jaco.” Merus said somewhat mechanically, still unused to dropping the “Agent” title in front of Jaco’s name.

“What if you lose control and we both fall?”

“As I said before, I was created with the ability to fly. I won’t lose it.” His reassurance lacked the warmth and empathy necessary to fully get his point across, but Jaco understood. Merus was trying to be ‘ as mortal as possible’ while occupying the body of an angel, at least that’s how he described it. Small conversation and social queues were lost on him, but at least it was the thought that counted.

Though thoughts were not really on Jaco’s side. Not today. Not when he’d accidentally let it slip that he had no idea how to fly without the assistance of his jet boots. Merus had taken it as a sign that he needed to learn in the case of emergencies and had taken it upon himself to swoop Jaco off of their couch and drag him high—too high—into the sky.

Now they remained, dangling in the silver between the horizon. If the situation were not so dire, Jaco would have admired the view.

“We’ll just go over the basics today.” Merus’ voice pulled him from his thoughts, and suddenly Jaco found himself being detached from the angel’s torso and pulled away gently by some invisible force.

“Merus, wait! Can we talk about this?”

“Of course we can, you’ll just talk three feet away from me.”

There was really no room to protest. Not when the angel had set his mind to a task. Not when it concerned Jaco and his safety.

“What you’re feeling now is your chi. I’ve drawn it out. All living creatures have it.” Merus began as Jaco floated some feet away from him, “It’s what Goku and Vegeta use to fly, as well as the other Earthlings.”

“What about you? Do you use Chi to fly.”

“No, Angels are born with the ability to fly. We don’t use chi.” Jaco thanked whatever gods were out there that Merus was so patient. He had asked the same question three times now, and the angel showed no signs of irritation. He blamed it on his anxiety.

Jaco felt himself hovering up and down just slightly trapped in his own “chi”. It was almost like jelly, keeping him encased but safe all at once. Even controlling it was easy when he didn’t look down at how tiny the earth had become.

“How come I’ve never been able to use it before?”

“You don’t clear your mind enough,” Merus answered, “or concentrate enough. You’re very materialistic Jaco, and your ego prevents you from seeing what’s around you. You only allow yourself to see what’s in front of you, and no further than that.”

Jaco still had no idea how Merus could simultaneously insult and lecture him at once, but it had happened more than once since they’d been together. The only saving grace was that Merus meant no harm.

“Um…okay…” He cleared his throat, “So how can I be less…like that?”

Merus placed his fingers underneath his chin as he considered the answer, his form still and rigid in the air, unlike Jaco who bobbed up and down

“Try meditating every day for about five hours.”

“Five hours? Do you know what kind of job we work Merus? I can’t meditate for five hours, especially if I’m trying to beat your rec—woah!” Jaco dipped, his concentration broken as his irritation at Merus surged. Suddenly he felt his chi losing its grip, and he began to fall from the pocket of warmth that surrounded him.

And then Merus was by him in an instant, embracing him before he fell any further.

“I—you—what??”

“You lost your concentration,” Merus explained, “and almost fell. I caught you.”

Jaco grabbed tighter onto Merus’ arm, “Ohh. Um…can you bring us back down.”

Merus nodded and slowly they descended to the Earth.

After that terrible ordeal, Jaco had ran to the restroom to throw up what little cheese he’d eaten earlier. Merus had tried to be of assistance, but Jaco had banished him to the sofa until he’d emptied the contents of his stomach.

“I guess this is why you said I have to meditate,” Jaco spoke as he came from the restroom, somewhat jaded from his time in the sky, “and be less ego-tistic?”

“It will help you control your chi,” Merus explained, as he turned the channel, “then you can fly.”

Jaco rolled his eyes and plopped down on the couch beside his boyfriend, swinging his feet in Merus’ lap, “Well…t be honest it wasn’t that bad, and I guess I’ll need to fly when we’re separated since I’m getting all those cool missions.”

Merus raised a brow, “What are you trying to say Jaco?”

“Always to the point aren’t you,” the small alien cleared his throat as he sat up, staring intently at Merus, “I want you to teach me how to meditate and control my chi. Not to do anything crazy like Goku, but to just fly like we did today. And maybe less than give hours.”

“Really?” Merus was skeptical, and while Jaco prided himself in being one of the few that could do that to Merus, at that moment, he was serious.

“Really. I just want to learn.”

Merus returned his desperation with a smile, “Well, in that case, why don’t we begin tomorrow? Afterwork.”

Now Jaco’s smile mirrored his Merus’, “Tomorrow then.”

#merus #jaco #dbs #dragon ball super

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xwildatheartx · 2 years ago

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• • Ronnie • •

The youngest sibling didn’t know what to do; how to feel. Her father had literally just been dead, her eldest brother had JUST brought him back. And he said something that upset mom...then he left again. Maybe Ronnie was naïve for thinking this, but she just wanted things to be like they used to be. Ronnie loved her parents together...and now her father was gone.

Maybe she could see what Henry thought about all this; or maybe she could coax him to leave the house so she could distract herself. She knocked on his door.

“Hey...it’s me. Can I bug you?”

@strictlycanon

#strictlycanon #v:inherited luck •american gods• {Ronnie}#Cool your jets- it’s coming •queue•

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littlejeanniebean · 5 years ago

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Ep. 3 | The Marauders: Riddle Records

A/N: “Come to the dark side. We have a solo career.” - Tom Riddle Jr., probably. On a lighter note, I can just see them backstage like this by the lovely artist @theimpossiblefifth. Read on AO3 :) Enjoy! - J xx

One look in your eyes

I can read your mind

You're naughty, my type

Care for a good time?

You could be just like all your high society friends at high tea

You could get with a football player

But there’s nothing like a shot of adrenaline in the morning

You know you want a dragon slayer

“Like me,” James mouthed seductively to the camera and winked.

“I’m Alice Fortescue, these wonderful lads are The Marauders, thank you for joining us this Saturday Night Live!” the actress grinned widely as the camera backed away.

The boys all gathered around her in a group hug.

“Holy shit! That was incredible!” Obviously, this was Sirius speaking.

“You were wonderful, honey,” a low voice whispered.

A smiling man with sweet eyes and a mop of dark hair put his arms around Alice.

“Oh, everyone, this is my boyfriend, Frank!” the bubbly actress grinned widely, “He’s a photographer for GQ.”

“Sick!” James shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Frank; lovely working with you, Alice; hope you’ll both come to one of our shows sometime, ta-ta!” Sirius practically dragged the band away before anyone could say anything more.

“What was that?” Remus tutted at his boyfriend.

“Yeah, ta-ta?” the bespectacled boy wiggled his nose to adjust his glasses that had gone askew, “Who says that?”

“Not what I meant,” the pale, mousy-haired boy shrugged off his suit jacket in their shared dressing room.

“Look, I’ll explain later!” Sirius pleaded, “Just hurry up and let’s get the hell -”

“Yoo-hoo! Siri!” a warbling, high-pitched voice giggled on the other side of the door, “This is their room here, Tommy...”

“Christ,” the dark-haired boy covered his face with his hands.

“We’ll deal with Bella,” James set his jaw and turned to the other two, “Ready?”

Remus and Peter rolled up their dress shirt sleeves and nodded.

The trio filed out of the dressing room, forcing Bella Black and her friend backward, and immediately shut the door behind them.

“He doesn’t want to see you or any of your family again, Bella,” said James sternly, giving the show's new cameraman the stink-eye for good measure.

Bella stuck her tongue out childishly.

Her guest grimaced and offered his hand to the boys, “I’m sorry about her. She overheard I was interested in speaking with you young talents and… well, it got a bit out of hand. I’m Tom Riddle, of Riddle Records.”

Really, the man with chiseled features and dark slicked back hair wasn’t much older than they were. But he was dressed more expensively than they could ever be comfortable with, even with the fresh success of their debut album.

“You’re Senior’s kid,” James nodded, his mother being an agent in the industry. He noted just the smallest flinch at the mention of the man's father. “With all due respect, we already have a label.”

“A label that has you locked into a contract as a group,” Tom gave them each his card and presented James with another one for Sirius, “We would pay any fees associated with breaking your current contract, then we would launch your solo careers - James as the pop prince, Sirius as the rock and roll bad boy, Remus as the R&B god, and Peter as the jazz legend!”

“We’re better musicians together,” said Remus.

Tom leaned in, “Your success now, quadrupled. Plus the potential for high-engagement collaborations among you. The freedom to create in your own style on top of that. Imagine it. And give me a call.”

"Ta-ta," Bella blew them each a kiss in a way that could only be described as menacing. When they were out of the boys' earshot she simpered, "You're such a clever businessman, Tommy."

"Don't call me that," he yanked his arm away and pressed his phone to his ear irritably, "I found us some new business and laid the groundwork. Can I have my allowance now?"

The Marauders flew back to Scotland that night and rehearsed for months until they were ready to drop before flying back to LA for Night One.

“Nervous?” Sirius whispered while they waited for their opening act, DJ Dedalus Diggle, to finish his set.

“Why would you ask me that?” James huffed, adjusting his bright red tie for the umpteenth time.

“You need more glitter,” Molly patted his cheekbones lightly with her pointer finger, which was covered in the golden stuff.

“Five minutes, boys!”

“Thanks, Arthur!” Remus spoke for them all.

“We’ve got this, Jimbo!” Peter bounced excitedly on his heels.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been performing at recitals since you were big enough to reach the keys from the bench.”

“The jitters never get old,” his baby-faced friend told him, “but we’re all going out there. And with everything we do together, we always have fun.”

James nodded to himself and made sure to check on their drummer for the tour, “You good, Kingsley?”

The man in a rose-red disco suit twirled the sticks deftly in his hands, “Let’s do this.”

“... and now, Los Angeles,” Diggle hyped the crowd, “give it up… for The Marauders!”

The lights went up and the boys looked out at the incredibly emotional fans who’d come to see them.

“Right,” James whispered, reaching for the microphone with shaking hands, “A-one, two, three.”

I don’t have a lot of time

I’m running for my dear life

Can’t breathe without you by

Aye aye aye

It’s a full house

But I’ll seek you out

It’s a wild crowd

But I’ll seek you out

I don’t know how

But I’ll seek you out

James couldn’t help grinning ear to ear as Sirius broke out into his guitar solo.

Remus pointed out a sign that said, “Marry me, James Potter!”

The lead singer laughed and spoke into his mic, “Well, will you buy me dinner first, at least?”

The girl promptly fainted.

Arthur was by her side immediately to make sure she was alright.

“Oh, dear, you’ve hit your head,” Molly crouched down beside him and handed the young girl an ice pack.

The red-headed manager got his first good look at the videographer and her multi-pocketed fishing vest and cargo pants.

She noticed him staring, “I’ve known these boys a long time. You never know what you’re going to need.”

“Good advice,” he helped her and the fan back up in one go, “I’m Arthur.”

“Molly,” she grinned, hoisting her camera back onto her capable shoulders and focused back in on James.

Under your spell, I like how you play it

Keeping it cool is so overrated

Waiting on you, every breath bated

Hey hey hey

They played LA two more nights before moving on to San Francisco. Then Vegas, then Seattle, and across the rest of the continent, all the way to New York.

“Madison Square Garden,” James swallowed, taking in the iconic jumbotron above their heads and the entire stadium, really.

Just three hours later, he was up on that very stage, sweat trickling down his back and the bridge of his nose as he sang his heart out about a funny story the designer, Lily Evans once related about her sister via Instagram post.

There’s a little house on Privet Drive

Where nothing ever happens

Little curtain twitcher of a wife

And a little boy and husband

But when they leave for their nine to five

And the little boy goes to school

The little old lady with cats ninety-nine

Does what she wills to do

Living next to ordinary no. 4

So much to do, so much to explore

The grocer down the street from me

His daughter left for university

And he needs the comfort of my tabbies

Yessiree, that’s what I’m here for

Your neighbour next to ordinary no. 4

After that, they went all over South America. The streets were typically too narrow to drive a tour bus around, so they often jetted from one country to another and rented a little convoy of minivans to take them to the arenas from their hotels and back.

“Shit, Petey’s got food poisoning!” Remus fussed over the poor boy.

“I’m fine! Really!” the blond insisted before doubling over and retching once more.

“I can fill in,” DJ Diggle adjusted his signature flat cap, “I have all your songs pre-recorded -”

“We have half an hour to get it out of his system!” Sirius declared determinedly, “We’re not going on without you, Pete!”

“I’ve got the doctor!” Arthur came in, followed closely by a middle-aged woman with apple cheeks and curly hair.

“You need to replace your fluids,” Molly handed Peter a bottle of electrolytes.

“Yeah, it’s a common bacterial infection going around among tourists,” said the doctor, giving him a dose of antibiotics, “He’s not in any shape to perform, you lot, so you might as well let him rest.”

“I can - oh,” Peter ran to the bathroom.

“How soon can you give him another dose of that?” Sirius asked anxiously.

“Not any time in the next half hour,” she narrowed her eyes at him, apparently having overheard his earlier proclamation.

“Poppy’s right,” said Arthur, “Peter’s health comes first. Dedalus, isolate the keyboards in every track and queue the set list.”

“Try to keep in time,” Sirius added.

“No improvising for tonight, lads,” Arthur warned the regular band members.

“But -”

“I’m serious.”

“And so am I!” he could only maintain a straight face for two and a half seconds after he said this.

James sighed as they waited for the DJ to introduce them half an hour later, “It’s not going to be the same without Peter.”

“We’ll make the best of it, Jimbo,” Remus assured him, “and he’ll be back with us for the next one.”

The frontman set his jaw, pushed his glasses up his face and pulled the microphone to his lips.

Do you remember

The games we used to play

Mermaids underwater

Aliens in outer space

Do you remember

The sticks we’d raise aloft

We called them swords and never

Lost the battles that we fought

Peter was back on stage the next night, to much celebration and all too soon, they flew back across the pond for their European leg. Of course, their first stop was Scotland.

“It’s so good to be home,” James sighed happily, pausing to wipe his glasses on the hem of his shirt and winking at a girl who lost it at the sight of his abdomen, “This is our last song. Please join in if you know the words. Or make them up. Just have a good time. Be as loud as you want to. We love you all, thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We’re the luckiest boys in the world.”

Is there a risk to it?

Is it a challenge?

If there isn’t, if it isn’t, I don’t want it

Yeah, I wanna do some damage

I feel lucky tonight

I got you by my side

Seven days in a week

And you spend them with me

So hell yeah, I feel lucky

"That sounds really good, Pete," said James from where he lay on the floor of their stage after the arena emptied, "We could use that."

Peter chuckled, "It's Chopin. A waltz."

James ambles over and his friend makes room for him on the bench.

"It's a split C chord, then F, A flat..." he guides him through the song. It's out of time and messy, but they're having fun. "James…"

"Yeah, Pete?"

"What are we going to do about Tom Riddle's offer? I mean, his dad’s label practically owns half the music industry. And Castle is just this little independent… He could make our lives more difficult than he already has."

"Unless we join him, you're thinking?"

"We could ask Arthur to negotiate a group contract just the same. I doubt they'll dislike the idea of paying less upfront."

"But what about loyalty to everyone at Castle? McGonagall? Urquart?" James shook his head, "We're having a successful tour in spite of the ticket bots Riddle set on us. We're looking out into seas of fans all wearing our merch in spite of his shipment hijacking. And we're having bloody good time because we're not letting any of the homophobic slander he's fueled the press with get to us."

"Here, here!" cheered Sirius, clinking his beer bottle with his boyfriend's.

"Right, rest up, lads! You deserve it with all the work you put into this show," James stood and ambled back to the tour bus, where Shacklebolt was already sleeping soundly, being the earliest riser of them all.

“Goodnight, all!” Peter loved his friends, truly. But he was convinced their stubborn sense of the meaning of courage would do them a great disservice.

As always when confronted with a decision to make, he visited the only jazz bar in Scotland, the Leaky Kettle. Immediately upon stepping inside, he let the smooth piano carry away the stress.

“The usual,” he told the bartender.

“Put it on my tab,” Tom Riddle swivelled around on the bar stool, "Fancy meeting you here."

"You mean you didn't expect to? Didn't plan it?" Peter received his drink with barely more than a sideways glance at their adversary.

"It's just business, Peter. I know you understand that."

"Then why go through all this trouble for one act? There must be thousands - hundreds of thousands - of talented artists who could make you rich."

Tom rolled his eyes, "My father was always… a bit single-minded. He wants to put me through my paces before handing me the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. But don’t worry about that. Just know this: I think your group is talented and I can see that you’re the musical glue holding it all together. You’re the only one with any formal training, after all. And I really can see to your career’s longevity. If you stick with this boyband too long, though…”

Peter raised his eyebrows, “Then what?”

“Well,” the label executive leaned in, “then you’ll need to think about what that does to your image as a real, serious musician.”

The blond boy finished his drink.

“Another one for my friend,” Tom told the bartender, took his jacket, and left.

His calling card sat heavy in the keyboardist’s wallet.

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ashadowbyanyothername · 5 years ago

Text

Friends and Enemies

It had just been another day.

Another headache.

And another training session out in the blazing sun with Knuckles.

The echidna didn't know why, but Shadow had begun to look more and more restless as the days went on by with him coming to train. Like something was...... hrmm.

No, he just couldn't put his finger on it, even now.. He could feel it in the way the other sparred, however. There was this.. distance between them, and it grew bigger every time. Sure, he knew Shadow was wary, and out of all of them he wasnt the most sociable guy... Knuckles could relate, but.. Its as if every time he tried to close the gap, it just grew instead. Shadow came by more often to train, but the look in his eyes grew more and more distant, like he was barely even here. At first he had seemed eager, wanting to be able to defend himself in case he got hurt again, which.

That wasn't here nor there, but needless to say, it made Knuckles' blood boil. Hmph.

He had been trying not to let it all bother him, but. Well.. to say he still didn't quite trust Shadow wouldn't be a lie. And for Shadow to continually act so strange while on his island.. Sigh. He was trying to give the darker hedgehog the benefit of the doubt, Sonic wanted to and truthfully so did he, but-

"Gkh!-" Shadow had taken advantage of the other's moment of distraction, using his momentum against him and slamming him to the ground, pinning him with one arm behind his back. Okay, he thinks this is his queue to stop thinking so much about all this. Switching his focus back to the now, he lets out a hearty laugh.

"Hah! Lookit you, doing better every day. But I wasn't on my A-game today so you better consider yourself lucky. Next time you wont get such an easy opening."

He moves to get up, but stops short the moment he realizes that Shadow is still pinning back one of his arms and holding him down. This was uh, hm. Ok.

"Heyyy uh, Shadow? Man? If you're wantin' me to say uncle here, you got a weird way of asking. So um. Uncle? C'mon its hot as hell, lets get to one of the lakes to cool off. I can even call up Sonic to bring us some drinks, how about-" He's cut off by his own sharp noise of pain as Shadow starts to bend his arm hard.

"H- hey! Dude seriously knock it- nghk!"

Shadow had pinned his other free hand down by the wrist under his shoe, and Knuckle's couldn't stop the thought of Shadow turning those things on and burning him with the jets. Oh Chaos why was this happening, what did he do?! Was this Shadow's idea of a joke? Because if so, he's really not funny. Okay, no, deep breath. Shadow is.. complicated, and he has been though a lot, this could be.. Well Knuckles doesn't know what it could be but he knows its not good. He works his way to moving his head, trying to get a look at the other.

"H.. hey, Shads, look its gonna be okay.. we were just sparring, remember? We weren't gonna... gonna hurt....."

His voice trails off when he finally catches a glimpse of Shadow's face, and every alarm in his brain fires off at once.

Shadow stared down directly at Knuckles as he kept him pinned, his gaze cold and emotionless. No, not even that he looked almost.. dazed? How long had he..? Ugh, if Knuckles wasn't so distracted maybe he would have noticed and could have called the session off early.

It had just been another day.

Another headache.

And another training session with Knuckles.

Shadow had actually found that he enjoyed the company of the echidna, and despite the hot weather, the sparring was a nice way to release pent up energy and stress. Despite the heat. He visited now every couple of times during the week, at first they just trained in some area outside of town, but Knuckles admitted to feeling wary about leaving his island once, so they started training there. Shadow found it very facinating, Angel island.. and very pretty. He didn't mind the trip at all.

It had been a session like any other, namely Shadow practicing how to dodge and deflect Knuckles' punches. Said echidna wasnt known to hold back either, so it really was a matter of 'dodge, or get your face rearranged.' Not that he minded, it was actually kind of refreshing. Sonic would probably never train with him like this.

As time went on though, Shadow found himself plagued by yet another piercing headache. He still didn't know what caused them yet, just that they were incredibly annoying. They especially made it hard to focus, so when Knuckles next threw his fist, Shadow grabbed him by the wrist and slammed him to the ground, pinning him. Session over.

Or at least, that's what was supposed to happen, but.. the moment he found his body still, Shadow felt as though his mind had been stuffed with cotton. He blinked a few times and shook his head, trying to get it to go away, but it just got worse. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of tiredness, but his body stayed rigid as ever. Actually, he just moved, gripping Knuckles' arm tighter and bending it past its natural flexibility. He hadn't even registered that he had done it. Why did he?..

Wait, Knuckles? Wasn't he saying something?... Was he? Shadow couldn't hear anything, just this... white noise. His ears twitched and turned this way and that, trying to locate the sound, trying to.. hear the voice? Yes there was definitely someone trying to speak to him through all the noise, what was it saying though?

He saw movement and met the other's gaze, taking note of the fearful expression. Scared? Scared... Yes, that was... wait- no no- not good. Why would that be good? Why would he think its good? Is.. it supposed to be good? Yes. No. Knuckles was... was his friend enemy, he wasn't supposed to be scared of him, right? That's not what friends... that's what enemies do. Right?

Right.

Before he knows it Shadow's hands move of their own accord and a sick CRACK echoes throughout the quiet Angel Island before being accompanied by the scream of its guardian.

#;in the life of (drabbles)#;guardian (Knuckles)

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letscuttothefeeling · 5 years ago

Text

season three episode one

Okay everyone, Siesta Key just ended and I must say – I’m overall VERY pleased with the premiere of Season 3. Even though I know everything that’s happening in this season because I created a reddit account specifically for access to a thread dedicated to all things SK, and because they posted everything that happens on the Siesta Key Instagram, I was still shocked by one thing: how much I enjoyed the episode. Let’s cut to the feeling.

Fade in. There he is – the mystery man I’ve been dying to meet – SCOTT. That’s right, Fabienne’s husband. You may know him as Juliette’s Father. Chic French queen Fabienne and confused husband Scott congratulate Juliette on her graduation from FSU and suggest she become an attorney. Juliette has plans of her own – retail. They look elated. After making a weird sex joke to her Dad, and having visible difficulty adjusting to her new veneers, Juliette has graduated, the scene is over, and I am feeling great about the season.

If you’ve ever watched SK, you know three things for sure. 1. Juliette is a hideous crier. 2. Canvas’ Mother has a complete lack of understanding when it comes to parenting. 3. Kelsey and Juliette do NOT get along. UNTIL NOW! It’s very exciting to see their first scene as not only friends – but also roomies! Even though Kelsey’s bizarrely shaped eyebrows, over plumped fake lips and orange spray tan make me feel like she must have NO real friends, because certainly, they wouldn’t let her butcher her appearance so thoroughly, she and Juliette seem to get along swimmingly by talking mad shit about Chloe. We love to see women supporting women by talking shit about other women.

Chloe, you minx! Chloe pulls up to Alex’s mansion in a Bentley toting about ten designer bags and a serious attitude. After she explains to his mother that she’s taken it upon herself to pickuppe some “luxury” clothing items for Alex in Sarasota, Florida, even though he’s quite literally in EUROPE, she also *subtly!* drops that he’s left behind his personal credit card for her own use. Weird brag, but more importantly: cha-ching! After talking shit about Juliette to a grown woman, they switch the conversation to Madisson’s new man. Queue Malibu by Miley Cyrus. Ma-jor props to whoever created the playlist for this epi.

After a stunning underwater montage from Florida to Cali, we see aspiring model/actress Maddison walking into a dinner date. Even though Chloe’s just gabbed to Alex’s mother that Braddison is no more, I still half expect BG to pop up and hold the door open for Madi. Just kidding, I don’t, because the producers of this show spilled quite literally every twist before it aired. Wait, speaking of producers – who is Madisson on a date with? Oh, it’s “ISH”, the FORTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD, BALD, AND OVERWEIGHT FORMER PRODUCER OF SIESTA KEY. Unlike Juliette’s father, Scott, I’ve met Madisson’s Dad before, so it’s not immediately apparent to me as to why she has serious Daddy issues. I’m hoping the root of this unfolds during the season. Ish, or “baby” as Madisson calls him, (again, he’s 46, so I’m not sure “baby” is the most fitting nickname, but to each her own) decides it will be totally normal to jet back to the key and surprise the children he used to exploit the cast with the announcement of his new relationship. I can’t wait.

Okay, we’re back at a dinner date – but a much more age-appropriate one between Juliette and her new man, former bachelorette contestant, Robby. I’m not a bachelor franchise fan and unfortunately for Robby, I’m NOT a Robby fan either. He’s not hot and he’s not cool. That’s literally it. Discussing this further would be a waste. Oh, it’s worth noting that new roomies Chloe and Madisson also meetuppe during this time to discuss Madisson and Ish. (Mish, if you will. Some prefer Dadisson.) Thank you, Chloe, for reacting to the news in a very relatable way by chugging alcohol and hiding in your clothing.

Um, who is this hottie emerging from a PJ? It’s the fabulous Cara, with a new nose! Normally I love to hate her - she has that je ne sais quoi – but right now, I just love her. Removing your nose job bandages on film is the kind of 2020 realness I need in my life. Enter G BABY! We’ve missed you and your utter lack of awareness, Garrett! But the love birds aren’t exactly happily reuniting – there’s def some tension in the air. Uh oh! Cara immediately becomes annoyed that Garrett both broke her heart AND kept his lips shut about her new nose. Poll – would you rather your boyfriend intentionally squeeze your fat as fuck thighs, or neglect to comment on your surgically enhanced face? The choice is yours.

While Juliette’s graduation party is great, if Alex doesn’t throw a start-of-the-summer rager, I’m suing MTV. More specifically, I’m suing YOU, Gary. Anyways, as Juliette and de ghurls are getting ready for the party, Juliette’s asked who she likes boning more – Boring Robby or shrek Alex. She hesitates for a moment but then says Robby. I take that pregnant pause as a confirmation of what I’ve known all along – Alex is great in bed and that’s the only reason Juliette was obsessed with him. (Edit – this has been confirmed on her Instagram story.)

Cut to: Cara, G baby, and Cara’s new androgynous and likely lesbian friend, Victoria, getting drinks. I don’t know what’s more confusing – the fact that Cara claims Victoria is her best friend or the fact that Garrett continues to piss Cara off by defending Kelsey while she incessantly brings her up.

Party time! But it wouldn’t be a party without Chloe intervening in something that has nothing to do with her in an attempt to destroy Juliette’s happiness. While wearing a Kentucky derby inspired hat/headband, nonetheless! Chloe and Amanda sit down with Boring Robby the second he arrives to grill him with some genual questions about his “intentions” with Juliette. And I can’t help but immediately think of that scene in Twilight when Police Chief Charlie Swan pulls out his shotgunné to intimidate his daughter’s 108-year-old vampire soul mate. Thank you, Catherine Hardwicke/ Stephanie Meyers, for this image.

At this point, I have to question Chloe’s sexuality because I can’t think of a single other reason as to why she would be so invested in Juliette’s relaysh with Robby. Is he a “phony”, simply using Juliette for fame? Maybe! But aren’t they all kind of doing that anyway? It’s like, they’re on a reality show for God’s sake. After Boring Robby says absolutely nothing of interest, (read: BORING Robby,) something actually exciting happens. Kelsey slithers over to publicly flirt with G baby in an attempt to piss off Cara, and it totally WORKS! Nice!

The second Cara sees Kelsey and G baby talking, her eyes fill with fire and she almost burns her new nose off. It’s funny that she portrays herself as such a sophisticated, cosmopolitan gal, yet she’s so blatantly insecure about trashy Kelsey and Garrett, the braindead body of meat, talking about absolutely nothing. Stop slumming it and start dating Zaddies like Madisson!

After Garrett tells Kelsey that Cara has banned him from talking to her, Kelsey marches up to Cara, grabs her by the hand, and you just KNOW the rumors are true – World War III is HAPPENING! Kelsey and Cara immediately establish that they’re not each other’s “kind of person”, and then Kelsey tells Cara that she can’t wait for Cara’s “life to explode.” Cara fires back with the ULTIMATE diss, claiming that Kelsey doesn’t even have her GED! We find out this is, in fact, not true via Instagram, thanks to Kelsey’s iconic photo of none other than GARRETT holding her on her graduation day. Okay, high school level educated kween! Go off!

Pls note caption

Here’s the thing: I dislike Cara and Kelsey, both for entirely different reasons, but IMO, Kelsey won this round. Cara came off as insecure, psychotic, and just plain mean! Cara, a word of advice? Stop gallivanting around tacky Florida and return home to America’s Kingdom – New Jersey.

Pay close attention everyone - we’re almost done and you’re about to witness reality show television HISTORY. And it is a BAG. OF. WEIRD. After Boring Robby buys Juliette a trip to Greece, Madisson and her new Dad man walk in, and EVERYONE IS SHOOK. Seriously. The cast is genuinely shocked. Please note their faces when Madisson and Ish waltz into Juliette’s grad party hand in hand. Arguably the most thrown off person of all, of course, is BG. He hastily confronts his former producer, and refers to Ish’s relationship with his ex as a “bag of weird.” Honestly, Brandon, I have to agree with you. And so does literally everyone else in the world.

After Brandon huffs, puffs, and exits, everyone gets over the initial shock of Madisson’s upsettingly old “boy”friend and the episode winds down. But there’s one twist. We learn via Chloe’s texts that Alex is on his way back from Europe. Probably wearing all the luxe clothes Chloe shipped him from Siesta Key. Because who trusts European clothes, am I right? Anyways, something tells me that Boring Robby doesn’t stand a chance once Alex touches down on the Key. But we’ll have to wait until next week to find out.

Fin

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