#the poor posture will always make them more appealing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starrycassi · 1 year

Text

Hate, love, guilt, mothers. Aren't they all synonyms?

You can find part one of this au here, and two here. Also a quick explanation on who's Gloria here. Mild nsfw mention at the end. Like, super mild.

The grounds of the Goldenloin mansion are always breathtaking, it doesn't matter how many times Ballister's been here as a guest, as an intruder, as a knight, as a lover. The gardens are fantastic, and the structure makes him feel so, so tiny.

Standing here, looking at the dining table made for dozens and dozens of people, Ballister can't help but feel out of place. The maid that guided them here is mimicking their pose, right next to them, and Ballister signals to Ambrosius, tugging on his sleeve. There's no need for her to be here, too. She should be free to leave.

Ambrosius gets the memo and dismisses the poor girl, who leaves quietly and quickly. Ballister's skin itches.

In front of them rests a wonderful feast, colorful and appealing, even if some plates are covered with golden silverware, to protect the food from loosing it's flavor, or whatever. He can't help but wonder how many street kids are hungry right now — can't help but remember what it's like, to be alone and lost and begging for a crumb of bread, a sip of water, a simple plate of food and be denied and-

The echo of someone's steps brings him back to the present, and he stares at the woman as she walks in. Captain Gloria limps as she arrives, her golden hair down in a braid that reaches her lower back. She gleams at them, despite the clear pain that every step delivers to her system. Her eyes aren't quite focused.

Ambrosius suddenly goes still, fixing his posture.

The two of them just accept the silence, live in it, for the next couple of seconds. Gloria finally gets to the table and sits down slowly, hissing when she finally does so, reeking of alcohol and a splendid perfume. She's at the head of the chairs, and Ambrosius rounds up the table to sit right next to her. Ballister tries to follow him.

“Don't” orders the woman, her hand suddenly reaching out to grip Ballister's wrist. She tugs on him, making take a seat, too, at her left. Ambrosius stares at him with a questioning look, and he stares back with an even more questioning look. It's his mom that's acting weird, he should know what's going on.

They don't have to figure it out, though, because she explains it soon enough.

“You are not here as Ambrosius's guest, today. You're a suitor. Act accordingly or get out”

Her voice, cold and demanding, takes both of the boys by surprise. Gloria's and Ballister's relationship has never been a specially warm one, but all in all, he's always seen her as a stressed out woman who doesn't really care about anything but her work and her son. Everytime they've been together she's drunk, hurt, on duty, or in a weird combination of those options. She's never been openly hostile or mean to him, so he's left in unexplored grounds when her blue eyes are suddenly fixed on his face, pinning him to his seat and making his head spin with with dread and doubts.

“Mom, there's no need to-”

Ambrosius tries, he really tries, to reason with her. Gloria, who's whole body moves weirdly and limply, suddenly hits the table with her fist closed, and Ambrosius straightens up in his seat, body reacting before his mind does so, instincts ingrained on him urging him to obey and comply to orders, even the unspoken ones.

Ballister knows the look on Gloria's eyes — he's seen it before, only, not on her face — she's not only intoxicated, not merely wounded. She's full of regret, of fury, of pure and unfiltered anger. As soon as that knowledge hits him, he's filled with a strange sense of security, of comfort. She's mad and she's irrational, but he knows the reason of those feelings. She's merely a mother defending her child, a knight defending her loved ones.

Ballister is trying to do the same, and it's refreshing to see his own feelings of confusion and hatred mirrored into Gloria's face. He knows what her anger means, because his blood burns with the same heat, the same intensity.

“I'm sorry, Captain Gloria” he says, slowly and clearly. The nerves he felt all the way here disappear, leaving only his determination, his devotion. Gloria isn't against him. She's against anything that might hurt jer son, and that's a feeling Ballister not only understands, but shares, “It was awfully inadequate of me to act that way. I beg your forgiveness”

She smiles, woobly and unsteadily, at him. She's pleased with his words, clearly. He tries to remember the hours and hours of ranting that Ambrosius blessed his ears with every so often, complaining about stupid protocol lessons that his mother made him take.

“Very well” she nods at him, and he imitates the gesture. He quickly nods at Ambrosius, too, to try and reassure him. This will be okay. It has to.

Ambrosius's shoulders relax just the slightest bit at that, but he smiles, and talks again,

“I'm incredibly hungry, Mum. Why don't we eat before we discuss this, yeah?”

It's always surprising to Ballister, really, how adaptable Ambrosius is. One minute, he's a big dramatic performer for the Queen. The next, he's merely a child with a pleading voice, asking— no, begging, for some peaceful seconds with his mom.

“Yes, the food. Let's eat and talk business, shall we? That's not really an appropriate thing to do, I suppose, but I can make an exception, seeing as how you've had the guts to ask for my son's hand in marriage, cadet”

She claps, and servants lift the coverings. Some of their faces are recognizable to Ballister. Did they live in the same orphanage? Were they friends, and his mind has forgotten?

This is whst he hates about the Goldenloin mansion. This is what he hates about every single noble event ever. He simply resings himself to his fate, a rejected freak to the nobles and a traitor to the commoners. He tries to keep his eyes on the table, tries not to to think about how some of the people working for Ambrosius, serving him, probably have never even tried the kind of feast he's about to have.

Ballister's never been a religious person, but he prays for forgiveness, even if it's merely for a second. He prays for forgiveness, even if it's undeserved.

The steak in front of him suddenly loses its appeal. The nerves are back, just like that. He hates himself for that, for being so brave a second and then a complete coward in the other.

They simply eat, for some moments. Gloria sips her glass of red wine every so often, and both of the boys chew methodically on their steaks. Food is fuel, Ballister tries to remind himself, tasting guilt and shame in every bite, feeling as if he's chewing his own heart; food is fuel, and he needs fuel for this conversation.

That doesn't make the bitterness of the whole situation go away.

“You said you have a plan” accuses Gloria, after washing down a bit of her salad with wine, “but I'm yet to hear anything about it”

Ballister's first instinct is to roll his eyes, tell her that it's her who's been acting all weird and cranky, but he knows better than to go against an older knight, even if she's drunk and injured. She's also his mother-in-law, and he refuses to feed into the stereotype of in laws not getting along.

“The food just distracted us, mom, that's all. It's really good”

Gloria's face softens a bit, and she offers her son a quick sound of agreement.

“Still. I need to know what you two rascals are up to, don't I?”

As if she didn't just violently smash the table, she laughs a bit at her joke, muttering something about teenagers under her breath.

They do their best to explain themselves without setting her off again, Ambrosius providing Ballister with facial expressions that let him know when to shut up and when to keep going. At the end of it, their food is almost gone, Ballister's guilt is almost forgotten, and Gloria looks almost convinced.

"And what do you win, cadet?"

She looks feral, like a lion ready to chew down on it's prey. Ballister refuses to lose against her, not today.

"I get to see my boyfriend be happy. What else could I possibly want?"

Some of the servants seem too moved by his answer to hide their coos, but he doesn't dare look their way, too scared to find out that perhaps that truly are the kids that grew up on his same street, with his same dreams. He keeps his eyes fixed on Gloria's, blue and brown crashing and figthing.

"Sounds like bullshit to me. No one would do all that just for someone else's happiness or whatever"

She shakes her head in disagreement, and Ballister wants to scream at her, tell her that she doesn't know shit about them, that he would walk barefoot into a burning building if it meant saving Ambrosius. He doesn't.

"I don't need anything else" he says, instead, "I only want to make sure that my boyfriend has a choice and-"

"Okay, say you win" interrupts Gloria, looking bemused with him. He hates the way she stares him down like a mere child, "and the interviewer; because this will be televised, that's a no brainer, asks what do you want. What are you going to tell the kingdom?"

He doesn't even hesitate, before answering:

"I would ask for just enough money to pay back my debth with the house of Elpis and the Goldenloin house. Then, for Ambrosius's political allies to be a matter only he can have the final say on. Not you, or me, or anyone else"

She looks at him some more, as if trying to be intimidating. He doesn't budge.

"That is an honest answer" she finally says, nodding, "That's more believable. That, I can accept. I think"

She makes a show of considering things, tapping her index finger to her chin. They keep quiet, waiting for her verdict.

“It's a decent attempt” she concedes, after some seconds of humming to herself. "It's even a good idea"

They both sigh, relieved. She clicks her tongue, and shakes her head, again, like some sort of wet dog, and they feel not so relieved, now.

“But you two are openly... close to one another, right? Everyone knows. Can't do anything if you win and people question us, can we? About your little, well, romance, and all that”

Gloria never really acknowledges the fact that her son is dating Ballister, even if he did come out and confess the secret to her half a year ago, cracking under the pressure of a specially though new years party. It gives Ambrosius some sort of dumb hope, that perhaps his mom might actually start taking his own free will into account and validating his love for Ballister. Even if she always says that that's something she already does.

“We're still trying to figure out what to do with that, Mum”

She laughs some more, making him feel stupid. Ballister looks as confused as he feels when she merely giggles at their faces, gulping down the rest of her drink. A servant refills it immediately.

“You kids are so slow, nowadays” she flaps her hand, rolling her eyes, “a mere fight will be enough. In a public space, obviously. Be nasty about it. My friends and I used to do it when we wanted to get a rise out of our parents. Neat trick”

And, with that piece of advice, she keeps on drinking.

Ambrosius excuses them both out of the table when they're done, leaving Captain Gloria to drunkenly mumble nonsense to herself.

The halls of the mansion are spacious and lonely, so they're able to walk together, holding hands, without a care in the world. Ambrosius has grown up here, was raised here. He knows and trusts the staff to keep a couple of secrets.

“She seems… a bit agitated” Ballister says, softly. Gloria has been a sore spot for their conversations ever since the start of their friendship, and they mostly try to avoid talking about her. But if feels wrong, to be in her house and pretend she doesn't exist.

“She's got a dislocated hip” Ambrosius answers, voice impregnated with pity, “Must hurt a lot. She was distracted with this whole thing and a thief managed to hit her real hard…”

He stares at the floor, but they keep on walking to Ambrosius's bedroom. After lunch, Gloria has practically demanded for them to stay until dinner, arguing that they have already lost most of the day, anyways. Neither one of them dared go against her word.

“I'm happy she's mad. At least I'm not the only one worried about your ass”

“I can assure you, Ballister, your thoughts about my ass are really, really different from her thoughts about it. At least I hope so”

Hip bumping his boyfriend for being an idiot, Ballister blushes a bit. Ambrosius does have a nice body.

“Don't be weird about this, Amber. We're literally talking about you mom”

“No, you are talking about her. I'm talking about people's thoughts on my ass. That's a whole different conversation”

“Not a specially interesting one, I'm sure. Much like your very flat ass”

Ambrosius gasps, offended, just as they reach the doors of his bedroom. He makes a show of dramatically slamming the door, just to open it back again mere seconds later, sticking out his tongue at Ballister before allowing him to come in.

“Keep this treatment up, and I'm actually marrying Todd” he threatens, and Ballister half heartedly pushes him.

“Okay, your ass is not flat. Just… sort of concave. Happy?”

“Not so much. But, alas, I'm not really dating a poet, am I? My heart has chosen you, even with your horrible mistreatments towards my figure”

They laugh at the stupidity of the situation, as if guilt isn't eating Ballister alive, as if Ambrosius isn't worried to death for his mom, as if the world isn't collapsing and burning around them.

They take of their shoes, and get into bed, cuddling with each other almost immediately, used to it after years and years of practice. Ballister rests his cheek on Ambrosius's chest, and they hold hands, tangling their legs. This is incredibly inappropriate to do on Ambrosius's house, with his mom meter away, but everything around them feels so wrong right now that this is the closest they can get to normal.

The events of the last few hours settle in. Panic comes back, alongside with every other emotion that they have been trying to run away from. It's scary, to admit that perhaps they could fail. They could be wrong. Ambrosius understands why his mom seems to be in denial all of the time; it's easier to pretend that something is not happening than to deal with the fact that it is.

The room is quiet. They're just teens.

“I'm nervous”

“Me, too. I'm terrified”

“Yeah. Me, too”

And it's just them, their fears and their breaths, for a second. There's nothing else but them. But reality is always there, waiting, and it comes with paperwork and legalities and many, many other things. It's them against the world, even if they would really, really like to just make peace with everyone and sleep until winter.

To avoid silence — because it comes with too many questions, too many memories, too many reminders — Ballister decides to keep on with their plan, furthering it, and asks, “So, now, we fake fight?”

“I think it's the best choice we have, right? Mom said so”

Ambrosius, always eager to follow Gloria's word, seems to perk up. Ballister feels slightly annoyed, but at least his boyfriend looks a little less like a kicked kitten.

“And what are we figthing about, uh?”

This is scary, too. Yeah, a fake figth. That's something they should be able to manage. But there's some issues, here and there, and perhaps they're just waiting for a chance to come out. This could be that chance. And there's no way they're going to actually live apart from each other, but they have to, right? So it's believable.

“What about something stupid? Like, I don't know, jazz?”

“Ambrosius, you know very well how I feel about-”

To stop his boyfriend from going on yet another campaign of hate against freestyle jazz, Ambrosius gives him a quick kiss on the hair, successfully making him shut up.

“Kay, not jazz. What, then?”

“Let's fight about this. I'll be jealous, you'll scream at me for being jealous, and we'll break up. Call me a selfish insecure asshole, or something”

Ambrosius immediately pants like a wounded animal, frowning. He makes Ballister get up slightly, to make sure he can see his eyes. They're full of love. Pure, solid, love.

“I don't ever want to hurt you, Bal”

Ballister chokes on air, because this isn't fair. Ambrosius is so pretty, resting on the mattress, looking up at him. No one else but him should ever get to see him like this. Specially not some imbecile who thinks figthing for him is enough to get married.

“It's just going to be a play-pretend situation, Amber. I don't wanna hurt you, either, but it's going to be just a couple of days. Then, we're back to normal”

Ambrosius ponders on it, pouting. But he finally nods, agreeing.

“Fine. We're hating each other from now on”

The next time Ballister wakes up, they're back at the Institute, half naked, fused together like a pretzel. Perhaps they got a bit too sentimental when they came back, and perhaps they stole a couple of sips from Gloria's wine reserve. A make out session had been the start of their so called hate, and Gloreth, did they suck at this.

“Ambrosius. Ambrosius, wake up. Ambrosius, fucking move”

With a bit more of force than needed, he shakes his boyfriend, trying to get him to open up his eyes. Ambrosius attempts to do so and also get up, miscalculating, and falling face first to the floor.

Shit.

Hurrying up to help him, Ballister trips, too. The wine is still in their systems, apparently, and it makes them laugh like idiots as soon as their gazes cross.

“Shit. We're supposed to be figthing, Amber”

“I'm pretty sure last night counts as a form of combat. Sword figths, one may call it”

“Shut the fuck up, honestly. Just, for once, shut up”

“Only if you kiss me, babe"

Okay, maybe they aren't suited for a divorce yet. Ballister got up, grunting, and Ambrosius followed suit, if only because the floor is way too cold to be laying on it with nothing but a boxer and shorts on. He smiled at the wall when he managed to stand up on his own two feet, still dizzy.

“What now, Bal?”

Ballister struggled to put his shirt back on, trying to remember where the fuck his shoes where. It was early, still. If he hurried up, he could sneak out without anyone seeing him.

“Dont ask me. This whole thing was your plan. Think, Ambrosius; for the first time in your life, think”

Ambrosius threw the nearest object at his ungrateful boyfriend, and rolled his eyes when the comb impacted against the desk. Turns out his aim gets affected by alcohol. Who could've thought?

“What was that for?!” Hisses Ballister, barely managing to get done with his clothes. Ambrosius's loopy smile only grew bigger at the sight, and he looked so much like his mom, for a second. Just a second.

“We're figthing, love. I think this is how figths are supposed to go, right?”

And he threw a hair cream bottle, that impacted on the wall.

Ballister opened up the door, just in time for the notebook Ambrosius threw to go flying through it. Some cadets were already out, curious about the noise. Ambrosius, drunk and ad impulsive as his mother, grinned with pleasure. Yes, a public fight, indeed.

“And get out!” he screamed, remembering the way his mother looked at him yesterday, feeling the tears burning on the very corners of his eyes, hating her stare and wishing she looked at him more often “I don't want to talk to you ever again, you hear me?!”

A pillow was thrown. Ballister fought down the urge to burst out laughing. This felt so much like a cheap soap opera.

“It's not my fault you're a coward!” He screamed back, wine helping him come up with the words, “Go and die for all I care, Golden Boy! Hang yourself from a fucking tower, I don't give a shit!”

More and more people came in to witness the situation. Had he been sober, Ballister probably would've stopped. He wasn't, though.

“You're so jealous!” Screeched Ambrosius, like he meant it, “You're just jealous of my suitors being way better than you, you prick!”

Ballister kneeled down, picked up the fallen pillow, and threw it right back at it's owner. Ambrosius barely contained his cackles.

“I'll enter the fucking tournament just so I can disown you, Ambrosius! You don't deserve all that money!”

They were losing the plot a bit, but it didn't really matter. A figth is a figth, no matter the reasons.

“Do whatever you want, Ballister! You're never winning, never !”

Next, a sweater came in, balled up, flying. This one actually hit Ballister on the eye, and he had to take a step back, surprised. Ouch.

“We'll see about that, you idiot!”

With a final heated stare, Ballister turned around, bitting down his tongue to dissimulate the giggles.

As soon as he got into his room and locked his door, Ballister opened up his cellphone, already missing his boyfriend's arms. He found a couple of drunken voicemails Ambrosius had already sent his way, and a couple of pictures that matched the vibe of their last night.

Smiling, he got into his own bed, hiding under the sheets. Perhaps intense figths weren't such a bad idea for their relationship, after all.

84 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 1 year

Text

Sleepwalking

Pairings: Jon Moxley x Reader

Warnings: +18

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

🎶You’re the one that I want…

Across the large hall, amid evening gowns and tuxedos, he stood. Those intense blue eyes could not be mistaken by anyone other than himself, and even after two years they still held the same amount of power over her as they once did.

He always had the worst timing. Every time, without fail, he decided to reappear from the ashes like a Fenix after she somehow managed to get a hold of her life once again. A part of her thinks he does this on purpose, he has a silent pleasure in watching her suffer whenever he decides to show up in her life again. Whenever he decides to reclaim her body, her heart pays the price, but not this time.

She crossed the hall towards the dark corner of the room, confident steps guided her to him once more, to what she hoped to be the last time.

“Who let you come in? I don’t recall sending you an invitation” She stated. Her posture was impeccable, back and knees straightened, shoulders back, head never once looking down, hands confidently and delicately placed on top of each other in front of her stomach.

School me to what makes you shake shake it off…

She certainly changed, and that was the first thing Mox noticed when he instantly found her being the center of attention in a crowd of rich people. The confidence that once lacked in her was now abundant enough to be categorized as arrogance, and even from afar, Mox could tell that she had learned how to be one of them. She was incredibly smart and had a certain ease to adapt to the environment she was in, it was one of the qualities he most admired in her. She knew people from different social statuses, attended diverse gatherings and knew how to properly behave in all of them. But that wasn’t what surprised him the most, what did catch him off guard though was the wedding announcement in the gossip column of The New York Times.

“The public announcement was enough of an invitation for me. I didn’t know I would need a formal card asking me to come, although I have a feeling you wouldn’t want someone like me attending your high society party”

“Follow me” She demanded quickly, before turning around and taking the stairs up to the terrace.

Mox cackled as he followed her, his eyes roamed through her figure, drowning in the sight of the only woman who was able to keep him in check. The fancy clothes added to her natural royalty appeal, and that was the first thing that drew his attention to her in that indie wrestling show over 10 years ago: her royal aura. She was the princess that his bad boy self couldn’t wait to get a hold of, the proof that he could achieve something solid, good, and worthy in life even though he barely had money to keep himself alive.

Her heels stopped clicking once they reached the terrace, “Well” She turned around to face him, “What is it that you want this time, Jonathan?”

Though I'm degenerate he's the fool who's going to bore you to death…

“Jonathan?” Mox chuckled “Are nicknames not allowed in your world anymore, kitty? Are they too poor for your upper-class vocabulary?” He continued to stare at her and kept drowning in her beauty. She was still drop-dead gorgeous, only now her doll-like beauty had been covered by heavy amounts of makeup to make her lose her innocent appearance and gain more of a womanly look.

“Nicknames are reserved for friends” She shrugged lightly

“Am I not your friend?”

“You’re an acquaintance, Jonathan. Nothing more, nothing less. Just an acquaintance”

“Hmmm,” Mox hummed, his heavy boots now stomping on the hardwood floor as he took three more steps toward her until he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

“I don’t think acquaintances would do half the things we did, kitty cat”

“That’s in the past now, Jonathan. Things have changed”

“Did they though? Because I’m pretty sure I still have the same effect on you as you do on me” Mox’s fingers traced her exposed collarbone, and the electricity of his touch on her skin continued to be as alive as it ever was. The sparkle was still present, the desire, the attraction, the primal need, and the urge to get intoxicated in each other until nothing else existed survived the years and was as strong as ever.

“You’re wrong” She lied effortlessly as she did so many times before in front of the mirror whenever he abandoned her.

“Am I?” Mox wrapped his fingers at the base of her neck, subtly pulling her closer to his lips. “So you won’t mind if I put your statement to the test?”

He's super rich and privileged

Sleepwalking for so many years

He looks good stock, he seems well bred

Sleepwalking for so many years…

“I don’t have to prove you shit!” She hissed, fists balling beside her in an attempt to keep her anger under control.

A sly smirk plastered on Moxley’s lips upon hearing her small curse. “So there’s still some realness in you even after you sat on the money throne, huh? I knew you wouldn’t let me down”.

“What the hell do you want, Jonathan?”

“You’re not going to do that, are you?” Mox’s lips brushed against hers, his rough voice was low, almost a whisper as his warm peppermint breath caressed her skin. “You’re not going to destroy your life like that, I won’t let you do it”.

“Of course, because only you are allowed to destroy my heart and make my life miserable, no?”

“He’s the one who’ll make you miserable, kitten. I’ve seen his pictures, he doesn’t have what it takes to be with you”

“Says the lying asshole who never kept his promises and abandoned me whenever he had the chance”

“I’ve never done any of that and you know it” Moxley’s fingers teased the pulse point of her neck, he drew small circles on the sensitive flesh until they eventually traveled to her nape. “I never lied to you”.

“You said you loved me”

“I did” Mox tilted her neck back until her eyes could stare up at him.

You're the one that I need…

He laid a tempting peck on her lips before whispering “And I still do”. The intense baby blue eyes stared into her soul, and she could feel herself getting overwhelmed by his presence. Whenever she was with him, Moxley turned her into a shy young girl again, the one who was more than prepared to discover the world with the blonde bad boy.

“I kept all of my promises, even when I didn’t want to. I promised to stay away and I did, I promised to never get in touch with you again, and I kept my word. You didn’t want me anywhere near you again, so I did what you asked me to, even though my instincts told me not to”

“I thought you were going to come after me, Jonathan. But you left!”

“You told me to-“

“I was 21 for fuck’s sake! Do you think I meant any of the shit I said to you? I was just a dumb kid trying to get her boyfriend’s attention! I wanted you to come after me at least once, Jon. For the first time in our relationship, I wanted to feel like you cared enough to ask me to stay, I wanted you to fight for us-” She felt her words being swallowed by Mox’s lips.

His hands cupped her cheeks, fingers traced the hairline in her nape before pulling the metal side comb away from her hair. Moxley’s hands buried into the cascade of locks, reveling in the feeling of having her soft mane in his palms once again.

I'm a degenerate but no fool who's going to bore you to death…

“You always talked too much” He whispered in a teasing tone against her wet lips once they broke the kiss.

“You can’t do this, Jon” Her tongue darted out to taste the remaining flavor of his gum on her lips, “You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it and expect me to drop everything-“

“Come with me, kitty cat” His arms closed around her waist, pulling her closer to his body enough for her to feel his erection pressing against her stomach. “I want you to come with me, you know you want to come with me. You don’t belong here”.

“Jon, please. I can’t do this”

Mox intertwined their fingers and began to pull her towards the fire exit, “Come with me, kitten. I promise you won’t regret it”, was the last thing he whispered before the darkness of the stairs engulfed his figure.

#jon moxley #jon moxley x reader #jon moxley imagine #blackpool combat club x reader #blackpool combat club imagine #blackpool combat club #masochist writes #Spotify

98 notes · View notes

mitz-prompts · 4 months

Text

prompt: spacedogs - pet!play, but this time Adam gets to be the pet

this takes place in a universe where adam and nigel have an established pet!play dynamic where nigel is usually the pet because. um. nigel gets off really fucking hard on the opportunity to be adam's beloved, obedient attack dog. and there's basically nothing in the world more satisfying than feeling owned by adam.

but one day they're like, hey, maybe we should try it the other way around?

but putting adam in the role of the pet opens up a whole other side of it. because for adam it's so much less about the power dynamics and so much more about the sensory experiences.

it takes some time before they can figure out a way for adam to be able to relax into the role without getting taken out of it by the feeling of carpet on his knees, or the feeling of the dog tail butt plug fibers getting sticky, or his back hurting (that last one is less about autism and more about 30 years of poor posture)

but both adam and nigel are game to make all the adjustments necessary to play the game. the novelty of putting adam in that role is really appealing to both of them.

when he DOES get into headspace, he makes for a completely different dog compared to nigel. adam plays along with making noises and grunts and whines instead of words, but where nigel's communication in dog mode is pathetic and eager, adam always seems a little bit playfully annoyed/impatient with his owner. and where nigel would roll over eagerly for a belly rub or butt up his forehead into adam's hand for petting, when adam's the dog, he just reaches out to grab nigel's hand and place it where he wants it.

like adam will lay there on the couch, naked except for the collar and some cute patterned briefs (because he hates when his balls stick to the couch, thank you very much), and he'll just grab nigel's hand and put it on his belly expectantly.

adam can play puppy but he's still running the show and nigel wouldn't have it any other way

nigel's fantasy: puppyboy adam looking cute and eager and loving, begging for kisses and affection, faux innocent and adorable

reality: adam's like "oh, hey, this is just a way that i can be extremely hedonistic about my stims and not feel even a little bit guilty about it because it's a sex game? fun" and then he indulges himself so hard by like. making nigel pet him. licking nigel wherever he wants and also licking soothing chew toys. making nigel pet him some more. blissing out on wearing a plug. rubbing his cock wherever he thinks would feel nice to put it. rolling around naked and flapping and not worrying about maintaining any pretenses because the whole point of this is that he doesn't have to "be human" for a bit!! he can be whatever he wants to be!

like none of those things are things that adam actually needs for day to day functioning, he can satisfy himself with much more appropriate self stims. but if nigel's offering, it's not like adam's going to say no to spending an incredibly indulgent afternoon luxuriating in absolute bodily freedom

tbh the only time the power dynamics really come into play is when it's bath time for puppy and adam's like "that sounds like the worst thing ever, let's not" and nigel puts his foot down. and adam doesn't safeword because like, it's a bath, it's fine, it's just annoying

but it's p sexy to be bathed by nigel and he does enjoy that part. soapy frottage is a plus.

#heu #hannibal extended universe #spacedogs #nigel banyai #adam raki #fic prompt #pet!play #autistic character

12 notes · View notes

desidarling123 · 1 year

Text

If you haven't read this expose already, please do, because it's NUTS.

TLDR; Hasan Minhaj admitted to fully just. Lying. About things that, until recently, he posited as things that actually happened to him.

Some of the craziest excerpts from this article (imo)

But was his invention of a traumatic experience with his child or with law-enforcement entrapment distasteful, given the moral heft of those things, and the fact that other people have actually experienced them? “It’s grounded in truth,” Minhaj said. “But it didn’t happen to you,” I replied.

Dude. DUDE. What the fuck?!?!

There’s a palpable discomfort among comedians when they are asked to comment on another person’s art—a sort of code of omertà. But a number of writers and performers who spoke with me bristled at Minhaj’s moralizing posture. “He tonally presents himself as a person who was always taking down the despots and dictators of the world and always speaking truth to power,” one former “Patriot Act” employee said. “That’s grating.”

Yeah, this always drove me crazy about his style, but now coupled with the truth that he's been making half his shit up? Fucking insidious.

“If he’s lying about real people and real events, that’s a problem,” the writer said. “So much of the appeal of those stories is ‘This really happened.’ ”

Exactly. Hasan's whole claim to fame is being a "truth-teller" so discovering how much of his stories are lies... yikes!

Many stories on the cancellation also mentioned a series of tweets from former female employees of color alluding to their poor work experience behind the scenes. A document reviewed by The New Yorker revealed that three women had hired an attorney and threatened litigation against Netflix and “Patriot Act” ’s production company, alleging gender discrimination, sex-based harassment, and retaliation.

I remember when these came out. My IRL acquaintances did not really believe it, but I definitely felt odd about it. No smoke without fire...

Oh, and this ending fucking FLOORED ME.

When we spoke, I asked, were he to get “The Daily Show” hosting job, if his fabrications could put him in a compromised position when commenting on someone such as George Santos. Minhaj brushed the question off. “I think, when George Santos says he’s on the volleyball team, it’s a pointless story,” he responded. Minhaj’s “fiction” was always in service to a bigger point, putting him in a different moral category than Santos. He appeared unwilling to engage with the idea that his position in the comedic landscape is unique, or that the host of a comedy news show might be held to more stringent standards of accuracy across his body of work. When it came to his stage shows, he told me, “the emotional truth is first. The factual truth is secondary.” ♦

What a bunch of word scramble to justify.... not telling the truth? "Emotional truth", what a load of garbage. It's fucking identical to the same concept "Alternative Facts" the Far-Right was pushing so hard on us just years ago.

As a POC I find this especially rankling because we fight so hard for our stories to be heard... only for some fucking rando to not just co-opt those experiences and traumas, but fully... make them up? And claim them as his own? For clout?!?!?

What a mess. Unlikely to hurt his career (unfortunately) but goddamn.

#hasan minhaj #patriot act #the daily show #us politics

14 notes · View notes

frogspawned · 6 months

Text

this is such incredibly poor reasoning. biden is actively alienating his own party, you know, the thing he needs to have behind him to win, the people who want him to win this fucked up binary of bad options, to appeal to people who absolutely will not vote for him. who cares if they are stirred up! they don't like him anyways! they were never going to be swayed to the left, particularly in the current extremely polarized political climate in the united states. you're alienating your base for ZERO return. why are mainstream democrats always pulling this same tired routine? it has NEVER worked! you're just cutting away your own support, like some idiot sawing at his own rope while dangling over a cliff, because some of the other guy's might slip loose (spoiler they won't).

if trump wants to be the most pro-israel president in history, why are you competing with him for it? let him fucking die on that hill. your actual voters, your staff, the whole fucking world world are all BEGGING you to get off the hill.

"my opponent wants to wear the shit crown, but gosh, his followers -- who hate me viscerally and will never support me under any circumstances -- won't like it if i don't fight for the shit crown. oh well! guess i better wear it first!"

i'm already holding my fucking nose knowing i'm going to have to vote for this joke, because the alternative is the the same but worse! at least i can try to shame biden, and pressure him! we've moved the needle incrementally, and the momentum is building. too slow, but it is. the us abstained for the last UN vote for ceasefire. which is not enough, laughably paltry by any stretch, but at least it's creeping in the right direction. trump's going to continue to fund israel's war machine gleefully, with no hold's barred, if not ramp it up. he will actively enjoy any protest as red meat for his followers. because then he can whinge and posture and puff himself up. biden has an emotional attachment to the idea of israel? who gives a shit joe! maybe one should care more about the reality than the idea, and the reality is undeniable at this point. it's standing stark and naked before the world.

the reality is the united states has poured BILLIONS into a genocide machine who openly celebrates ethnic cleansing. idf soldiers put up selfies and funny tiktoks, and loot the homes of the palestinians they've slaughtered for the crime of existing on land they want. idf snipers target aid workers and doctors and children. they block food and medicine. they blow up trucks of flour. this is not speculation -- even if someone doesn't believe what their own eyes can see, every day, of the horrors pouring out of palestine, then take israel's word for it. they're proud of what their doing. they celebrate it. they snipe old women and beat old men to death, use children as bait for ambulance drivers, tear down homes and temples and mosques and centuries old olive groves then post it for their friends and family to see. they actively corroborate their own war crimes on tiktok.

but because it's easy, because the us has always done it, because it makes money for contractors and makes evangelicals giddy about the apocalypse, we'll just continue to pour anti tank rounds into their hands, missiles, drones, whatever tools they need to """mow the grass"""" in gaza. the military industrial complex has the us in an inescapable chokehold, in every facet of our lives, and god forbid we stop throwing lives and money and blood down the endless money hole. they might stop bombing people if we stop sending them bombs! and then how will israel sell that prime beach front property?

and in a decade we'll wring our hands and coo about what a tragedy it was, how sad, how inevitable, and throw up a fucking memorial in some park so we'll never forget.

#i am so angry i am so fucking angry it feels like my heart is going to tear itself out of my chest i can't fucking take this anymore FUCK #frog croaks

4 notes · View notes

draculasfavoritewife · 1 year

Text

Ashes to Ashes

Summary: Eventually, even the most solemn rituals need to be laid to rest.

Pairing: Emma Frost x Scott Summers

Warnings: Mentions of death, grieving process, literally so much internal angst. Implied smut at the end.

Here's another fic from the depths of my drafts! Scott's PoV is so damn fun to write because he is just so bad at healthily coping with literally everything, my poor traumatized boy. I've always loved how these two have seen each other through their lowest lows and nothing fazes them anymore. They deserve more love <;3

This day comes around every year.

Scott Summers isn’t sure why that fact always surprises him. Years work like that after all, don’t they, cycling around again and again with the same dates and the same occasions.

He retreats inside himself more on this day than any of the others, buries himself in the deadliest Danger Room exercises and pushes his students harder in the classroom. Those who have known him the longest know why he is like this, today of all days. They’ve learned to respect his space and not ask how he is feeling anymore. He doesn’t appreciate anyone’s pity.

Truth be told, he doesn’t even know how he feels on this day anymore. He just knows that he does feel, and that for this day above all others, he wishes he didn’t.

It’s the one day out of the year he envies Emma, with her shining diamond skin and frigid heart, when she can’t feel pain or confusion or love. Normally he tells her he doesn’t understand the attraction of such an alternative.

Now, as he divides his attention between his manufactured enemy and her scintillating figure to his right as she crushes down her own opponent, he can see the appeal.

She smirks at him from atop the smoking pile of rubble that once was a mutant-hunting machine. “I know I’m gorgeous, Scott. You don’t have to stare at me like a starving wolf to prove it.”

He loves her bluntness, her sarcasm. Knows the rest of the team finds her abrasive and difficult to get along with, so why do her scathing tongue and shameless innuendos feel like a cool breeze on a hot day to him?

“I didn’t think my expression changed,” he tosses back, allowing himself the fierce satisfaction of letting his pent-up energy loose, tearing apart the android before him into so much twisted metal.

“It didn’t. But the intention is there.”

Hell, she’s right. She knows him better than he knows himself, cliché as that sounds.

He wonders, with a wave of emotion he can’t decipher, if Emma even knows him better than SHE did.

Session finished for the day, the headmaster and headmistress of the Xavier Institute part ways briefly to shower up. Normally this is a shared activity, but although she is the one person who refuses to tiptoe around him on this day, she knows exactly what today is, and why he might not be up for her company in such an intimate way at the moment. So she leaves him alone with his thoughts for the time being, which may be more curse than blessing.

He wonders, as he studies himself in the mirror through the tinted lenses of his glasses, if SHE would even recognize him anymore. They’ve all changed in the years since she’s been gone. Looking at him, most would say him the least of all. But he knows better.

It goes beyond the brand names on the tags of his shirts, deeper than the scent of the new cologne he likes now, further than the fact that he lets his hair grow out longer than he ever felt was proper before.

He hears the whispers that surround them, translates the subtext that underlies pointed looks and tense postures. They both know what the others say about them, that Emma manipulates him, messes with his head to make him be with her. That’s the best of the rumors — the rest are much more crass. He ignores them, because they couldn’t be further from the truth.

Scott is a sadder and wiser man than he was years ago, with a different outlook on things. He’s jaded, lost a little bit of that idealistic nature which so defined him for the first couple of decades he lived here. And Emma Frost understands that, in a way none of the others ever will.

As if his brooding thoughts have summoned her — always a possibility — she appears in his doorway, purse slung over her shoulder and car keys dangling from her slender fingers. “Come on, Mr. Summers. I’ve grown tired of your moping. We’re going out.”

“We are?” She’s taken him by surprise. He sounds dumb, asking it like that. She isn’t making a suggestion, she’s stating fact.

“Yes. We are.” She stares him down in the mirror. “I’m going shopping, and you will enjoy yourself. And then we are taking a miniature vacation.”

“Vacation?! Em, I can’t just up and leave with no warning —”

“Shush.” Her flawlessly manicured fingertip closes his lips. “You can, and you are. It’s one night, Scott. Dinner and a hotel room. I’ve taken care of reservations already, and you do know how I hate to cancel things like this.”

He knows, all right. He wouldn’t be so good at things like giving back rubs and painting a woman’s nails if he hadn’t needed to apologize to her for making her cancel so many times before. He can’t think of a better reason to refuse than saying he just wants to sit in the dark and simmer in his ambiguously mingled grief and anger all night, and she won’t take that as an excuse.

She probably wants a better partner in bed than that, too.

So he nods and packs an overnight bag and follows her on her spontaneous trip downtown. Though with Emma, things are rarely spontaneous. This is a premeditated move, and he is at a loss for exactly what she is trying to accomplish.

If her aim is simply to get his mind off what today means to him, she succeeds. Scott ponders his partner at every stop they make. Sometimes it frustrates him, that she continues to hold up her rich girl image, treating most people as if they are beneath her as she speeds her immaculate white car past the common folk like a runaway goddess. But it makes her love that much more special to him. It’s intoxicating, that she only shows her true colors around him. He’s seen her cry, seen her motherly affection for the students in their care despite her insistence she’d be a terrible mother, felt how deeply she is in love with him, despite his many flaws. Yes, she’s imperfect, but instead of that fact pushing him away, he adores how she owns her imperfections, wearing them on her sleeve as beautifully as she wears everything else.

She models her new purchases for him, back at the hotel, and he is struck once again by how confidently she carries herself, especially when wearing next to nothing. He told her once that he wished he had half of her self-assurance, and still remembers how she laughed him off, saying confidence is as much of an illusion as anything she could plant in someone’s head.

Does she know how much that simple piece of advice has helped him since?

Dinner is wonderful. He can’t remember the last time it was just the two of them alone, without the surrounding backdrop of stares and disapproval, and it feels good. She’s a genius, and he’s always known that, but he never gets tired of how it makes her smirk whenever he realizes that anew.

They’re on the balcony outside their suite now, half-empty champagne flutes in hand as they watch the sunset. The sky is on fire, he thinks, and it reminds him of another time, years ago, when the sky caught fire and he lost someone who was very important to him at the time.

It is, after all, the anniversary of the day SHE died.

Emma sighs beside him, her gaze firmly fixed on the bubbles in her drink. “Some people find it healthier to talk about what troubles them, Scott.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” he answers simply. “It’s been so long and not long enough all at once. I can’t tell anymore whether I’m still grieving, or if this is more of a ritual for me now than anything else.”

“You’re afraid of the answer either way,” she observes.

Scott supposes that’s true. He’s never let go of things easily, nor does he handle change well. But he knows change is good.

Maybe it’s finally time to move on.

“The past has had its time in the sun,” she adds. “It’s not a sin to enjoy the present without it weighing you down.”

That makes him think. He’s always so wrapped up in himself on this day every year, that he hasn’t really thought about how it affects her. And he sees through her occasional bitter comments and accusations, that for all her projected ego, she still thinks she isn’t good enough for him. She’s afraid he’s more in love with a dead memory than the gloriously imperfect queen who shares every aspect of his life in the here and now.

He’s been selfish.

So he talks about it, and she’s the only one he’d ever express any of this to.

“I did love her,” he recalls, and he realizes with curiosity that he’s used the past tense. “But with hindsight, we rushed into it. She was my first crush, and even once we were serious, a part of me thinks I was still a schoolboy emotionally. It took me so long to realize that we’d been together through our whole adolescence, and neither of us knew who we were without the other. I used to think that was a good thing, to be defined by someone else.”

“I know the feeling.” Emma’s tone is chilly, and he knows some of the names she’s thinking of. Names that have no place on either of their tongues, and so remain unsaid.

“It’s funny,” he says after a moment of solemn silence. “You’re the only person who can make me spill my guts like this, you know that?” He pauses before continuing. “You challenge me, Em. You’re the one that forced me to relearn myself. I don’t know where I would be without you.”

“Drunk in a dive bar somewhere, no doubt. Possibly sleeping in the gutter.”

He has to laugh at that. Not many people make him laugh, but Emma’s brand of dark humor seems to do so more often than most. And she might be correct.

She raises her glass. “To Jean.”

It’s a simple gesture, a two-word sentence she says nonchalantly, almost carelessly, and Scott is no telepath, but he can feel how painful it is for those two words to pass the threshold of her shapely lips. And he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more.

“To the present,” he replies firmly, touching his own glass to hers. “And to what’s really important.”

They embrace, almost savagely. She kisses him, teasing his patience until his self-control lapses and he catches at her bottom lip with his teeth.

“There you are,” she purrs, hooking a long nail under the collar of his shirt. “Let’s do this somewhere more private, shall we?”

He follows her inside, only too happy to oblige.

Much later, as they lie tangled together in the dark, he reflects on the relationship they’ve built. There is a fundamental difference between what he has with Emma and what he once shared with the redheaded girl who used to rule his thoughts.

It is, perhaps, best illustrated by how they each handled having a lover with his unique curse. Jean loved him despite the fact that he must always wear lenses over his eyes. She didn’t need to see all of him to love him, and as an insecure teenage boy, that meant the world to him.

Emma insists on removing his glasses whenever they have a moment, her diamond body the perfect answer to the devastating energy that his eyes pour out incessantly. She is not only safe from his destructive power, she willingly takes it inside her just so they can share a few moments of eye contact without obstruction, without any barrier between them.

He asked Jean once, if he could look at her without his glasses. He still remembers how she used her telekinetic abilities to hold back the raging flood from his eyes so that he could. It’s a fitting metaphor.

He had to hold back for Jean.

Emma lets him be nothing more or less than himself, even if that means he’s angry or selfish or stubborn. Just like with his eyes, she can take whatever he can dish out, and only asks for his authenticity in return. She sees all of him, unadulterated, and loves him because of his flaws, his humanity, not in spite of them as he once thought.

He hugs her closer, his head resting on her stomach, her fingers stroking through his hair. “I love you,” he murmurs against her skin.

“And I love you, Darling. What are you thinking about?”

“Em, I’m thinking I really needed this, and a vacation might not be such a bad idea. Just you and me — travel for a week or two, hit up some of our favorite haunts —”

“I’m glad you finally came to that conclusion on your own, Lover,” she interrupts. “Because I already took the liberty of booking a couple of places in Europe with that very aim in mind. You need to get away and have a good time for a bit.”

“You scheming minx.” His voice warms with affection. “We can take the Blackbird, too, so you won’t have to endure anything as lowbrow as waiting for security checks at an airport.”

“Mmm. Lovely idea. You do know I find Maverick Pilot Scott a real hot turn-on.”

“Then that’s settled. Kiss me, Emma?”

She does, and Scott realizes that, much as he hates being played, he really doesn’t find it at all unpleasant if Emma is the one behind the game.

#scott summers #emma frost #emmascott #cyclops #white queen #xmen #romance #angsty #healing #hurt/comfort #i love them your honor #favorite ships #ireallylikewritingsadmenlol #these two are everything #they will be the death of me #jean grey

19 notes · View notes

kc5rings · 2 years

Note

okay i need to know what you think monique gets up to

Oh that’s a good one

Monique is an interesting character but given what we know about her and her life so far, I have to go with praise kink and petplay, but specifically as a dog, never as a cat.

In pup play you do what you’re told, in a way where you do not have to think or rationalize anything, and when you do well, invariably you get praised. It’s not hard to see how that might appeal to someone who’s always passed over for others who put in less effort than her, or who happen to have the noble blood she lacks.

It’s simple, transactional and in her mind, fair. You do well, even excel and are rewarded for your efforts, all things she is often denied in her day to day.

Poor weather. Rain and high wind. Terrible for shooting but covered reentry into the city well.

Mission. Standby in safehouse for the next week. Rendezvous with Roy just before the Major begins. Details from Darksteel to follow.

Mood. Frustrated and stressed.

Monique sighed and tossed her bags onto the waiting bed, moving quickly to close any curtains or blinds available. She wasn’t a serene person at the best of times, but being in back in Kazimierz, so close to them, made her that much more twitchy.

Obscuring the sight lines of the small apartment she’d been allocated helped alleviate her paranoia, but did little for her stress. After a moment drumming fingers on the counter she crossed back over to her bag. She had the time, and she needed a clear head for what was coming next.

Tac harness, gear removed and strap arrangement modular.

Two wireless comms units, a primary and backup. One for each ear.

Gloves with reinforced padding at the wrists and knuckles

Reinforced, slim profile knee pads

Extra leather band of a thigh holster, settled just behind sharp canines and secured at the nape of her neck.

And…

Monique had stripped down to only her leggings, mentally cataloguing each item as she pulled them from her bag and slipped them on. None of it would raise any flags to prying eyes, all individually justifiable for someone in her line of work.

Except, what came last.

Deep inside one of her bags, in a carefully concealed pocket buried under meticulously organized arrow shafts and spare bowstrings, was a collar.

Blue leather with shining silver studs, Monique’s mouth always went a little dry when she buckled it firmly around her neck. The addition of the collar transformed the rest of the outfit from a severely paired down mash of tactical gear, into something much more evocative. It helped get her mind in the right place, feeling oddly safe despite how little she was actually wearing.

Reaching up to the column of her neck, Monique pressed in on one of the studs, in response the comms in her ears crackled to life before settling in to a clear, synthesized but vaguely feminine voice.

“Session beginning, please assume proper waiting posture.”

Monique smoothly dropped to her knees, leaning forward to rest some of her weight on the padded knuckles of her gloves, focusing on slowing her breathing and settling into her role.

According to its programming the voice would be back after a randomly generated time between 5 and 20 minutes, the owner of the shop she’d bought it from had proudly informed her that for an extra fee she could have the voice be any number of famous competition knights, noting that the Candle Knight and the Black Knight were both popular choices.

The very idea of one of those pompous, spoiled, glorified show ponies in her ear nearly put Monique off the toy entirely, but in the end it had come home with her. Given how often she’d used it since, she had to concede that taking it had been the right choice.

“Hello puppy, time for your walk.”

Monique stiffened as the voice hummed back to life, knowing well what was expected of her, she began to make a circuit around the room on all fours, being sure to keep her head down and her pace even. Letting her mind drift, all she needed to do was what she was told.

“Good puppy, now stay.”

Monique abruptly came to a halt, the praise sending a shiver down her spine, teeth clenching slightly on the leather in her mouth in anticipation.

“Sit.”

Monique sat back on her haunches, back straight and head up, hands or “paws” on the ground in front of her. Sensors and accelerometers built into the studs of the collar feeding back her position and response time to the automated voice.

“Good puppy.”

Feline tails weren’t really meant to wag, and a tail plug was obviously, redundant. But Monique nevertheless approximated a show of her excitement, even if the act sent a flush of embarrassment up the back of her neck.

“Speak.”

Monique would have cursed if she could have, the orders were always randomized but this one was always hard when it came early, before her mind had settled into the haze of submission, the cycle of obedience and praise. She hesitated.

“Speak puppy.”

The program wouldn’t move on until she complied, and after too many repeated orders going unheeded it would automatically shut down. Monique chewed on the belt between her teeth, eyes screwing shut as she tried to drag any sound up from inside her, thinking of all her frustrations borne over this assignment so far welling up inside her and sticking in her throat.

“Speak puppy. Now.”

She needed this, ending now would just pile this onto all the other little annoyances that she was trying to relieve, making getting back in the mood almost impossible, she just needed to-

“Speak pupp-“

Awuf!

It was humiliating, embarrassing and infuriating, but she did it, she followed the command, being sure to be loud enough for the collars mic to pick it up past her makeshift gag. She had done it, regardless of how hard it had been or how it felt, she had done what was asked of her.

“….. that’s my good girl, Good Puppy.”

Monique melted, finally pushing herself over the edge and tumbling down into the comfortable cycle of the voices commands and it’s praise, the preprogrammed routine putting her through her paces.

“Sit.”

“Stay.”

“Lay down.”

“Roll over.”

“Beg.”

“Good Puppy.”

Good Puppy.

The session only lasted an hour or two, though for Monique it felt like an age and all too short at the same time. Regardless of how long it had been, when she finally crawled in to bed, body warm from exertion and mind pleasantly empty. Monique slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

#NSFT #my writing #this one ain’t going in the tag #I had a good time but MAN did it get out of hand lmao #also only sparse editing we write on impulse in this house

23 notes · View notes

pugh-bug · 3 years

Text

Scott Lang x Reader Chapter 13

This chapter follows directly on from chapter 12 I REALLY need to make a master list I know. Ended up way longer than I expected but I hope you enjoy! :)) and let me know if you want to be added to my tag list <3

Warnings: smut, age gap, swearing as fucking always

‘Oh fuck,’ his eyelids fluttered as he rode into you. You wanted to take his shirt off and take all of him in but the pleasure was keeping you lay down. Scott felt your walls tightening as you struggled to decide where to look and what to do with your hands. He seemed to sense the indecision because in a surprisingly wholesome twist, Scott’s hand found its way in your hair before caressing your cheek. All you could hear was both of your heavier breaths matching each other’s rhythms. You’d known before (and of course said before) that you loved Scott but having him look at you with such compassion in bed made you know for certain.

You both let the pause continue but Scott’s impatience was obvious, despite him trying to hide it for your sake. ‘You’re wearing too many clothes,’ you finally said before smirking up at him. The atmosphere took an instant shift as the two of you fought with the fabric and felt it rip off of his chest. And oh fucking hell was the sight of Scott shirtless a treat. You knew he worked out, Tony had a gym everyone used for training, but you never knew he had actual ab muscles. Scott chuckled as he watched you stare at them in awe. Fuck fuck fuck. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

Scott’s finger below your chin guided your gaze back to his green eyes. There was no hesitation after that. As the two of you kissed with lust filled ferocity, you postured up and pushed down on Scott’s shoulders so you could sit in his lap. You tried to continue devouring each other’s taste but the sound that slipped from you as you sank down onto him was pornographic and distracting as hell. You rode him slowly because after such a long wait why not tease him? He could have made this happen ages ago. Selfish of him really.

‘Jesu-fuck Y/N,’ the poor man struggled to keep his head facing you and not back looking at the ceiling. ‘You feel amazing,’ you couldn’t help but beam at his praise. After spending so many nights touching yourself to the fantasy of riding him, having it happen in real life was overwhelming. His large hands gripped your waist while you continued your torment of slowly filling yourself up and down. You didn’t want this to just become another memory in the past that would never happen again. Scott’s firm hands digging into your waist brought you away from the nagging thoughts. ‘Fuck you’re so tight.’ He felt so good it was driving you insane. As he hit your g-spot dangerously slowly you let out a whine.

‘You..can go,’ he already sounded wrecked which made you smug as anything. ‘Faster than that Y/N.’ His eyes were closed but you were determined to keep yours open to look at his face. The obvious pleasure he was feeling. You decided to oblige him and speed up, never once did his cock grazing your g spot not send wonderful shivers down your spine. Your face felt hot- your whole body was on fire.

It was your turn to throw your head back. No one had made you feel as high as Scott, not even close. The man was fucking addictive.

All you could focus on was the full feeling you had in your stomach, Scott’s wrecked voice and his firm grip on your waist. Part of you wished they were around your neck. Maybe next time. ‘Scotttttt….’ you moaned. He fucking adored hearing you moan and hearing you say his name was going to send him over the edge. You wanted to see it. With desperate, yet shaky hands, you thought about crawling his back but it felt forced for a moment. Once again he sensed your minor uncertainty and handled it for you. ‘Come here,’ his voice was husky but breathless as he pulled you into a kiss while you rode him faster and faster.

Your walls were tightening and your toes began to curl on the bedsheets but you felt a sudden impulse to move so you pulled him on top of you. It broke the kiss but it meant on Scott’s next thrust you felt him even deeper and a prolonged moan left your open mouth as you came. Your eyes closed and your body jerked and writhed underneath Scott’s panting chest. He didn’t move for a moment, completely lost in witnessing you enjoy every second of your orgasm. It hit you in waves that felt endless for a moment before your entire body stopped its uncontrollable writhing that pushed Scott over the edge.

He came inside you and, for a moment, almost lost balance. You were so in shock from the huge mass of pleasure you’d just felt that your chest was rising and falling heavier than it did after a run. That orgasm had hit you like a brick. You struggled to sit up as you felt Scott, to your surprise, move down your body. How did he have any energy left? You were exhausted.

One more feeble attempt to sit up was not needed because Mr Scott Lang had decided to surprise you by inserting his fingers in your pussy and smugly licking your clit. Without the much needed warning. ‘Ah- too sensitive!’ You squealed, backing away from Scott on the bed to escape. He was definitely amused. ‘You okay over there?’ Wow. After the sounds he had made?! He was going to make you out to be overwhelmed? However his confident side made you wet and you were not one to complain after sex so:

‘I’m great.’ You smiled coyly and closed your legs as if you weren’t leaking his cum all over the bed and just there to talk. Scott smiled and made his way back over to you like a panther on some sort of sick hunt. ‘You’re trouble.’ He responded, almost judging but still humorous. When you didn’t respond you saw his face change to show some insecurity about his actions. ‘Are you already regrett-‘

‘I regret not getting you to slam me against a wall to be honest.’ You hugged your knees, your breath had returned to normal and you were grinning at Scott like a cat that had gotten its own way. Finally.

‘Well shit,’ he paused with his hand on his forehead and a raise of his eyebrows. ‘That can be arranged.’

Yes but not now, you thought, too tired for that. Must sleep. Must lie down.

The bed, despite being wet, was so inviting and Scott following your lead and wrapping his arms around your waist even more so. You felt safe next to him. At peace. You heard Scott’s breathing normalise but neither one of you spoke. There was no awkwardness like you’d feared and apart from the horrible intrusive thought ‘Am I better or worse than his ex wife’ you felt calm and… happy. Really happy. Tentatively, Scott’s hands found themselves stroking your hair. He ran his fingers through it gently and you smiled and closed your eyes. The smell of sex had filled the room but your arousal was somehow being overpowered by the calm. And there was one question you were curious about.

‘How long for you?’

You expected a brief silence or atleast a ‘Huh’ due to your vagueness but Scott just knew exactly what you’d meant.

‘Atleast a year,’ you quietly turned to face him so he knew he had your full attention. ‘But I really knew when you came to comfort me, on my anniversary.’ You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows and scoff. ‘You mean when I came to annoy you on the roof?’ Scott’s smirk grew into a full grin at you. ‘And why is that so surprising?’ To be quite honest you’d felt like an intrude that night and not much help to him at all but it was nice to know he felt differently. He looked so pretty lay opposite you, your hands found their way into his hair ruffling it even more. ‘I don’t know.’ You lied.

‘What about you?’ It was his turn to play with your hair again. Oh that was easy. Too easy. ‘First day I met you,’ it was growing harder to look Scott in the eye as you admitted it. ‘I kept thinking about y- I only ever asked you dumb questions as an excuse to talk to you until- well until we were friends.’ He was listening intently which you were not used to men doing. “Were?” Scott questioned knowingly, he waited for your response and you could practically see his ego growing by the second. Of course ‘were’.

‘Well would you call this friendship?’ You laughed, gesturing to the two of you in bed slightly sweaty from moments earlier. After a second too long for your liking passed your eyes widened at the sight of Scott’s hoodie on the floor. You’d forgot he’d brought it with him and it looked comfy as anything. ‘Hold on I’ve always wanted to do this,’ you grinned excitedly like a little kid and Scott watched you in amusement. Struggling for a moment, you pulled the black hoodie over your head (because your hair wasn’t messy enough already) and gestured proudly to your new (stolen) outfit. It smelt like him which just made you giddier.

‘You’ve never slept with a guy and stolen his hoodie before?’ Scott raised his eyebrows clearly not believing you or understanding the appeal. ‘They’ve been out the fucking door too fast.’ You shrugged trying not to let that harsh fact sink in. Oh well. You were feeling good now at least. Scott frowned but once again you couldn’t help but not wait for his reply- just in case it hurt you in some way and brought your high down. ‘Kinda hungry not gonna lie.’ You hadn’t even eaten yet but that wasn’t what you were really thinking about as you stood over Scott as he sat on the bed.

Slyly, he ran his calloused hands under his hoodie and up your torso making you gasp. He couldn’t help but grin at the strong reactions you had to his mild touches. Deciding to really tease you, Scott’s hand traveled down to your pussy so he could finger you but being overstimulated you whined and grabbed his wrist. The man just thought you sounded pretty. ‘Fuck- you’re dripping sweetheart.’ You grinned once again at his words and clenched your thighs together. ‘Who’s fault is that?’

Tags: @supraveng @thottio @wandamaximoffshoe @aliceblxck @merleisapartygod @brianmayscurls

#marvel #marvel fandom #paul rudd #scott lang #fan fic writer #antman #scott lang x reader smut #scott lang slow burn #scott lang x y/n #scott lang smut #scott lang fanfiction #scott lang x reader #x reader #smut #riding #antman x reader #antman smut #marvel x y/n

180 notes · View notes

angelictaehyun · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: richboy!kang taehyun x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: He’s been a pain in your ass since you began working at the club. He’s arrogant and insanely wealthy, and you’re struggling to simply pay tuition. Needless to say, it’s not quite the match made in heaven… or so it seems.

WC. 11,200+

GENRE: rich kid au, country club au, e2l au, crack, fluff

WARNINGS: mild language, illegal activity, y/n’s an actual dumbass, and taehyun’s kind of a dick lol

You repeatedly tapped your pen against your sticky, worn checkbook, awaiting a response from the refined, old lady sitting comfortably under a patio umbrella. You, on the other hand, felt the scorching heat of the summer sun against your back, making you sweat uncontrollably—you could only hope you didn’t resemble a drenched pig. The woman eyed you, a bit too judgmentally for your liking, before pointing her perfectly manicured nail at the menu in her hand, “I want this pasta, but make it gluten-free. Throw in another iced tea, too… extra lemon, of course!”

You winced at her shrill voice.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, all of our pasta is made from flour,” you explained patiently. Her right eye twitched. You were an obstacle in her way of getting what she desired, she was angry. Lovely. However, above all, she was confused, “Just tell the chef to make it without flour, let him know it’s a special request. I don’t see the issue.”

“Ma’am, I’m telling you… there’s no way to make it without flour, we just don’t have the type of noodle you want in house.”

She drummed her hand on the table, absolutely fuming. She glanced at you like you kicked a puppy, it was absolutely infuriating. She grasped for nothing as her brain formulated any response, “This is outrageous! I want to speak with a manager. Now!”

You sighed, “Gladly.”

It was astounding, truly, the lack of self-awareness and consideration some people had... or, didn’t have. You wished, so badly, to tell them off, but you desperately needed the cash. After all, college wouldn’t pay for itself and the bills piling on your coffee table wouldn’t just magically disappear. You swiftly turned around and trudged away, scanning the vast garden for your manager, Yeonjun, but unsurprisingly, he was nowhere to be found. You’d known him long enough to assume he was hiding in the manager’s office, his poor attempt to flee from the overbearing, entitled crowd. How he scammed his way into a managerial position, a position of authority… that was beyond you.

You were halfway across the floor, pushing past another server when you felt an intense stare land on you. You halted in place, knowing exactly who the gaze belonged to. You glanced at the table stationed in the far corner of the garden, instantly meeting his piercing stare. He eyed you shamelessly, a signature habit of his, before throwing you a smug grin. You weren’t going to kid yourself, he wore the smirk well.

Too bad he was a pompous ass.

Kang Taehyun. You hated saying his name, it humanized him and he was anything but human. Rather, he was an evil, irritating demon spawn simply disguising himself as human. And the cherry on top? He was the absolute bane of your existence.

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but you didn’t necessarily want to. He opened his mouth to call you over, but much to your dismay, decided against it and instead rose from his seat to saunter over to you. You tried fleeing the scene the millisecond he stood up, but the elderly lady directly in front of you shuffled quite slowly, blocking your exit and trapping you in place. You tapped your foot impatiently as he approached you.

“You look… sweaty,” he observed, chuckling at your less-than-appealing state. Truth be told, though he didn’t like admitting it to himself, he thought you looked beautiful.

“Taehy—” he forcibly cut you off by landing his slender finger on your lips. You ignored the spark you felt from the small contact. He let his gaze travel to your Cupid’s bow momentarily, a part of him wanting to kiss your frown away.

“Ah, not Taehyun,” he reminded you smoothly. You considered biting his finger off, but you prided yourself on your outstanding professionalism. Granted, it significantly dwindled every time you spoke to him.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled monotonously. “Mr. Kang… if you don’t remove your hand from my mouth, I will shove a menu so far up your ass, you’ll choke,” you snapped, a pretty smile adorning your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Your customer service and approachable personality never fail to amaze me,” he stated, drawing his finger away from you. He continued despite the growing, fiery rage in your eyes, “I’d like another fork, mine’s a bit dirty.”

“That’s your problem. I’m not your waitress, I have my own customers to deal with, so if you don’t mind…”

He completely disregarded your subtle plea for him to leave. “For your information, I’d much rather prefer you as a server and not him,” he admitted, throwing a spare glance at his server—Hyunjin, if you were guessing from the blond hair.

“That’s too bad…” you trailed as you mustered up the fakest sympathetic pout you could. You continued, “Anyways, I really hate to cut this short, but I’d better get going. I’m sure you’ll survive with your fork. You probably won’t get tetanus, but fingers crossed.”

“Yeah, best of luck with Cinderella’s stepmom,” he mumbled, gesturing to your awaiting customer. He flashed you a confident wink before whirling around and returning to his seat. You scoffed, your lips tilting downward into an ugly grimace. The snapping sound from a couple of feet away brought you out of your disgusted daze. The lady you had spoken to was repeatedly snapping her fingers in an attempt to grab your attention. You were met with an expectant gaze when you directed your focus back on her. She was poised, her spine in perfect posture and hands folded properly across her lap; her body language exhibited no sign of emotion until you reached her watchful glare, clearly telling you to hurry along. You inhaled sharply before plastering on a fake smile. You resumed your hunt for Yeonjun, but once again, you felt the weight of a cocky stare land on your back.

He was challenging you, silently. You knew it. Unfortunately for him, you had no interest in playing his silly, childish game, so you clenched your jaw and walked away.

· ──────────────────── ·

As odd as it was, you and your best friend had a favorite bench. It sat a block from the country club and in the middle of a hidden, rugged park, but it was your safe space; it’d been your favorite place since you both found it in fourth grade. After every grueling shift, Kai would meet you on the bench with dinner. The food was almost always inedible, but you weren’t there for his cooking, rather his company. He was already perched on the bench, kicking at a pebble beneath his feet. He heard you approach but kept his focus on the fascinating rock.

“God, took you long enough, I’ve been here forever. I started to think you ditched me for one of those rich boys,” he complained. When you didn’t retort with a snarky comeback like you normally would’ve, he turned from his spot and glanced at your disheveled figure, immediately letting out an obnoxious laugh.

You looked like shit.

Your hair was a disaster, the wisps of hair framing your face no longer considered stylish, but rather unkempt and as Kai liked to put it, “homeless-like.” Not only did you look bad, you felt unclean. The sweat behind your knees was quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky and your mascara was rubbing off, making you look like a rabid raccoon.

Despite all that, you were happy to see Kai, his bubbly personality never failed to cheer you up—but you’d never let him be privy to that.

You shot him the nastiest glare you could muster, but that proved difficult considering the little energy you had left.

“Aw, Y/N…”

“I’m going to quit, I swear to God. If I have to hear one more soccer mom complain about her salmon being too fishy, I’m going to have to start perfecting my mugshot pose,” you grumbled through clenched teeth. He made a noise of disagreement, “Let’s not throw your ass in jail just yet. Orange makes you look like a traffic cone.”

You shot him an indignant glare, “Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Anyways, I made us some hamburgers and managed to grab some extra soda cans before leaving home. So bone app the teeth or whatever.”

You snorted. He always brightened your mood, just a simple sentence could lift your sad spirit. You had to give it to him, the burger looked pretty appetizing… but you’d learned that with his cooking, much like anything else, appearances can be quite deceiving. Despite this, you inhaled your burger, ignoring the fact that the meat was undercooked and the mayonnaise was likely expired. You paid no attention to the fact that your soda was lukewarm and flat—you sipped on it regardless. Your mind was elsewhere, easily drowning out whatever Kai was ranting about.

“... I know you probably had a bad day ‘cause of your boy,” he observed quietly.

You snapped your focus back, “My boy?”

“Yeah, your boy. The one you think is a self-righteous prick, but secretly think is really hot. Hm, what was it… Terry? Tyler? Taeyong?... Oh, I got it. Trash can.”

You scoffed, “Taehyun, most certainly, is not my boy. I can’t stand him. His head is so far up his flat ass, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.”

Kai nodded in feigned understanding. He tilted an eyebrow quizzically before opening his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“And I don’t think he’s cute!”

“... And I’m Beyoncé.”

You didn’t respond, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you let out a small noise of disagreement before resting your head on his broad shoulder, contently sipping on your warm soda. He knew how tired you were; everyday he watched you wear yourself down to practically nothing, it hurt him. He leaned his head against your own, placing a hand atop your thigh and squeezing reassuringly. You allowed yourself to relax, breathing in the humid, summer air. You stayed like that until he let out a small laugh.

“Let’s rob him,” Kai suddenly suggested. He was joking, obviously, but you still perked at the idea. You turned to face him expectantly, straw loosely hanging from your mouth. He visibly retracted, “Jeez, Y/N, I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“… I’m not robbing someone.” He threw you a cautious glare before aggressively taking a large bite of his burger and chugging his flat soda. You were losing your mind, he was sure of it. You poked curiously, “So I’m assuming your stance on graffitiing is the same.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line before letting out an exasperated sigh, “Obviously.”

You turned away, sulking, and he couldn’t help but snicker. You were his best friend and had been since second grade, but if he said he didn’t think you were a dumbass, he'd be lying.

“Come on, it’s time to get you home, you have an early shift tomorrow,” he reminded suddenly, mouth still full. You smacked his arm, disgusted by his lack of basic manners. He opened his mouth to showcase all his unchewed food.

You gagged.

“You’re disgusting!” you screeched, shuffling away from him. He chased after you, catching you almost immediately. His long legs made it easy. He effortlessly tossed you over his shoulder, ignoring your squirming, and carried you to his car, “Hush, I know you love me.”

“Gross. Never.”

He slapped the back of your calf and you squeaked, “Kai! Put me down! Now!”

“No, not until you say it. Make it believable, too.”

He wasn’t joking, you knew that. Eleven years of friendship and he was still as shameless as the day you met him. More so, if anything. Yes, his eight-year-old self was quite the charmer. You grumbled monotonously, “Kai, what can I say… you’re the light of my life, my hero, my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Probably die. I love you, I guess.”

“Too sarcastic, but it’ll do,” he conceded. He set you down and held in a laugh. Your hair looked even worse than before. He slung an arm around your shoulder, “Okay, get in the car. Hurry. I’d rather not listen to you complain about your lack of beauty sleep… again.”

· ──────────────────── ·

You mindlessly typed in a complicated order as Yeonjun watched your gaze drift over to the garden.

“You’ve pressed that button so much, the console’s probably broken. Cool it,” he reprimanded gently. Your attention snapped back to the screen which was littered with incorrect orders.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what has me so distracted today,” you mumbled sheepishly. He chuckled and gave you a comforting nudge on the shoulder, “I think I know exactly why.”

Your gaze followed his and instantly landed on Taehyun. As much as you hated to admit, he looked good. Great, even. It looked like he’d just walked out of a rager, especially with his tie undone and shirt untucked, which he pulled off beautifully. His hair was slightly disheveled and you suddenly had the strongest urge to run a hand through it.

Your eyes widened at the sudden thought and you aggressively shoved it to the back of your mind. “I don’t like him!”

“I never said you did.” he argued, suppressing a mirthful grin. Yeonjun reminded you of Kai, especially with his insistence on your attraction to Taehyun, or as you believed, lack thereof. He continued, “Just a reminder, though. The line between love and hate is so, so thin.”

Rather than responding and saying something that would surely get you fired, you huffed and turned your focus back on the order, unaware of your aggressive punching on the console’s screen. You were already having a rough day, but everyday spent at the country club was considered less-than-stellar. Yeonjun gave you a reassuring smile before sulking off to deal with another whiny, overbearing customer. You unconsciously let your gaze travel back over to Taehyun and was instantly met with a genuine smile, just not one directed to you. He laughed at a joke, oblivious to your longing and thank God, if he caught you staring, you’d never hear the end of it. His smile was just so pretty, you couldn’t help but feel giddy. Sure, you hated him—that’s what you told yourself—but you could appreciate a handsome face. As if on cue, Taehyun turned in your general direction and you quickly scrambled out of sight. As you turned, Hyunjin scrambled by you, the heavy tray resting on his shoulder nearly beheading you. His long, wavy blond hair, which was in a nice, neat half-ponytail at the beginning of his shift, was now splaying in every direction—he was beyond stressed. If the messy hair wasn’t enough, his hooded eyes were getting darker. You approached him as he grabbed a checkbook, “Hyun, you look like a mess.”

“Hey, Y/N! Yeah, I just have a lot of floor to cover, and they’re all extra demanding today,” he explained, short of breath. He groaned as he watched another set of people sit in his section and continued, “God, please cover me. I’ll owe you one. I’m already overwhelmed with my current table number.”

You laughed understandingly, “Of course.”

“You’re the best, it’s table thirty.” He squinted to get a good look, “Oh! I know that customer, he’s a great tipper. You should be just fine.”

You shifted your attention to the table in question, immediately deflating as you saw Taehyun sitting with a friend. You turned around to protest, but Hyunjin was already gone.

You internally screamed before trudging over to his table, gathering all of your dignity... kissing his arrogant ass wasn’t necessarily on your agenda for today. When Taehyun saw you approach his table, he did little to hide his pleased smirk. You undid your balled fist.

“Hi. My name is Y/N, I’ll be your server today,” you monotonously stated, an unenthusiastic but convincing smile plastering your face. To any other guest, it would’ve been believable, but Taehyun knew better; your server persona didn’t fool him.

“Y/N. What a pretty name,” his friend observed, a bit too flirtatiously for your liking. Taehyun noticed too, judging from the way he narrowed his eyes and tongued his cheek. And also the way he obviously kicked his friend’s leg under the table. You mustered a sweet smile, hoping to mask your disgust, “Thank you! That’s so… nice. Anyway, what would you like to drink? We got in a new Italian wine, just delivered today.”

“That’s alright, just water.”

“Water.”

Cheap. Especially for a pair of chaebol children.

“Alright! I’ll be back momentarily,” you informed, smile dropping the instant you turned away. As you trailed back to the kitchen, you heard Taehyun give his friend a hushed reprimanding making you smirk. You passed Yeonjun, noticing he looked as if he was about to lose his sanity. You gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder—for someone so young, he managed well. Of course, he used his handsome face and charm as often as possible; his attractiveness and charisma was dangerous. He managed to grasp the attention of everyone and it aided him greatly. You pressed quizzically, “Jun, you don’t seem good.”

“Says you. You’re lover boy’s server. What a shocking, juicy turn of events. I’m on my toes,” he teased impishly. You stared at him vacantly. Yeonjun continued to poke fun, enjoying the lack of response you gave as you procrastinated to avoid returning to Taehyun’s table, but sadly, there was only so long it could take to fill a glass with water. Yeonjun pouted sympathetically, “Good luck.”

You didn’t need luck. No. To spend a precious hour or more, waiting on a privileged, disgustingly wealthy teenage boy, specifically Kang Taehyun, you needed patience, self-control, and temper management. You reminded yourself of just that as you approached him, placing his water near his plate, “Gentlemen, are you ready to order?”

You jotted down his friend’s order, ignoring the growing complexity as he piled on request after request, no sign of stopping. “... And I need it lukewarm. Not room temperature, but lukewarm.”

You diligently suppressed the eye roll that nearly bubbled up. Honestly, you’d dealt with far worse, Taehyun’s friend didn’t even scratch the surface.

You had to wonder though, did people like this ever feel shame?

You faced the cocky redhead, “And for you… Mr. Kang?”

You cringed. He didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible flash of disgust that crossed your expression. He grinned, “Just the lasagna. While you’re at it, I’d like another glass of water.”

“You already have a full glass,” you seethed, glancing at the glass you had just set down. He enjoyed this: testing you, pushing you, slowly dwindling your sanity until you snapped. He wanted to get a reaction from you, anything other than the bored, disinterested expression you gave him every single day. He smiled innocently, “What can I say… I like staying hydrated.”

His amusement was irritating. Unsurprisingly, his torment was based on the stupid, outdated notion that a boy has to show interest by picking on his crush, but you weren’t privy to his inner thought process. You suppressed another eye roll as you turned to grab a pitcher from Hyunjin, the boy sprinting behind you with a full tray. You felt bad for him, at least, until you remembered he pawned Taehyun’s table onto you and your pity became short lived. You filled an empty glass, increasingly aware of Taehyun’s piercing stare. Your emotionless expression would’ve given him no indication as to how nervous you felt if it weren’t for the slight blush that painted your face.

He smirked victoriously. You hated it.

A breath of relief escaped you as his attention turned to his friend. He leaned back in his seat and lifted a hand to rest behind his head, accidentally smacking the pitcher, causing you to spill the cold water onto his lap. He flinched at the sudden icy contact.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, fishing a stray napkin from your apron. Normally, he would’ve brushed it off, considering it was his fault, but he felt pressured under the expectant gaze of his snobbish peer. Plus, he gained the reaction he wanted from you... something other than disgust. He feigned offense as he dramatically pushed his seat back and stood up, easily towering over you, “Next time, try not sucking at your job!”

He immediately regretted his outburst but he showed no sign of remorse, not when he had a reputation to uphold. God forbid, he could actually be a considerate person.

More importantly, though, he pushed too far this time and there wasn’t much turning back. You winced at his tone, withering back from his harsh statement, though you quickly replaced your hurt with unadulterated rage. Your blood boiled as your vision went red, steam practically fuming from your ears. Your pained expression broke his heart and he nearly dropped his act, but before he could do or process anything, his silk shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his body as ice water seeped through. His slacks were drenched and his designer loafers were completely ruined. He didn’t pay much attention to that, though... not when you were an inch from his face, holding an empty water pitcher over his head.

“I quit,” you lowly hissed. You firmly shoved the pitcher into his hand and scoffed as he stumbled back from the force. All eyes were on you as you stalked off, hastily tossing your apron into the nearest trash can. Yeonjun gave you a quick nod, his subtle way of telling you he was proud.

He’d get your resignation letter another day.

Taehyun helplessly called after you but it was useless. You were too far gone to care.

· ──────────────────── ·

You slammed your car door shut, absolutely fuming. You blankly stared at the frog keychain hanging from your rearview mirror. Normally, you would’ve smiled at the small figurine, but in the moment, you wanted to punt it into another timezone. It’s cheeriness pissed you off to no end. You quickly fished your phone out to dial Kai’s number, the line ringing thrice before he picked up, groaning, “I’m trying to sleep.”

His voice seemed muffled, likely from the thirty plushies he insisted on sleeping with.

“It’s dinner time.”

“It’s called a nap, genius.”

“Alright, well, I just quit my job… and I might have dumped a pitcher of water onto Taehyun’s stupid, privileged ass.”

The line fell silent. You wouldn’t have been surprised had he hung up on you—your tendency to act impulsively drove him up the wall and he was nearing his limit. You patiently awaited his response, likely a reprimanding scold.

“Y/N, what the fuck.”

“He had it coming, I swear,” you promised. In detail, you explained your biased side of the story, ignoring the obvious judgement emanating from the opposite line. The minute you finished, you spotted Taehyun’s panicked figure run into the full parking lot, frantically searching for you; you ducked behind your steering wheel, praying he didn’t see you. You squeaked, cutting off Kai’s tangent, “Oh my God! Oh my God! He followed me!”

He sighed. “If you dumped ice water on me, I’d be chasing after you too.”

You peeked curiously from your spot, seeing he had yet to find you. The cogs in your mind churned slowly, mixing in with your rage, “What if we graffitied his house?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious, I want to do it! He can’t just get away with humiliating me in front of the entire club, waitstaff, and my manager. And graffitiing isn’t illegal… ish.”

You could practically picture his narrowed gaze, “It’s definitely, most certainly, illegal. Sunshine, I understand your anger, hell, I’d be outraged, but revenge isn’t always the answer. And graffiti isn’t the most… sound idea.”

You crossed your arms defensively, “It’s a genius idea.”

“It really isn’t.”

“I’m going to do it, regardless of if it’s a good idea or not. You’re either in or out.”

Once more, the line fell quiet. His mind churned, concluding there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d follow through—you were simply too chicken. He laughed, “Fine. I’m in.”

“Great! Find his address, I’ll be over soon.”

You hung up and regained your composure. Taehyun spotted your car as you buckled in your seatbelt, making direct eye contact with your enraged figure. You were surprised, he didn’t seem angry, rather regretful. Almost apologetic.

But you didn’t care.

You sped off the lot without sparing him a final glance.

· ──────────────────── ·

“Have faith in me! Finding his address isn’t going to be hard. You know, I’m a tech whiz, it runs in the family.”

You snickered, “Beomgyu getting accepted into the computer science program at his university doesn’t mean you got the tech gene. You’re the worst with technology, you can’t even remember your laptop login half the time.”

He eyed you challengingly, before cracking his knuckles and typing furiously. Only a single minute had passed before he was yelling, “Jackpot! I found it!”

You were thrown for a loop. He was quite technologically inept, he couldn’t even open a browser without some trouble, let alone find an address. You stared at him quizzically, a smidge of doubt crossing your mind. He deflated, avoiding your hard gaze, “Okay… maybe, just maybe, I called Gyu before you arrived and had him help.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You sighed and tossed yourself back on his plush bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on his ceiling. You laughed quietly, you remembered putting them up there—it was really only a year ago. See, Kai had this whole star-sticker-related schtick or as he liked to put it, “Inability to have them as a child which subsequently caused emotional damage.”

You had just returned from a grueling shift and you were exhausted, weak, and insanely pissed—reason being Taehyun, of course.

It was always Taehyun.

In a frivolous attempt to cheer you up, Kai suggested pasting the stickers onto his ceiling. Honestly, it was more stressful than fun. He constantly wobbled around the bed, nearly dropping you several times as you sat perched on his broad shoulders and stuck them up. It kept you busy though, and thus, kept your mind off of Taehyun.

It was funny, honestly. For someone that swore they hated him, you sure thought about him a lot. He took residence in your mind and you felt like the landlord trying to evict him.

Even at that moment, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Of course, you were in denial. You told yourself it was natural to be thinking about him; after all, you were going to destroy his property. There was absolutely no other reason as to why he ran free in your mind… none at all.

Kai knew you were overthinking. It wasn’t hard to tell, especially since your forehead usually tended to crease in the ugliest manner when you did. He tried reeling you out of your daze, “So, we’re going to commit a crime.”

“Yep.”

“... There’s no turning back.”

“I know. I’m not going to chicken out.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, of course you’d chicken out. You always did. He didn’t see any harm in indulging you with your idiotic plan, so he found the address. No harm, no foul. Right?

· ──────────────────── ·

You anxiously picked at the leather seating beneath you, nearly tearing a hole in the worn fabric.

“Yo, cool it. Jihyo is already pretty fucked up,” Kai warned. Oh, Jihyo. You still couldn’t believe he named his old, rickety car—let alone after his ex. His car looked as if it had a mile left in it before it ultimately broke down, but you had to put some blind trust in Jihyo. After all, she was your getaway car if everything went south. You’d been sitting in Kai’s passenger seat for half an hour, coming up with nearly every excuse not to proceed with the crime.

“We really don’t have to do this. Not to mention, I don’t want to do this,” he grumbled.

“Then why are you here?”

Imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door, decked out in all-black, stealthy gear, hope and adrenaline coursing through your body. He truly believed you would’ve backed down by now, and a small part of him hoped you still would, but the odds weren’t looking in his favor.

“I’m not letting you go to jail! I can’t get through the school year without you, especially now that Jihyo—human Jihyo—is starting to spread her stupid, little personal agenda against me. Like, yeah, I broke up with you and that’s rough, but maybe next time, try not being manipulative… or a cheater,” he rambled. You flashed him a sympathetic smile; he said he was over it but you knew better. You patted his arm comfortingly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, a flustered, shy smile replacing his pout.

“Guess what? I think I know exactly what’ll make you feel better,” you whispered sweetly.

His smile instantly turned down into an exasperated frown, “Mhm, let me guess… robbing the rich boy you have a crush on.”

“I don’t have a crush on him! Why would I like him? He yelled at me in front of the entire club! And we’re not robbing him, we’re simply… graffitiing his house. Tastefully.

“So you admit, you had a crush on him.”

“No! I’m just saying!”

He pointedly rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the castle-like house across the street, not wanting to have that conversation with you. He mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like idiot but you let it slide, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, so the gate code is probably something stupid like his birthday, his mom is probably sentimental like that,” you mumbled to yourself. You tapped your foot anxiously as you tried to formulate a coherent plan. You slowly continued, “The only problem is the crazy amount of security cameras around his house. Like, who needs that many cameras? People are dying.”

“God, I hate you,” Kai grumbled.

You ignored him, “There has to be a blind spot, somewhere a camera won’t cover. Hm…” you studied the perimeter, searching for that camera-free sweet spot. At that moment, you found a tiny patch of grass, hidden under a massive oak tree.

Bingo.

You shook Kai’s arm aggressively, “Look! Right there, that’s the spot. That tree has to cover the camera.”

He rested his head against the steering wheel, “Let’s get this over with.”

As you both climbed out of his car, you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. The street was littered with fancy, expensive cars while Jihyo looked like she belonged in the dump, making you even angrier. Kai crept over to the sidewalk, insisting on creeping in the shadows like a vigilante. You, on the other hand, struggled to carry your duffel bag full of equipment, constantly getting slowed down by the exceptional weight. That was your fault though, you packed it full of necessary, outstandingly heavy equipment (necessary being a loose term). Alongside the many cans of paint sat a bag of Goldfish, three juice boxes (because Kai is a massive baby), a faulty navigation system, a not-at-all threatening ski mask, and a broken hammer.

You didn’t remember packing that hammer.

You settled in front of Taehyun’s gate, hoping your birthday theory was correct. Of course, simply because it was you and your luck was awful, it wasn’t. You began pressing random keys, hoping something would work but it was fruitless. Nothing worked, not even the basic combinations. You huffed, “I guess we’re going to have to climb our way in.”

You mentally prepared yourself as Kai sent a couple of prayers out for good measure. He eyed your duffel bag curiously before opening it, instantly met with a multitude of spray paint in all shades. He narrowed his eyes and scoffed, “Jesus, Y/N! Where the hell did you get all this shit?”

“... Craigslist.”

“Bullshit, you were kicked off Craigslist years ago.”

You winced, insulted by his easy remark—he knew how sensitive you were about that. You kicked a pebble sheepishly, mumbling softly, “Fine, I bought the paint from Soobin…”

His eyes widened comically as his heart practically ripped out of his chest, “Soobin?! Choi Soobin?! You can’t be serious. No, there’s no way you bought from the school drug dealer! He’s a criminal! He probably tried to toss in some of that devil’s lettuce with your purchase, huh? Or worse… crack!”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your head back, he was always so dramatic. “Kai, he’s not a criminal. He’ll occasionally sell an edible or two, but that’s it! He didn’t try to sell me anything. Actually, he gave me a pretty good deal on this stuff.”

“Lovely, a modern-day businessman,” he grumbled sarcastically.

“Whatever, just help me climb the wall,” you huffed, zipping up your bag before tossing it over the blockade. Hesitantly, he got on one knee, muttering something you couldn’t quite hear—not that you wanted to anyways. You delicately stood on his knee as he pushed on your thighs in an attempt to boost you over.

Honestly, you struggled. Your weak muscles did little to aid in your quest, but Kai’s strength helped.

“God, take your sweet time, it’s not like your flat, piece of plywood ass is dangling in front of my face or anything. I’m about to throw up,” he gagged.

You scoffed, “Yeah, yeah, complain all you want but this is the most action you’ll ever see.”

“... I won’t hesitate to drop you on your face.”

However, before he could follow on his threat, you managed to hoist yourself over the brick wall. You offered a hand to Kai but instead of accepting, he eyed it mockingly, knowing you weren’t strong enough to lift him. He stretched his legs before taking a step back, giving him a running start, and surprising you both when he successfully lifted himself.

You placed your hand over his mouth, “Shh.. whisper. We’re in enemy territory now.”

He licked your palm, nearly making you screech, “Gross!”

He childishly stuck his tongue out. You shook your head and began scrounging the duffel bag for the perfect paint color. Of course, you wanted to create a masterpiece worthy of Kang Taehyun... you even considered tagging it. Kai silently sat on the grass, aimlessly picking at the freshly-cut blades as he watched you happily paint.

You were pleased to say that in the half an hour you’d been painting, nothing had gone awry... yet.

“The fuck is that supposed to be?” he questioned curiously, leaning closer to inspect the vulgar work.

“Taehyun,” you said easily.

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like a dick.”

“It’s called symbolism, Kai.” You stepped back to admire your work as if it were hung in the Louvre whilst Kai scrunched his nose, clearly offended by the unpleasant art.

“You know, it’s funny how you have the biggest crush on this dic—” Before he could further elaborate, he was interrupted by an awfully familiar voice.

“What the hell are you doing on my front lawn?”

You cringed. You’d been caught red-handed.

Kai turned slowly, surrendering with his hands up. You, however, kept your back turned, considering just going to hell with it and continuing your tasteful artwork. He glanced at you anxiously, silently pleading for you to put down the paint can.

Only because Kai looked a second away from fainting, you huffed and turned around, mimicking his pose, the only difference being the bored expression plastered on your face.

Taehyun stood in front of you, his arms crossed and irritation painted all over his body language, but as much as he tried to hide it, there was a glint of amusement behind his eyes. You hated how his obnoxious, stop sign hair managed to look amazing under the glow of the moonlight—it was beyond irritating. Arguably, his entire being was irritating. You held his gaze, silently challenging his presence. Kai, on the other hand, was sweating profusely and dramatically hyperventilating. He clutched onto your shoulder, failing to catch an actual breath, “Oh my God! I feel like my heart is pumping out lukewarm sewer water.”

He placed his hands on his knees as he hunched over and continued, “Please, Taehyun. Please, don’t hit me with your Lamborghini. I’m begging you.”

Taehyung blankly stared at the younger, completely forgetting he was even there. You rubbed your temple and hissed, “Will you shut the fuck up? You’re making this worse.”

“I don’t want to go to jail! My face is too pretty for jail, they’d murder me on sight for being the most gorgeous boy they’ve ever seen. God, please don’t call the cops… I’ll do anything,” Kai shamelessly begged. You were so close to punting him into the Pacific Ocean. Taehyun’s annoyingly gorgeous lips twisted into a smug grin as he directed his attention back on you, “Hm, and what about you, Princess? I don’t see you begging.”

You scoffed, “I’d rather eat Kai’s shoe.”

He simply hummed, “That’s too bad. You know, I have a family friend who’s a cop… I’ll convince him to go easy on you in jail.”

“The wealthy wielding control over the justice system… how unexpected.”

“Oh my God! Y/N’s kidding, she’ll do anything,” Kai blurted quickly, shooting you a death glare. Taehyun’s eyebrow lifted curiously, a satisfied smirk settling comfortably, “Is that true?”

“What the hell do you want?” you questioned hesitantly.

“A date.”

You briefly considered his words before shoving Kai forward, “Yeah, go nuts. He’s all yours.”

“... With you.”

You threw your head back and let out an inappropriate, hearty laugh. Even Kai let out a small snicker before replacing it with a fake cough, but Taehyun didn’t seem amused. He watched you expectantly, awaiting an answer.

“So this is the only way Kang Taehyun can score a date… by blackmailing them. You know, that actually makes sense,” you theorized to no one in particular. You simmered in silence for a short moment before Kai cleared his throat, hinting at his obvious discomfort. Taehyun was enjoying this, you just knew it.

That broken hammer never looked better...

“Fine,” you conceded. You glared at him, biting your tongue to prevent you from going off on his pompous ass. Taehyun’s eyes lit up with hope.

Kai let out a breath of relief before mumbling an apology and dragging you off the lawn. His grip on you tightened as you turned around one last time to shoot daggers at Taehyun. He stood comfortably in the middle of his manicured lawn, the porch lights behind him highlighting his pleased smirk, yet all you saw was red.

· ──────────────────── ·

Kai splayed across your bed, mindlessly picking at a random throw pillow while you spritzed a hint of perfume on your forearm. His gaze trailed over your figure curiously, “You’re quite dressed up for someone who’d rather sleep in a dumpster than go on this date.”

“Well I’m not about to walk into high society wearing a stained sweatshirt and joggers.”

He snorted, “Right, that’s the only reason.” You smoothed your shirt and gave yourself a once over, feeling quite confident in your choice of clothing. Kai wasn’t blind, he thought you looked nice, but he’d let pigs fly before he told you that. He continued, “You don’t look… that ugly.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that was the closest you’d ever get to a compliment from him, “Thanks.”

“Do you know where he’s taking you?”

“Nope.”

If you were being honest, you didn’t care where he took you; you didn’t set any conscious expectations.

“Oh! Before I forget…” Kai smirked as he dug around his backpack. He tossed you a small, blue bottle of mouthwash. He winked cheekily, “You never know… mayhaps you’ll kiss him.”

You nearly threw up, “I most certainly will not be kissing anyone tonight, especially not his pretentious ass. Besides, you know about my rule.”

He groaned. He definitely knew about your rule, it was all you talked about after getting dumped by your last ex. After your last failed relationship (or four) you created a no-kiss policy for your first three dates. You wanted to make sure your kisses weren’t in vain, and honestly, it was fun just watching them work for it.

“The rule is dumb,” he reminded.

“... You’re dumb.”

You were busy dodging a pillow when your doorbell rang, signaling Taehyun’s arrival. You were shocked he didn’t just notify his presence by honking his horn—for a pompous ass such as himself, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

“It’s time,” you mumbled somberly.

“He isn’t the Grim Reaper. This is a date, it’s supposed to be a happy thing!” he tried encouraging sweetly as you stalked down the staircase, but to no avail, your mood didn’t lighten in the slightest.

You aggressively swung open your front door, nearly knocking Kai unconscious. Taehyun dressed simple but pleasant; his expensive, black sweater was expertly tucked into a nice set of slacks and the Cartier bracelet that adorned his wrist, perfectly accentuated his veins. His bright, red hair was styled messily and his cheeks were flushed, beautifully highlighting his angled nose and sharp jawline. Your mouth gaped, just slightly, as you drank him in—while he was always attractive, this specific look had you stunned. He held a single rose against his chest and it only made him look more ethereal, if that was even possible. When you looked up, you instantly noted the hint of panic in his eyes, which made you feel at ease.

“Taehyun,” you blankly addressed.

“Y/N! You look amazing, so beautiful…” he trailed as he handed you the rose. You grabbed it and immediately shoved it into Kai’s chest.

“Let’s get this over with,” you grumbled, pushing past him and harshly hitting his shoulder.

“... Right.”

“Hey, try not to murder him, I can’t afford bail. I make minimum wage,” Kai reminded, flashing Taehyun a sympathetic smile as the older trailed closely behind you. You were about to open his car door when he came rushing by, insisting on opening it for you. In return, you sent him a nasty glare, “I’m capable of opening my own door.”

“I’m just trying to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman doesn’t go off on someone in the middle of a public space,” you reminded.”

He sighed. A mere five minutes into the date and he already felt defeated. He wished he could form a proper apology, but it would be futile—you’d just shut him down. So he decided to express his apology in the form of something he knew you’d accept; needless to say, he had a trick or two up his Gucci sleeve.

You kept your gaze focused on anything but him. Your arms were folded across your chest, the evident frown on your face doing very little to hide your irritation. Despite that, he still thought you looked beautiful… granted, every single time he spoke to you, you wore a frown so this wasn’t new to him.

“You look so pretty,” he complimented as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I know.”

Of course he deserved every ounce of your cold, unwelcoming demeanor, but it still hurt. He was flushed but you didn’t notice since you made an obvious effort to scoot as far away from him as possible, practically pressing yourself up against the car door. However, the painful silence quickly overwhelmed you, so you hesitantly threw him a bone, “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise but I know you’ll like it. It’s my way of apologizing.”

“This better be a hell of an apology.”

“I promise you it is.”

You noticed his sincerity. His usual cockiness was replaced with shyness and a twinge of guilt, and you found it endearing. You stayed quiet for the remainder of the car ride, only a small sound of confusion as he pulled into a half-empty parking lot of a local carnival. A young employee approached the car and gave Taehyun a permitting nod, making you suspicious. He drove past the entrance gate and straight into a private space, parking next to a dinky, old ice cream truck. The space was close to a nearby forest, a bit too secluded for your taste.

“So you’re going to kill me,” you observed, scanning the dark environment around you.

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“That’s what a murderer would say,” you mumbled.

You were so stubborn, he knew that, yet he still let out an exasperated sigh. He frowned and climbed out of his car, shuffling to your side, only to find you were already halfway out. You didn’t say anything, choosing to send another hard glare his way instead.

He headed in the direction of the carnival—not the forest—and gestured you to follow him. You trailed behind, ignoring the damp mud that stuck to the bottom of your cheap shoes. You felt a bit overdressed, but when you glanced at Taehyun, you felt better. However, the more you thought about it, his outfit likely cost more than your college tuition, putting a slight dent in your ego. You focused your attention on the glowing moon instead of him, and when he turned to look at you, he was in awe. You seemed peaceful, or at least, not as pissed.

It was nice.

He led you down to the middle of the fair where you saw a crowd gathered around a massive dunk tank. He seemed antsy, constantly shifting his weight and picked at the hem of his costly shirt. He momentarily abandoned your side and walked to the dunk tank operator, speaking briefly before grabbing a bucket filled of unknown stuff.

When he walked back, you stared curiously at the bucket which was full of heavy baseballs. “This is my apology.”

Vague.

As if he read your mind, he gently placed his hand on your shoulder and turned you to face the tank, pointing directly at the chair above the pool. “I’m going to be sitting on that chair. Your job is to throw them,” he gestured over to the bullseye, “at the target, until I’m submerged.”

You couldn’t suppress your smile. He was right, this was an apology you’d accept, an apology in the form of embarrassment. Smart boy.

He didn’t necessarily look forward to ruining his cashmere sweater, but he would’ve done anything to make it up to you, and your bright smile told him he was on the right path. You let out a light laugh, picking up a baseball and tossing it carelessly.

He spared you a final glance before shuffling off to his fate. He seemed to garner a lot of attention, the crowd had grown significantly larger since you first arrived. You held the ball in your hand as he climbed onto the chair—you were arguably a little too excited to send him into the cold, cold water. He seemed shaky, but you didn’t care. You threw the ball with no hesitation.

Strike one. You missed by a long shot.

He suppressed a laugh. You shook your body, ridding yourself of any anxiousness before trying once more.

Strike two. You were closer. Barely.

You had an unlimited amount of attempts, but the longer you failed, the more embarrassed you felt. He now seemed comfortable... prideful, even. Your face was flushed red from humiliation, but you tried to keep it from affecting you as you threw once more, this time, significantly more aggressive.

Strike three. This was outright shameful.

“C’mon, you can do better than that…” he baited. He couldn’t help but tease, it didn’t matter that you were on a date. The crowd let out a collective laugh. You scoffed indignantly, cracking your neck and back, your stare darkening. You were about to hit the winning shot, he knew it. He loosened his grip on the chair and leaned forward.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

The longing, heartfelt expression in his eyes had you flustered. You nodded understandingly, reeling in his genuine apology, and flashing him a sympathetic, sincere smile before throwing the baseball straight at the bullseye, sending him (and his expensive outfit) straight into the tank.

You pumped a fist in the air as the crowd cheered. He emerged from the stale water, completely drenched. He shook hair away from his eyes before climbing from the tank and into a changing room, but not before finding your figure in the crowd. You wore a gentle, soft smile; for the first time, you looked at him with something other than hatred.

It gave him hope.

After changing, he appeared by your side as the crowd slowly dispersed, dressed a lot more comfortably. He changed into a pair of fitted (and designer, you just knew it) joggers and a clean, simple sweatshirt, pulled together with a silver chain hanging from his neck. He went from runway to streetwear yet he managed to look absolutely fantastic and it irked you. He seemed expectant yet nervous, constantly shifting his feet and biting his bottom lip. He needed reassurance and suddenly, you weren’t hesitant to provide it.

After a minute of painful silence, you conceded. “I forgive you.”

A deep sigh of relief escaped him. He’d practically been holding his breath since that day and all of a sudden, this weight had been lifted off his chest. A wave of solace washed over him, “Thank god. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if that didn’t work.”

You giggled softly. He short-circuited for a mere second; being the cause of your melodious laugh had him speechless. It was all new to him. Your laugh was so sweet, soft, and a drastic contrast from the person he was used to. He yearned to hear it again.

You peered up at him without saying a word.

He coughed awkwardly. “Right, uh, that didn’t take long at all. Let’s get you home, this was a waste of your time, I’m so sorry,” he rambled, turning in the direction of his car. You tilted your head questioningly. The night was still young and you had no interest in going back home. You were pleasantly surprised, all it took was a simple apology for your hidden, buried feelings to surface, though you knew how hard it was for him to apologize. Maybe that’s why you were so easy to forgive. You reached for his sleeve and gently tugged him back, “You asked me out on a date, so let’s do it.”

Going on an actual date was the last thing he expected. His plan for the night was to pick you up, try his best not to offend you more than he already had, and get dunked into some dirty, stale water. Of course he couldn’t refuse, seeing as his heart nearly soared from his chest. He nodded eagerly, “Y-yeah! Yeah! Okay, let’s have a date. Okay, uh, this is a carnival, right? I have to win you a plushie then, that’s just basic, carnival date knowledge. That’s the rule.”

You snorted. “Can’t break the rules then.”

He led you on over to the strength machine, eager to showcase his brawn—he hoped to impress you. His boyish mentality made you laugh, as endearing as it was, you couldn’t help but find it primitive and a bit childish. Nonetheless, you indulged him. He fished change from his wallet and you couldn’t help but notice the shiny, heavy, black card sitting comfortable in his wallet’s compartment; you suppressed an instinctual eye roll. He held the massive hammer in hand, attempting to hide the fact that it slightly weighed him down, despite his muscular build. He flashed you a confident wink before raining the hammer down on the target, sending the marker less than halfway up the pole. You coughed in an attempt to hide your laughter, you didn’t want to embarrass him, he’d already been dunked into a tank of mucky water.

He stood dumbfounded, “Okay, this is rigged.”

“Mhm, right.”

“Fine, hotshot. Give it a whirl then,” he challenged. You raised an eyebrow cockily, yanking the hammer from his hand. It was simple, all you had to do was send the marker higher than his. You smugly grinned before trying your luck, the marker barely rising an inch.

He slapped his knee and cackled. You were offended.

“This is rigged,” you mumbled.

“S’ok, love. There’s plenty of other stuff to do that isn’t rigged,” he encouraged, throwing a side eye at the gamer operator who simply shrugged in return. He slung an arm around your shoulder, choosing not to dwell on the way his heartbeat sped, “Let’s go get you a prize.”

· ──────────────────── ·

For him to win you a singular prize, it took a game of whack-a-mole, a shared slice of pizza, a tuft of cotton candy, a vigorous pep talk, and sprinkle of beginner’s luck. It was a cheap, funky-looking ring, but you wore it with the utmost pride.

You both talked excessively, really getting to know each other, and with each new detail, he fell harder. Your shy smile, adorable laugh, witty sense of humor… they were all just a bonus. Normally, you weren’t one to fall, if at all, but you found yourself going against your instinct and doing just that. In hindsight, though, it’d been a long time coming. He was hesitant to initiate any sort of skinship, considering you’d forgiven him an hour prior, but you proved opposite after you mindlessly reached for his hand the second you spotted your favorite ride.

“The spinning teacup! That’s a must!” You both felt the spark from the contact, it was unmistakable, but you both chose not to say anything. He let you drag him over, despite his aversion to the particular ride; he just couldn’t say no.

“Fine, but promise me you won’t spin fast.”

“Pinky promise.”

As the cup turned, albeit at snail pace, he admired the light wind that flowed delicately through your hair. You had a certain aura, he couldn’t help but notice. It was enchanting. The moonlight kissed your skin beautifully, it had him watching in infatuated awe.

“You’re staring.”

“Pssh, I’m not staring.” You eyed him and he crinkled his nose, “Fine, I was staring. I can’t help it, you’re beautiful.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confidence came from, perhaps it was just the motion sickness, but he didn’t regret it. You turned away from him, clearly flustered, and it made him smile. The ride ended quicker than he expected, but it was a welcomed relief, considering his well-being. The second he stepped from the cup, he fell to the floor.

“I barely spun the cup! It turned, like, a mile an hour!”

“I’m sensitive! I get sick easily.” He lifted himself off the ground, just slightly, continuing with a corny joke. “Look at me on the floor, I guess some might say… I fell for you.”

You snorted, not at the cheesy line, but the aggressive finger-gun that accompanied it. He tried to wink but failed, immediately hunching over from the queasy feeling in his stomach, “Oh my God, I’m going to die.”

He made an ugly, inhuman noise.

“Jesus Christ. Are you okay?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m great. I just think it’s my time to go.”

He reminded you a lot of Kai—both of them had an affinity for being overly dramatic.

You rubbed his back soothingly. He felt so embarrassed, but the feeling was overshadowed by the sickly feeling. You continued caressing, making sure to glare at anyone that dared judge him. You crouched down until you were eye level and brushed his hair from his forehead, giving him a small smile. At that moment, he could’ve sworn you were an angel of some sort. He felt better instantly.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, waving his hand carelessly, telling you not to worry.

“Let’s just head home. I’ll have Kai pick us up, he’ll definitely do it.” You paused, crinkling your forehead in thought, “Scratch that, he just got his license and ran over a cone yesterday.”

He stood up slowly, waving his hand once more. “In the recipe for a perfect carnival date, the ferris wheel is a must.”

You didn’t like where he was going with that.

“You’re going to hurl if we go on that. For real, this time.”

He rested his hand atop his heart. “I won’t! I swear.”

“I don’t know...”

He laced his hand with your own and pulled you to the carnival’s main attraction. He fiddled with the ring on your finger, proudly glancing at it every once in a while.

Just your luck, a slightly younger couple was paired with you on the ferris wheel. The ride operator shoved the four of you into the cramped, tiny compartment, ignoring the silent plea Taehyun sent her way. The other couple sat hesitantly with a noticeable distance between them, awkwardly shifting every now and then. The young men—one blond, one with raven black hair—stayed quiet and you couldn’t help but think they were also on their first date. They often glanced at each other but didn’t talk and Taehyun had to hide his amusement. All four of you simmered in uncomfortable silence for a good portion of the ride.

Taehyun unconsciously threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close as you laid your head on his shoulder. It was a subtle display of affection that made you blush, but he didn’t notice. Out of the corner of his eyes, Taehyun watched the blond boy copy his movement, just significantly clumsier—the poor boy accidentally smacked his boyfriend square on the nose. It took a lot for Taehyun (and you) to suppress an amused laugh.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry,” whispered the blond. His boyfriend let out a small, nervous laugh, “It’s okay.”

The black-haired boy gently rubbed his nose before reaching for his boyfriend’s hand—a simple compromise. The blond avoided eye contact with you and Taehyun, choosing to shift his gaze to the carnival below. The black-haired boy spoke first, “We’re kind of… new to dating.”

The blond cringed, still looking at the fair, before nodding in agreement. You giggled at the obvious tension, quickly comforting, “It’s cute! You two seem like an adorable couple.”

The couple smiled fondly at each other. The blond squeezed his boyfriend’s hand reassuringly and it made you smile. They seemed so in love, you were swooning. The remainder of the ride was silent and the couple chose to get off the ride after the first go-around. The blond meekly nodded his head in Taehyun’s direction and your boy gently returned the gesture with a shy, caring smile.

As soon as they were out of earshot, you both broke into a fit of laughter, “Oh my God! He was totally copying you, that’s adorable!”

Taehyun gushed, “They both were so flustered! Too cute.”

You both spent the next go-around giggling, conversing about nothing, and sharing sweet, longing gazes. The carnival beneath you slowly began shutting down, each area turning their lighting off one by one. You kept your hand laced with his and while you glanced down the dying fair, he lovingly gazed at you.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave.” You gestured below. He trained his gaze to the lack of vivid lighting around the carnival and sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.”

He squeezed your hand tighter. You didn’t want to part from him so soon and he shared your exact sentiment.

· ──────────────────── ·

As Taehyun pulled into your driveway, you instantly spotted Kai’s silhouette lurking in your bedroom window.

“Jesus Christ,” you grumbled.

Kai had spent his night waiting for you to come home, eager to hear your nightmarish tale. He planned to head to his house and simply wait for your inevitable call, but when he left to grab takeout, he found himself straying back to your house. Your mother must’ve let him in, granted he was also gifted a key and he used it regularly. Your mind suddenly short-circuited by the feeling of Taehyun’s hand atop your own. If you noticed his tremble and clamminess, you didn’t mention it.

He cleared his throat, “Let me walk you to your door.”

You sheepishly nodded, anxious to speak. If yesterday, someone had told you you would be this shy at the end of the night, you would’ve laughed in their face. He rushed to open your door and you let him, much to his surprise, without any snarky remark. The short distance to your front door didn’t stop him from holding your hand, leaving you a giggly, flustered mess.

You could practically feel Kai’s smirk.

Taehyun stood awkwardly, frequently shifting his weight, while you nervously picked at your fingernail, both waiting for the other to break the silence. He took the first leap of faith, “I had a great time tonight, I hope you did too.”

You were too focused on his calloused thumb tracing soothing circles along the back of your hand, making you lose your train of thought, “Yeah! Yes! So fun!”

You winced at your overly enthusiastic response. The luminous light, hanging haphazardly above you did little to hide your anxiousness. He chuckled softly, glad he wasn’t the only nervous one, “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m sorry you nearly threw up.” You both cringed at the recent memory. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, “Don’t worry. Weirdly, that’s not the worst thing to happen to me on a date.”

You tilted your head curiously, you wished to hear his story. Frankly, you found yourself wishing to hear everything about him, but before anything, you needed to get some stuff off your own chest. “I’m also sorry about other stuff. I have more to apologize than you, even before the incident, I was always so abrasive and mean, and I want to apologize for that. And, I, uh, also kind of broke into your house… so obviously I’m sorry about that too. Not to mention, I thin—”

He placed his hand on your cheek and caressed softly, making you quiet. “It’s water under the bridge.”

You shyly smiled, looking away from his adoring gaze. He tried mustering up a cheesy line but he found himself losing focus, his eyes constantly straying to your lips; he couldn’t help it, he really wanted to kiss you. He sucked in a deep breath, gathering the courage to just do it, even though he knew you’d likely reject his advance. After all, it was just the first date and you only forgave him three hours ago.

Not to mention, Kai stole your phone to get Taehyun’s number just to inform him of your strict no-kiss policy.

He hesitantly brushed your hair behind your ear before leaning in slowly, his plush, attractive lips easily tempting you. Unfortunately for him, you kept to your rule. You splayed your hand across his chest before pushing him back gently, “Nice try, Romeo.”

He wasn’t surprised, it was a long shot anyways. He’d just regret it if he didn’t try. He nodded understandingly before leaning in once more, this time to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t hide the obvious blush that dusted your cheeks, making him grin. Maybe you weren’t as tough as you liked to seem.

He felt hopeful.

“So for our next date, I was thinking mini golf,” he said enthusiastically. His eyes sparkled with excitement; he seemed thrilled, you couldn’t help but giggle, “Easy there tiger, I don’t recall ever saying anything about a second date.”

He leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek, pulling away only slightly to whisper, “I think I’ll be getting another date.”

He was right. He was definitely getting another date… and maybe, just maybe, you’d break your no-kiss rule.

#will sell my soul for these tags to work ahaha tumblr ur so sexy #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt scenarios #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #choi soobin #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #huening kai #txt x you

1K notes · View notes

husbandograveyard · 4 years

Note

Hii,i really like you’re Writing and if it’s possible can i request a headcanon with the monster trio where they meet after 2 years with their shy girlfriend but now she is super confident and sexier. She had matured a lot in the time skip both Physically and mentally Ps you have to write more for Ace pls i live for him good luck and thank you🧡

Hiya anon! First of all: thank you! Ever since this request I've written a little more Ace (I, too, live for him and his freckled face that I just want to smooch)! That being said, if you want more Ace, you need only request! 🙈 (once the box is open again.. which is gonna be soon). Anyhow, this RQ is about the monster trio that I love and live for as well 😭👌🏻 Enjoy!

Monster Trio and an s/o who’s had a glow-up over the time skip

Sanji

Get this man some tissues because there will be blood.

Out of all three, Sanji is the one who notices your physical glow-up most.

And god, he loves you for who you are as a person, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't falling for you all over again.

And now that you're more confident, very well aware of your renewed sex appeal, you're definitely making good use of that to flirt with him a bit.

He's nearly fainting. He wants to shower you in all the compliments, say all the things he's been saving up in his head for 2 years. All the romantic poems he's come up with, all the compliments, all the affirmations, he can just feel them leaking out of his ears, stumbling over his words as he only can gasp and stutter out your name, ears and face redder than the little stream of blood that is now trickling out of his nose.

Once he finds his words again, they all come out together. How he's missed you, how he's missed holding you, kissing you, how he hopes you've missed him as well, and just how damn great you look.

You cannot help but take it all in with a grin, telling him about the many things you've learned, playfully teasing and touching him as you tell him about your two years.

He does his absolute best to listen, but he's so distracted, still absolutely flabbergasted that his sweet, shy y/n changed so much and grew into this confident playful lady that he's still lucky to call his.

Zoro

Zoro notices your new appearance right away but isn’t too sure to comment on it.

Poor guy has never really been a flirt, and it had taken ages for the two of you to start a relationship, with the two of you getting flustered the very moment anything even remotely intimate happened.

He eventually gets out one flirty/snarky compliment, but the way you reply, with newfound confidence, turns his cheeks, nose, and ears all red.

You cannot help but giggle at the prospect of getting him flustered more often.

He’s trying to change the subject a few times, but every time he starts a sentence both his eyes and his mind drift off. It’s hilarious.

With your new strength, you can now help him train as well, which goes all right for about 4 times before you overdo it with the slightly suggestive movements and Zoro suggests he should probably train by himself.

Flusteredness aside, Zoro is super proud of you. He feels like he has to worry less whenever the group gets separated.

He had been thinking about the whole crew while on Kuraigana with Mihawk and Perona and he hoped everybody had trained properly to face the dangers of the new world.

He’s glad that you had taken it seriously too, and he can’t wait to kick some ass together with you.

Luffy

You had always been shy. But never weak. Luffy did not like weak people. He didn't mind that you didn't speak up much before, other people on the crew are more of the silent types too.

Luffy doesn’t really care for looks, barely noticing the glow up in terms of your physique, but noting that you look so much stronger and powerful, mostly due to your now way more confident posture.

It’s the first thing he comments on, well, as soon as he lets you go from his typical jump-hug. He’s so happy to see you again.

When you grin and comment on how he’s grown, he starts to notice just how much more confident you look, how much prouder you stand, and he cannot help but laugh.

“shishishi y/n, you really have become a stronger lady over the break! Looking forward to seeing all the new things you can do! Let’s go kick the new world’s asses”

He wants to hear all your stories of how you trained, like he wants to hear the whole crew’s stories, but you, as his girlfriend are just a teeeeeeny bit more important to listen to.

“oi y/n, now that you’re bigger and stronger, we can eat more together too right?”

1K notes · View notes

rawliverandcigarettes · 3 years

Note

Hi ! How do you envision Aria in Halfway Home ? I do believe you have mentioned she would be involved.

Hello, and thank you for the kind ask, it is absolutely helpful ;_;

So Aria. Aria's a complicated beast. I have a lot of thoughts about her. I kind of always enjoyed her potential more than her execution, as I've been known to have a soft spot for, what I call, Girlbosses Fucking Up. As in: women driven by scary, unhinged ambition that ends up destroying everything including themselves, and Aria could have fitted that description pretty well, or at least its first part (if there had been a proper attempt at character examination and development past her getting suddenly horny for Shepard and fawning over how much cooler and Dangerous than her they actually are or something idk).

So first, about my thoughts on Aria T'loak in canon:

I think Aria embodies a lot of Mass Effect's guilty-pleasure relationship to edge, and I completely believe she's been written first and foremost to be 1) cool, and 2) a sexual fantasy. The problem with that posture is that... basically any serious attempt at unpacking her politics risk ruining her pseudo-dominatrix vibes. So as a result, we get the most unquestioned, unashamed libertarian figure of the games, blaring that she's justified in her power position because she's the strongest, that because she's the strongest she's justified in commiting any kind of violence to hoard what she considers to be hers, and the fact she's basically an absolute despot is seen as something to be admired and even envied (no red tapes, no Council, nobody to answer to but herself and her whims).

To be noted: she's criticized in the vaguest way possible in the Omega DLC, but it has way more to do with the interpersonal, Nyreen and then a dominance struggle with Shepard, than with any of her concrete politics (and the dominance struggle is very... it's very much about "conquering" her and shoving yet another power fantasy down Shepard's throat --either by taming her fire or sharing it, and being called The Most Special Of All And I Never Met Anyone Like You Wooow You're Making Me So Hot And Bothered, and I'd argue it's still more about stroking the player's, hm, ego than about Aria herself). The "nooo don't kill civilians because surely there are any trace of civilians that aren't slavers, gang members or mercenaries left after like, two coups and a half" has nothing to say about the value of the life of said "civilians" despite their darkness, nothing to say about Aria's right to wage life and death over them. Even Nyreen's criticisms of Aria are... very un-Omegan. They still wager on Omega civilians being poor, unprepared babies, and to me it just doesn't ring true or meaningful in the slightest. But I made no effort ever hiding how much I don't vibe with this DLC, and its refusal to engage with Omega's themes to preserve Aria's sex appeal is one of the biggest culprits to me.

I also whinge about Aria in my critic of Mass Effect: Retribution, where I discover that she is actually quite dumb, and solves her problems with temper tantrums and half-assed decisions the narrative desesperatly tries to justify instead of being the savvy figure Mass Effect 2 tries to sell us (also her daughter is treated like a sexpot who immediately dies an awful, voyeuristic death and I doooon't love that choice, even if it's, once again, very telling on the kind of character Aria's supposed to be).

So now, I will stop whingeing about canon and talk about how I tried to reinterpret Aria T'loak in Halfway Home.

So Aria in HH is... kind of an awful, complicated person. I completely leaned in that Girlboss Fucking Up direction because nobody can stop me to explore some of the absurd tragedy behind her struggle for power. She is libertarian to a fault, at once believing in the importance of daring to bite what you can off a seemingly unchangeable and incredibly cruel social system, while failing to acknowledge that she's a central actor of said system, maintaining its alchemy with an iron fist with little concern for those who have to pay the price. While not nearly as conservative as them (socially, economically she's almost worse), I took inspiration from figures like Ayn Rand and Margaret Thatcher to flesh her out, especially in the way she turns against her own kind to keep her head out of the water (I mean at once asaris and sex workers, as I kept her backstory infiltrating Omega's ecosystem as an Afterlife dancer first). But by having this background, to garner respect, she has to be ruthless and consistently brilliant so she doesn't slip, because if she does... Well the fall will be rather brutal. She's acutely aware of the necessity of maintaining her prestige and her innaccessibility, while keeping herself desirable (as a potential ally and as an asari), because everyone wants to either kill her, be her or have her, and this is at once the basis of her power and an incredibly lonely and vulnerable position to have to voluntarily maintain yourself in.

Aria in Halfway Home does fucked up shit, or willingly allows or facilitates fucked up shit to maintain herself afloat (especially in her power plays with the Council, batarians and Cerberus). But she's been doing this dangerous dance for centuries, and she's starting to feel alienated from herself, from anticipating and catering to all sides at once. She also tends to keep opportunities open and let people live if they can be useful (à la Patriarch) rather than kill them, even if she cultivates her vicious reputation to prevent coups against her --basically keeping escape routes open as much as she can. As far as attitude goes, she follows more of her sarcastic/jaded side that is sometimes apparent in canon, and it's becoming clear how tired she is, how every single one of her desires have melted into what she needs to do to stay in power. She's the Pirate Queen, and in more ways than one the world is at her feet, yet everything she does is calculated to keep herself alive, at all time. And she can't stop now, because she's addicted to Omega and what it did to her, and if she stops she will be torn apart by everyone pretending to be on her side. In a way she's a prisonner of her own power, while also maintaining everyone else in the cell with her by force and pretending that... there is no alternative, if you can forgive my wording.

So yeah. Sarcastic, tired, brilliant, cynical. That's my Aria. She's the absolute worst, and yet she's a little tragic too. But by the end of the story, Shlee doesn't care about that part at all and will not shut the fuck up about how she should be deposed and is, in fact, the absolute worst, which, yeah, great thing to scream around Shlee, very smart.

#aria t'loak #omega dlc #halfway home #shlee #asks #fanfiction #mass effect critical

23 notes · View notes

bup1957 · 3 years

Note

jonnie! I know youve written kent for QUITE a while now (hello again xoxo) so, a question for you, hun. I want you to recall those passions for kent and tell me what about him is so special to you. what do you resonate with? what do you feel when you look at your muse? what's kept you with them all this time? don't be afraid to pour your heart out, that's the goal. *holds mic to u*

HIII HELLO HELLO MONI <3 I always find myself like a deer in headlights when I get asked this question (but in a good way, if that's at all possible). It can be difficult for me to articulate at length exactly what it is that makes Kent appeal to me with such intensity. He is by far my favorite character ever, beating out the likes of characters with far more development, history, and backstory that I'm also very fond of. My love of Kent Mansley is very much instinctual, I think. I do recount quite often the genesis of my petite obsession, and now is one such occasion. The players: me, 15 and freshly on the other side of a tween weaboo phase; one rented copy (from Netflix, back when people still used the DVD service en masse) of the Iron Giant. The scene: a rewatch of a film I was too scared to complete as a child because of the villain I now come to call my poor little meow meow above all other poor little meow meows. It was like Cupid struck me with an arrow, honestly. I decided on a rewatch because of the Giant... And came out the other side with a fierce passion for a man most everyone rightfully hates. It's a rush of several feelings that hit me whenever I muse upon The Muse. I get giddy, most of all. I love his stupid little face and his aggravating posturing and his completely unearned ego. I'd put up my dukes if faced with him in real life but draw him [CENSORED] all the time. He's a rat bastard but he's my rat bastard. I think in the end that's what kept me coming back. In all my (Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ) eight years of writing him, off and on and off and on, only one other person's made a blog for him... And (sadly) they vanished quickly soon after I returned myself. But at the same time, because he is so often overlooked or outright rejected, he very much feels like he is my own character. To the point that I honestly prefer receiving fan art of him than my own characters. He runs almost entirely on headcanons at this point (not for my lack of trying, of course, but the Iron Giant is a film that does not need an effusive backstory for its characters) and yet I've been told time and time again he smacks distinctly of his movie counterpart. There's something at the core of him I get, apparently, and I think it's that same aspect that has managed to keep me in his orbit, even if it perhaps has decayed a bit since I was first ensnared. All of this to say, in the end, that I don't have an easy answer to this question even all these years later. I look at Kent and I feel like a Tex Avery wolf in ways that go beyond (but don't necessarily exclude wink wonk) horny. It's something bordering on a little primal; like a moth drawn to a flame, like a Florentine artist drawn to their muse.

#[ooc]#[i got very flowery with this one but kent's worth it <3]

9 notes · View notes

stargnusxcarter · 3 years

Note

I mean if I found that fic ask thing XD. How about 19 for Teslen?

things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

That one's a tough one. I will admit I wasn't sure when to set it or where. But then, where's the fun if we have to be strictly in-canon, right ? So, I thought about it, and here you go: Victorian!Teslen before the Five, and slightly AU.

"Miss Magnus, may I have this dance?" The warm voice resonated near her ear, making her shiver. Helen turned around and flashed a soft smile at the man who had just invited her.

"You may, Mister Tesla." She chuckled, sliding her hand in his as he led them to the waltzing crowd.

"You look ravishing tonight, Helen." Nikola tenderly whispered as they danced around the room. Helen knew her cheeks had probably grown reddish but couldn't care less when he was looking at her with such love and admiration twinkling in his blue eyes.

"Thank you, Nikola. You look good yourself." She replied, winking discreetly. They fell into silence again, simply enjoying each other's presence. His hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, their hands linked as he led the dance.

Who could've thought he had learned that waltz only 5 days ago ? Certainly not Helen herself, and she had been the one to teach him. Well, her and one of her maids. After he had built up the nerve to ask if she had already some company for the party.

The ring of the bell startled them both as Helen and Gregory were leaving the breakfast table. Who on Earth would come so early in the morning? They immediately thought about an emergency.

"Doctor Magnus, Miss Magnus," announced the butler as he stepped into the dining room, "Mister Tesla requested a talk with you both."

Father and daughter shared the same puzzled look before Gregory motioned for the old man to introduce their impromptu guest. Nikola barely entered the room, fidgeting with the stem of a single peachy rose he was holding.

"Good morning. I apologize to arrive unannounced and so early, Doctor Magnus, and I promise I won't bother you long."

Gregory dismissed the speech with a wave of the hand and an indulgent smile.

"There's nothing to concern you about, young lad. Perhaps we would be more comfortable in the study."

"Of course. I didn't realize I was interrupting your meal."

"Nonsense, Nikola." Helen chuckled. "We had just finished."

The Magnus joined Nikola at the door, who was still nervously fidgeting the stem of the rose.

"Maybe you would stop torment that poor flower and do what you intended to do with it in the first place, Nikola?"

The question, asked with a fond smile from Magnus senior snapped the young Serbian out of his anxiety and he smiled sheepishly as he offered the flower to Helen.

"It is beautiful. Thank you, Nikola." She whispered, her eyes twinkling. Gregory led the way to the study as Helen slid her hand in the crook of Nikola's elbow.

Once they were seated, Nikola found himself unable to formulate the object of his visit, despite his attempts.

"Nikola, what is the matter?" Helen asked, quite concerned.

"Mayiaccompanyyoutotheballnextsaturday?" He asked in a breath. The two others stared at him with a blank expression.

"Would you mind telling it again but a tad slower, maybe?"

"Doctor Magnus." Nikola inhaled. "I came to request your permission to escort Helen to the ball next Saturday if she accepts my company." He managed to intelligibly say. Silence fell upon the room, until Helen hopefully glanced at her father.

"Well... It seems I wouldn't have a saying in the matter in any case, so, you may go to the ball together, but Nikola will see you home before midnight Helen." The blonde reluctantly agreed to her father's terms, the prospect of spending the evening with Nikola too appealing to refuse it.

"I shall fetch you at 7 sharp on Saturday if it suits you, then?"

"Perfect. That is arranged." Gregory clapped his hand before standing to leave. Taking it as his cue to take his leave too, Nikola bowed to Helen and grazed his lips over her knuckles.

"I'll see you on Monday at Oxford, Helen."

"I will expect to see you first thing at the gates!" She replied with a tender smile. He nodded, smiling too, bowed his head to Gregory, and let the butler escort him to the door.

"Where were you?" He asked when her gaze seemed less distant, despite the fact that her movements were as fluid as usual while she followed his lead effortlessly.

"What do you mean? I am right here with you, Nikola." She gently mocked, knowing what he was asking.

"I was lost in my memories. Last week. Hadn't I teach you, I wouldn't have guessed you didn't know that waltz until 5 days ago."

"Well, I had the best teacher." He winked at her and she chuckled.

They both felt the weight of the disapproving looks on them, but they couldn't care less. Not when it was so natural to be in each other's company, swinging and swirling in harmony with the other and the music. The world had faded away, to leave them in their bubble of joy.

"Nikola, what is wrong?" Helen asked as they were working on a new experiment, and she could tell something was buggering him.

"Nothing, Helen. Don't concern yourself further." He absentmindedly replied.

"Nikola! I can see something is bothering you, and the closer we get to the ball, the lesser you can hide it. Do you... Do you not wish to attend the Ball with me anymore?" She finally asked, ignoring the slight shake in her voice. Nikola dropped everything in an instant and stood by her side, clasping her hand between his.

"Of course not, Helen. I am really looking forward to spend the evening in your company."

"Then why do you seem so tense?"

"I... It is silly, really..." his accent was thicker as insecurity crept its way into his voice.

"Nikola, just tell me, please."

"There will probably be at least a waltz at this ball but... I don't know how to dance waltz." He admitted, dropping his gaze. The laugh he was expecting never came, and when he looked up, he met the softest blue eyes he had ever seen.

"This is not silly, Nikola. And if you don't know the waltz, then I will teach you."

And with that they arranged a meeting every afternoon after classes, and she would teach him the ins and outs of the waltz, from the posture to the way he had to hold her, from the leading to the swirls.

"Helen, I have to ask you something."

"Pray tell?"

"You already know that when we met, I had just arrived in England. I knew no one, and you are the first person who offered me help without expecting anything in return. And for that I am grateful." He swirled her again. "You are the closest friend I ever had, and may I say, the only true friend."

The music stopped before he could speak more and the dancers parted, clapping and bowing. Nikola spotted the doors, wide open, leading to the gardens, and offered his arm to Helen. She took it with a soft smile and they headed outside, sitting on a bench nearby.

"Somehow... Somewhere between your smiles, your courage, your wit, and your eyes, I fell in love with you." Nikola confessed before he could second guess himself. "Helen Magnus, will you accept to be courted by a young Serbian genuinely and completely under your spell?"

Helen stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, as if she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly.

"Nikola... Are you... Are you asking for my permission to court me?"

"W-well, given we are the only ones on this bench, I would say so, yes." He grinned. "I could always ask the pigeons, but there are none around us."

Helen blinked before laughing at his antics. Of course she should have expected him to use his snark at some point.

"Well then, Nikola Tesla, I will gladly let you court me. But I must warn you, my heart has already fallen for someone."

At that, his smile flattered, his eyes lost their spark of joy and mischief, but he remained still, and put his mask on so fast Helen would have missed the hurt in his look if she didn't know him better.

"Oh, well, I hope he knows his luck and isn't jealous, then." He winked, smiling.

"Well, I'm certain he does. As for the jealousy, I'm not sure we had an occasion to test that theory, but I would say he probably isn't." She replied, playing along. Just to see how long it would take her sweet idiot of a friend to figure out who she was talking about.

"Oh. Someone I know?"

"I'd think, yes."

She took pity on him when he nodded without a word and looked away. Silently, Helen reached for his jaw and turned his face toward her.

"Nikola, the man I'm talking about has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, undisciplined hair, until recently he wore an horrible mustache, and he is the best friend I could ever had. And he just asked to court me and confessed his genuine and complete fall under my spell."

She saw the way his eyes lit up throughout her description, how his lips trembled in a smile he tried to repress, until he was practically beaming at her.

"I fell in love with you, Nikola, and I wouldn't want any other man to court me."

He kissed her knuckles, their eyes locked, before clasping a stray lock behind her ear.

They could've been that happy all along... But a few months later, entered on stage John Druitt, and with him, Nikola lost all his chances of being the one Helen Magnus would choose to share her life...

#teslen #sanctuary #fic ask game #helen magnus #nikola tesla #victorian!Teslen #bad ending #blame it on canon

13 notes · View notes

angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Break My Heart Right: Flattery (Luba x Reader)

Word Count: 1873 Rating: T Content Warnings: poor communication, low self-esteem/insecurity, discussion of sex work, angst Cross-posted to AO3 Taglist: @seanfalco (let me know if you want to be added) A/N: Points awarded for "Fic Most Inspired by the Series Title Song" and with the least relevant individual title.

You sat on the counter, Luba positioned between your legs, hands cradling your waist, watching you curiously. Your fingers swept the high arch of his brow, tracing down his temple, across the curve of his gorgeous cheekbones, along his sharp, angled nose, and finally rested, tapping out a teasing pattern on that perfect, pronounced cupid's bow. Your other hand cupped his jaw, holding him in place despite the fact that you applied absolutely no pressure at all.

“God you are beautiful,” you breathed, inhaling sharply when your words made his grip tighten. “I wish I could sculpt a face half as perfect as yours.”

He laughed, the high musical sound skittering through the air, and the breath on your skin sending a pleasant warmth flooding through you.

“That is what they pay me for. Imagine if you could make others look this distinctive too. I’d lose all my appeal.”

“Distinctive wasn't the word I used.”

He shrugged. “Synonyms.”

“Not even close. There's not another word that covers it. Perfect,” you insisted, leaning closer to make sure his emerald eyes (another unfair, gorgeous feature) were locked on yours. “You are absolutely fucking perfect. And I don’t just mean physically.”

“We should order dinner before the good places get a queue,” he said suddenly, backing away from your grasp and fiddling with the nearby touchscreen.

“Luba…” you groaned, frustration leaching into your tone.

“Unless you want to skip dinner and go straight for dessert?” He batted his long lashes at you coquettishly.

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what, Y/N?”

“Get skittish and deflect when I try to compliment you or tell you how I feel about you.”

“That's not true. I love it when you tell me how good I make you feel.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“I don't want to talk about this, Y/N.” His voice had a sharp edge to it, as close as he ever got to true anger.

You huffed a sigh. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Later on, you were laying in bed, tucked against Luba’s side, his fingers dancing over your upper arm. Both of you should have been sleeping, but the argument earlier plagued your mind, and Luba seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own. Turning your head, you pressed a lingering kiss to his chest, the gesture pulling his gaze down to meet your own.

He hummed, recognizing the questioning look on your face. “Something to share?”

“Just making sure you’re alright. You seem...pensive.”

“Thinking about what you said, that’s all.” He shrugged, the movement rocking you as well.

You waited, unsure if Luba was planning to elaborate.

“Have you ever loved someone?” He asked after a pause, almost long enough to mark the start of a totally new conversation. “Someone else? Besides me I mean.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, heart nervously clenching, as you thought over the people in your past. Of course you had loved people before. He knew that, or at least about some of them. Eventually, you shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you admitted, eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“How did you lose them?” his voice was small.

“I...I didn’t. Not really. We grew apart, or realized that love by itself wasn’t enough.”

You felt Naadirah hanging over the pair of you, her ghost still haunting his heart. You felt your ex-lovers there too, taunting spectres of a person you weren’t anymore. You nibbled nervously at your lip. You felt a twinge of anger in your gut toward them, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. It was hardly their faults that they had a lingering effect; it was on you and on Luba.

Luba was still silent. You glanced up at him. He looked crushed and afraid, face contorted sourly and eyes teary.

“Will you feel that way about me someday?”

“What?” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, voice rising sharply in shock. “No.”

“I think it will happen. Laying on someone else’s chest, in someone else’s bed. You’ll tell the story of the prostitute you made love you, you convinced that you loved him.”

“Luba…” you frowned, hoping that the sound of his name would pull him out of this imagined future and remind him that it wasn’t like that.

“It would be a great story to tell. One hell of an achievement. After all, we’re not supposed to feel. We’re supposed to be the ones convincing other people we love them, not getting fucked over ourselves.”

“Where is this coming from?” you snapped, rising up on an elbow to try and better look him in the eye, but he didn’t seem to hear you, completely monologuing now.

“I don’t know if I can stand for it, darling, or stand it. I should never have let myself fall for you in the first place. I tried to resist after you said you loved me. Love just hurts.”

He was crying as he carried on, and you could feel tears of your own starting to stir. You wanted to shut him up, to stop this wild, derailed train and make it clear that it wasn’t real, could never be real. But a doubt lingered in the back of your mind. After all, you had loved others, so maybe he would be just another in a line of people you gave your heart to and took their heart from. It felt different with Luba, sure, but at the time, hadn’t they all?

Suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in on you, like the sheets tangled around your legs were snakes intent on suffocating you. You kicked and thrashed, trying to get them off and eventually threw yourself to your feet.

“Y/N?” Luba was puzzled momentarily, enough to break his melancholy musings, sitting up to watch you.

“I can’t. I can’t do this,” you muttered, raking your finger through the hair at your temples, feeling the sharp sting of your nails on your scalp grounding you. Slowly you drew a deep breath through your nose, letting it shudder out through parted lips. “Maybe I should just go sleep in my room.”

“Can’t do what? Have this conversation? I thought you were all about talking about our feelings?” You frowned at his tone, puzzled why he seemed to be getting angry with you.

“But we’re not,” you choked out past the tears and the crushing weight on your chest. “Not mine anyway. I don’t know who this hypothetical Y/N is in your head Luba, that’s going to move on and break your heart but it’s not me. I love you.”

“But for how long?”

“Is that what this is? You think I’ll leave someday, so you’re pushing me away first? Because that’s not fair.”

He was silent, arms folded over his chest and body angled away from you.

“Luba…” you sighed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed, half facing him. “You’re not just somebody, you’re not replaceable. If someone offered me the choice between everything I wanted in life but without you or nothing at all except you by my side, then the decision would be obvious. There’s no version of reality where I can stand to lose you from my life.”

His posture softened but still he didn’t speak or look at you.

“You are my best friend, and most of the time I think you know me better than I know myself. And you are a part of me. This thing between us is part of me. But I’ve had years for that to blossom and build. If you need more time, or I’m doing something wrong...or you don’t want this, then just say so. Please,” you reached out for one of his hands that was now resting on the mattress and squeezed it gently. “It’s scary, it’s a lot. I know. I’m scared too. Please don’t just shut me out.”

“I am scared,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted softly, finally looking at you, with eyes brimming with fresh tears.

“Do what?” you breathed, edging closer, drawn naturally to try and comfort him.

“Be loved.”

“Oh.”

“No one’s ever not wanted something from me.”

Your mind raced. Were you really the first person to care about him for his own sake? Or at least to make him feel that way? And if so, was it pushing too far simply to ask...no...hope that your love was returned?

“I keep waiting to wake up, or for you to finally ask for what you expect in return.”

“Is that why you duck my compliments and try to play everything off like some big joke?”

“Lots of people pay flattery. ‘Luba you’re so beautiful.’ ‘Luba you sound like an angel.’ ‘Luba you fuck me so nice.’ But at the end of the day, I am a thing, for their enjoyment and the praise is part of it.” He shrugged. “They could just as soon fuck the robots but I respond better. I don’t mind it. But sometimes when you start to sound like that…”

He shrugged, looking away again, as if he were ashamed of the admission. “Y/N, I think I love you...I know I do. And…I don’t know.”

You turned now to face him fully, catching his face gently between your hands. “It’s okay, Luba. I love you. And I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better from now on, and be mindful.” You smiled a little teasingly. “No more flattery, I promise.”

You hoped that the gravity of what you were trying to say was clear, even if you were covering it with a joke, the air in the room too heavy not to try to crack the tension. You would need to talk about this again, but not now, not while you were both already upset and tired. For now, all you needed was calm, enough to go to bed.

He laughed, the sound wet from tears and wobbly. “I never said that. And you couldn’t keep that promise if you tried...Geliébte.”

You watched the way his face twitched as he tried the new word, contemplating the way it fit in his mouth and sounded to his ears and then he grinned. You leaned, planting a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“You’re probably right, but I’m taking that as a challenge now, you know. Starting in the morning. For now I should go back to my room, yeah?”

“No,” he hummed, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you back to him. “You should stay right here, geliébte.”

“That’s not going away any time soon is it?” you laughed as he fell backwards, tugging you down with him.

“Hm, no. I think I like it. Do you?”

He could be calling you a steaming pile of refuse and you’d like it, if it was in that free, comfortable voice he was using, or brought the kind of smile that was on his face. You snuggled closer to his side, pretending like you were thinking about it.

Your cheek fell naturally to rest above his heart, listening to it’s steady beat.

“Yeah. I do. I like it a lot.”

#Angst #with an open-ended but mostly fluffy ending #poor communication and low self-esteem are the killers here #Luba x Reader #past Luba x Naadirah #Mute (2018) fic #Break My Heart Right #also I was dozing off during the editing/formatting process so if I cocked it up I'll fix it tomorrow

28 notes · View notes

tilltheendwilliwrite · 4 years

Text

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter Two

Master List / Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x OFC Baast’Mal

Warnings: I’m making this up as a go, Canon divergent from the series during chapter 13, mild violence

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I’m trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We’ll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

Baast woke to the scent of cooking meat. It made her stomach rumble and mouth salivate but also confused her. There had been no one in her life for many years. There should be no one to cook. Her eyes snapped open, prepared to fight whoever had found her.

Then her eyes fell on Din playing with Grogu, and it all came flooding back. He spoke softly through the modulator, encouraging the boy to float the small silver ball from Din's hand to Grogu's.

When the child succeeded, Din whispered a pleased, "Dank farrik!"

Baast almost purred, watching him with the child. He made an excellent father, and she was of an age to desire a mate, a home, a pride. But a warrior like him deserved someone better than a broken Zentari. It mattered not that her soul cried out whenever he touched her without the barrier of his gloves.

He'd stripped them off yesterday, and she could smell him—the spicy scent of masculine soap blending seamlessly with the musk of a man warm in his beskar. But the underlying scent of Din Djarin was that of the sandy dunes of her homeworld. He smelled of warm winds and dusky plains, of tall grasses whipped by fragrant breezes.

He smelled like home.

The stars were cruel indeed to drop her in the lap of the one made for her.

She watched them for a time as he encouraged Grogu. Their bond was strong, too strong if the Jedi were to be believed. Such attachments bred fear for the one they loved, and fear lent itself to the Darkside.

The idea of Grogu's pure soul becoming tainted made her ache, and though she said she couldn't help them, Baast knew she must. Grogu deserved a chance to grow up on the side of good.

She sat up, drawing Din's notice, the man turning toward her across the fire.

"Morning."

Baast wondered at the voice behind the modulator. Would it be deeper? More robust? Would it be even more pleasing than this one that stroked fingers of violent want through her blood?

"Good morning," she murmured, voice husky still with sleep.

Before she could ask, the canteen he carried on his belt was in his hand. "Drink?"

She nodded, catching it easily when he tossed it to her. "Thank you. I'm not used to morning conversations anymore. Or any conversations in some years."

"You've done well, evading capture until now. Now, the Tribe will help."

"The Tribe," she whispered. "I've been alone for so long." The idea of being part of something was both appealing and terrifying. "I look forward to meeting your Alor."

"She will be glad to meet you. They all will. Everyone will hope-" He cut himself off, busying himself with the lizard cooking over the fire.

"Mando, they should not hope for what I do not think I can give," she sighed, lifting Grogu to her lap when he shuffled over.

"You don't know for sure you can't bond, Baast. Give it time."

Time was all she had. Life was a long thing for a Zentari alone in the universe.

Small green hands gently touched her cheeks, causing her to look down at Grogu. He cooed a sweet noise as she gazed into big, dark eyes. They were expressive in their own right, and she felt herself falling, diving once more into his mind.

The images came fast and furious. Din running, fighting, killing, but almost always alone.

Baast closed her eyes as pain washed through her for the Mandalorian. "I cannot," she whispered to the child. "It would not be fair."

Grogu frowned at her before squealing loudly. More images filled her mind, these of a man reckless with his safety, one who had little to nothing to live for.

She gasped and wrenched her face away from his hands, but it didn't stop the flow of ridiculousness. Kriff! The man had a death wish!

When Grogu disappeared from her lap, only then did he release her from his grasp.

Baast sent the green menace a glare. "That was entirely rude."

He smiled and blew a raspberry.

"I'm sorry," Din murmured, holding the child away like Grogu was a danger.

She held up her hand, continuing to glare. "Do not apologize for something he did. It sets a poor president. Invading my mind is bad manners, little one. Disregarding another's desires is a step down a dark path. This will not be allowed."

"Dark path?" Din asked.

"The Jedi and the Sith. One force believes in peace and passivity. The other wants power and are often corrupted by that passionate desire, both use the Force. He has the potential to be extremely powerful, but with that power comes responsibility. It is a razor's edge to walk, one I am not confident I have the skill to help him navigate."

Din straightened, but his shoulders lowered, relaxing his posture. "You'll help him? I didn't want to bring it up, but I'm running out of options."

"Yes," she sighed. "I know of one who may be able to help him, but I do not know if he will come at my call. Where is your covert?" He said nothing, and Baast tilted her head in apology. "That was an improper question. Forgive me."

"Always," he murmured.

She wondered if that would still be true should he learn what Grogu already suspected. "If I am to make contact, it must be from Tatooine."

"Why Tatooine?"

"Because it is the planet we agreed upon." She turned toward the fire and the spit of roasting meat before looking up at Din. "Have you eaten?"

The movement was subtle, a single negative action.

Baast hummed and reached for the cloth that tied her pants' to her calf and began to unwrap it.

"What are you doing?"

She ignored him and continued until her pant leg fluttered free. The cloth was only a couple inches wide, but it was long and thick enough to make an adequate blindfold.

She lifted it to her eyes, only for his hand to shoot out and grab her wrist. It felt odd for him to touch her with the slightly cracked but soft leather of a glove now that she knew the feel of his skin.

"You don't need to do that."

Baast blinked slowly, gaze drifting to his hand before returning to the visor where his eyes would be. "It is not a need but a want. I will do this, Din Djarin, so that you may eat freely with the child and I. This is the Way."

"It is unnecessary."

She unfolded, rising gracefully to stand before him, wrist yet held in his grasp. "When last did you eat?"

He said nothing.

She tilted her head and held out the cloth. "I have not shared a meal with another in many years. I would share this meal with you and Grogu. Allow me to honour your Creed."

There was no sound, no movement beyond what Grogu contributed to the conversation in small burbles of noise. The Mandalorian was still and silent, a hunter in all things.

Baast waited, quiet, calm. After so many years in a cell, the forest gave her peace, but those years had taught her patience. She could wait for eternity for his decision. She had the time, after all.

What went on behind the helmet, she couldn't know, but eventually, he set Grogu down, released her wrist, and took the blindfold. "Turn around."

She did so, pushing her hair back to uncover her ears. "If possible, try not to cover them. The tips are sensitive, and the fabric will feel abrasive."

The cloth came down over her eyes, hooked behind her ears, and crossed at the back of her head.

"Again," she murmured. "I can still see."

Twice more, the fabric circled before he tied a knot.

Her senses heightened, hearing, smell, and the sixth sense that had been with her all her life. The Force resonated in every living thing, glowing and pulsing, connecting all of them. She could see it like an orange glow, thin lines and thick, veining out around them.

"Good?"

"Yes." The heat of the fire warmed her skin, but before she could move, Din took her hand and elbow.

"Kneel. I'll get you some food."

Baast followed his direction, aware of the bright light that was Grogu coming to her side. He placed his hand on hers, flooding Baast with a gentle apology. She turned her hand over to hold his little claws.

A quiet hiss filled her ears, causing her to turn toward Din. The beskar blocked some of his energy, the Force somehow muted by it. Then he lifted off his helmet.

It took every effort to restrain herself from gasping. He glowed white, the shining brightness of a sun. Shock left her mute as she tracked the supernova that was this Mandalorian as he set down his helmet and removed the spit from the fire. He pulled off a piece of meat, maybe a leg, she couldn't quite tell, and brought it to her.

"Here." The deep baritone was like the softest of silk to her senses.

Baast held out her hands for the meat. His bare fingers grazed her palm as the hot meal hit her flesh, and grease trickled through her fingers.

"Thank you," she managed to force from a throat gone tight with emotion.

"It's hot. Be careful."

She stuffed down the aching need to reach out and feel the lips that produced such a voice and smiled crookedly instead. "Too long have you travelled with only Grogu for company."

He chuckled. "Perhaps."

Another wave of needy desire hit her, but Baast fought it off. She would not doom him to a half-life with an unfinished bond.

She ate and made sure he ate once Grogu was fed, asking questions about the child and how they came to be together simply to keep him talking. His voice was a balm to a soul grown used to silence.

When they finally finished their meal, she waited for him to return his helmet and come to release the blindfold. His hands were deft, skilled, and careful not to pull her hair.

Baast blinked to adjust to the quickly blooming daylight, then retied her pant leg as Din smothered the fire. She reached for Grogu and stood, ready to leave.

"I can carry him."

She tilted her head, already missing the gentle ebb and flow of the Force from him, now encased in all that beskar. "Do you object to me carrying him because you think I am weak or out of principle because he is your foundling?"

"Uh…"

She arched a brow. "Do not underestimate me, Mando. I live because I am jatnese be te jatnese. The best of the best."

"I know what it means," he huffed.

"Then stop being ori'buyce, kih'kovid," she smirked. "I will care for the child as you have cared for me."

"Atin," he muttered.

She didn't protest because, yes, she was stubborn.

"Fine." She could almost hear a pout in his modulated voice as he turned and marched out of their temporary camp. "And I'm not all helmet," he grumbled, likely thinking she couldn't hear him.

Baast smirked and gave Grogu a wink. "Come along, ad'ika. We weak ones best keep up with the big strong Mandalorian," she teased.

"I will leave you behind."

She grinned at his back. "No, you will not."

***

By the time they reached the Razor Crest, he was sweating in his beskar again, but with the luxury of the fresher within sight, Din didn't let it bother him.

He disarmed the ground defences and lowered the hatch, heading inside to get them underway. He wanted off the planet before anyone else thought to come looking for Baast'mal.

Hopefully, the Alor would know who to bribe to falsify a new chain code for her. Either that, or there would be an all-out war to eliminate the threat and bounty on her head. Or, she would spend the rest of her life hunted by the Empire.

He hated that thought. Baast was not a creature who should spend her life hiding. She should be allowed out into the light, a creature of hope and beauty.

Though he hadn't seen the true colour of her eyes, the rest of her was so mesh'la, when he'd removed his helmet, it had momentarily taken his breath. And without the helmet, her scent had filled his nose like something he'd loved and long forgotten. It was warm, soft, and decadent, all things a Mandalorian put off when he put on the beskar.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands to himself.

She closed the ramp and followed him to the ladder, climbing up with Grogu to slip into the seat back and to his right.

"Once we've left the atmosphere, you're welcome to the fresher, food, whatever you need," he offered, getting them airborne.

"Do I smell?"

He froze. "That wasn't what-"

Her laugher, that throaty purr, cut him off. "It's fine, Mando. An actual fresher after years of lakes and waterfalls will be pleasant."

"Hm. I have to make a stop on Nevarro, then another before we go to Tatooine. Is there anything you need?"

"Clothing. A cloak. And a weapon."

They cleared the planet, and he made the jump into hyperspace before turning around. "What kind?"

"Short sabres or staff will do."

He watched her pet Grogu's ears, gently using those long claws in such a fashion the kid was almost comatose in bliss. She sat with one foot propped on the seat, comfortably leaning on the armrest. He wondered if her skin would begin to lose its sun-kissed nature now that she was off-world.

"How did you learn to fight?" he asked, forcing himself not to think about her skin and how soft it was.

"Mandalorians are not the only warrior race. Zentari are taught from birth; the rest I learned from the idiots who held me captive. They sought to make me a weapon or a slave, with that came training, but Zentari are not so easily coerced, nor do we forget the slaughter of thousands. I am no weak-minded individual to be controlled by some Sith," she spat.

"Sith?" He knew next to nothing about Force-wielders and felt the lack of knowledge acutely.

"They oppose all things the Jedi stand for, desiring power over peace or balance. They corrupt what they touch.."

"And how does a Zentari hold out against someone so powerful?" He didn't wish to insult her, but surely a child against a master Sith couldn't win.

She sighed and looked away, watching the lights of hyperspace. "Zentari are neither good nor evil. We are Force neutral. The blood bonds distinguish much of our future. To avoid creating bonds with those that would bring harm was why Zentarus was so well hidden. But someone betrayed us. They used to brag about it, the Imps. How one who we trusted gave us up to the Empire."

"If you are Force neutral, why allow Mandalorians to know of Zentarus? Why let us come seeking mates?"

She shot those vibrant eyes back in his direction. "Because the Way was honourable once. Perhaps, at some point, Mandalore was led astray by their leader, but that was not our doing. Those that came to us knew the Way. They humbled themselves before us, and if they were denied, they left knowing such was not their destiny. Those who came knowing not the Way… did not leave Zentarus alive."

"Then I am glad I knew the Way," he murmured, wondering who would have won between the two of them had she not revealed herself.

"As am I," she nodded, looking as regal as the Sand Panther she claimed in her blood.

"Were the Jedi not part of your Way?"

She scowled. "The Jedi saw us as a threat. Naturally born Force users who required little training to do much of what they could, who lived for generations, and who were neither good nor evil. They feared what would happen if we were corrupted. An attempt was made to wipe us out. It failed, and we Zentari veiled Zentarus from those who knew not where to look."

"And that's why you didn't want to help us," he sighed, realizing the untenable position he'd put her in.

She stood, placing the sleeping Grogu down on her seat before taking the step she needed to stand between his spread knees. Her hands lifted to land lightly on the sides of his helmet, gliding over the metal. "It is no longer a want but a need. I will not watch Grogu fall to the side of the Sith because of my fear of the Jedi. He must be trained."

She leaned down and rested her forehead against his helmet as long lashes veiled her eyes. "This is the Way."

Without his permission, Din's hands found her hips and drew her incrementally closer. "I will protect you, Baast."

"We will protect each other."

He hummed his agreement and wondered at the low ripple of sound vibrating through his chest.

Next chapter

#Star-Crossed #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x ofc #star-crossed:bound by blood

38 notes · View notes