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linssikeittomies · 1 year

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Pivot Points - Chapter 1: Hard Left

Masterpost / AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

CW: attempted suicide

You wouldn't believe how much editing I did on this chapter. About 5(five!!!) times I was sure it was done, and just kept finding small things to add and/or change orz I would recomment reading this on AO3, I have more thorough notes and tags there.

The final straw isn’t Spriggs getting uppity with him. That’s such a common occurrence these days it barely fazes Izzy anymore. There’s a real chance he’d be more shocked if Spriggs actually did listen to him instead of shucking off his duties.

“You’re not the first mate on this ship, Dizzy Izzy.”

It still wouldn’t look good to let anyone talk back at him, so every time this sort of thing happens, Izzy is forced to act. Words stopped getting through to Spriggs months ago, but fortunately bodily harm is his weak point - quickest way to get him to do fucking anything is to threaten him with something sharp.

The final straw isn’t Edward grabbing his wrist to stop him from pulling out his sword, either. Izzy would’ve appreciated him not doing that, but all in all, it isn’t that surprising these days. He’d gone real soft after fucking Bonnet came back. Despite having known him for thirty years, despite seeing him grow from average sailor and scrappy brawler to a fucking legend, or even a force of nature, despite seeing his lowest points where he wouldn’t get out of bed for a week straight, despite all that the Edward in front of him these days is a practical fucking stranger. Because he had fallen for some lily-livered fucking idiot who got bored of having a good life and decided to make a fucking mockery out of hard choices and necessity and nab anything he felt like along the way.

“Sorry, Izzy. Stede’s ship, Stede’s rules- no threatening the crew.” Fucking Bonnet. It’s like that fucking moron wants to get shipwrecked with all this fucking shoddy rigwork and crowded decks. Fine by Izzy if he feels like dying, but he doesn’t need to take his useless fucking crew with him- actually, no, he can take his whole fucking useless crew with him, just leave Edward and Izzy out of it.

“These lazy fucks won’t do their fucking jobs when I tell them to, and then you stop me from doing them myself! So what the fuck am I supposed to do, then?”

And Edward just groans and waves his hand like that was supposed to fix anything. As if just ignoring a problem would make it solve itself - or more likely, Izzy would find the solution in his place because that's how it’s been ever since Blackbeard started gaining a reputation, once Edward started feeling like not doing actual work. Which had been vast majority of the time for the last few years.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re, like... above that and shit, Iz. You’re not some deckhand.”

It’s been a fair while since Izzy really exploded at Edward. Trust him, they’ve had their fair share of arguments, as all couples do, and his respect for Edward usually overrides his need for personal pride, and besides, more often than not Edward proved to have been in the right at the end, so Izzy’s learned to defer to him anyway. But he’s no doormat - he lets Edward have it when it’s deserved. And in this case it’s been deserved for months.

“Well if I’m not the first mate, and I’m also not a deckhand, or the helmsman, or any other rank, then what the fuck am I supposed to be doing all day when there’s a ship full of -”

“I dunno, man, just - “Edward sighs heavily, like he can’t be bothered. Because why would he be bothered, it‘s only his whole fucking ship and first mate and, oh yeah, his fucking matelot that are going to ruins at this rate! “Just relax, maybe? Have a vacation? Catch up on your reading? You’ve worked hard enough, you deserve some down time.”

Nearly anything else Izzy could have endured. He has endured many things - Edward sending him off after a rigged duel hadn’t been the final straw, Edward cutting off his toe hadn’t been the final straw, Stede fucking Bonnet traipsing back like the world owed him a favour hadn’t been the final straw, being demoted hadn’t been the final straw. They hadn’t been good times, but Izzy got through them because at least Edward had still cared, had still wanted him around, had still looked his way sometimes.

The final straw is Edward wanting him out of sight, so he can forget Izzy ever existed.

“Edward -” he starts, but stops himself. Also stops the hand reaching out to Edward. Draws a deep breath, reigns in the words he wants to say, shuts off the parts that want to kick and scream. Pulls himself back together.

Edward had chosen Izzy because he is put-together, effective, and good at following directions. “Captain. You could’ve told me this sooner. I would’ve gotten out of your hair.” It’s hard, keeping out the tears and rage out of his voice, and he isn’t sure if a perceptible amount seeped out. He can only hope Spriggs - who is still standing right there like a fucking twat that can’t tell a private affair from a dinner show - can’t read him well enough to know what the quiver means.

“Try to relax for once in your life, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe start with planning an itinerary for your leave, you like those”, Edward says airily, because to him bookkeeping doesn’t matter. He’s good at nearly all piracy-related things, and he’s a bloody brilliant sailor, but keeping logs and inventories has never interested him. It isn’t that Izzy particularly likes keeping them, either, it had just fallen to him because he had been the only other literate person on the Queen Anne and a habit is hard to break. Because Edward has never cared for having duties. Because he has never felt like making an effort where it really matters. With anyone that should matter.

“Captain.”

Izzy doesn’t know why he said it. He doesn’t know what he would continue it with. Edward doesn’t grace him with a response, because what is he supposed to say to such a non-statement? He just waves his hand non-committally and leaves. Izzy stares after him helplessly.

“Wow, a vacation. What a terrible fate”, Spriggs drawls sarcastically, and Izzy will fucking stab him to death right then and there, he swears he will. His life is already over, Edward can’t threaten him with anything anymore.

But he won’t, because he is good at following orders. No threatening the crew, Captain had said, and so Izzy will obey. Even if it is Spriggs, who was insufferable and has a weird look on his stupid fucking face and can’t tell when he isn’t wanted.

Izzy snatches the broom Spriggs hadn’t been using in the first place and starts swabbing the deck in his stead.

“Um, Blackbeard literally seconds ago told you to relax, don’t you think -”

“Let me get my affairs in order!” Izzy snaps at him. Spriggs raises his hands in surrender and doesn’t complain any further.

Izzy spends the rest of the day trying to get the ship in order. He inspects the rigging, provides Feeney with a note of which sails need mending, services the cannons, makes inventory of the weaponry and gunpowder, even scrubs off some barnacles from the hull. The crew give him looks, especially Spriggs, but say nothing. Even Edward says nothing, when he catches Izzy re-organizing the armory. So much for Izzy being like, above that and shit. He isn’t above anything. Isn’t below anything, either. He’s just falling apart inch by inch. He’s cracking at the seams. He’s boiling and he’s melting. He’s doing all the things he isn’t supposed to. He’s pointless. Reverted. Head empty. Gone back to his origins. Or not. He can’t tell, he isn’t coherent. Isn’t a man, at least. For the first time in a year.

The only thing he is anymore is resolute.

When the sun starts going down, and Izzy feels like he’s done as much as he’s able with the time he’s been allowed, he goes to his cabin. It’s only his because no one else wanted it - it’s a miserable trap without a porthole, so the only light comes from the candle Izzy has set on he small table he snagged from the - for heaven’s sake, the fucking rec center, honestly what was fucking wrong with Bonnet - and it gets stuffy in barely an hour when the door is closed. It’s as close to a brig as this bloody joke of a pirate ship has. Izzy imagines it was originally meant to be a storeroom, then was going to be converted into a cabin, but the work had been left unfinished for whatever reason - there is a bunk, and the beginnings of a wall sconce, but nothing else. Izzy could’ve used a bit more comfort, but he’d been happy enough as it provided some privacy. He was never much of a social person, and he also firmly believes in separation of command. Hard to command someone’s respect when you’re palling around with them, which is why Izzy stopped sleeping on the deck with the rest of the crew right as he gained a high enough rank.

Not that Izzy has been commanding much respect lately, anyway. Fucking Bonnet’s crew of fucking disrespectful imbeciles have turned him into a fucking joke that can get nothing done, since he isn’t allowed to beat them. Spriggs is the fucking worst of the lot, looking down his nose at Izzy, studying the best ways to push his buttons, knowing if anything happened then Izzy would get the blame.

Fine. So Spriggs has won. What does it matter anymore. All that’s left for Izzy to do is to put his meager property in order. He wants to change into a spare outfit, but that would raise suspicions, so he has to keep the black leather on. It’s been a long time since it last felt this uncomfortable. At least the ring feels as natural as it ever has, that one he will keep on gladly. He needs the dagger, but not the sword - on some level he wants to take it with him, because it’s his sword, it’s been with him for a long time and sits in his hand like a friend, but it’s a fine blade and deserves to find a new master. A good one. He hopes Edward will sell it, because no one from this shitty crew was worthy of this sword - apart from Jimenez, skills-wise at least, but personality-wise they’re a vindictive asshole - and Edward himself is more partial to knives. It would sell for good money, so Edward could buy another one of those ridiculous banyans he suddenly likes.

The money Izzy isn’t petty enough to take with him, but the letters he will. He hasn’t kept many of them, only the most important ones - a few from Suzanna, some from Sam, one from Anne. There are none from Edward, because he has never needed to write to Izzy - they have been together for thirty years. Side by side for twenty-five. Estranged for a few months. Apart for eight hours.

He wishes he could take something to weigh him down, but there’s nothing that’s both heavy enough and easily carried, and the last thing he needs is anyone waking up to him dragging his trunk around on the deck. The current should be enough to carry him away from the ship even if he floats, but he would prefer to be sure. He really doesn’t want anyone to see him. Couldn’t take a little teasing, they’d say, or about fucking time. If he just disappears, then they would think he’d finally had enough of this fucking farce and signed on somewhere else. He briefly wonders if Spriggs will keep up the mocking pretense of affection even after Izzy is gone, or if it’s only fun when Izzy’s there to witness it. Jesus fucking Christ, Izzy should’ve just let him die back then, and he would’ve if he’d known Spriggs would become this fucking annoying. Even sparing Edward the moral panic wasn’t worth all the needling. Bare your soul one fucking time and get shit for it for the rest of your life!

He chose the last hour of the morning watch, so the ship would be unguarded for the shortest possible time. Izzy would get to do his deed in secret, but the dawn would wake the rest of the crew soon. It’s a stroke of luck Fang has this watch - Ivan would have done almost as well, but he took longer to fall asleep, leaving Izzy less time. They both know Izzy sometimes has trouble sleeping, and would take over a watch to have something to do. Everyone on the Queen Anne knew Izzy doesn’t do well with idleness - everyone except Edward, evidently.

Or maybe he does. This could be his way of shirking off his duty and going oh well, he didn’t want to stay so there’s nothing I could do. Izzy wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always fucking loathed doing anything he doesn’t like, no matter how detrimental. Case in point, fucking Bonnet.

And now Izzy. Edward knows he should cut anchor, but he doesn’t want to. The reason Izzy can only speculate about, maybe it’s sentimental, maybe it’s practical, though Izzy can’t think of a reason for that - he’s basically doing nothing these days. Maybe it’s just for the amusement of the crew. But one thing is for sure - by this point, it isn’t affection anymore. It burns that Izzy’s been abandoned like this, but he supposes Edward could’ve been crueler about it, and perhaps Izzy himself could’ve been nicer about everything else. It was just - for years, he thought Edward had chosen him, the way Izzy had chosen him in return. To have and to hold, even if the words hadn’t been said. And Izzy has held - kept holding as his matelot slept with other people, kept even when Edward’s interest waned, is still holding when everything is finally over. Because he had chosen the duty to love and to hold Edward until death do them part. But Edward hadn’t taken his part seriously, he’d started dodging his duty almost right away, and then dropped it altogether barely a few years in. It hurts, when you think someone loves you and then it turns out you were just another fling. Anyone would get bitter.

A little past four o’clock, Izzy acts. Puts on his boots and waistcoat like nothing’s wrong, combs his hair, puts on a brave face. Stuffs the letters inside his shirt. Straightens everything out. Goes up on deck.

Fang is up in the crow’s nest.

“I’ll take over”, Izzy tells him in a tired voice, and little of it is acting. He is exhausted in all the ways a person can be - physically, mentally, spiritually. Fang makes space on the railing, and Izzy goes to lean heavily on it.

“Can’t sleep again, boss?”

“Yeah. Still a few hours before sunrise, you can get a nap in.”

Fang gives him an odd look, almost worried, but that can’t be right since it’s directed at Izzy. One: because there has never been a need to worry about Izzy, and two: Fang hates him, anyway.

“Or I could just keep you company. That’s nice, sometimes.”

It’s been several years since anyone offered to keep Izzy company. At the start of his pirating career, thirty-some years ago, he’d had some friends, and of course Sam. He’d been a different person, then, naturally. As he aged, he became happy with only having one’s person’s affection and attention. Of course, he’s since lost that, too, leaving only those who merely tolerate him and who he tolerates in turn. Mostly it doesn’t bother him - he’s made his bed, and he hasn’t felt like completely overhauling his personality. And now there is no longer a need.

Still... it does feel nice that Fang has noticed something’s off, and cares enough to try a little bit to fix it. Even if his method is the exact opposite of what Izzy wants.

“Better not. I’m not in a good mood.”

“That’s even more reason, in my experience”, Fang argues nervously, starting to lean slightly away from Izzy. Expecting a hit, maybe.

“Go to sleep. I will not repeat myself.”

Fang still hesitates, and his hand goes up to cover his beard. Izzy rarely feels shame for his actions, but this is one of those rare times - strange, since he’s never particularly liked Fang to begin with, and likes him even less after participating in the mutiny against Izzy’s extremely short captaincy. Granted, he’d basically been trying to incite a mutiny so he really shouldn’t be blaming Fang and Ivan. But there isn’t much you can do about feelings.

Unfortunately.

“Sorry for pulling your beard all those times.”

Fang forces an awkward smile, and finally climbs down. He’ll likely bunk down next to Spriggs and Pete. He’s been smitten ever since getting his cock sketched. Izzy never knew he was that easy, but then again, Spriggs is a special kind of fruit. Novelty can be surprisingly enticing.

Izzy enjoys the darkness and quiet for a while. He isn’t as good at reading the stars as Edward is, because no one is as good at it as Edward. He had taught Izzy a little, but he’s a bad teacher - because he’s so good at everything, he’s terrible at explaining anything. He just gets it, he doesn’t need to think about it. And he’s a fucking show-off, too, loves withholding information so he’ll look like a wizard when an unexpected fog rolls in or something. Fucking sausage clouds. Izzy can’t blame Bonnet for falling for Edward, because who wouldn’t have? Fucking magnificent twat.

After a while, everything on deck is quiet. Everyone in deep sleep. Even the moon is hidden behind the clouds, like it doesn’t want to spy on anything that happens. Just in time before sunrise, even. For once Izzy’s plans are going perfectly. He climbs down quickly, then walks quietly to the empty poopdeck - they’re anchored, so there was no need for a helmsman, thus no one to see him moving about. There’s a bit of wind, making the ship creak quietly, masking small noises, so maybe he’s being overly cautious, but Izzy hasn’t grown this old by being careless. He can only hope the splash won’t be heard over the waves. It is a fairly high drop, after all, and Izzy won’t have much control of how he falls in.

He stares down at the black water.

It... it should be warm. It’s the middle of winter, but it’s not like the Caribbean actually gets cold at any point in the year, so it would make sense for the water to be warm. At least it shouldn’t be cold. He won’t be feeling it for long in either case, but Izzy would still prefer his final moments to be warm. The biggest reason he left England had been to stop feeling so fucking uncomfortable in his own skin, but the shitty fucking weather that was always either wet or cold, or often enough both at the same time, had been a close second.

He draws in a breath, and lifts himself up on the railing. He takes a moment to take in the night air one final time, and lets himself enjoy. He was made for the sea, and all in all, he hasn’t had a bad life. He got most of the things he had asked for, and for a short moment he even had Edward’s love. Even more than that, he got all those while riding the waves in his own wooden kingdom, at home.

“Izzy.”

He nearly drops in prematurely as Edward’s voice suddenly pipes up behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing up? It’s still over an hour until sunrise!” Izzy scream-whispers, still wary of the crew. He doesn’t hear them stirring, and since he didn’t heard Edward coming he doubts they did, either, but you can’t blame him for being on edge. The whole point of doing this at night, alone, in the poopdeck, was so no one would see him! And now Edward has. Why not stick the knife in his neck right then and there if he’s been caught, anyway. Goddamnit.

Fuck, he really could’ve done without the attention, not like he’s getting it any time he asks so why does fate have to fuck him over like this?

“Knee’s acting up, needed to move it a bit. Thought you could use the company.”

Right, so Fang went to get him. Otherwise no one would know Izzy was on watch in his stead. Fucking tattletale. Should’ve pulled his beard after all.

“Don’t need it. Go back to bed.” Back to Bonnet.

“You giving orders to your captain?” Edward warns, and usually that voice would send a thrill down Izzy’s spine. But finally his body has gotten the memo, and knows it won’t lead to anything. He just sighs and turns back to the sea, so he won’t have to see Edward’s mussed up hair, trimmed beard, green banyan. His resigned eyes.

If Hell turns out to be real, Izzy’s greatest regret would be never getting to see Edward’s doe eyes again.

“You really going?”

Izzy’s hands grip the railing tight, and he feels his face twist in defensive anger.

“Fucking Bonnet won’t let me be first mate, you won’t let me be crew, I’m just - doing fuck-all while the rest of you play house. I can’t stay here.” And I can’t start over again with someone else, he doesn’t say out loud, because that would sound pointlessly needy when Edward can’t understand that some people don’t just move on.

And Edward just sighs. He can barely muster together enough of a fuck to make a fucking noise when his first mate and matelot of twenty five fucking years is about to fucking die. Izzy would’ve been less offended if he’d stayed silent and just fucked off.

A tense moment passes, where Izzy refuses to look at Edward, and Edward doesn’t bother doing anything. Until there’s another fucking sigh, and Izzy almost throttles him.

“If that’s what you want, then I won’t stop you.” Because why would he, when he so clearly wants this. He can’t wait for Izzy to fuck off out of his life. “Look, Iz, I know you’ve been unhappy, and I’m sorry for making -”

“Don’t fucking start with that pansy-ass bullshit -”

“No, I will.” And it’s such a tragedy that this is the time when the old Blackbeard comes closest to making a comeback. Edward’s eyes have that steel in them again, his body moves with the dangerous languor of a gun ready to fire, and his voice accepts no arguments. At that moment, he returns to being Izzy’s Captain, and angry as he is, he can’t help but be compelled to obey. This is what had drawn him to Edward in the first place, his confident authority, his violent magnetism. “Stede’s taught me that talking is good. Think it would’ve done us some good, even.” But then his authority fades again, and he returns to being Stede fucking Bonnet’s boytoy. Izzy can’t understand that, for the life of him he cannot fathom what compels Edward to Bonnet the way Edward compels Izzy. “Just... too late to start now, I guess. But I’m sorry I’ve made you not want to stay.”

It is too little too late, after the last few years, he’s right about that, but Izzy’s cold bitch of a heart has never known how to not melt at Edward. So he forgives Edward, of course he does. Suddenly he’s glad Edward is there, oddly comforted by his presence. Izzy’s life had really only begun when he met Edward, and now it will end, with Edward still next to him. A life encapsulated in Edward. His Captain.

He smiles, just a little bit, without meaning to. Perhaps he doesn’t matter much to Edward anymore, but nothing could erase those early years when they’d been the centers of each other’s worlds.

Izzy slips the ring off his cravat. He stopped believing in any kind of afterlife early on in his life, so he needs no reminders of Edward. And maybe Edward, who will keep living, doesn’t want reminders - but he could choose to think of it as Izzy giving him permission to be with Bonnet.

And judging by the brightened look in his eyes, he does choose to think of it like that.

“Not asking you to think of me or anything. Throw it out of you want to.” But secretly he hopes Edward will keep it, and think of him.

“I’ll keep it safe.” And Edward says nothing more, just slips the ring into a pocket, then stares out to the sea, in silence.

So that’s how thirty years go down the drain - quietly. Izzy supposes he should feel angry that his dedication means so little, that Edward hasn’t tried to make him reconsider even once, but in a rare event, he just feels calm. He hadn’t wanted to turn this into a number, and Edward hadn’t. He gave Edward a memento, and Edward promised to keep it. He had made a decision, and Edward hadn’t countered it. Izzy has gotten all he asked out of this.

He makes a light chuckle as he draws the dagger from its holster. “Would be nice if you did the honors. Starting and ending this whole thing.” But Edward can’t, for reasons Izzy has never understood. Even so, Izzy can honor them one last time.

He fiddles with the dagger in his hand. Just one quick slice, should be easy. Doesn’t even need to be deep, the sea would take care of the rest. Just one quick slice.

His hands are not shaking as he lifts the dagger to his neck, they are not shaking. Just one quick slice, justonequickslice.

“Izzy?”

Just one quick slice.

“Izzy -! MAN OVERBOARD, MAN OVERB-”

#pivot points #fan fiction #our flag means fanfic #ofmd #steddyhands #izzy hands #blackbeard #linssifanfiction #wiptale #suicide cw

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rebeccccccaaa · 3 years

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sʜʏ ɢᴜʏ

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sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀᴏɢᴇʀs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: (ANON) Hey :) I hope I can give you an idea for an imagine. You and Steve are a couple and all the other Avengers ship you a lot. Then on time at another one of Tony’s party the guys tease Steve a bit that he barely has sexual experience and he gets all flustered. Then you take him back to your shared apartment to get him in safety. You cuddle on the couch but then things start to get heated and Steve isn’t that shy guy anymore? I don’t know, something like that maybe if you want.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: SMUT! (minors dni plz), there’s a list, so there’s choking, light bondage, major teasing, oral m!rec and f!rec, oragasm denial/control, a bit of degradation and praise ;), dacryphilia and i’m pretty sure that should be it.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: oh boy let’s just dive in shall we

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“You two are just too cute,” Wanda gushed looking at you and Steve. You sat very close to each whispering sweet things and nonsense making each other giggle and smile all night. The team thought Steve really scored one with you. You made him so happy and carefree.

“Gross,” Nat said, sipping her gin and tonic.

“Oh please, Nat. What are you afraid of; romance? Love?” Tony teased.

“Oh please, I can be romantic,” she said. Everyone went silent before bursting out in laughter including Nat herself, smacking the table in a flurry of humor.

“I bet there’s no flavor. No spice. All vanilla,” she said.

“What?” you smiled with confusion in your eyes.

“You guys don’t really radiate sexual tension, lust, erotic behavior,” Tony said.

“Well, that’s something we do in private. Nothing you guys need to know about,” Steve defended.

“Woah, calm down captain. No one’s saying that’s a bad thing,” Bucky patted his friend's shoulder.

“Can we drop this?” Steve sighed.

You and Steve left the party early feeling tired and worn out. Steve’s had a busy week with missions and reports; he just wanted to lay on the couch with his girl and relax. But he couldn’t help but think about what the guys said about their sex life. He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much, it was none of their business. He realized you hadn’t defended him too much either. Did you agree? Did you think he was too vanilla?

“Steve?” you asked softly.

“Yes, my love?”

“I asked if you were going to go to sleep right now? I tell you’re exhausted,” you cupped his face.

No, just… come here,” he held you close slowly making his way to the couch.

You kissed his jaw softly laying on top of him. His hands scratched your back softly and you hummed quietly into his neck. He thought back again, because he couldn’t help it, thinking about what the guys said. Maybe he should ask?

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like it when we have sex?” he asked bluntly.

“What? Of course I do; otherwise I wouldn’t keep doing it,” you nudged his shoulder playfully.

“Well, would you mind if maybe we could try some new things?”

“Oh well, of course. Why now?” you asked; you had a feeling this had something to do with what happened earlier this night.

“Well, I just wanna try something new,” he tried not to smile, but eventually cracked a smile making you grin.

“Baby, you don’t have to be dominator to have pleasurable sex.”

“I know but I guess I just hated everyone teasing me.”

“I know they’re mean,” you scratched his head lightly.

He looked into your eyes lovingly flickering down to your lips. You leaned in knowing his desire, your lips pressing perfectly against his. His hands held your hips lightly and you shifted over and over again grinding on his dick. Steve's hand came up to your neck and slowly wrapped a hesitant hand around it pushing you away.

“You gotta stop teasing me like that if you know what’s good for you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Steve,” you breathed out. You already like this ‘trying new things’ Steve that you’re getting tonight.

“I want you upstairs for me sitting like a good girl on the bed got it?” he practically growled.

You instantly jumped on his lap and felt his hand come up and smack your ass before you scurried away with a giggle. You trampled through your bedroom door taking your clothes off and sat on the bed patiently. The need and desire burned in your belly and you ached for Steve to come quickly.

Slowly, after longer than you hoped, Steve opened the door with his unbuttoned whited collared shirt and pair of grey suit pants that he wore for tonight. You bit your lip holding back a moan simply from the sight of your man. And with his dominance piercing through, you couldn’t help the arousal dripping from you.

“Look at that,” he grinned, making you feel shy under his lustful gaze.

“So pretty,” he walked up to you holding your chin between his fingers to make you look up at him. He traced your lips faintly with the tip of his thumb and you opened your mouth invitingly, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Steve’s eye stayed trained on your mouth; thoughts of them being wrapped around his dick rather than his thumb making him harder with each passing second.

You noticed his hungry gaze and to tease him just a bit you moved your hand over the prominent tent under his pants, softly pressed and squeezing his cock making him groan. You slowly unbuckled his belt making eye contact and unzipped his pants to pull his hard dick into your palm.

You slowly stroked his cock in your hand, rubbing your own thumb over the tip. Steve moaned softly at the feeling before pulling his thumb out of mouth and pulling you in a feverish kiss. His knees buckled as he got closer to a release simply by your hand. You liked the power you had but you saw the switch in Steve’s eyes and he remembered that he was going to take charge tonight.

“You had your fun?” he whispered huskily in your ear.

He softly combed his finger through your hair before tugging harshly and pushing down do you were on both your hands and knees now. You instantly stared and practically drooled over the size of Steve. It didn’t matter how many times he’s fucked you, you’d never be able to get over how big he was.

“You wanna suck my cock, baby?” Steve teased.

“Yes, please. I want you to fuck my mouth, Captain,” you said seducitvely.

“Fucking hell, baby girl.”

You leaned forward immediately and stared up at Steve with faux innocent eyes. He gathered your hair and you started bobbing your head up back and forth on his cock. You reached down your front; your pussy clenching around nothing desperate for some sort of stimulation.

“Hands where I can see them,” Steve yanked on your hair. You moaned around his cock, drool spilling from the sides of your mouth. You curled your fingers over his pants trying your best to suck on his dick. He looked down at your and the sight was a beauty.

You’ve sucked Steve’s dick before but he was usually sitting or laying on the bed and didn’t really ever get a good look at you; you always made him feel too good. But seeing you in your fullest right now, drooling, crying, moaning, he was pushed to the edge and he couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Fuck, sucking my cock so good. I’m gonna cum,” he grunted above you.

His hips started thrusting hitting the back of your throat and you squeezing his hips bracing yourself. You tried to breathe slowly through your nose as you slightly gagged on his cock. Your eyes rolled back and you felt his cum quickly going down your throat. You swallowed as best you could and the cum that drooled from the corners of your mouth you gathered with your fingers and sucked on them making eye contact with Steve, who panted heavily after his high.

“Fuck, baby. That deserves a reward doesn’t. You made your captain feel so good,” Steve kissed you softly.

Steve took his shirt off with eagerness; his chest was blushed from heat as were his cheeks, a layer of sweat coated his forehead and chest. He pulled his pants down and sat down on the bed. He laid back and grabbed your hand gentlemanly so you could straddle his face, a complete contrast to the energy in the room.

You smiled down at him combing your fingers softly through his hair. He kissed right above where you needed him most but ultimately gave in and kissed your clit. You sighed softly and bit your lip. His hands wrapped around the back of your thighs softly squeezing your cheeks with his hands.

His tongue dipped past your folds and you gasped at the feeling. He pulled his tongue out momentarily to wrap his lips around your clit. Your body shuddered feeling him suck hard. You couldn’t help the trembling in your legs.

Steve’s cheeks reddened even more under you but he loved it. His eyes were closed and all he could feel was you against his mouth perfectly; he was heaven. You moaned loudly above him and soon enough that coil bubbling in the pit of your stomach burst and you practically gushed all over Steve’s face.

You fell forward and Steve sat up immediately flipped over your tired body and towered over you. He kissed you softly and you moaned into his mouth. He got off of you and the whimper you made felt pathetic.

“Awe, you gonna cry? Pathetic little whore desperate for my cock,” his words made you whined again and squirm. He walked back to you holding his belt in hand and you literally shook in anticipation.

“Arms up baby girl,” Steve smirked.

While Steve wrapped the belt around you and you couldn’t help the smile lovingly at him. Steve noticed your beautiful smile and kissed you before going back to buckle the belt around wrists.

“What’s with the grin, beauty?”

“I like this side of you,” you whispered.

“I like this side of me too,” he winked.

He kissed down your arms to your chest; his tongue playfully licked your nipple before nipping the bud with his teeth. Steve had enough teasing himself and the ache in his dick was becoming more and more unbearable with each passing second.

“You’re gonna keep those hands there and you’re not cum until I say so, got it?” Steve grabbed your chin to make you look at him directly. You nodded eagerly.

“Yes, Captain,” He clarified.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

Steve slid into you effortlessly; you’re slick and Steve’s saliva making it easy for him to thrust into you. You bit down hard on your bottom lip trying your best to suffice a moan. Steve moaned softly before kissing you once again. As he slowly and torturously moved in and out of you, it became increasingly harder to keep your hands where they were.

“Fuck, Captain; I want to touch you so bad,” you whined.

“I know you do; that’s what makes this so fun,” he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“I can feel ya clenching around me dick hard, baby. Do you wanna cum? You wanna make a mess all over my dick?” he mocked.

“Yes! Please, Captain. Please let me cum!”

“Wait baby, you’re gonna wait until your captain cums first and you can let it go. Don’t you dare cum until I say so,” he squeezed the sides of your throat perfectly making you nearly pass out in pleasure.

Your hips squirmed and wiggled with each thrust; Steve brushing your G Spot perfectly. Tears brimmed your eyes as you desperately held back your climax. As much as you’d love to see how Steve would punish you, you were so beyond exhausted that you didn’t think you could handle any more releases.

Steve kept his eyes locked with your and when he saw the tears falling from the outer corners of your eyes he grunted loudly moving his hips even more so wildly; the headboard of the bed smacking against the wall over and over again. You screamed in pleasure and your body shook. Tears emitted rapidly down your temples soaking your pillow and sheets but you loved every goddamn second of it.

Steve kissed you messily, lustfully, sloppy, passionately. Your wrists tugged on the belt in an attempt to free the restraints; you just wanted to hold him but not being able to was so arousing.

“You ready, baby?” Steve growled, all that came from you were shrieks and whines.

“You’ve been such a good girl for your Captain. Let go, baby. I’m right there with ya,” Steve rested his forehead against yours.

You looked into his eyes once more before your orgasm ripped through harshly and your body writhed and trembled under him. Steve’s eyes screwed shut as his hips dug into yours with one last thrust spilling inside you perfectly.

His arms gave out and he fell on top of you lightly pressing faint kisses to your hot skin. He barely lifted his head enough to see the wrists and lazily nbound them. In an instant you wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders clinging desperately onto him making him chuckled lightly.

“Fuck, Steve. Oh my god, I love you. I love you so much,” you painted.

“I love you too baby girl,” he whispered petting the back of your head softly.

“That was incredible! The team needs to tease you more often if that’s the outcome, holy shit,” you cupped his face and he smiled innocently at you.

“I didn’t hurt you or anything?” he asked, grabbing your wrists softly.

“It kinda stings, but if I get to cum like that again, that’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to pay,” you said, making him laugh.

Steve cleaned both of you up quickly, changing the sheets and pillow cases while you showered, before crawling into bed with you. You clung onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. The meeting between your thighs already began to burn deliciously, the feeling of Steve still inside you. You buried your face into his neck pressing kisses and nipping playfully at his skin before ultimately falling into a deep and peaceful sleep.

The next morning, Steve had tried to wake you but you groaned and nearly cried from how sore you were. You pouted like a child who didn't want to go to school, and because Steve loves you so much he let you stay in bed.

“I’m going to fill out some paperwork and check in on training and I’ll be back as soon as possible. With food,” he winked.

When Steve got there he wasn’t going to lie, it felt everyone could see right through him; like they know he fucked your brains out to the point where you couldn’t walk but no one said a thing. He went into the conference room to do paperwork like he told you and headed to the gym when he was finished.

“Hey, Steve,” Nat said after pining Peter down on the mat.

“How’s training?”

“Not good!” Peter groaned.

“He’s getting there,” Nat smirked, “Where’s Y/n?”

“She’s not feeling too well, so she stayed home.”

“Aw, maybe I should come by and-”

“No she’s ok,” Steve blurted out.

Nat squinted her eyes at him suspiciously before she noticed the many hickies and bite marks on Steve’s shoulder, barely peeking out from under his shirt. She smirked and noticed Steve beginning to blush.

“Run her a bath, get her the rose scented lotion she likes a lot, and give her a massage. From the looks of it, she needs one.”

“Thanks,” Steve said quickly before running off to get back home to the love of his life.

============================

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison

@buckybarnes101

@l-sofiamia-l

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #marvel fics #marvel smut #chris evans smut

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lemons3ason · 3 years

Text

How the Germa 66 Boys React to You Wanting To Leave the Kingdom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ichiji Vinsmoke

Saying his heart sank when he saw the flames and smoke coming out of the main Germa Ship where you and Asami were held was an understatement, this man was hysterical. He had just returned from a mission and just wanted to hold you and Asami in his arms but he wasn’t expecting to see the castle on fire, with his raid suit still activated he quickly flew towards the castle flying into the heart of the fire to save you if need be but it was his (Y/n) who started the fire. You were fighting Judge, holding onto your infant daughter for dear life with a look of terror in your eyes.

“(Y/n)!”, Ichiji screamed snapping you out of your power driven trance.

Your Phoenix fire quickly died out as he rushed to your side holding you tightly in his arms. Asami smiled and babbled up at her father who quickly smiled and pressed a soft pet to her head before turning his attention back to you.

“(Y/n), my love, what happened? What’s wrong?”, he asked calmly brushing your hair out of your face so you could look at him.

“I-I...he...he was going to experiment on Asami. I-I couldn’t let that happen I just...I just couldn’t! I’m sorry, s-so sorry.”, you stuttered out clinging to his shirt for dear life.

Ichiji softly hushed you and held you close before glaring up at his father who now loomed over him, “How dare you attempt to hurt my daughter.”

“The runt isn’t going to be of any use if she’s normal.”, Judge spat.

Ichiji scoffed at his father and picked you up in his arms carrying you away from the scorched laboratory. He tried to calm your nerves but his words barely reached you, he sat you on the bed once you had all reached the bedroom and called your name. You gasped quietly and took in his worried expression, you nervously pressed a kiss to his lips to try and hide your fear but he knew that something was bothering you.

“(Y/n) talk to me. I know there’s something else on your mind, what is it?”, he asked pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

A sigh of defeat pushed past your lips, you put Asami down and pulled out a letter from under your pillow and showed it to him. The symbol of your family crest detailed over the envelope, “My parents want me to go back home for my coronation and take over the kingdom.”, you explained quietly. Ichiji didn’t see anything wrong with that, at least until he pieced one and one together.

“But that means leaving Germa forever.”, he finished your thought and you simply nodded.

You were so afraid of what he’d say, what if he told you no? You didn’t want to separate from him over this, you didn’t want him to leave you or Asami!

“Then I’ll go with you.”, he admitted much to your shock.

You tried to stutter out a rebuttal for his decision but he quickly shut you up with a kiss, “You aren’t happy here. I don’t feel safe leaving you here anymore knowing that my father wants to take away Asami’s humanity, it’s okay. Let’s leave, I’m tired of this shit anyways, I just want to live out my life with you and Asami. We’re safer with your kingdom so let’s just leave Germa behind.”

“Are you sure? Ichiji you’re the first born son of Germa, you’re supposed to take over the kingdom.”, you sighed feeling like you were going to start a war between the two families.

“My first priority will always be my wife and my daughter, if you’re not happy here then let’s leave Germa.”, Ichiji smiled at your softly kissing your lips to reassure of your decision. You smiled and kissed him back as you both planned the preparations to leave the kingdom. Within four days you had arrived at your kingdom with family and your coronation would be held just days later. Reiju was the one to inform Judge of Ichiji’s decision and she couldn’t be happier.

“Father from this day forward I will the heir to the throne and when I become Queen of Germa I will tear down everything you worked so hard to build and make this a kingdom my mother would’ve been proud of. Ichiji is never coming back and I’d advise you to leave him alone unless you actually want to lose to (Y/n).”, the pink haired woman grinned as she returned to her quarters.

You were happier now, especially Ichiji, he no longer had to play the monster. Now he could just be happy ruling your kingdom by your side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Niji Vinsmoke

Niji had married you, much to his father’s irritation, you were now a Vinsmoke by marriage. You were happy of course now you were bonded to him for life but while you were treated more like royalty amongst the guards Judge’s cruelty was now moved onto Cosette. You hated it, she was your only friend on this ship but still they treated her like trash so you decided to do something about it. One night in her chambers you went to speak with her and asked her to run away with you, you weren’t running from Niji you just wanted to get her away from Germa so she could live a happier life. She sobbed in your arms agreeing almost instantly, at night you’d run away on one of the life boats that Germa had hidden under the main ship. Cosette tried to be as quiet as she could as you both snuck past the heavily guarded halls of the ship. You were able to get her there safely but just as you were about to release the ship you felt a familiar tingle run up your spine.

“(Y/n) what the hell are you doing?”

You finished unhooking the ship and let it go allowing Cosette to escape into the water as you turned towards your angry husband. You sighed unsure of what to say since this whole situation made you look guilty.

“What the hell were you doing?”, Niji asked again.

“I was going to let Cosette run away to my family island. She’s not happy here, neither am I but unlike me Cosette doesn’t have anybody to live for. I’m tired of seeing her constantly abused or degraded because that’s how it was for me before you and I fell in love with each other. I wasn’t running away from you I-I just don’t want to be part of Germa anymore.”, you admitted hanging your head in shame.

“Oh really?”, he growled.

You expected to get scolded, you really did, but when you felt Niji wrap his arms around you and leaning forward towards the water you realized that your husband felt the same as you.

“If you wanted to leave then you should’ve just said something you idiot. I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”, Niji admitted in your ear making your heart skip a beat.

He transformed into his raid suit mid fall and landed back on the small ship where Cosette was waiting. She quietly cheered hugging you tight, Niji began to steer the small ship and readjust the sails so the winds would guide you all home faster.

“N-Niji-sama, w-why are you helping us?”, Cosette dared to ask.

Niji didn’t bother turning towards you two but you could tell he was sincere with his words, “I gave up on Germa when they took (Y/n) away from me. If she’s unhappy there then I’ll gladly run away with her, and...and nobody’s food would be as good as yours if you were to leave so I guess I don’t really have a choice but to get you two dorks there safely.”, he mumbled the last part since he started getting shy but you heard what he said.

You stood up and walked to his side pressing a huge kiss against his cheek until your lip gloss stained his cheek. He tried to complain but you noticed his face turning red, “I really am lucky to have such a wonderful loving husband.”, you giggled turning his head towards you to kiss his lips.

Life would be better now, your grandfather would be waiting for your arrival and you don’t think he’d mind a few extra guests. At least one of them would be a great addition to his restaurant back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yonji Vinsmoke

Terror, was that the word that would describe your mood right now? No, petrified maybe? Regardless of what word described how you felt you knew this one stupid test in your hands would change your whole life. Yonji had noticed you had suddenly gotten morning sickness, and although he was a childish idiot he knew what he had done with you one more then one occasion so he suggested that you’d take the pregnancy test but now...now that the result was positive you were shaking.

“(Y/n), honeybun, are you okay in there?”, he called from the other side of the door turning the knob to see if he could get in.

You quickly unlocked the door and let him in collapsing against his chest due to the stress of the situation, what would you do? Judge would take your baby and make it a monster soldier just like Yonji and the others you couldn’t let that happen.

“(Y/n) what’s wrong?”

“Y-Yonji...please...please don’t let Judge take my baby. Please. I-I don’t want them to take m-my baby please.”, you broke down clinging to his ruffled shirt desperately as your fear coursed through your blood.

Yonji realized that his speculation was correct, you were pregnant with his baby. Although you were worried he knew what he had to do, “Baby, hush, listen to me. Pack all of your things, we’re gonna run away from this place.”

You stopped panicking and tuned in to what Yonji was saying, runaway from Germa?

“We’re gonna run away. I have more then enough funds to have us live off of for the next 200 years, let’s start a family and a whole new life away from Germa.”, Yonji smiled the more he explained his idea.

He wiped away your tears and kissed your lips sweetly, “I’m so happy right now, I couldn’t think of a better reason to leave this stupid place. You’re gonna have our baby, I hope they come out with your beautiful eyes and your cute smile.”, he chuckled. You smiled at him and nodded, you were unsure of how far along you were but if Yonji was willing to throw away everything he was for you then who were you to turn down such a delicious offer. As you packed a certain pink haired sibling entered the room to see you both clearing out both of your belongings she became curious immediately but the simple fact that she would be an aunt soon was enough to keep her quiet and join in the plan. Yonji contacted a landowner in the East Blue for his own property, this way he could stay as far away from Germa and stay with you peacefully. Everything was set at nightfall you’d leave this terrifying family behind to start your own.

“They’re running late I hope they’re okay.”, you sighed unconsciously rubbing your stomach.

You heard your name and quickly turned to your green haired lover who scooped you up and kissed you passionately.

“Get on the ship love. It’s time to leave this shit hole forever.”, he chuckled grinning like a fool. It was time. Reiju was running away with you and both siblings had left a little surprise for their father. Once the sun rose over the Germa Fleet Judge awoke to see two cans sitting on his desk, a red ‘X’ drawn over the numbers of the child that once owned them. He growled under his breath and crushed both cans in his hands completely destroying the suits, if that’s how it would be then fine he didn’t need weak fools in his army.

These two fools were now happy, in just a few months they would get to greet their first addition to the family and they couldn’t wait. You were happy throughout your whole pregnancy because not only were you free from Germa’s experimentation but you’d soon get to birth a normal healthy baby.

#x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #ichiji x reader #vinsmoke ichiji #niji x reader #vinsmoke niji #yonji x reader #vinsmoke yonji #one piece reiju #germa 66

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abundanceofnots · 3 years

Text

a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.

“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.

Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”

It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.

“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”

Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.

This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.

The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.

In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.

He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.

It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.

This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.

Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.

Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”

“For us. Definitely.”

They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.

How the fuck did they get here?

“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”

“Okay!”

With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.

“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.

“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”

“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.

Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”

“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”

“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”

“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”

Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.

“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.

“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”

Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”

“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”

That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.

“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.

“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.

“Hah. No.”

“You told Mickey yet?”

Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”

From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.

“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”

“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”

The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.

“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.

“Polite,” Lip appraises.

Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”

“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”

They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.

“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”

Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”

“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”

Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.

“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.

Ian gives his brother a pointed look.

“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”

“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”

“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.

“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”

“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.

“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”

“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.

“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.

“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.

“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Told you he was.”

“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”

“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.

Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”

Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”

Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”

Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”

Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”

“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.

Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.

“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”

Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.

Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?

#toe fic 🍅#my fics #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction

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obiwanobi · 4 years

Note

Ok ok but Clem, hear me, I need to share my personal Obi-Wan gets out release some steam in the lower levels of Coruscant but instead of stripping or raving at club, he gets into clandestine fistfights. He just goes all fight club on who wants to get punched in the face. Once, Anakin follows him in secret and find him his nose bloody, bare torso glistening with oil like a gladiator and dozens of fans screaming his (fake) name. He whites out instantely.

THIS IS WHY I’M HERE FOR I wanted to write like 2 paragraphs but then I got really into it, so here’s Anakin going from “time to laugh at my boring old master who I’m definitely not obsessed with” to “ANYWAY denial time’s over, I need him to pin me to the ground in front of everyone immediately”:

It takes fifteen minutes after landing on Coruscant for Anakin to decide that it’s time to bother Obi-Wan. For once, it’s not a decision on a whim, despite the carefree way he announces it to Rex before leaving his troops and ship in the hangar. The Force guides him through the halls and corridors toward the warm and familiar presence of his former master, but Anakin isn’t surprised to feel him preoccupied.

Obi-Wan has been stuck in the Temple for the past four months.

Because of some careless planning, he was unlucky enough to be on Coruscant when Yoda realised that he was the only council member not currently swamped in various missions off-world. Since it was an unspoken rule that at least a few Council members should always be at the Temple, Obi-Wan has been asked to put his missions in the field on hold, and dedicate his time to represent the Council, until more of its members come back.

Since then, Anakin has only seen him through holotransmitters for official briefings and reports. The artificial blue lights haven’t hidden the creases between his eyebrows and the twitch of his hands when Anakin raised the topic of his time away from the front, telling him all he needed to know about how Obi-Wan felt about being stranded on Coruscant to do paperwork all day or act as the face of the Jedi Order in the Senate.

Now that he can finally see him in the flesh, it feels natural to seek out Obi-Wan, poke at his poor master and laugh at his concealed misery. There was no doubt that Obi-Wan always brilliantly plays the role of a calm and serene Jedi Master, but Anakin hasn’t spent more than ten years around him without catching on the fact that at heart, he’s still a man of actions who needs some excitement and tangible problems to solve before he grows bored.

Anakin isn’t surprised to find him in the middle of various maps, datapad in hand and pointing something on a holotable at another Jedi. What does surprise him, after a few minutes of waiting for them to be done and the Jedi to go away, is that Obi-Wan is not putting any weight on his left leg. It’s the most subtle of change, probably undetectable to anyone else but someone who has spent so much time watching the way Obi-Wan walks and moves and carries himself. But it’s there.

“Oh, that?” Obi-Wan says almost like he hasn’t noticed, after Anakin didn’t even bother with a ‘hello’. “A knight asked me for some hand-to-hand training sessions. Since I’m to stay at the Temple for an indefinite period of time, I can at least be useful to others. He didn’t go easy on your old master, that’s for sure,” he quietly laughs, and Anakin will be annoyed at himself later for not noticing the clear bait.

But for now, it’s the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, saying that old men like him should pay more attention to their health, and “be careful Obi-Wan, you’re already part of the Council and drink your tisane before going to bed at 2200, you can’t be going around holding your back and complaining about young people or I’ll start mistaking you with Master Yoda!”

A datapad comes flying at his head and it only makes him laugh harder.

Anakin starts to become suspicious two weeks later.

He arrives in the middle of the night from an exhausting mission in the inmost depths of the mid-rim, and his feet take him directly to Obi-Wan’s quarters. it’s closer than his anyway, and he knows Obi-Wan keeps his old room just the way he left it. If he’s being honest, he should also admit that he spends half of his time there instead of his own quarters. It’s just a question of being used to it, he thinks as he lets himself fall on his old bed. And here at least, he knows he will find the bed made and a cup fo caf waiting for him in the morning. Plus, there is nothing more comforting than the feeling of slipping between fresh sheets and the smell of the familiar citrus detergent, unchanged since his childhood. He should really ask Obi-Wan which one he uses.

When he opens the fresher’s door the next morning to brush his teeth, he barely notices that Obi-Wan is already taking a shower, complaining about sacred personal space and unruly boys who never learnt common courtesy like not leaving their muddy boots in the living room or barging in occupied freshers behind the curtain. Nothing out of the ordinary, until Obi-Wan comes out with a towel high on his hips, but not high enough to hide the large bacta patch on his back and shoulder.

“Wha-” Anakin tries to ask between toothbrush and toothpaste, but Obi-Wan is already out of the room, and even outside their quarters with a hurried goodbye when Anakin finishes brushing his teeth.

Anakin starts to get annoyed when he comes back from Corellia a week later and Madame Nu catches him near the entrance of the library.

“Please come get your master,” she sighs with a hand grabbing his arm, already dragging him in with unexpected strength. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but this is getting ridiculous.”

The ‘not my master anymore’ is still on his tongue when she makes an exasperated sign to a corner of the library where he finds Obi-Wan seated at a table, chin on his hand and head bowed toward a screen.

Snoring.

Anakin barely contains his giggle long enough to take a holo and send it to Ahsoka. He takes another one then, closer, focusing on the way the late afternoon sun catches his hair, his beard and his lashes, enfolding Obi-Wan in its warm golden light. Focusing on his peaceful expression.

He saves this one for himself.

Reluctant to disturb him, he allows himself a few more minutes of fondness and gentle affection in front of the scene before putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and shaking it gently. The wince and sudden jerk he gets as a result surprise him, before he remembers the flash of a bacta patch in the fresher a week ago.

“'N’kin? You’re already back?” Obi-wan mumbles, straightening himself with difficulty on his chair.

“Yes, just arrived a few minutes ago.”

“What are you doing in the library?” He asks in a light tone. Something cracks, and his hand makes an aborted move toward his shoulder before thinking better of it. “I thought you would only come back this far in the economy section under death threats.”

This time, Anakin doesn’t take the bait.

“You’re still hurt. Are you going to tell me which knight beat you up and apparently kept you up all night?”

The words have barely left his mouth when he realises the double meaning of his question and there are suddenly a dozen images in his mind and- No no no, it can’t be- Obi-Wan would never... Well, he would. But not this way, not the- Hand-to-hand training? With another knight? Every time Anakin leaves for a certain period of time, when no one will notice if Anakin’s not here? Being so tired that he’s sleeping in the middle of the library? The bacta patch? To get this, that would have- Oh, that would be a sight to- NO, no, this is definitely not it, Anakin has to believe it, or he will lose his mind right there.

“A knight?” Obi-Wan asks, apparently still too drowsy to sense Anakin’s inner meltdown. He stretches his arms, and Anakin grows even more confused when he realises that his knuckles are scraped. “What are you talking about?”

“The- The one you’re training?”

Something passes in Obi-Wan’s eyes and he puts his hands in his sleeves just a little too quickly to look natural.

“Ah, yes, the knight. Yes, he- we, we’re still having sessions now and then. Good to stay in shape, you know. Now, since you’re back, what do you say about dinner? I’m paying for Dex’s takeout if you go get it.”

Anakin doesn’t feel focused enough to harass him about his flimsy explanation or tease him about taking a nap in the library. There are way too many incriminating images in his mind he needs to get rid of first.

The next time he comes back to the Temple after a few days trapped in negotiations with neutral planets, he doesn’t comm anyone and is careful not to let Obi-Wan knows he’s here. He sends R2 and one of his droid pal to stand close to Obi-Wan’s door, and then, he waits. No one pays attention to droids, and most people forget that they have cameras that can be turned on at any point in time, if you ask nicely. It doesn’t take long. At 2240, R2 sends an alert to his comm. He gets his robe, shields himself heavily in the Force, and starts following Obi-Wan.

Anakin really, really doesn’t expect his former master, his “remember that wherever you go, you represent the whole Jedi Order, Anakin, so act accordingly” master, to make his way to the bars and clubs district of the lower levels through hidden shortcuts, bypass cameras and security officers like he’s done it all his life, and knocks at a durasteel door full of graffitis in a language Anakin can’t read.

Definitely not meeting a Jedi knight for regular hand-to-hand training.

Under his hood, Obi-Wan nods at the Twi’lek who opens the door for him. Anakin lets a few minutes pass before making his way to it. It takes him a heavy mind suggestion to get her to let him in, and when he walks through the door, his heart suddenly starts beating faster in anticipation of what shameful secret he’s going to find.

The thought of seeing Obi-Wan sprawled on a couch of a hidden club with a harem of girls around him crosses his mind, and it twists something he usually tries to ignore in his stomach. It’s not Obi-Wan’s style, it’s so far from everything he knows about his master, but his mind won’t stop entertaining the most insane possibilities of what he does when he’s stuck without Anakin at the Temple and bored by meaningless paperwork. He wouldn’t have imagined Obi-Wan doing anything else but meditate to release tension, but here he is, in the worst part of the whole planet. So what’s next to come?

His throat is already dry, but it’s even harder to swallow when he imagines Obi-Wan letting himself be lead to a private alcove by one of these imaginary girls.

Or boys.

Anakin suddenly thinks that there is no way he’s going to handle this whole thing well. Whatever he will find will make the effect of betrayal, and he’s not certain why. But Anakin is also convinced that he will be restless and unable to sleep for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get answers. He needs to see, to understand, to know everything about Obi-Wan, even the things he apparently doesn’t want to share. It’s selfish and unkind to his master who has always made a point of respecting his privacy and was probably way too lenient with him during his apprenticeship. He knows that. Now that Anakin has a padawan of his own, he’s fully conscious about all the things Obi-Wan let him get away with for years. He knows.

But there is something about him that Anakin can’t let go, will probably never be able to let go, that makes Anakin greedy. Demanding. Needy. A poor example of a Jedi that his master would be ashamed of, especially for being the source of it.

Anakin refuses to think about it for too long.

The arena is a distracting surprise.

All of a sudden, he’s pushed in the middle of a crowd, unbalanced by the music, the loud cheers, the flashing lights, the Togruta yelling into a mic, the bell ringing and the thunderous applause all around. No one pays attention to him, way too engrossed in what’s happening in the centre of all this agitation, a few meters down from Anakin’s position.

Nothing could have prepared him for watching the two fighters in the centre of the arena.

One of the men, the largest one, is face down on the red sand, clearly defeated for the night. Anakin barely notices him, because above him, rubbing his knuckles against his bloody nose before raising it in a universal sign of victory, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Polite, well-mannered Obi-Wan, who once lectured Anakin for ten minutes because he walked on a nice carpet with his boots on, is now bare-chested in front of a rowdy crowd roaring at him- no, for him. He’s sweating, cheeks, knees and hands covered in sand and exhibiting massive bruises on his ribs and his shoulder. The wide smile on his face says enough about what he thinks about it.

When Anakin thinks that he will never truly recover all parts of his brain from seeing Obi-Wan’s muscles gleaming with oil and sweat under the artificial lights, he realises that people are chanting his name. Well, nickname. Even with the deafening sound of his blood pumping in his ears like he’s the one fighting in the middle of the arena, Anakin can’t stop himself from scoffing. How can Obi-Wan get into illegal street fighting in the lowest levels of Coruscant and choose to call himself Ben? At least some of his boring master’s choices don’t surprise him.

It's not the first time he's watching Obi-Wan fighting with nothing else than his fists. It was even quite common when his master was teaching him how to defend himself, when Anakin was still a young padawan. But Obi-Wan was always so proper about it. Focused on the fastest and most efficient way to get the upper hand without maiming his opponent. The picture of calm and serenity, even while throwing his padawan down on the mat to teach him an important lesson about self-defence. Rarely a strand of hair out of place.

But here? Here it's nothing like the impassive and soft-spoken Jedi Master who doesn’t even seem to sweat in the training room of the Temple. Here, it's a fascinating grin on his face, bloody knuckles in the air, adrenaline and flashing lights painting his red hair a shade too wild. It's a violent and brutal show for glory and entertainment, and it suits Obi-Wan like nothing else before.

Anakin has never wanted to be slammed down in the sand so badly in his life.

The crowd around him suddenly goes quiet, and it takes Anakin a second to realise it’s because Obi-Wan asked for it with a simple hand raised. There is something fascinating in watching all these strangers obeying him so promptly, eagerly waiting for a word from him, when Anakin can still remember all the times he cut Obi-Wan off in one of his tedious lectures.

The whole arena holds its breath, and Obi-Wan takes a few seconds to enjoy it.

“Next!” He finally yells, and the crowd yells back in delight.

Anakin needs to gather his thoughts. Or what's left of them anyway. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan dodging the punches of his new opponent with a flourish, parrying and making an acrobatic show of throwing him over his shoulders on the ground just for the crowd’s enjoyment is more than distracting. Despite the blood on his face, the bruises, the dishevelled hair and the sand sticking to his torso because of the sweat, Obi-Wan hasn’t looked this carefree since the beginning of the war, and Anakin can’t look away.

He can’t decide if he’s content to simply be mesmerized by the whole thing, thrilled to be able to admire Obi-Wan being this bold, almost smug, from far away, where his clear feeling of want doesn’t have to be ignored right away, or angry at him for putting himself in danger for no reason when he’s taking enough risks as it is fighting a war. For once, Anakin is tempted to be the voice of reason for the two of them.

It doesn’t last long.

A minute after the commentator enthusiastically yells into her mic Ben’s victory, a bell still ringing in celebration, Anakin has already made his way to a little booth away from the show, where a bored Kiffar asks him what he wants. Anakin licks his lips, and can’t help feeling like he’s a young padawan again, giddy with excitement and vibrating with anticipation.

“How much to join?” he asks, but doesn’t let him time to answer before adding, pointing to the arena, “How much to fight him?”

#anakin: 'what if obi-wan is having SEX WITH STRANGERS I CAN'T HANDLE THAT'#anakin: 'nvm he's just beating people up and it's hot so I'm good'#(as always english is not my native language so I’m sure there are a lot of dumb grammatical errors)#(one day I'll find a beta)#obikin #fic i will never write #asks #crvdematter #fic i did write

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teeth-and-tea · 3 years

Text

ANIME & MANGA I HAVE BINGED IN THE LAST MONTH: May 2021

I've Been Hunting Slimes for the Past 300 Years and Now Ive Maxed Out My Level: incredibly long name aside, cute af slice of life that suffers Same Face Syndrome. I'm still happy to watch it because of how feel good and fluffy it is though, Im probably gonna forget about it in two or three years tho. 8/10.

Don't Toy With Me, Miss Nagatoro: I found out this was a webcomic first and suddenly all the HORNINESS made so much more sense. A Femdom, Degradation, Humiliation, Dacryphilia Bullies to Lovers story disguised as a high school rom-com which, I'm not going to lie, misses SKEEVY CITY by mere inches on a regular basis. However, I'm a Dom/Switch and this entire relationship sets off my dom brain center like New York City just shy of midnight. So if you're into that sort of scene, this anime is for you. If not, it's still fascinating but you're probably gonna be a little put off by how mean the Girl!Bully is to the guy MC. Unless you find out something about yourself, in which case, congrats! Stay safe, sane, consensual, and learn about the traffic light system on top of safe words, I promise you'll have a better life in general after that. Still Ongoing, currently 10/10.

Fruits Basket: IM GONNA CRY I LOVE THIS ANIME SO MUCH???? The original anime came out when I was in... I think middle school and my parents were really strict on what I watched so I never got to experience the first wave and I never bothered to watch the show ever after I moved out of the house years later. However, now that I'm much older I honestly can say this is one of my favorite anime to date, and all the characters are charming, lovable, with their own problems that I can connect to or sympathize with, and I love the MC which is always a treat tbh. Except Akito. Akito can suck a sandpaper dick. I'm only on S2 tho so no spoilers! Anime 11/10.

Monster Girl Doctor: went in thinking it was gonna be a monster girl who's a doctor with a homoerotic assistant (her name is SAPPHY okay sue me for thinking it) and ended up watching the entire dubbed harem series. Honestly, I've seen worse and this one has consistent follow-through on interesting characters and backstory enough for me to shove aside the blatant under-monstrousness of the female monsters and the harem-ness of everything else. Dubbing is honestly really good, which is a treat, and the monster designs are not the worst and the MC is tolerable. Honestly, I don't mind having watched it! The mix of cgi and the traditional animation together work pretty strangely though, and it often doesn't flow super well. 7.5/10

So I'm a Spider, So What: Dubbed version which honestly isn't that bad. Took me a bit to get into it, but after realizing that it's got a mismatched timeline a la The Witcher, it made so much more sense. Heavily done in cgi, and you can definitely tell between the 2D and 3D animations, but not the worst in the world. I went in not expecting much but it ended up being an Issekai I can stand and even enjoy. On god has a decent story... with the spider. I'd be a liar if I didnt say I skipped some of the human parts just to get back to the best part of the show. 8/10.

Somali and the Forest Spirit: I'm so fucking nostalgic for this thing it makes me want to go and hug my dad. About a human girl under threat of being eaten with a monster-dominated world. Very obvious "humans fear what they don't understand" message but instead of the humans learning tolerance it's what happens when they get annihilated first so like, kudos for the mangaka for having the guts to do that. I cried like a baby regularly. It's really good, I watched the dub and ID WATCH IT AGAIN!!! 9/10.

To Your Eternity: Oh my god. O h my g o d. Fell in love on the first episode, ngl. About if an immortal being learned how to be a person from scratch. I love it. HOWEVER. Keep a box of tissues on you at all times because you're gonna need them. I'm only on EP7 because that's all that's out right now but just know. I love it. Not for everyone but certainly for my "what do we define as human and the human condition" ass. 12/10.

Those Snow White Notes: A sports anime without any sports. About shamisen playing which is cool because I never realized how cool this instrument was??? Its neat af. OP1&2 are by Burnout Syndrom so know theyre fire. Gonna be real, its pretty alright, but not extraordinary. You can tell they were using the characters as archetypes rather than actually characters which kinda kills a lot of the emotional value you could've had, but I'm still gonna watch it. It doesn't make me cringe as hard as other sports anime tho so I consider it toptier in that regards but if you're a big sports anime fan you might be bummed out by it. Every single musical performance is INCREDIBLE tho. A solid 8/10.

Toilet Bound Hanako-kun: THE ART OMFG IT'S SO GORGEOUS. Listen, if you took coptic markers and gave them an animation budget with some manga panel direction thrown in there, that's this anime. It's beautiful. Gorgeous. I'm in love with the aesthetic every second. Story? Really good. Characters? I love the MC and his evil little twin brother asshat. Demons? Not super imaginative but I'm carrying on happy as can be anyways. Dubbing? A bit shaky at times but I found the voices charming if a little off for some of them. I'm already waiting for the second season with popcorn at the ready. 10/10.

Prison School: I watched this directly after Hanako-kun and it was like I got slapped in the face by sweaty unwashed titties and some fedora wearing schmuck's piss kink. No character is likable or redeemable. I finished it, but at what cost? 2/10 and only because a character shit his pants and I laughed.

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle: watched this right after Prison School and it was NECESSARY tbh. Its so CUTE and honestly, im not even kidding you, the fucking funniest anime I've seen in months. I watched the dub and the VAs are having the time of their lives working on this anime not just giving it their all but literally just going ham. Its great. If I read this im sure id be bored outta my mind but the VAs giving it a joyous performance make it an insta fave for me tbh. 9/10.

Sk8 the Infinity: i watched the dub with my bro and I can confirm that its a spectacular show because we both loved it and we have vastly different tastes. Incredibly SUSPENSFUL AND STRESSFUL for an anime about skateboarding but we finished it in a single sitting tbh. The last episode is not dubbed for some reason but we still loved it. Like if Free! was less obnoxious but the only fan-service here is Joe ♡ a beefcake who owns my lesbian heart. I think there's exactly one named female character tho and I legit couldn't tell you what it was if there was a gun to my head. So, over all, 9.5/10.

That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime: I'm going to be entirely honest, I went in thinking it was going to be a boring isekai of no value. I was right about the Isekai part. It was honestly pretty interesting and focused on nation building like you're playing civilization rather than the usual "Get Stronger" narrative or "Get Some Pussy" narrative most isekais take which is delightfully refreshing. Granted there are flavors of that in this which means it doesn't alienate the big isekai watchers out there, but it's not the whole dish and it doesn't make me want to cringe the same way others do. You've got a slime MC just vibing and building a nation of monsters nbd. Does lose points for making the female monsters more humanoid than their male counterparts but makes them back by only doing perfunctory fan-service and nothing that makes me want to cry... except the butt sumo episode but in fairness it was all a terrible dream. Literally, the MC refuses to dream anymore after that. solid animation, decent voice acting, decent story, made me realize how HUGE this is in the Light Novel community???? There's like 18 fucking novels and that's WILD. 8.5/10.

MANGA:

Spirit Photographer Saburo Kono: a one shot special by the mangaka of The Promised Neverland! Honestly a really delicate touch of both super creepy and really touching, and I'm not gonna lie I'm bummed that this isn't a bigger project but the single chapter makes it a good taste for their style. I've been wondering if I wanna read/watch The Promised Neverland and now I think I will. 10/10

Deranged Detective Ron Kamonohashi: from the mangaka of Hitman Reborn comes this Sherlock and Watson derivative! Not even 20 chapters out yet with a sort of spotty schedule, I honestly love it even thought it's exactly as you expect. HOWEVER. Kamonohashi the "Sherlock" character uses mental pressure to kill all confirmed murderers and it's up to Toto the "Watson" character to save all those people before Kamonohashi kills them! It's just recently introduced a "Moriarty" family of crime lords (not a big spoiler don't worry it was obvious) so the tension surrounding Ron's past is amping up rn. Personally, I think the art is GORGEOUS, the characters engaging, and the story quick enough to keep my interest. Most mysteries are solved within a chapter or two so you're not stuck 20 chapters into one locked room mystery which is just peachy tbh. RN, 10/10. If this gets an anime, I anticipate a legion of fangirls who ship the two main characters along with their many friends. I've been alive too long to believe otherwise.

Don't Toy with Me, Miss Nagatoro: Yeah I read the manga after I watched the show. A slower build than the anime, but it works for the format, if theyd done the same with the show then I don't think it wouldve done as well. Honestly? Cuter tbh but just as horny. You dont start really LEARNING about your character until like, chap 65 tho and no real "drama" happens until like 75. A good chunk of the chapters are like 8pgs so its a breeze to get through. I love these slow burn idiots of the century. 9.5/10 because you can DEFINITELY tell the mangaka does hentai too.

Yugen's All-Ghouls Homeroom: one-shot by the mangaka for Food Wars, it's no wonder there's this constant perviness from the MC, a guy who can see and exorcise spirits. Takes place at an all girl's finishing school with KICK ASS monsters tbh, kinda bummed its not longer. The MC? Blatant monsterfucker who is also a CONFRIMED monsterfucker???? Idk i vibe with that single emotion. Everything else is hit or miss. 7/10 for monsters and cool concept, lost points for the MC very pointedly being okay with admitting he'd wait for the teenagers to be adults tho. Creepy af. Could live without that.

Hell's Paradise: I finished the entire 127chps in 3 days and I was really enthusiastic about it 90% of the time thinking about how deep it was and then I actually thought about it and I ended up being very neutral about the whole thing tbh. The art is fantastic tho, but DEFINITELY deserving of the M rating. Tits. Tits everywhere. But not tits to be ecchi over, no, monster hermit tits on beautiful women-ish figures. Now generally I give that a pass but a huge theme in the story is that men and women are "no better than one or the other" but like, lady tits are what you see 99% of the time. Men tits are few and far between. I call bullshit on most of the "deep" themes is what I'm saying, so it's like the mangaka was trying for those deep thoughts but missed the margin a little too far for my preference. That being said, the MC is a married man who loves his wife which automatically makes him my favorite character so like... idk so many good things, so many misses, but overall really spectacular themes and imagery. Unique but classic all at once. It's getting an anime and I have NO IDEA how much censorship they're gonna be doing but they're going to be doing SO MUCH. Oh yeah, and one guy is a plant/human hybrid who fucks a 1000 year old plant-hermit which makes him a canon monster fucker. And one canon non-binary character who I, a nonbinary, actually like. So like... gosh I've got mixed feelings. 8.5/10.

Choujin X: From Sui Ishida, mangaka to the mega hit Tokyo Ghoul comes this brand new manga!... Of one chapter, lol. Not really binge-y because it's just the one chapter out right now but I'm already keeping my eye on it. The grasp on anatomy in the art is PHENOMENAL and you can see Ishida flexing his art skill which is great. Can't give a true rating but I'm giving it a tentative 9/10 because I'm excited to see more.

Shag&Scoob: technically not a manga, its an ongoing webcomic I binged an subscribed to in one day and I just think it deserves more attention. Starts off funny with "what if Scooby Doo had a gun" and has been led to "what if all cartoons are aliens that survive and receive their powers by the humans that love them in an epic war with Martians." On god, its good. I finished the current series in a couple hours so it's a breezy read, highly recommend it. 9/10.

To Your Eternity: Yeah I watched the anime and then finished all current 143 chapters in like 3 days. GOD IM WEAK. I don't buy physical manga unless I know I want to remember the story forever and I'm already budgeting for the current books out. Yeah, this is a good series. That being said, definitely not for the faint of heart or those who suffer under common triggers like suicide, molestation, death, etc. It's all framed as bad and necessary to the story don't get me wrong, but it's there and has lasting affects on the characters. Incredible story telling by the creator of A Silent Voice. Keep tissues nearby at all times. 12/10.

#i've been killing slimes for 300 years and maxed out my level #don't toy with me miss nagatoro #spirit photographer saburo kono #fruits basket #deranged detective ron kamonohashi #yugen's all-ghoul's homeroom #monster girl doctor #so i'm a spider so what #somali and the forest spirit #to your eternity #jigokuraku #hell's paradise #choujin x #shag and scoob #toilet bound hanako kun #prison school #sk8 the infinity #that time i got reincarnated as a slime

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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Seeing how this pairing is usually in Freezerburn fanfics, what are your thoughts on Ladybug? Is it as bad as Bumblebee?

I feel like Blake x Ruby is better in some ways than Bumblebee, around the same level in others, and worse in some. PLEASE NOTE: This post is meant to compare one ship I don't really like to another ship I don't really like. And while I'll be talking about merits to both ships, I'll also be talking about things I don't like in both ships. So if you don't want to see that, this post isn't for you. I'm not trying to ruin these ships for anyone, just giving my opinion on them.

Pro: Ruby was clearly drawn to and interested in Blake during their first meeting, laughing when Blake called out Weiss's company, saying "that girl..." in nearly a whisper when she spots Blake again later, acting nervous, but also nice, and is interested in hearing about Blake's book. You can compare that to Yang and Blake, where Yang talks to Blake for Ruby's sake, quickly dismisses her as a lost cause, and then winds up paired with her later out of a coincidence. In terms of 'interest from the start,' Ruby and Blake as a ship wins this.

Con: I complain that there isn't enough development for Blake and Yang in the early seasons, and that gets so much more prevalent in the relationship between Blake and Ruby. They barely talk after introducing themselves. They mostly interact with the team at large, or other people, with their emotional conversations and connections being formed with others. This carried on to the point where it's a meme that Ruby doesn't really know Blake, and when they did have an emotional moment in volume eight, it felt really out of place and shallow. Compare that to Yang and Blake, who have had significant and meaningful interactions a couple different times, who spend time together due to the fact that they're teammates, who spend a lot of time together in volumes six, seven, and eight, and started having more casual interactions with each other during that time despite it generally feeling a bit forced.

Pro: They share interests and have similarities despite being very different people, both things that can fuel an interesting ship. They're book lovers, they're action driven, they're both more introverted, they're justice driven, they both came to Beacon for similar reasons... And yet Ruby is meant to be the optimistic opposite of Blake's more pessimistic tendencies, she's vocal and out there while Blake is more pragmatic and contained, she's openly affectionate and trusting (for the first five seasons,) while Blake is hesitant and takes a while to open up to others. While Blake and Yang also have a lot of similarities and differences, they don't have a lot of interests in common. Ruby and Blake could probably talk about morals for ages, or they could talk about their favorite movie adaptions of books... Idk, they don't have a lot in common, but it's still more than nothing. Compare that to Yang and Blake, who are very different people who don't share many similarities.

Con: Blake has seriously conformed to Ruby's wants and desires and morals more than she's conformed to Yang's. Yes, Blake and Yang's relationship is unhealthy and co-dependent, but Blake hasn't conformed to Yang's morality and her leadership. In fact, she's disagreed with and argued with Yang, specifically to go with Ruby and do the things Ruby wants to do. the doylist reason for this; Blake's character has been hugely altered, she's barely recognizable to the character she was for the first five seasons, and she's now being used as one half of a ship and Ruby's cheerleader. But trying to look at things in a watsonian way, it feels like Blake is over-reliant on Ruby, depending on her to tell her what she wants and even what she believes in. She's willing to go against and argue with Yang, but not because she believes in something; because she's following Ruby's lead. Add onto that that Blake was specifically written to be fine with a lack of action in the face of a literal warzone because she thought Ruby would eventually decide what they should do and she also can't defend herself anymore and must beg Ruby to save her. To add onto that, Ruby clearly doesn't need more pressure on her shoulders and having her friends reliant on her every step of the way is clearly helping to wreck her mental health. Canon Blake and Ruby are a recipe for co-dependency and unhealthiness too, it's just of a different sort than Bumblebee and... I might consider it worse. Idk, it's a toss up.

Pro: Ruby is consistently upset when Blake isn't around or is hurt or self-destructing. She's literally, visibly angry at Weiss and snapping at her after Weiss's behavior and fighting caused Blake to run away.

During this exact time, Yang did challenge Weiss, but seems more casual about the entire situation. Ruby also explicitly says she's not mad at Blake, though she's clearly sad that Blake didn't talk to her about what was going on. She's also very concerned about Blake in the dance arc, to the point where she's clearly not interested in what her other teammates are doing or about the dance at all.

And yes, Yang is confident and casual because she thinks she can convince Blake to go to the dance, and is clearly bothered too in her conversation with Blake, but she still does seem to be a bit less personally impacted? And also, I'm having trouble finding a screen grab of the exact moments, but Ruby is clearly distraught and really missing Blake in volume five. And again, Yang has a reason for acting dismissive and cold, and her circumstances are different than Ruby's, but it's still worth noting that Blake and Yang have these big conflicts that don't get addressed that give roadblocks - like Yang having tried to force herself to not care about Blake - whereas Ruby has always cared about Blake and wanted her around and never tried to convince herself otherwise.

Con: Ruby feels significantly less mature than Blake. Ruby feels naïve, untested, and younger than her age, whereas Blake feels more adult, weathered, and older than her age. There's not anything wrong with shipping them, obviously, but it does make a romantic relationship between them a little bit harder for me to like personally. Yang and Blake feel like they're more on each other's level.

Pro: Ruby has made microaggression statements about Blake's faunus traits before ("She does like tuna a lot," "She has kitty ears and they're actually really cute,") but her statements feel less mocking and less pointed than Yang trying to lure Blake around with a laser pointer. It doesn't feel as mean spirited. It's still hard to get past as a ship and I prefer shipping Blake with people that haven't been anti-faunus without an apology, but I still consider it better than Bumblebee and less of a hurdle to get past.

Con: They didn't have anything going for them as a ship if I remember correctly for season three, season four, season six, and season seven, and the shipping moments in volume two, five, and eight were few and far between. They were at their prime as a ship in volume one, and that was eight years ago. Blake and Yang's first significant moment was in volume two, they had a bit in volume three, volumes four and five heavily included them dealing with being apart, they started being easily read as romantic in volume six, and that's continued up to volume eight. I know I've already touched on Ruby and Blake’s lack of content outstripping the lack of Bumblebee content, but Blake and Yang as a potential couple has just been more consistently included as well.

Pro: Ruby has not canonically reminded Blake of her abuser. No, I'm not trying to say that Yang is the new Adam and I do think that Ruby and Blake's dynamic in the current canon is also unhealthy. But Blake would be hard pressed to not be reminded of Adam when standing next to the explosive, passionate, aggressive, anger issues ridden Yang who's eyes turn Adam's central color when she lets her temper overtake her - which is often. And the show writing did not fully address the problems there, by having Blake swear to never leave and Yang being happy with that and then them disregarding the growth Yang had gone through in terms of working on her anger issues and had her explode for very little reason and snap at everyone in the recent seasons. Ruby - despite being rose themed and sharing Adam's color scheme - still doesn't get close to being the temperament of Adam.

In short... It's a really big toss up. Because I think that I find Bumblebee much better in terms of concept and potential, but Ladybug - while still having major problems - might be better currently as far as canon goes, yet that might be because of their lack of content, and they're... Boring for me personally. XD So yeah, both ships have major flaws, but also upsides.

#rwde #anti blake x yang #anti blake x ruby #anti bumblebee #anti ladybug #anti bumbleby #anti rwby ladybug #anti bmblb #anti ruby x blake #anti yang x blake

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joontier · 4 years

Text

Ramen Rivals

synopsis: Rivals in the kitchen, rivals even with ramen - two rivaling restaurateurs fight over the only cup of instant noodles left in the convenience store

pairings: kim seokjin x reader (oneshot)

rating: R | genre: classic e2l trope; gourmet chef! seokjin and reader ; smut; humor; fluff ; crack | warnings: swearing, explicit sex, kitchen sex, implied bathroom sex, multiple orgasms

word count: 12k RIP MY BRAIN

a/n: Ahhhh, his is actually a re-written version of one i posted way way back 2018 LOOOL idk what to feel anymore after this akfaowiejfoawe the last parts are actually heavily unedited ACK

navi.

Kim Seokjin.

That’s it. That’s the name. That’s the tweet.

You never knew three syllables could affect you this much, could bring you this great distress. The mere mention of it makes you reel, roll your eyes, ball up your fists, makes the tiny hairs on your nape stand on end.

Long story short, Kim Seokjin makes your blood boil.

It doesn’t help either that he was Adonis himself – complete with cat eyes, plump lips, and a dashing smile, or that he has rock-hard abs hiding underneath that white double-breasted jacket, or that he busts out corny ass dad jokes as much as he winks at people (which is a LOT of times, by the way), or that he’s an undeniably an exceptional chef (such as yourself, duh) and has now erected a gourmet restaurant next door to rival yours, OR the completely obvious fact that you two have history.

The short period of time in the past that you shared with him wasn’t exactly one you would be embarrassed of, or something you want to forget. Instead, it’s the exact opposite. You’re ashamed of the fact that you hadn’t gotten over it until now, three years later. He was your OGF – Mr. One Great Fuck. Kim Seokjin still holds the belt for the title of making you cum six consecutive times in a single night. How he managed to do that and how nobody else has measured up to that, you’ll never know.

You’d initially met him at Les Coulisses Du Chef in Paris, where you had enrolled yourself in a patisserie class to expand your knowledge on French pastry and hopefully get a certificate for it. You’d been meaning to take the class since forever, yet you’d been waitlisted year after year until last year when one of the applicants had backed out, they’d called you in, merely half a month before the program started.

Three weeks into the semester, Seokjin had introduced himself to you, or rather, had told you a dad joke as an introductory preview of his personality. You’re glad he did though, else you would have been surprised if you discovered the kid was part Greek god, part chef, part dad jokes, and .01% brain cell.

“What do you call a fake noodle?” asks .01% brain-cell-man seated beside you, rolling up his sleeves to reveal the prominent veins on his forearms. You’re momentarily distracted by the action, completely missing out the question he’d just asked you. “Sorry, what?”

“What do you call a fake noodle?” Gosh, you shouldn’t have asked him again. If only he knew the number of times you’d hear- “Impasta!” He snorts, holding a fettuccine noodle in one hand and the other clutching onto his tummy as he doubles in his laughter.

You’re just standing beside him, slack-jawed, unsure if this was just a sick dare. Who was this guy? Was he even in the same class as you? Was he high? Perhaps he mistook flour for coke? His laughter dies down when he sees your face, sans-reaction.

“Wait, you understand English right? Um… comprendre English? Oui?”

“Yes, I can understand English.”

“Then why didn’t you laugh?” You raise a brow. This stranger just comes up to you, tells you a lame joke, and now he expects you to laugh?

“This is gonna sound real mean, but it was really an old joke...and a lame one at that,” you retort, your face crumpled into one of faux pity.

“Hey! No need to make it personal!” he counters, placing a hand over his heart, face contorting into a grimace. “You, Rafa!” He half-shouts, pointing an accusatory finger to someone behind you. “You said it would be a great ice-breaker!” Your eyes follow the Rafa he’s pointing at, the latter quickly shakes his head, telling you he doesn’t know the man in French.

“Is this man bothering you?” Rafa nods sadly.

“What?! How dare you turn the tables on me?? I’m your only friend!” You turn to glare at pasta guy, who continues to wail behind you. Rafa snorts from across at the sight of pasta guy making a fool of himself behind you and eventually takes pity on him.

“I’m sorry, Jin’s just been meaning to talk to your since the start of semester, so he’s asked me for advice on how to approach you...I told him to tell you a good ‘ole joke in the kitchen since we’re all chefs here...I didn’t actually think he’d take it...seriously.”

“Wow! Betraying and exposing me all at once!! Why won’t you just fry me alive in olive oil, huh? That would be less painful.” Jin-pasta complains, arms gesticulating wildly in the air. You watch them unabashedly bicker in front of you concurrently amused at the whole spectacle.

The three of you become close friends soon thereafter, Jin claiming your trio as the ‘Kitchen Musketeers’. Yes, he managed to convince the entire class to call your tiny group of friends that name. And yes, that wasn’t the worst idea Seokjin had in mind when he was considering a name for your trio. You didn't even want to start to reminisce about the rest of Seokjin’s bizarre suggestions: Charlie’s Cooks (to his defense, you did have a substitute mentor named Charlie), Gourmetbusters, Pecanpuff Girls, The Three Sausagees (more like two sausages and one bun). You’ve always cringed at the last one.

Despite your trio’s antics, Rafa considers himself the third wheel more than anything. Rafael was not oblivious to the crush on Seokjin that you’ve been harboring for months.

It was the day of your graduation from the short course you’d taken - the three of you decided to have a celebratory wine party at Seokjin’s rented apartment. That same night was when you found yourself drunk on pinot noir and Seokjin’s lips. The rest was history.

Finding the bed and the rest of his apartment empty the next morning, you took your leave and fared your walk of shame along the streets of Paris with teary eyes and a bruised heart.

Your Mr. OGF also turned out to be Mr. One God-Tier Fucker. Or perhaps the title also belonged to you, Ms. One Gigantic Fool, who thought that maybe she could have been more than a one-night-stand between two colleagues whose relationship could never be more than a professional one.

Colleagues. The apparent ‘label’ lets out a boisterous laugh at your face. Gosh, you’re a pathetic fucking fool.

Thankfully, your flight back to Korea was scheduled that day as well,, so you wouldn’t have to see Seokjin’s pretty face any longer or rather - what you wouldn’t admit even to yourself - you wouldn’t be able to confront the face of the truth you wanted to hide deep beneath the recesses of your heart.

At least, that’s what you thought.

One and a half years after you got your certificate in Paris, you had finally saved enough money to start your business - a gourmet restaurant situated in the heart of Gangnam. You already had patrons from the restaurant where you previously worked, and the opening of Canapé had garnered more customers than you initially expected.

Business had been thriving for a year, that is, until someone decided to erect a new gourmet restaurant just beside yours. Having a rivalling establishment wasn’t new news to you, neither did it truly bother you as to no longer having the monopoly in gourmet restaurants located in this part of Gangnam.

A week after the opening of your neighbor’s Ambrosia - you decided to bring over a friendly bottle of wine you had shipped straight from France with the hopes that you can become acquainted with your fellow restaurateur.

As you move along the crosswalk and reach Ambrosia’s podium outside intended for the maitre d’, you shift your weight between your legs, an unconscious habit that only Seokjin took notice of. Ridding your thoughts of the man who shall no longer be named, you let your mind wander off to your own worker’s description of the alleged owner.

Out of all your staff’s depiction of Ambrosia’s owner, it’s your sommelier’s and manager’s descriptions that have struck you the most.

Yoongi, your timid sommelier, tells you that the owner was a stout man in his mid-forties with Caucasian features, while your manager, Jinhee said he was a man around your age with a face and built that could easily pass for a K-Pop idol.

You were leaning towards Yoongi’s description because Jinhee would have most likely mistaken a real idol for the owner since there were plenty of celebrities who hung out in Gangnam and would meet up in restaurants like yours. Either way, celebrity look-a-like or not, you were determined to meet your neighbor.

“There’s someone outside, Hobi,” a busser informs the maitre d as he wipes the last table for the day. Three pairs of eyes look at you through the glass.

You continuously peer from the outside as you can’t see much from due to the darkness inside, where only a few dim lights are on. “Go on then, Hobi,” the owner states, nudging the maitre d towards the door.

Hoseok takes a glimpse of you through the glass panel and faces the owner. “Hyung, she seems pretty. Why don’t you do it? You ought to have a proper girlfriend right now. It’s about time you move on from your love interest in Paris! Plus you’re the owner of the restaurant!”

“Hobi, I still have to do kitchen check, remember? And for the record, I have moved on from her. Chop chop.” Hobi gives him an incredulous look, highly doubting his boss had already forgotten about her. “Right away, Mr. Seokdon Ramsay.”

You’re drawn from your thoughts when you hear the melodic sound of the bell as the door opens and a man with a bright smile comes out. “Hello! My name’s Hobi, can I help you with anything?”

“Um..hi! I’m from Canapé just across the street… are you, perhaps, the owner of Ambrosia?”

“Oh! I’m not the owner…I wish I was though if I had someone pretty like you looking for me…” You laugh awkwardly in response, unsure of what you should reply to such a line. The two of you remain standing there, staring at each other. “Um...is the owner there then? It would be nice if I can speak to him or her or them…” you let out a small cough, looking away.

“Right! Of course, sorry about that! I’ll tell him to come out.” Hobi scurries back inside and soon you hear incoherent yelling and laughter from inside the restaurant.

“Hyungnim! Hyung!!” Hobi calls out once more, eyes searching wildly for Seokjin. “What now?” Seokjin emerges from the kitchen with the busser in tow. “Hyung! She’s fucking hot! And I feel like I’ve known her from somewhere…plus she says she’s from our neighboring restaurant! I told you, you were the one who should’ve gone out there. By the way, I think she’s calling wine o’clock too – and the bottle she’s holding looks like expensive French Cabernet Sauvignon!”

Seokjin narrows his eyes at his maitre d, “You seem to have been spending a lot of time with that sommelier from across the street.” The owner of Ambrosia shakes his head at his friend, who pushes him towards the door. “Hurry! You wouldn’t want to keep a pretty girl waiting!”

You’ve been waiting patiently outside, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you watch people come and go. The streets of Gangnam was always lively, and it still surprises you at this point that you had decided to put up a restaurant in the midst of the hustle and bustle of a city like such because you’ve always wanted to erect one by the countryside with the whole organic theme going on. Nonetheless, you were happy with your decision of establishing one in Gangnam.

The bell dings again, and as you turn on your heel to check the much-anticipated owner of Canapé, you nearly drop the pricey bottle of red wine in your hands. It’s Mr. man-who-shall-no-longer-be-named. You’re stood there shell-shocked, mouth agape at the man in front of you.

He hasn’t changed one bit, well, except for the more handsome features. He’s changed his hairstyle too, now opting for an exposed forehead instead of those bangs he’d impulsively cut by his own in the middle of the night. His shoulders remain the same, miraculously; just an inch wider and he could’ve been a great replacement for a meter stick at Encore, the clothing store that offered bespoke clothing just down the road.

“_________?”

Seokjin starts to speak, yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to do the same. There’s too much you wanted to say, ask , and rant about that your mouth remains hanging open awkwardly – almost as if you’re squawking. You bow in embarrassment, apologizing for your behavior and run back to your restaurant.

The Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia was holding its annual even today at The Andaz Seoul and you just had this gut feeling Seokjin was going to be there. With yesterday’s discovery that your neighboring, rivaling, restaurant was owned by none other than Kim Seokjin himself, you already had an inkling he was invited to GCAEA’s event tonight.

Your suspicions had been confirmed as one of the event’s producers sent you an email earlier this morning, that which contains the list of nominees for the title of GCAEA’s Chef of the Year – the same title that was bestowed upon you just last year. Seokjin was the first nominee for this year’s awarding ceremony.

Kudos to him. Despite knowing that your hatred for him was fueled by more personal reasons, you knew deep down inside the recesses of your brain that he was a really, really talented chef. Probably just as good as you – of course, you can easily admit that you’re still lacking in plenty but you don’t think your pride will allow you to accept defeat from Seokjin just like that after all he’d done.

You only had the chance to look at Seokjin for a good seven seconds yesterday, but it had taken you at least seven hours, a tub of ice cream, and a Captain America movie marathon to reassure yourself that having seen him so close yesterday wasn’t just an actual nightmare.

As much as you hated to admit it, he remained just as handsome as he was three years ago. What you couldn’t get over with though, was how he actually smiled at you yesterday. That little fucker had to audacity to show his perfect little pearly whites at you! All over again, you’re reminded of how he left you in his room the morning after, or how much of a fucking fool you were for having believed that the two of you could’ve been something more than friends.

Rearranging your dress for the nth time today, you take another look at the mirror, twisting and turning to see if there might be some thread hanging off the hems of the dress. You’re starting to question your decided outfit for the night. You had a dress done just for this event – or more specifically, what sort of dress Jinhee had ordered to be sewn just for this event.

It hugged your curves perfectly – the dress a perfect merger between modest and seductive. It had a nude-illusion base with silver sequins sewn onto the thin fabric and a low-cut neckline that gives everyone a lovely view of your cleavage.

This one could easily pass as an evening gown for a Miss Universe candidate. You felt confident, beautiful, and sexy but at the same time you felt like you wanted to just huddle yourself up in your duvet in the corner of your room and eat ice cream. You weren’t uncomfortable with showing skin from time to time, but having been clad in a double-breasted jacket on a daily means it felt strange having your neckline displayed in public.

Your phone dings, indicating a text message. Yoongi had offered to be your chauffeur for this evening, of course, after being coerced and bribed by Jinhee into doing it.

[yoongles 🍷 ] 6:43pm

hurry up, or i’ll leave you behind

[you] 6:43pm

yoongs

It’s MY car WE’RE using

you don’t even have my keys yet

[yoongles 🍷 ] 6:45pm

u get the idea, woman

dont keep me waiting

“Well maybe if you won’t stop texting, I’ll be quicker,” you grumble to your phone, placing it inside your purse so Yoongi won’t bother you any longer. Doing one last twirl in the mirror, you grab your necessities you’ve gathered on your bedside table and sweep them into your purse.

“You clean up nicely, boss.”

Squinting your eyes at Yoongi with his words, you send him a grateful smile nonetheless. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” This was the closes thing to an actual compliment that you were ever going to receive from Yoongi in your entire lifetime, so you were sure to keep his words close to your heart.

Taking your car keys from your purse, you toss them to Yoongi who catches them deftly with one hand. “Ooh, you looked cool when you did that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You gave me a compliment, so I’m going to give you one in return. As a token of gratitude.”

“Remind me never to say anything to you ever again.”

“Hey! You talk back like that to the woman who’s giving you money for your daily needs?! And you won’t even open the door for me?” you ask your past neighbor-turned-sommelier-turned-close-friend. “It’s called a salary, Ms. _______. And I receive that as compensation because I give you my services in exchange for it. Plus, I’m already seated here,” Yoongi shrugs, adjusting the rear view mirror.

Rolling your eyes, you begrudgingly open the door to your backseat, exerting much effort in swinging one leg after the other with your incredibly tight evening gown. And, of course making sure the short train won’t get caught between the car doors.

Yoongi checks if you’re all good through the rear-view mirror and once he sees you buckle up, he lets the engine roar to life. You take out your phone from your purse to see if you’ve received any other emails, only for the phone to get flung from your hands – including you.

The car surges forward all of a sudden and Yoongi steps on the breaks just in time. You hear Yoongi curse under his breath, looking over his shoulder to check if you’re okay. “Shit! I forgot you drove a Maserati!”

“I think the more appropriate thing to do is to ask me if I’m still okay…Also, it doesn’t matter what kind of car I drive, because I think you forgot how to actually drive at all.” You complain, adjusting the seatbelt across your chest, the sudden jolt leaving a diagonal red mark just by your collarbone.

“Well, you aren’t dead, so technically speaking, you’re okay.” Unbelievable. You let out a loud scoff, unable to think of anything wittier to say. “Just please get me there in one piece, Yoongs.”

You manage to get to the hotel in one piece. Thank heavens.

The small talk you made with Yoongi on your way to the hotel had temporarily taken your mind off the jitters but now that he’s left you standing by the entrance of the hotel, the nerves had definitely returned, tenfold. You’re also unfortunately dropped off at a spot where a standee of yours holding the Gourmet Chef of the Year award is staring back at you. God, you hated that photo. They did not give your eyebrows justice, at all.

You exhale all your nervousness away as you take the steps to the lobby. “_______!” Someone calls out, the voice too familiar to miss out on. “Sunbae!” You turn around to see one of the most revered chefs in Korea, and definitely one of your favorite mentors, Choi Jiyoung. The woman nearing her fifties extends her arms out in greeting and you give her a tight hug. You had worked under her supervision in the past, and she had taught you almost everything you knew about Korean cuisine.

“Ah, it’s been too long darling! Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman!” Misun praises as her grip on you tightens and pulls you by the elbow, “Surely, there’s a lucky man that has swept my sweet _______ by now!” Your senior adds, punctuating her sentence with a wink at the end.

“I’ve been pretty busy these days… and dating hasn’t really crossed my mind recently.”

‘That’s because the last man I’ve wanted to date was three years ago and he’d just considered me a one-night stand and now after I’ve struggled to burn his existence from my memory and to be very frank with you, I really haven’t gotten over him and now he just so happens to be the owner of the restaurant beside mine. Also, he’s stealing my customers.’ Comes your real answer inside your head, but you’ll never tell anyone that.

Jiyoung pouts at your answer, but taps your forearm, “We’ll talk more about that inside. Come on darling, the event is starting.”

Seokjin sees you finally enter the lobby, eyes scanning the few people scattered around the area as you look for a familiar face you could approach. All eyes are on you, yet you don’t notice, like always. You don’t realize how beautiful you are, blushing furiously under the simplest compliments. You’ve got this certain charm that certainly draws people towards you, all the more when they get to know you better, just like what you did to him.

Seokjin remembers the first time he’d actually seen you – on the television. He’d been scrolling aimlessly through the channels, trying to look for something to watch as he waits for the water to boil for his ramen. He’d accidentally stopped by Channel K99’s ‘Choi Jiyoung Kitchen Specials’ reruns during midnight when he checked his phone after it dinged, alerting him of a notification on his email: just another alert to renew his ‘KOREA’ magazine subscription, where he’d secretly get new recipes, try them out, add a little twist, and serve them to his customers at his parent’s restaurant.

As he was about to press the off button on the remote, you enter the frame as the camera pans out when Choi Jiyoung introduces you as her new assistant and protégé. For some reason, this show just got all the more interesting for Seokjin, who’s clearly drawn to you and not the scrumptious seafood platter that Chef Choi was preparing.

He’d followed you on all his social media accounts after that night, even going as far as turning on his notifications for each post you made. He was unsure what had drawn him to you in the first place – whether it be the fact that you were probably the first female chef he’d seen in Korea that was just about his age (that or he really just didn’t pay any attention to women in the same field during the early years of his career), or that you were unbelievably skilled at such a young age with apparently, a lot of culinary awards and certificates under your belt.

Funny enough, Seokjin wasn’t really one to delve into the world of pastry but judging from your most recent Instagram posts during those days, you had taken interest in patisserie, which only caused Seokjin to attempt baking his own first croissant. He finally understood your enthusiastic devotion for it ever since. Then came Les Coulisses Du Chef, where Rafa, an exchange-student-turned-friend of his from his culinary school days had secured him a slot for a semester at the prestigious school of gastronomy in Paris to get a certificate on French pastry.

He wasn’t expecting you though, out of all people, to join the official list of the class as well, last minute.

It took him three weeks before he finally spoke to you, much to Rafa’s exasperation. Seokjin would keep nagging the French man, telling him how much he wanted to talk to you, yet he can’t seem to grow some balls to do so. In annoyance, he’d told Seokjin that the best way to break the ice was to tell a joke – this time, much to Seokjin’s chagrin. He’d never thought secondhand embarrassment was a thing until Seokjin actually heeded his advice and told you about the ‘impasta’. Surprisingly enough, it worked, so voila!

If only you knew how nervous Seokjin was during that time, clammy hands and all. In fact – if only you knew how jittery Seokjin was whenever he was near you. He’s pretty sure he’d ruined his credibility and career after busting out that lame ass joke Rafa had told him, but it turned out to be the only way he actually got closer to you so he was partly grateful for Rafa’s advice – reputation be damned.

Just like tonight, the moment his eyes fall on you, he feels like he’s being drawn back to his room, eyes trained on you as you diligently followed each of Chef’s Choi’s directions, or that time he’d first spoke to you back in your French patisserie class. He diverts his gaze elsewhere from the fear that you might catch him staring.

“Hey, man. Isn’t that ________? The girl you’ve been crushing on since forever?” Minjae asks, elbowing Seokjin at the waist. The latter grimaces slightly in pain, before reluctantly letting his gaze settle on you once more.

Jungkook returns from the bathroom, joining the duo by the reception. “Wow, who’s that?” the younger man asks, nodding towards your direction. With Jungkook being a fairly new member of the association, curiosity is getting the best of him with all the faces he’s seeing.

Similar to a little kid at a toy shop, he’s constantly asking his hyungs if the people he was seeing were the actual people he’d seen on the internet or on the television. Minjae, who indulges every question of the maknae of their small circle of friends with great enthusiasm, answers Jungkook. “That’s _______, Kook.”

“No way! That’s her?! As in the _________?” The only female chef in Korea who received her first Michelin star in her twenties?! As in ________ Choi Jiyoung’s protégé?!”

“Yes, Kook, that’s her alright. And also the same ________ who will hear you soon enough and will find you weird if you don’t keep your voice down.”

“She’s also the same recipient of the award your Seokjin hyung is nominated for this year,” Jiwon adds, wriggling his eyebrows at Seokjin.

“That’s so cool!” Jungkook exclaims as their whole group watches you approach the infamous Choi Jiyoung. “Hyung, do you think she’s single?” Jungkook asks to nobody in particular, considering they were all his hyungs. Minjae and Jiwon glance at Seokjin who returns their glances with a light glare.

“Why don’t you go find out after the party then?” Seokjin suggests, ignoring that certain pang of jealousy that blossoms in his chest at his own proposal.

“Tell me you’re kidding, hyung.”

“Huh?”

“Come on! That’s your girl! You’re going to let go of her just like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kook.”

“Hyung. I may be the maknae, but I am neither blind nor dumb. Anyone with two eyes and a functioning brain will know you have the hots for her.” Minjae and Jiwon snicker at the younger one’s comment. Seokjin, albeit being second to the youngest, gives them a glare the makes them cower behind Jungkook.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Well no. But every time we go out, the only notifications that pop up in your screen are her posts on Instagram. Don’t you think that’s a tad bit…pathetic, hyung?”

Ooh and aahs come from the two other men, who are reveling at the harsh bluntness of Jungkook’s words. It’s the maknae who receives Seokjin’s side-eye next. “Need I remind you who’s the older one here?”

“The point exactly! We’re not getting any younger, hyung. Better ask her out now…before I beat you to it.” Seokjin’s mouth falls open in astonishment, while Jungkook just smiles at him in return. “Come on hyung, they’re calling us inside.”

“Well, well, would you look at that stunner over there?” She comments, nodding her head towards someone over your shoulder. There he was, the infamous Kim Seokjin, clad in an all-black ensemble, a single silver chain necklace hanging on his neck. His hair is swept to the side, revealing a bit of his forehead.

“Oh boy.” Jung Chungae fans herself as your greatest rival turns sideways, showing off his side-profile while animatedly telling a story to a fellow colleague seated with them. “Oh how I wish we could just go back to our golden years for just one night!” The rest of the table laughs at Chungae’s comment.

“I personally think you and that man would make a great couple.” Jiyoung says, leaning towards you.

“The other man sat on his right doesn’t seem to think that way though,” Chungae says, picking on her dessert, whispering ‘cute guy from same table’ discreetly. As if on cue, the rest of the ladies, you included, turn your heads towards Seokjin’s table. True to sunbae Chungae’s implications, there was another man beside Seokjin who was staring back at you. You believe Jungkook was his name… nevertheless, you get shy under his stare, averting your eyes back to the presently attractive flower arrangement at the center of your table.

The servers pile inside in pairs, approaching each table to take your dessert plates. You see the host rise from his chair and take the stairs to the stage. He taps the microphone, checking if the audio was working, “To announce this year’s Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia – Chef of the Year award, may I call on Ms. _________.”

Minjae nudges Seokjin as you stand up from your seat. “Hyung, quit it before other people see you.”

“Come on now, get your ass up and walk her to the stage!”

“She can perfectly walk on her own though?”

“Come on, it’s plus points both for her and the crowd! Give these oldies a show, idiot.”

“N-“

“Hyung, if you won’t do it, I will.” Jungkook says from across the table, eyeing you as you excuse yourself from the other ladies in your table.

Seokjin stares at Jungkook and purses his lips. He discards of the napkin on his lap at once, lightly throwing the piece of cloth on the table. As he stands up, few murmurs of curiosity follow him as he approaches you.

“Ms. ________, may I?” You’re surprised when somebody suddenly appears on your side, offering his arm out for you to hold onto. You hear sunbae Jiyoung quietly cheer you on, nodding her head once to accept Seokjin’s display of manners. The rest of the audience likewise cheers the young man on with a few men whooping and a number of ladies cooing at the sight. Frankly, it wasn’t even that long of a walk until the stage but a part of you was grateful, knowing for yourself that you truly weren’t used to wearing long dresses like these.

As you both reach the stage, with your hand hooked around Seokjin’s elbow, he places another hand atop yours for extra support. The action seems to have the opposite effect. Suddenly all too aware of the proximity between you two, a shiver runs through your spine, secretly hoping the gulp that you make at the sensation goes unnoticed. At the end of the stairs, you give him a curt bow and say your thanks, unable to look him in the eye.

The emcee hands you the microphone and an envelope, containing the name of the awardee. You tap the mic once, then twice. “This is on, right?” The audience laughs in response. “Woops, sorry,” you apologize meekly before starting your half-impromptu, half-practiced speech.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank, first and foremost, the board of judges who have bestowed upon me this same award this time last year, and now I have had the greatest honor to announce the awardee later on. I would also like to send my gratitude to all those who have been my mentors here in Korea and overseas – for I have taken your pieces of advice to my heart and they have guided me wonderfully throughout these years, especially sunbae Choi Jiyoung, who has molded me into the woman and chef that I am today. Also, here’s a special mention to Chef Lee for having prepared this wonderful course for us this lovely evening – I absolutely admire how he manages to make Korean staples like Kimchi Jjigae and Pajeon so…flavorful like it’s been made with his entire heart and soul poured into each detail. Wow. Could we have a round of applause for Chef Lee tonight?”

The audience complies quickly with your request while Chef Lee gives you a bow of gratitude by the doors of the event hall.

“Lastly, I would also like to acknowledge the presence of a beloved mentor of mine, back when I took patisserie classes back in Paris – Mr. Frank Boucher, who had, by the way, also prepared his signature Apple Tarte Tatin for our dessert tonight. So without further ado, the Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia – Chef of the Year award goes to, drumroll please!” Your tongue feels like it got stuck in your throat, but you pull yourself back to reality quick enough so no one else notices.

“Kim Seokjin! Congratulations!”

Seokjin had just barely gotten back to his seat when he hears his name being called. He stands up, beautiful facial features twisted into one of confusion. “You won Chef of the Year bro! Congrats!” Minjae pats Seokjin’s butt briefly before pushing him back towards the stage.

As you hand him the trophy, you give each other a small smile, likewise posing for the cameras. The photographer gestures for you to scoot closer to each other with his hands. It’s getting harder to fake your smile. You wanted nothing more but to go home. Or maybe you could pass by Canapé and take a bottle of wine home for yourself

Thankfully, the awarding the Chef of the Year signals the nearing conclusion of the event, and as soon as you get back to your seat, you send a text to Yoongi, telling him that the event will be over in a couple more minutes.

The event ends quicker than expected, and you find yourself bidding goodbye to everyone else as soon as the emcee officially ends the ceremony. You badly wanted to go home and rest, with only a few hours left for sleep before another work day starts.

You see Yoongi pull up by the entrance after a few more minutes. “How was the party?” You tell him what happened during the event, completely leaving out Seokjin’s appearance and antics. “Let’s just drop you off by your apartment first then I’ll go drive back to the restaurant to grab something.”

“I can go with?”

“It’s fine Yoongs. Besides, we have work in a few hours. You already sleep during work, what more if I keep you awake for an extra couple of minutes tonight?”

Yoongi just shakes his head at you, saying nothing else in reply. He finds you uncharacteristically quiet after a big event like this and wants to ask you about it, but you seem too lost in your thoughts that he doesn’t want to bother you any further. You arrive at his place shortly and as you get down from the car to switch places, you give him a hug and thank him for being your chauffeur. “Oh, and _______? Your French Cabernet Sauvignon is at the third row from the top. And drink at home, please. See you tomorrow.”

Passing through the main entrance of your restaurant, you turn on a few lights by the wine rack to aid your search for the alcoholic beverage. You make a beeline for the wooden structure attached to the wall. Third row from the top… reaching out, you grab on a bottle, reading out its name, ‘Chateau Pichon Longueville 2015 Pauillac’. This will most likely do the trick.

All of a sudden, a knock comes from your door, startling you out of your wits. Quickly, you scurry to the kitchen, looking for something that can protect you in case this person means harm. Your extensive collection of knives is what comes into your mind first, but you wouldn’t want them to be considered murder weapons, in case the worst scenario comes into play.

So you settle for the rolling pin, clutching the cylindrical utensil tightly in your hands. “Who’s there?” you call out, hoping the fear wont seep through your words. “Um, it’s Frank. Frank Boucher. Is that you inside, _______?”

Letting your hands fall to the side, you cautiously near the door, still clutching the rolling pin in your hands. You can’t be too sure nowadays. You sneak a glace through the glass panels to confirm his identity. Breathing a sigh of relief when you see it really was your mentor back in Paris, you set aside the rolling pin and unlock the door.

“_________!”

“Ah, and to what do I owe this pleasure, Chef Boucher?”

“I wanted to talk to you back at the event, but I’m guessing you left early…”

“Um, yes…still a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Can I get you anything, perhaps? I- I grabbed a bottle of wine just now… would you like some? Or water maybe?”

“Wine is always a great choice, _______. Also I’m here to tell you something important, but I’ll let you grab two glasses first, for our usage.”

“Of course! Please feel free to sit anywhere you like.”

“Quaint restaurant you have here, ______. This is the same Canapé you told me in your email right?”

“Yep! Would you mind a few crackers and goat’s cheese to go with the wine?”

“That sounds perfect, though you really don’t have to bother yourself with all of that…” You shrug off his comment, reassuring him that it was the least you could do after having taught you so much when you were back in Paris.

You finally get everything ready, one hand holding a plate full of crackers and cheese, while the other holds two wine glasses. As soon as you get seated, Frank takes upon him the honor of opening the bottle, pouring a sufficient amount of the beverage onto your glasses. “I meant to give this to you personally earlier, but I could no longer find you after the party ended.” He hands you a white envelope with your name and Canapé’s address printed at the back.

“You’ve been invited to the Asian Gourmet Conference in the Philippines next week.” You choke on the wine you’re drinking, embarrassingly turning into a coughing mess in front of your mentor. He looks at you expectantly as you open the envelope.

“Wait. This is real?! No way!” Frank laughs at your reaction, excitement evident in your voice as you skim over the words indicated on the paper. “Oh my goodness! This is such a great event! And the opportunities! Please bring the wine home, Chef Boucher! It’s on the house.” The French man laughs harder at your offer, but he doesn’t decline.

“I’m glad you’re this excited, because you’re going with Seokjin.”

Immensely thanking the heavens that you were looking down the whole time while reading the document, else your mentor would’ve seen the instantaneous scowl that graced your face at the mere mention of the-man-who-shall-not-be-named.

You force a smile onto your features before looking back up at Frank. “Kim Seokjin? As in Kim Seokjin who just won GCAEA’s Chef of the Year Award earlier?”

With slumped shoulders, you lean farther backward in your seat. The Asian Gourmet Conference was one of the most anticipated conferences in the whole of Asia. It was an event highly awaited by many in the culinary field, especially one of its main events where they invite gourmet chefs from all parts of the world to compete for the best dish ever and a $200,000 prize.

The contest was another thing though, because two representatives will be vying for each country, so the winning pair will get to come home with $100,000 each. You really wouldn’t have put any thought into who your partner would have been if you were.

Your head fills with dread at the thought of having Seokjin as your partner. It was bad enough that he owns the gourmet restaurant next to yours, and that he’d attended GCAEA which caused more unwanted interactions with him.

“Yes him. From what I’ve heard, people say he’s a rising star, and that his newly established restaurant was getting a lot of good reviews.”

“It’s the restaurant next to mine, chef.”

“Ha! Seems like you’ve finally met your match, darling. Pretty sure that can apply romance-wise as well…”

“Why does everybody keep shipping us?” You wonder, subconsciously vocalizing your thoughts.

“You two look like you have his-…I think… you two would just look great together!”

“Ship? You know what ship means?” You look at him incredulously.

“It’s when you like the idea of two people together right? My daughter says it all time because of these Korean boys with bright hair – actually, when she knew I was going here to attend GCAEA as a guest she kept on nagging me to buy her albums and these sticks…”

“Sticks?”

“Yeah, the lightning ones?”

“Lightning?” You stifle a laugh. “You mean lightsticks, right?”

“Whatever they’re called, _______.” Frank Boucher gives you his infamous glare.

Nearly snorting at the sight of your mentor looking physically and mentally exhausted with trying to keep up with his fangirling daughter, you offer him another bottle because he seems like he needs it more than you do.

Your conversation falls into talking about your current lives and the stresses of running a restaurant, with Frank eventually leading the conversation about the person you’d least likely enjoy talking about. He tells you about your neighboring rival, how he’s done just as well with his own place like what you did with yours. He’s proud that both of his students had established their names in Korea’s gourmet society even at such a young age.

The clocks finally hits ten thirty and Frank takes this as his cue to get going.“Great! Your plane ticket and hotel booking has probably already been sent by my secretary to your email. The convention is only for three days, but the two extra days are on me. Take it as a gift for Canapé’s opening. Go enjoy yourself, _______”

Forcing another bright smile onto your face, you bid your goodbye to your mentor, locking the front door of your restaurant as he leaves. Five days with Seokjin. May the gods have mercy on you.

The four-hour flight to the Philippines had been excruciatingly awkward. To say the least.

You hadn’t talked to each other for the most part. In fact, the only time you had interacted with each other was when you’d waken him up because you had already landed at the airport. The both of you had barely spoken to each other even on your way to the hotel. Occasionally he’d ask you questions that only warranted monosyllabic responses from you.

You’re glad that weariness passed as the only excuse for the lack of interaction. The moment you’d met up at the airport, fatigue had already been evident in both your faces, so your pair had ended up with alternating sleeping schedules during the length of your flight and up to the taxi ride to your hotel.

Only a few words were shared between you when you’ve finally arrived in front of your rooms – something along the lines of ‘good night’ and ‘see you tomorrow’. As you let sleep take over you that night, you pray that everything will go smoothly for the entirety of your stay.

“Lovely afternoon to all of you present here today at this year’s Asian Gourmet Conference!” Excited applause falls amongst the crowd, cheering on different countries, even though they screamed the most for Team Philippines. The host greets the audience and the participants one more time, before proceeding to the guidelines of the event.

“For the first challenge of our main event, we’d like the chefs to cook two staple dishes from their respective home countries – but with a twist! Our chefs will have to use Filipino ingredients only! This is where we put their creativity and talent to the test. To our chefs, please be reminded that we will be giving you an hour to prepare your fusion dishes. While you guys are cooking, I’ll be going around to interview almost fifty chefs who have come from all parts of the world just to join us today.”

You start brainstorming with Seokjin the moment the host leaves the stage. “You’ve been to the Philippines a few times right? You’ve tried some of their food?” your partner asks, turning to you. You’re surprised he even remembered…if you had recalled properly, you had only mentioned it once back in Paris that you did visit the Philippines on occasion.

“Um, yes…I’ve been here a couple of times,” you reply, racking your brain for any Korean dishes that might hold any similarity with Korean staples. “I only remember Sinigang, and Adobe…”

“I’m pretty sure they call it Adobo here Seokjin,” you make no attempt to suppress the giggle the escapes your lips as he mistakes computer software for food.

“But the challenge is only to make our home country’s staples with Philippine ingredients… so this shouldn’t be that big of a fusion problem since rice is also considered a vital part of their meals here…”

“You think good ‘ole Bibimbap will do? Pretty much all the ingredients are available here…What else could we have?” Seokjin asks, taking a notepad and a pen from his jacket. “We can have tteokbokki for the appetizer and bingsu for dessert.”

You get to cooking right after you and Seokjin agree on the ingredients you were going to use. Maybe working with Seokjin wasn’t so bad after all. Not even fifteen minutes into the competition, you see a few girls cheer Seokjin on, ceaselessly calling your partner “Seokjin oppa!” They screams only seem to spur Seokjin on, who’s now showing off his knife skills. You roll your eyes as you shake your head, crushing the garlic a little too hard against the board.

“Jealous much?” your partner asks. You can feel Seokjin smirking beside you.

“You wish, Kim Seokjin.”

“Whatever floats your boat, ________,” he sighs, “If only my partner could also send me words of encouragement rather than staying silent the whole time,” he mumbles to himself, thinking it wasn’t loud enough for you to hear.

“You and I both know this mouth is better at something else.” You turn to him, giving Seokjin a playful wink before setting the ingredients to the bibimbap on one side. He nearly drops the knife he’s holding at your comment, obviously scandalized by your innuendo.

Even with the time racing against you, everything was still going as planned, you just needed to hurry with the final parts of the dishes and you’d be able to beat the buzzer which was bound to ring in less than twenty minutes. That is until the salt container placed on top of this tall arrangement of pots topples over the shaved ice you’ve prepared for the bingsu. You see the ice melt before your eyes, and you quickly move to the container, removing some of the ice that was turning into water.

“Shit! Sorry ________!” He drops the pans he held in his arms onto the sink, scampering to your side afterwards. “Can I help –“

“No! I…It’s fine, Seokjin, just…just go back to whatever you were doing earlier. And please be careful next time.” Seokjin nods curtly, before going back to clean the pans. “______, why does it smell like something’s burning?”

“Fuck!” Cursing under your breath, you hurry towards the pot where the rice was cooking. As you remove the cover, the smell of burnt rice and a failed dish wafts through your nose, causing you to take a deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself down.

Reluctantly, you scoop out the rice that wasn’t burnt and place it onto the stone pot and start plating your bibimbap. Seokjin likewise helps you finish plating the tteokbokki and bingsu in silence.

Needless to say, your burnt rice didn’t make it through the first round. It didn’t mean that you were disqualified from the competition though, but in order to win the cash prize, you will have to make it through all three challenges of the event. That same evening as you take the cab back to the hotel, the despondence in the air is thicker than ever.

“See you tomorrow, ______.” Seokjin says, giving you a small smile as he stops in front of his door.

“Right. See you tomorrow, Seokjin. Sleep well.”

It’s ironic how it was you who actually needed that phrase and not Seokjin. You’ve watched the clock tick away, turned on the television for something to watch on the local news channels which were thankfully spoken in English, you had also resorted to Netflix on your phone, but all to no avail.

Admittedly, you had finished an Iced Americano in fifteen minutes earlier this morning but you figure it’s the entire ‘burnt rice’ accident that’s keeping you awake at this hour. Heaving a deep sigh, you lift the covers off your body, put on a hoodie and headed outside.

You pause by Seokjin’s door momentarily, with the strong urge to knock on his door and apologize for your lack of professionalism earlier this afternoon. Seokjin didn’t really mean to pour the salt over the ice at the event, and the way you reacted was unnecessarily rude.

Seokjin was probably asleep though, and you didn’t want to further embarrass yourself by waking him in the middle of the night. Retracting your hand that was merely inches away from his door, you turn on your heel and decide to apologize to him first thing in the morning tomorrow. Maybe even get him an extra something to show the depth of your regret and guilt.

After having asked the receptionist for directions towards the nearest convenience store, you’re suddenly regretting having worn shorts on your way out – the exposed skin of your legs prickling as the chilly evening air bites at it. Spotting 7-Eleven just across the street, you walk quickly towards the convenience store, desperate to feel warmth in this cold night.

The mellifluous sound of the bell echoes throughout the small store as you enter, that particular smell of convenience stores wafting through your senses. You decide to explore the shop a little, trying to look for something to eat.

Quite ironically, you’ve cooked nearly a thousand dishes in your lifetime, and having to cook another shouldn’t be that much of a burden but when your mind is swirling with thoughts just like tonight, you can’t seem to bring yourself to cook even the simplest dish – like it’s too great of a task to burden yourself with.

So during times like this, you turn to instant noodles, the ultimate lifesaver since your culinary school days. Hopefully no one from GCAEA or the AGC finds you like this, a dignified gourmet chef who’s starting to establish her name in the culinary field, crawling convenience stores in the middle of the night and slurping instant noodles away like it’s her last day on Earth.

You finally get to the noodles section, where you see a man in a hoodie, likewise skimming through the same aisle as you. The receptionist had told you to be wary of sketchy-looking people especially during the wee hours of the morning so you hurry with your own search as you look for a certain brand of cup noodles. Shin Ramyeon.

It should be here somewhere… As far as you’re concerned as a consumer, it’s being exported to over a hundred countries now so it must be here. Going over the entire aisle one last time, you finally see the red cup, reaching over the lone cup of Shin Ramyeon left on the shelf. The problem was, you weren’t the only one who was reaching for it.

Why do those fingers look insanely familiar?

Your eyes widen gradually as you slowly trail them up to see the owner of those hands. Of course, who else could it have been? You call out each other’s name at the same time.

“Seokjin.” “________.”

“You can have it.” You spoke in unison again.

“It’s fine really, you can have it. I’ll just look for another brand,” you tell him, handing over the cup with perfectly controlled reluctance.

“Would you mind if we shared, perhaps?” You stare at him, completely taken aback by his offer. “Or not…I mean- forget I even said that… Here take it.” He hands the cup to you and starts to leave.

“Jin! I- I don’t mind sharing.” Biting on his lip, he attempts to hide the smile that slowly etches into his face as he hears the nickname only you have for him. He turns to face you again. “Okay.” Seokjin gives you a smile, grabs the cup noodles from your grasp and orders you to look for seats while he pays for your shared midnight snack.

Slowly, you trudge towards the limited number of seats they offer at the convenience store and find a spot by the windows. Seokjin arrives at your table a couple of minutes afterwards.

It was now or never. You owed Seokjin an apology after having rudely declined his offer of help during the event, even when the whole fiasco was just an accident. You figure if you don’t apologize for your unjust behavior, guilt is most likely going to eat at you for a very, very long time. Seokjin’s dejected yet still beautiful face will haunt you in your dreams.

As Seokjin busies himself with adding the ingredients onto the paper cup, you take this opportunity to speak up. “Jin,” you start, the nickname sending Seokjin’s heart into another frenzy. “About the bibimbap earlier, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, ________. It was my fault anyway. I should be the one apologizing right now, but…hold that thought for a moment…” He looks away, letting out a sneeze. “….it’s the powder seasoning, sorry… As I was saying, I’d also like to apologize about what happened earlier, I mean if I didn’t try to carry so much, the salt wouldn’t have toppled over.”

“Hey! I should be the one apologizing right now! Stop stealing my thunder!” You pout, begrudgingly taking the small carton of milk Seokjin bought to go with the ramen. You can’t say you aren’t pleasantly surprised at how he remembers this habit of yours too. For some reason, he remembers how you always have milk ready whenever you eat something spicy.

“Anyways… I also wanted to apologize for my rude behavior towards you back at the event. It was an accident, yet I reacted badly and declined your assistance. It was only after the event that I realized that we’re supposed to be helping each other, and not treating each other poorly.”

“Don’t worry yourself too much about it, ______. Besides, we still have two days to redeem ourselves right?” Seokjin sends a warm smile your way, one you cannot help but return.

“What else are you waiting for? The ramen is getting cold and lonely.”

“You sure you aren’t talking about yourself?”

“You know, I’m thinking maybe you should get your own instant noodles,” Seokjin comments, fingers curling around the paper cup.

“Okay, okay, geez.” Throwing your hands up in defense, you thank him for paying for the noodles and the milk before pulling your chopsticks apart and digging in. As you take your first bite, Seokjin suddenly speaks up.

“Is it just me, or I am really very anxious right now…what if someone might see us?”

“Last time I checked, there’s nothing wrong with eating inside a convenience store.”

“No, no. But we’re like… owners…of restaurants…that serve gourmet food…yet here we are, at half past twelve in the morning, sharing cup noodles like it’s the last meal in the world due to a zombie apocalypse.”

“I get how you feel, but I don’t think we’d agree on the zombie apocalypse part…”

The conversation flows naturally between the both of you, like two friends casually catching up with each other’s lives. Seokjin was in the middle of talking when you hear the pitter-patter of rain outside. Tiny droplets of water slide down the glass panels, slowly turning into heavier ones.

You look at each other. “Should we?”

“We can wait this out if you’d like…” Seokjin proposes, though he isn’t so sure he wants to go with his offer either. The sudden downpour doesn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon. “Forget what I said, we should leave before this gets worse. Wait here.” Seokjin stands up, goes through each aisle of the convenience store, and returns to where you’re seated. “Damn, they just ran out of umbrellas.”

“We could just run back the hotel…it’s just one crosswalk away.”

“You sure about that? What if you get sick?”

“Let’s just hope we won’t then.” Seokjin gives you a nod in approval. “Before we go out though,” he pulls his hoodie off his torso, giving you a slight show of his abdominals as he raises his hands. You abruptly look away, before nasty thoughts overcome you.

Placing his hoodie over both your heads, Seokjin peers down at you. “Ready when you are.” The quick sprint back to the hotel has you both screaming and laughing at the same time. You weren’t surprised that Seokjin’s hoodie barely served its purpose. You were both drenched from the neck down, attracting unwanted attention from people with your appearance.

With less than a few more steps before you reach your hotel rooms, you feel trepidation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. What’s going to happen now? Were you supposed to forget what happened between the two of you three years ago just like that? Was your midnight ramen run officially a clean slate?

Seokjin has his back facing you, the thin, white material of his shirt clinging sinfully to his skin. Every second spent with Seokjin was the best form of punishment in both ways “Are you going to sleep?” You don’t think that was going to happen anytime soon, now that you’re once again blessed with his visuals and perfectly sculpted body.

Seokjin turns to face you, waiting for your response. You shake your head no, eyes unabashedly staring at the outline of his six-pack. The man lets out a cough, drawing you out of your reverie. “Wanna keep warm for a bit and talk over hot chocolate?”

Why do you get the feeling it’s not just hot chocolate that’s going to keep you warm tonight?

“Sure.” Your voice comes out small, swallowing loudly as he unlocks the door to his room.

The tension in the air is so thick that you’re actually having difficulty trying to breathe normally. Seokjin sets his wet hoodie on the floor before meeting your eyes, pupils already dilated. He momentarily holds his stare, eyes raking all over your equally drenched body. He points a finger sideways, “Hot chocolate.” Subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, you nod, unable to form any coherent words in your head.

As he heads towards the kitchenette, you rub your face with your hands, before placing a hand over your chest. “Calm down, girl. It’s not like you’ve never seen abs before.” This is like Paris all over again, and you weigh the possible outcome of this situation. If you’re reading the signs right, Seokjin is clearly just affected as you are. Are you really willing to wear your heart out on your sleeve like this one more time? You rack your brain for answers, yet all it does is betray you with images of the rippling muscles underneath Seokjin’s shirt.

Ah, fuck it.

“Jin?” you call out as you reach the wall separating the kitchenette. Just as you peek through the divider, Seokjin rakes a hand through his temple, his hair now pushed back and forehead visible. You practically hear your resolve shattering into pieces.

Taking initiative, you close the distance between the both of you, connecting your lips with his in a feverish kiss. He tastes spicy – just like the ramen you’ve shared just minutes ago, but god, your favorite ramen and Seokjin’s lips; if that ain’t the hottest combination in the world – both literally, and figuratively.

You kiss Seokjin fervently like you’re going to crumble if his lips aren’t connected with yours. One hand of his raises to get rid of the scrunchie holding your hair up in a ponytail, and he lets his fingers card through your wet hair gently. The intensity of his kiss practically devours you, his hands grabbing hastily at your clothes. He’s itching to take them off your body, yet you feel the hesitation in his actions, waiting for that sign from you before he can do so as he pleases.

Pulling away to take a breather, you tug your hoodie up and off you, with Seokjin helping you with the task. "You don’t know how much I’ve longed for this, fuck." He seizes your mouth with his once more like a man starved.

Seokjin groans as he finally gets a view of the amount of lace you’re wearing underneath your hoodie. “I’d love to have you in your lingerie another time, but for now, let’s get you naked for me, hmm?” You’re barely allowed a second to fully comprehend his statement about lingerie and another time before Seokjin discards of the red lacy bra you have on and attaching his lips to one of your nipples.

Gasping at the sensation, you arch your back so that you’re practically pressing your chest against his face, greedily asking for more. Hooking a finger inside the waistband of your gym shorts, Seokjin easily tugs your shorts down along with your underwear.

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up to the counter for his convenience. You shiver slightly when your ass comes in contact with the coldness of the marble. As if on instinct, your legs spread wider, seemingly inviting him to come closer to you.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”

“Mhmmm,” your words are muffled as you ardently kiss him. Seokjin brings his lips back to your breasts, biting and pulling at one while the other gets kneaded under his palm. Equally just as impatient as you are, Seokjin lets a hand trail in between your bodies, tentatively brushing against your core to gauge your reaction.

Your body quakes in anticipation, and Seokjin teases you even further by slowly rubbing the pad of his finger on your clit. “Jin, please,” you beseech. “Gotta prepare you first, baby girl.” Letting your head fall back at the sensation (and the pet name!), Seokjin decides to give you what you want, seeing as though you were wet enough that taking his cock right now won’t be a problem. He finally slides a finger inside, your body trembling at the intrusion. God, it’s been too long.

Okay, honestly speaking, you really didn’t take interest in another man when Seokjin entered your life three years ago, and now that you’re back here in this compromising situation with his finger sliding in and out of you languidly, you feel like you could just cum at the thought of it alone.

Seokjin adds another finger, continuing the pace. You moan wantonly as Seokjin curls his fingers, your velvety walls clenching around his digits. He can tell you’re getting close, but he knew it wasn’t enough.

Without having to slide his fingers out of you, Seokjin grabs at one of the chairs and pulls it towards himself so he can sit.

He hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer, merely centimeters away from your cunt. Your cheeks are set ablaze at his brazen action, opening your mouth to say something, falling speechless yet again as Seokjin’s lips come in contact with your nether lips. The man licks a bold stripe along the length of your folds, your hands instantly finding purchase on his hair as you’ve got nothing else to hold on to. He repeats the action all over again, this time adding his fingers to slide in and out of you and toy with your clit. A few more licks and a particular curl of his digits, Seokjin makes you cum for the first time again in three years, so hard that you’re body’s trembling even after he sets your legs down

You’re breathing heavily, resting your forehead on Seokjin’s temple. “Mind taking a shower with me? It’s important to bathe after running the rain” Seokjin looks up at you, eyes pleading.

“I would, if I’m still able to walk.”

“Who said you were going to walk?” Seokjin maneuvers you on top of the counter, placing his hands under your knees and on your back, carrying you bridal style towards the bath. As soon as he settles you down onto the tub, he turns the faucet on and leaves you there for a moment, telling you that he was just going to grab something from his luggage.

You rest your head against the edge of the tub as you wait for Seokjin. You slowly feel exhaustion taking over you, but when you hear Seokjin’s muted footsteps against the carpeted floor, your eyes pry open only to see Seokjin in his boxers, holding a bath bomb in his palm. You gulp. This was going to be one hell of a night.

Just like before, Seokjin has you cumming thrice in the bath, once when he took you from underneath, making sure that the water fell perfectly on your clit for added stimulation as he slid his length in and out of you. He’d made you cum when you rode him as well, water sloshing everywhere at your naughty shenanigans in the bath. Even after two orgasms, Seokjin just won’t quit, having bent you over as you faced the wall, pounding you from behind.

Seokjin, with his libido seemingly running 24/7 tells you he wasn’t done with you just yet, saying he’s still got three years worth more of fucking to give you. He wanted to give you the most unforgettable sex of your life, and boy, was he adamant about it.

Seemingly not having had enough of you yet after helping you scrub almost the whole expanse of your skin, he finds himself getting hard again at the sight of you in just his shirt and nothing else. You meant to sleep by that time, but as soon as Seokjin spooned you, you’d felt his clothed erection already grinding against your ass. You no longer kept count of how many times he made you cum.

The sunlight peeks through a tiny slit through the curtains, the heat perfectly hitting your face, causing you to wake up. Your body is sore all over, and as you roll to the other side while stretching out your limbs, you spot next to you empty.

Of course. You’re a fucking dumbass.

Hastily grabbing your clothes strewn across the floor, you head out of his room, tears already brimming in your eyes. Your vision is getting blurry by the second, and you angrily swipe at your cheeks as you feel a singular tear roll down. As you curse Seokjin under your breath, you bump into none other than the devil himself. “Oh! You’re awake?”

You don’t answer, stepping aside so you could go back to your room and rethink your life decisions.

“Where are you going, _______?”

“Out of your room, and hopefully out of your life as well.”

“Wait - ______! What are you talking about?” Seokjin extends his hand to grab your arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Seokjin.” The venom laced with your words makes him reel, retracting the arm he had held out to reach you. “I really never meant anything to you, hm? Fuck, I have probably reached desperation to return back into your arms that easily.”

“Desperation? That’s all it was last night? And the one three years ago?”

“I should be the one asking you that question!”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Are you really that fucking dense, Seokjin? You were the one who left me alone in the room that morning, and now you’ve done it again. Congratulations on having a new notch on your belt. And I’m a fucking fool for even thinking you felt otherwise!”

“You think I left you that morning?”

“I’m not done yet—what did you say?”

“You were the one who left that morning!”

“I did not! When I woke up, you weren’t there, nor were you anywhere inside your entire apartment! Do you know how embarrassing that was!” You pause, lips trembling, “F-For someone who actually meant something to you only seeing you as just some one-night stand?! Someone who you could use to get your dick wet?!”

“You like m-“

“You’re missing the entire point here, Kim Seokjin!”

“What’s happening here?” A raspy voice asks, the familiar mop of curly hair coming into view. Rafa?

“Oh my god! You like me, fuck! I could just kiss you right now!” Seokjin doesn’t even hesistate, already leaning towards your face and connecting your lips. You almost melt into his arms at the sensation, but you pull away just as instantly, tears freely rolling down. “Am I really just a joke to you, Jin? Have you ever even taken into consideration my feelings, even once?”

“______, darling. This is all a misunderstanding. Well, I did leave that morning, but I just went out to Rafa next door to shower. I—you looked so peaceful as you slept that I really didn’t want to bother waking you up to tell you that I can’t shower with cold water and it’s like déjà vu all of a sudden and…wait!” Seokjin drags poor Rafael who’s still looks like he’s half-asleep. “Rafa can verify the truth!”

Rafael sighs, once again caught in the middle of something he no longer wants to be a part of. “It’s true, ______. This guy’s pretty much in love with you. It’s just an unfortunate fact that this same guy has plenty of annoying habits that gets him in trouble most times. Just like not being able handle water that is below 26 degrees Celsius.”

You’re looking back and forth Seokjin and Rafa, trying to study their features if they’re being questionable or not. Finding no trace of mirth in their eyes, you turn to Seokjin. “You really didn’t leave me that morning and… today?”

“No. I could never. I’m a fucking dumbass for not thinking about what you could’ve felt that time and today…or telling you that I was just heading out to Rafa’s to shower because for some reason my heater isn’t always functioning…”

“Glad to know you’ve finally acknowledged that you’re a bloody idiot.” Rafa speaks up, narrowing his eyes at Seokjin, taking a sip from his mug. Since when was that in his hands? Rafa sees you stare at his mug, and answers your silent question, “Was planning to drink this while it was hot earlier but I don’t see anything wrong with drinking cold coffee while watching a live action soap opera.”

“Funny how a night of fucking like wild rabbits can do so much to people,” Rafa adds, scoffing as he retreats back to his room. You lean your head towards Seokjin’s chest, embarrassed out of your wits. Seokjin puts an arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him. “Don’t mind Rafa. He’s just jealous.”

“I can perfectly hear you, Kim Seokjin!”

#bts smut #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #ksmutclub #bts fluff #bts angst #kim seokjin #bts jin #jin smut

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (66) || atz

It’s dark out when wooden boards creak under the tips of your toes lightly, and you glance behind your shoulder to make sure no one is watching you from the ship’s deck before you quickly stride across the pier, hoping the shadows cast from the flickering flames of the torches are enough to shroud you in their darkness.

You’re dressed in one of your Master’s tunics, with a ragged shawl wound around your head to hide your face. Darting down the harbor, you rely purely on your memory to follow the same path your feet had taken seemingly so long ago.

You blend in with the rest of the stragglers littering the dirty seaside hovels, listening to the sound of seawater lapping against the stone docks. The sea winds seem to sense your intent, the trail of salt laced air drifting past your nose and guiding you forward. You double your pace. You’re getting closer.

“Fortune favours the fair...” The raspy whisper curls around your ears, beckons you towards a dingy shack tucked in the recesses of the town, streaked with filth and grime, just as you remember it. Heavy rags and curtains hang from its rickety bamboo frame, the dim light inside barely visible through the thick drapes, suffocating and stifling.

It’s an ominous sight, but you feel no fear as you step forward into the tent without even bothering to announce yourself. You remember the terror you had felt here the last time, even with Jongho at your back, but now, all that consumes you is a ravenous desire for answers.

There’s no more time for fear anymore.

“It’s you!” The fortune teller shrieks, the second you push aside the heavy curtains at the entrance and slip inside. There’s a crash, and you glance up from beneath your hood to see the wizened crone tumbling backwards, knocking over jars of snakeskin and ripping strings of dried talons from the ceiling rafters in her desperate attempt to get away from you. “You, I-”

“Silence.” You say coldly, brushing a spider from your shoulder and she falls silent in an instant, mouth moving soundlessly. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your aura, it’s stronger now, it’s pouring from you.” The fortune teller spits, pressing against the wall behind her in a bid to get as far from you as possible as you cross the cramped hut in three steps to sit on the same chair in front of her table, just as you had so long ago. This chair feels sturdier under you, and you wonder which unfortunate soul bad broken the previous one before you. “Even the biggest fool would be able to tell, why do you think you were not approached on your way here, alone and frail-looking as you are?”

“Huh.” You say curiously, unwinding the shawl from your neck and pulling it free. “That’s a handy skill, now that I think about it.”

“Why are you here, clay one?” The fortune teller hisses, and when you stare back her, she seems smaller than you remember her to be; instead of the looming figure wrapped in darkness she’s merely a trembling, skeletal woman hiding behind her rags. You shrug, prop your chin on your palm and look at her with intent eyes. She flinches.

“You’re a fortune teller, aren’t you?” You ask quietly, your gaze unwavering. “Tell me my future.”

She sputters.

“It- It doesn’t work like that.” The fortune teller spins away from you, but you can see her fingernails, caked with dirt, dragging frantically against the rough grain of the tabletop. “The more one seeks out the future, terrible things come to pass. The more someone plays a god,” her luminous eyes meet yours through her wild tangle of curls, the colour of pond water muddied with scum and filth, “the higher the price they pay, the deeper they sink. But they never turn back until it’s too late, and by then, the price is too high for a mortal to ever pay.”

You frown. “How does someone play god?”

The second you say that, the air in the room changes. You can feel it, the way the temperature seems to drop, the way the flames burning at the ends of the waxy candle stubs flicker weakly, how the rats squeak in the cages and the birds flap desperately. The sea breeze whispers in your ears and the fortune teller stumbles back. “Tell her, tell her, tell her...” Eerie, moaning, indecipherable wails drift in with the wind and the fortune teller shrieks, nearly clawing at the walls in her attempt to escape. “Confess to her all your misdeeds, your sins... how you came to be in this wretched state...”

Frowning, you grab her by the fabric of her shawl and yank her back into her seat. “What did they mean?” She stares back at you, wild eyed and horrified.

“You can hear them?” She breathes, almost incredulous, but before you can answer she’s yanking her clothes out of your grip, mumbling to herself under her breath, teeth chattering and her words stumbling over each other. “Of course you can, you’re one of hers, you-”

“You mean Eldoris?” You ask mildly, but at the very mention of her name the fortune teller jerks across the table to clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with terror. “Do not speak her name.” She hushes you desperately, and your eyes narrow as you pull her hand from your mouth.

“Why not?”

“Names have power.” The fortune teller snaps, sinking back into her seat even as she glances warily around her, as if she’s afraid that the sea witch is going to appear any second. “Names are the identity that bind you to this world. If you live without a name, any name, it means that the world does not have any connection to you, that nothing needs to call out for you. You are an insignificant speck, without an immortal soul, as the birds of the sky to the sirens in the sea are.”

Your eyebrows furrow, bringing your hands up to play with the shawl on your lap, the wooden hand catching on stray threads here and there. “What about the names of gods?”

The fortune teller scoffs. “The gods?” There’s a trace of bitterness in her voice as she sinks back into her chair, eyes dark. “Gods, the mortals call them. No, my dear fool. They are not gods... just beings of immense powers, called into consciousness at Creation. They don’t have names, nor do they have eternal souls... no one calls upon them for who they are, only what they are.” She snorts in ridicule, shaking her head. “Thinking that the gods are human enough to listen to their wishes, to their desires... that’s all a lie. A pretty fairy tale, meant to deceive those with a penny in their pocket.”

You fingers still. “What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t tell me you actually believed those legends.” Her eyes are dark as they meet yours. “As if human offerings such as fruit or even gold would be of anything of worth to a god. They have no need for it. They have existed long before the humans have, and will continue to exist long after humans are gone. They do as they wish, and they have no heart for humans, only for each other. We are nothing but mere ants to them.”

You remember how Eldoris had told you of the names the two gods had called each other by, lips pressing into a thin line. Were the gods really such cruel, heartless characters such as what the fortune teller was saying?

“You sound awfully passionate about this.” You remark quietly, and the fortune teller whips around to glare at you straight in the eye, so close you can smell her rancid breath.

“How do you think I got here?” She breathes, and you stiffen, straightening up to look at her more clearly. She’s had dealings with the gods before? You had thought her to be merely a shady magician with a penchant for seeing the future and a flair for the dramatic. “Trying to play god, trying to gain power.” Her expression darkens. “All I wanted was the ability to see the future, to protect my village from the storms that would rage along the coast, and yet... and yet...” Her teeth bare in a growl. “And yet...”

“And?” You coax her, transfixed by the sheer pain burning in her eyes. Her head snaps up to look at you, and you’re stunned to see her eyes shining with tears.

“I do not wish to speak about this any longer.” She croaks, turning away from you and rapidly swiping the tears from her eyes. Something pinches in you, and you hold out your shawl to her. She stares at it for a good few seconds, before she takes it in her hands and holds it there.

“You’re a good person,” she manages, and you only look at her blankly, uncomprehending. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, ever. Trying to obtain the power of a god is nothing but folly.”

“How does one obtain the power of a god?” You ask, hesitantly, and she looks at you for a long while, searching for something in your eyes. Apparently, she seems to finds it, because she exhales, shakes her head. “The essence of the world is all around us, from the very air we breathe to the water in the oceans all around us. We consume it all the time, in minute amounts... but to attain true power?” Her voice drops and you lean in closer to hear her. “One needs to consume bigger sources of power... like the sirens... or god forbid, the hafgufa itself.”

A memory works its way into your mind, a hazy recollection of staring down a cliff and screaming till your throat goes hoarse.

You frown. “Just like that? How is that detrimental to a person?”

The fortune teller sighs, eyes darkening. “You ask too many questions... but you must imagine yourself as a jar. You contain your own life essence, but to take in the essence of the world around you forcibly? You are... limited... and in order to take in more, something must flow out to make more room.”

Your blood goes cold. “So you lose parts of your own human soul?”

The fortune teller nods heavily, head hanging. “A price no human should ever have to pay. Power is crazily addicting, enough for one to completely lose their sense of self... and the value of their own humanity. A human’s weakness is our biggest strength, but to lose your heart and soul in exchange for power is despicable.”

“But you tried, once.” You say, trying to make sense of it all. “You tried, and you’re still here.”

“I was too young, too afraid.” She hisses, shaking her head. “I killed one siren and consumed her essence before she could return to the sea, and immediately the sea witch rose from the waves to strike justice upon me. She couldn’t take the essence that I had stolen from the sea, so she cursed me to have the most terrible of prophecies I spoke of to never be believed, to watch the awful visions I had seen come to pass in front of my very eyes, completely helpless but you,” one of her hands reach out to touch yours almost gingerly, as if she’s afraid that you might end up being nothing but a dream, “you believe me.”

You nod slowly. “I do... I think. Something about the way you speak convinces me.” You exhale lightly, hold out your hands to her, eyes blazing with determination.

“Since I do, will you please tell me my future?”

The fortune teller flinches, before she sighs, rubbing her temples. The seashells on the silver bracelets she wears tinkle with each movement. You continue to stare at her, pleadingly, resolute, until she looks up at you with the shake of the head.

For a second, your heart drops, but then she speaks, perhaps more to herself than to you. “If I send you, too, to your death... but no... perhaps,” she looks up at you, gripping your hand tight with surprising strength for such bony fingers, “if you were already supposed to be dead and yet you still stand before me here... perhaps things will be different for you.”

A pang of fear shoots through you, and you hurry to ask, “what do you mean, I’m supposed to be dead? Did you see something in my future the last time I was here-”

“No, nothing like that.” The fortune teller waves a hand dismissively. “What I mean is that no golem has ever lived past two or three moons, not even the most well made ones I’ve ever seen. And yet, here you are, after so long.”

Something icy cold begins creeping into your heart as you chew on your bottom lip, brows furrowing questioningly. “How exactly does a golem... die?”

The fortune teller exhales, gives you a pitying look. “Well, a golem is a vessel often made of clay or stone, powered by its maker to carry out their wishes.” You nod intently, clinging on to every word. “Golems carry unimaginable amounts of power in their physical forms to animate them even without their master’s conscious effort, which is why only the most powerful of magicians can make them, but their bodies are not meant to house them nor use them.”

Your heart clenches painfully.

“In order to use the magic within them to animate themselves, the golems’ bodies degrade, like how one would break holes into a clay vessel in order to release the water within.” She continues, seemingly unaware of how still you’ve become. “The damage is irreparable. After a while, the body eventually shatters into nothing but dust in a couple of moons or so.”

You pause for a moment, licking your lips, which suddenly feel bone dry. “Ahh... that sounds rather morbid.” You say, nodding slowly. Perhaps that might explain your nosebleeds... and the cracking of your hand. So you were right, you are falling apart and there is no cure; or well, no human cure. You look down at your chest, resting your human hand against your heart gently. What kind of power do you have stored within you that is slowly killing you from the inside?

“I do not know how you came to be, even the sea witch cannot have had this much power to create a being such as you.” The fortune teller says softly, fingertips digging into the table. “But I can try to give you a prophecy, if that is what you so desire.”

Without pomp nor fanfare, she holds out her hands expectantly and you place yours in hers, one flesh and blood and the other carved wood, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. “Not going to take my blood this time?” You try to tease a little, to settle the painful flutter in your belly, but the fortune teller shakes her head, dark eyes searing into yours.

“I have never had a need for it, except to pacify the hearts of others...” She sighs, “No person would believe that I would be able to tell fortunes otherwise.” With that, she falls silent, eyes slipping shut, and you do the same, gripping her hands tightly.

Seconds stretch into moments, and moments into minutes as you wait for something, anything. For a second, you’re almost afraid that the fortune teller has fallen asleep, and are about to tap her on the shoulder when her grip on your hands suddenly tighten near painfully. Eyes flying wide open with shock, you look at her, but before you can ask her what’s wrong, words begin to pour from her opened mouth, even though her lips do not move.

Your heart skips a beat.

“I see darkness... darkness all around me...” The fortune teller breathes and your blood runs cold, throat tightening. “You are bound to another by a promise... and they will come, bearing a gift... a gift to sunder the promise that binds you to this mortal coil...”

A promise?

“No matter the choice you make, all the paths have been set straight, and they lead only to death.” Your breath catches. “There is no other way, your promise is a futile one, and it can only be fulfilled through death. The only future is death... death... death. It comes as the storm approaches... on the horizon of the sea.”

You swallow.

“But take heart at the very end... take... heart, to become weak is to triumph, to die is to live and remember... what... your name... is... and who it is...that... it... calls... to...”

And with that the fortune teller merely slumps over the table in a dead faint, mouth slack as she breathes slowly through her nose. But you simply sit there, silently, heart hammering in your chest as you realise what you’ve just heard.

And only one word replays in your head, like the last lines of a sea shanty that never ends.

Death.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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bittercoldbrew · 3 years

Text

Okay, so technically To Build Something New is complete and finished and I’m totally not even supposed to be working on it anymore, but this has been a shitty week and I decided to write a little something sweet and then I sort of got....carried away........ So yeah anyway, here’s a little over 4k of Ezra x f!OC, a sorta kinda epilogue to Build Something but I tried to leave things vague so it could also just be read as a standalone. No warnings, just an embarrassing amount of fluff. Enjoy! (pssst, also, I ended up writing a follow-up to this, which you can find here)

Sleep has never come easily to him. Even as a child, Ezra remembers being plagued with nightmares so often and for so long that he wouldn’t even bother waking his worn and weary parents, would simply fetch himself a cup of water from the kitchen and flip through his favorite books, gazing at the pictures and tracing fingers over words he couldn’t yet read, until sleep finally returned to him.

The woman in bed beside him is no stranger to such restlessness, and certainly is no distant, frightful parent best left unbothered. If he were to reach out a hand to her shoulder, if he were to call her name, he knows that she would wake willingly, eager to help him talk his way out of whatever trouble his overactive mind has conjured, or to simply sit with him in silence until the tension passed; she would give him whatever he needs, even if he himself doesn't know what that is just yet. It is no lack of love, given or received, that stills his hand and shuts his mouth, but rather an abundance.

Her thoughts are scarcely any kinder to her sleep schedule than his, and these past few months since her parents came and tried to upend the life she's built have not been easy ones. She certainly owes as profound a debt to the god of sleep as he does, and he simply cannot bring himself to disturb her now that she's begun to repay it.

With a sigh, he eases himself out from under her arm and up from the bed, moving slow and careful, as quiet as he can manage, trying not to feel too guilty at the sad, soft noise she makes and the way she curls her arm back into herself with the loss. Some nights, he’s more than content to lay awake beside her even if sleep never decides to make another appearance, grateful for her presence, trying and failing, always, to twist and turn his thoughts into a shape that will allow him to believe this luck that has brought him to her side. But tonight he just needs...to stretch his legs, to move his body, to remind himself that it is, still, somehow, his body, despite all that it has lost. Despite all that it has found.

He moves to the bathroom, passes through it out into the hall, hoping the added distance will prevent the sound of the door from waking the woman asleep in the bed they share. In the darkness, in the quiet, he runs a hand over his face, grounding himself with the familiar sensation of the planes and slopes of his own features. Still his face. Still his hand, even if he only has the one of them, now.

It seems instinctual, the way his feet carry him to the door across the hall, the way his ear finds itself pressed to the cool wood. He won’t bother her, won’t risk disturbing the sleep of the teenager inside, but the low whisper of the white noise machine that he can hear is enough of a comfort. Cee adjusted to planet life far faster and more completely than he has yet to manage; but even though the members of this little family all came from such disparate backgrounds, they are bound together by the act of having chosen one another, as well as by their shared insomnolent tendencies. The teenager needs this facsimile of the rumble of a ship’s engines to be able to achieve anything like sleep. Ezra himself has attempted the same, but found the noise only gave his brain something to latch onto, a reason to stay wakeful and wary, a stark contrast to its intended purpose.

Hearing hers, though, is reassurance enough that the girl is having a better night’s rest than he is, and he is grateful for that small blessing as he leans away from the door and sidles down the hallway on quiet, bare feet, mindful of all the places that creak, mapped out in his muscle memory over the course of many such nights. He crosses the front room, passes through the kitchen, until finally he steps out onto the back porch and into the cold, clear night.

The sky out here, so far from the city center, is resplendent in its beauty, a breathtaking array of stars and galaxies. Despite his many far-flung travels, there are still so many worlds to visit, still so much to see, and he will never grow weary of the sight.

It's a little too cold for stargazing, especially dressed as he is in nothing more than a patched and faded pair of boxers; but the way the air prickles against his skin and in his lungs feels almost refreshing, for now at least. It makes his racing thoughts feel sluggish, and that is certainly worth a little chill.

Sighing, he steps forward and leans against the railing, letting his eyes trace out distant constellations and star systems, scrolling through his mental catalogue of those he's visited and those he has yet to. He's picking out the faint whorl of the Ephrate when he hears the door slide open, and a sweet and sleepy voice asks, "Ezra..?"

He should have known his absence would be enough to wake her. The woman he loves is the galaxy’s most notorious blanket thief, after all; even now, the evidence of her crimes is wrapped around her like a cloak, the excess fabric bunched in her hands and clutched against her collar. Often, it’s only the warmth of his body in the bed beside her that keeps her from descending into wanton lawlessness—or, at the very least, a sleeplessness of her own. It is a rare night indeed that he can leave her side for much longer than it takes to visit the bathroom and return, before the chill is enough to wake her.

She steps forward, head down, eyes scarcely open and only to keep herself from tripping over the blanket as she draws near and leans her body heavily against his. He wraps his arm around her back and does his best to hug her close with only the one, trying not to feel so profoundly guilty at the thought of how difficult it must be for her to sleep when he’s gone so long for work.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair—an apology for tonight, and also for all those nights she spends without him.

But she only shakes her head, resting her cheek against his bare chest, just below his collarbone. She stands so tall and imperious in his mind’s eye that he forgets, sometimes, how little she is, and he is grateful for moments like these to remind him.

Her voice is thick with sleep, her breath warm against his skin, as she asks, simply, “Chocolate?”

He sighs and holds her closer, wondering if he knows a single word that might be able to encapsulate how it feels to be loved by her. Beloved feels too pedestrian, too obvious. Cherished, maybe. Harbored.

He needs to consider the possibilities more carefully, but later. For now, he merely shakes his head, begrudgingly declining her generous offer. “No, I’m alright. Just needed a minute, clear my head.”

She hums softly, and the gentle vibration of it against his chest feels planet-shaking in this quiet night. “Already put it on,” she admits slowly, sounding only marginally more awake than a moment ago. “Drink some anyway?”

Sustained? Is that the word? “With you? Of course.”

The wordless noise she makes in response is pleased, contented, and for several long, precious moments she merely rests against him and lets him hold her in the dark, unhurried and unafraid in his presence.

She’s so still for so long that he notices the slight movement of her cheek, the twitch that means she’s had to blink away a notification from her optical implant, the timer she must have set for the milk warming on the stove.

“I’ll get it—” he starts to offer, eager for some way to repay her kindness, but she moves quicker than he imagined she’d be capable of right now, pulling away and whirling the blanket off her shoulders and around his with a flourish.

“No,” she declares, in that tone of voice that always makes his brain go silent and his body stand to attention, willing to do whatever she requires of him without question. But the only order she gives is, “Keep this warm for me,” passing the corners of the fabric into his grasp, and he is certain to obey as she turns and heads back inside to the kitchen.

With a sigh, Ezra takes a step back and rests against the wall of the house, hiking the blanket up a little higher as he waits for her return. He finds himself wishing Aphelia had a moon, something to make the nights a little brighter than this; the lack gives them such a clear, glorious view of all the stars and a few of the other planets in this system, so he supposes he shouldn’t complain. But it would be nice to be able to see the garden from here, to make out what birds those are calling such sweet songs among the trees at the edge of the property, to better decipher the nuance of his partner’s expression when she steps back outside a few minutes later with two mugs of cocoa in her hands.

It requires a good deal of shuffling and muttered apologies, but eventually they find themselves sitting together on the floor of the porch, propped against the wall, the blanket drawn across them both, sheltering them from the chill of metal sheeting at their backs. She is nestled at his side beneath what remains of his right arm, and she rests her head on his shoulder as they both lift mugs to their lips.

He makes an indisputably better cup of coffee—mainly because she is too impatient in the morning, content to throw a packet of bland, dehydrated nonsense into hot water if it means she can be caffeinated quicker, only willing to wait for something better if it’s Ezra who does the brewing. But her hot chocolate is a wonder, a marvel, worthy of all possible veneration, and even though he’s watched her make it time and time again, he has never managed to determine what it is she does to make it so spectacular. The beverage in his hand tonight is perfectly warm, nutty and aromatic, decadent and sweet without being cloying, with just a hint of spice. One sip, and he can feel whatever this restlessness is that’s been holding him in its vice begin to ebb away into a gentle sleepiness.

“Thank you, starlight,” he sighs, and he hopes she knows that he means all of it—not just for the chocolate, but for the blanket and the company and the understanding, for her willingness to love him with this love that encompasses all of his very many faults rather than existing in spite of them.

She doesn’t say anything in response, simply turns her head and presses a feather-light kiss to the side of his neck, and he feels certain that she does know. Especially when she turns back, and gestures with her mug in the direction of the sky. “It’s a hell of a view. Thanks for not letting me miss it.”

His breath leaves him in a rush, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head, feeling bowled over by his affection for her. That hadn’t remotely been his intention, and even if he had merely wanted her to see the stars, she could get just as lovely a view from bed, through the skylight, without having to shiver out here on the cold floor with him. But he loves that she would offer this pretense, that she would look at something he’d done to stave off his idiotic insomnia and turn it into an experience for the two of them to share.

Transformed, perhaps, is what her love makes him. Because he isn’t entirely sure who this man is that he’s become, or where all this sappiness came from. He certainly had no need for it on the Green, nor in any part of his life before he first answered the siren song of aurelac.

If he’s honest with himself, though, he’d begun to see the first signs of it before he even met her, before he endured the loss of his dominant arm and thus found himself needing to rely, from time to time, upon the kindness of others. He’d noticed it in his unwillingness to leave Number Two behind after the rest of the crew split and ran; and then again when he’d first met Cee, when she’d used up the single capacitor of that old Boscelot rifle and he, who had killed so very many times before, had been wholly unable to throw a shot her way.

His lover had seen right through him from the first, had detected those loose threads in his psyche, those barest hints of a gentleness he’d long stifled. She had tugged and pulled them loose, had unraveled the cold and unfeeling shell that he constructed around himself, until all that was left was just...him. Minus an arm, and a good portion of his dignity, and any belief he’d once had in his ability to command his own fate.

And she had looked at whatever was leftover after all that loss, and had chosen to love him anyway.

“Oh, look,” she gasps, and he straightens up and follows her gaze, finding the trail of light streaking up from the horizon, a distant ship clearing the atmosphere.

“Leaving from the 12th Sector docks, I reckon,” he tells her absently, his brain automatically calculating the distance and direction for him while he simply takes a long draught of his quickly-cooling cocoa. “Where d’you think they’re headed?”

She hums thoughtfully, brow creasing in thought, her eyes tracing the arc of their ascent and extending upward. He’s been trying to teach her and the kid—trying to not be a pedantic asshole about it—how to find landmarks in the night sky, how to navigate by constellations and planets and stations. Mostly, he’s just trying to teach them how to keep themselves safe if, Kevva forbid, he ever isn’t around to do the job. Not that he thinks them lacking in competence—each of his girls is cleverer than him by half, he knows that, and together they leave him in the dust. But this, at least, is a skill of his that they do not share, and he hopes to impart a little something of it, just in case they ever need it.

“From 12, at that angle, this late in the year...” she says slowly, thinking aloud. “I bet they’re headed for the Pug.”

“I bet you’re right,” he agrees, grinning. “Do you see it?”

She narrows her eyes, an adorable little pout to her lips as she looks for it; her natural eye’s a little farsighted, but her implant is designed for close work and magnification, and he knows that discrepancy means this sort of thing doesn’t come easy for her. But that just makes it all the sweeter, when she gasps and smiles and points and says, “There it is.”

He just sits there, staring at her and the way the starlight dances in her eyes and highlights the lines of her face, for so long that she turns to him with a curious—and then bashful—look on her face.

“Hey,” she scolds, nudging him with her elbow. “Tell me I’m right.”

“You’re right,” he says automatically, and she scoffs and elbows him again. With a laugh, he tears his gaze from her and turns to look. “Sorry, sorry. Show me again?”

She does so, and he leans in close, following the line of her arm and her outstretched finger to the familiar, pulsing glow of Puggart’s Bench. “There?”

He dips his head, presses a kiss to the skin of her arm, just past the end of the short sleeve of her sleep shirt (one of his shirts, initially, though at this point she doesn’t sleep in anything else and he’d be offended if she did). “Perfect,” he tells her—because she’s correct, yes, but also because she is perfect, in his estimation.

She smiles in a way that makes him think she understands his double meaning, and says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, and kisses her, and her mouth tastes like chocolate, and he doesn’t imagine there’s anything better in all the universe.

But then she lifts a hand to curl along his jaw and the tips of her fingers are like ice, and he pulls back in surprise and sets his mug carefully aside so he can grab her hand and hold it in front of his mouth and breathe a little heat against her fingers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were freezing, baby?”

"I'm not," she argues, even as she curls closer into the warmth of his body and tugs the blanket tighter around her shoulders, because she is, at her core, a woman of unmitigated stubbornness. "My hands are just always cold."

"Not this cold," he huffs, clenching the offending fingers in his own. "We should get you inside."

She shakes her head sternly. "I can stay out here as long as you want me to."

She has told him this before, way back when they scarcely even knew each other. Then, as now, she had been struggling to keep her eyes open. Then, as now, he had known she meant every word.

"What I want," he tells her, turning to kiss her temple, speaking the words into her skin, "is to hold you in bed for a while."

If he's honest, that's all he ever seems to want these days.

She smiles, and nods toward his mug, reaching for her own. "Finish your cocoa, first," she says, as though that is the entire reason they're out here.

And he does—because it's delicious and he doesn't want to waste it; because it's what she told him to do.

He would give her his left arm, the only one he has remaining, if she told him to.

They sit there, quiet and close, while he finishes his drink and waits patiently as she finishes hers. Then, leaning on each other for support, they make their way to their feet and back inside the house. He keeps the blanket around his body as she rinses their empty mugs and leaves them in the sink, then trails along behind her as she leads him back to their room.

Together they spread the blanket back overtop of the bed, tucking it in at the foot even though they both know she’ll have managed to drag it to her side by morning. Smiling at the thought, Ezra pulls up the covers and gets in, instinctively turning over on his right to reach for her—but she isn’t there yet, still standing next to the bed, watching him. It’s too dark to really make out her expression, but he can feel her eyes on him. “Baby?”

She doesn’t speak, just goes and walks around the bed. He turns, twisting at the waist to watch her as she lifts up the covers and...slips in behind him. She puts her arm around his chest, twines her legs with his, moves her free hand up to bury her fingers in his hair and scritch lightly against his scalp, and he groans out her name and all but melts back into her soft body.

“Is this okay?” she asks after a moment, her breath fanning against the back of his neck. He wants to answer, to tell her this is so, so much better than merely okay, but his chest has gone so tight that all the air in his lungs seems to have lodged in his throat instead. He settles for a nod, the drag of her short fingernails on the back of his head just delicious with the movement, and he knows she must be tired and will need to be asleep soon but he wishes she never had to stop.

“I know you said you wanted to hold me,” she murmurs, her voice so soft and sweet, “but I thought this might be...nice.”

“I...” he starts—or tries to, but his voice falters, and all the words he typically can rely on appear to have fled him. “Yes,” he sighs simply. “It’s very nice.”

“Good.” Her lips press a delicate kiss to his shoulder, and his breath leaves him with more of a shudder than he’d intended. “You gonna be able to sleep?”

He covers her hand with his and draws it up higher along his chest, where her fingers gently trace the line of scar tissue just below his sternum. “I hope so,” is the best answer he can offer, because even though he feels so fucking good being held by her like this and even though he can feel the exhaustion tugging him even deeper into the mattress, he knows better than to count on his mind to be cooperative.

She hums softly, and he can feel the bridge of her nose and the curve of her forehead against the skin of his back as she presses her face against him, settling in. “Okay,” she breathes, and he can tell she’s nearly asleep again already, can merely hope he’ll join her shortly. “Wake me if you get up again, okay?”

“You have work in the morning,” he reminds her, squeezing her hand, already feeling guilty for disrupting her rest as much as he has. His schedule isn’t nearly so demanding—he could stay in bed all day if he needs to, could make up the hours some other time—but she has people who rely on her, people who aren’t him.

But she just clicks her tongue against her teeth dismissively, shakes her head. Her fingers leave his hair for a dreadful moment, but only so she can reach down and tug the covers up higher (already beginning her nightly larceny, though she’s pressed so close to him that Ezra, too, may get to benefit from it tonight). “I’d rather be tired at work than not know where you are.”

It’s a simple thing to say, but he knows how much she means by it. He’s well aware of the anxieties that plague her, of the way she worries when he’s gone, of how his job and its need to drag him far away from her for long stretches of time wears at her until he’s with her again. As much as he wishes he could make all of that go away, wishes he could offer her a gentler life than this one, he knows such a thing isn’t really possible out here in the Fringe, knows they’ve come much closer than most. Still, at least he can offer her this.

He picks up her hand and lifts it to his lips, presses kisses to her smooth, soft skin. “Go to sleep, starlight. I’m not going anywhere.”

“‘Kay,” she murmurs sleepily, and he can feel her smile against his back as she shifts around, tightening her arm around him, hugging him close. “Love you, Ez.”

“Love you too, sweet girl.”

In the morning, when she wakes, he is going to make her the best goddamn cup of coffee she’s ever tasted. He will swaddle her in blankets, will weight her down with so many of them she can’t ever leave their bed, she’ll have to just stay in it with him forever. He wonders how inappropriate it would be for him to ask Cee if she would spend the night at a friend’s tomorrow, because when this woman gets home from work he’s going to need to lavish every inch of her body with affection, to prove to her again and again and again how desperately he loves her, how thoroughly he needs her, and he doesn’t imagine he’ll be able to be quiet about it even with the kid home.

It’s in these last lucid moments before sleep finally pulls him under that he realizes this night, this moment, this blissful press of her body along the length of his own with her arm curled possessively around his torso is exactly the word he's been looking for. Maybe it really is as simple as that: she makes him feel held.

#listen you will have to pry little spoon ezra from my cold dead hands #someone please give this man a hug #ezra prospect x oc #ezra prospect x reader #oc tess stone #ezra why are you so fucking difficult to write bby #to build something new #my writing

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everythinggeeky · 4 years

Text

The Fall | Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi! reader

Warnings: NONE! the angst,

Word Count: 2.9k

Request: okay hear me out. request where the reader is cozy with Anakin with Ahsoka for her mission and when order 66 is executed, meaning she goes through all of that with the clones and the ship crashing but she doesn’t know it’s Anakin’s doing and then maybe Ahsoka tells the reader what maul told her on Mandalore during their fight. does that make sense? lol, I see angst. -Anon

masterlist

A/N: I took some creative liberties with this, hope you don’t mind! don’t sue me for emotional damages. Requests and tag lists are open!

You stood by the window watching as the stars shoot by in brilliant colors. You always enjoyed traveling in lightspeed - it gave you the opportunity to ignore the realities of the galaxy, even if only for a little while. Trying to distract yourself from the pressing matter at hand, your hand wandered to the small charm that hung from the side of your belt. Rubbing the charm between your thumb and forefinger, you remember the day that Anakin gave it to you after he had been training with you for months.

“Y/N. This is for you. It’s a traditional artifact. There’s an engraving on the back for you, can you read what it says?” You fondly remembered a significantly younger Anakin handing the small charm to you on Coruscant after he had returned to you following a dangerous mission.

“I’ll always be with you,” you read aloud.

“Right. Because we have to stick together, no matter what,” he smiled sweetly down at you, “I have a duplicate on my belt. I’ll keep it there to remember my promise.”

You nodded, confirming your half of the promise. Since that day, you carried the charm on your belt, right next to your saber. This gentle reminder eased your anxieties when departing for a new mission. The ritual was the same: three clockwise spins between your thumb and forefinger, four counterclockwise.

Over time, as Anakin and yourself grew from padawans to Jedi Knights, the charm began to lose its engraving from the repeated ritual, but the promise still stood between Anakin and yourself.

You would unite following a mission and embrace one another to confirm your physicality. Over time, your relationship with Anakin grew from fellow padawan, to close friend, to the possibility of something more, despite what you chose to label it. You always knew you had a special bond with Anakin, but were afraid to pursue it. The Jedi code forbids attachments, and you couldn’t risk your attachment to Anakin becoming your downfall.

These tender moments of nostalgia only lasted for so long; the sound of the transmission patching through pulls you out of your daze. You sighed heavily, not wanting to be bothered. After turning around, you were relieved to see that it was Anakin instead of another general.

“Ahsoka, Y/N, this could be a tipping moment for the Clone Wars. The Jedi are counting on you once again. Capture Maul and uncover his motive. I must go, but I know you’ll accomplish what is necessary.”

“Have I ever let you or the Jedi down, Anakin?” you spoke up.

“Never. And don’t let this be the first,” he chuckled, trying to distract from the gravity of the mission at hand.

“I won’t,” you confirmed as Ahsoka walked away to attend to strategic planning with the troops.

“Y/N. I’m serious, I need you to come back to me this time. The way this is looking, the Jedi could gain an advantage here and win the war.”

“I will, Anakin. I always will. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...too long. There wasn’t enough time today on the dock.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, but with Obi-Wan there…” he trailed off.

His personal communicator chimed again, pulling his attention away from your private moment.

“I have to go, Y/N. The Chancellor-” Anakin tried to pull away.

“Be careful, alright? You know how I feel about mixing politics and war. It’s never good.”

“I’ll be alright. I promised to come back to you, didn’t I?” he smirked his trademark smirk before continuing, “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“Impossible,” you smiled softly up at him.

“Good luck with your mission, Y/N,” Anakin spoke softly, the transmission ended before you had the chance to finish.

“You too,” you said into the silence.

You were on board a shuttle with Bo-Katan and Ahsoka, making your way to Mandalore. Maul was confirmed to remain in the city, his direct location unknown. Enemy fire interrupted your smooth transport; your troopers, and Bo-Katan leaving the ship on a jet pack. You looked to Ahsoka and shrugged before fleeing the ship, dismantling and disarming the enemy on the way to the surface.

After landing, you were met with heavy blaster fire which was blocked by the smooth and effortless motions of Ahsoka’s lightsabers, as well as your own. Working your way down into the tunnels of the city, you decided it was best you split up. Ahsoka would work with the commander and a few others, and you would lead your own respective group.

Taking out the opposition one by one, you worked with your team to find Maul. Ahsoka patched through eventually informing you of the dark lord’s location. You and your troopers made your way to the hub to surround Maul, armed and ready to fight.

“Ah. I see the Jedi have some new recruits I was not aware of,” Maul purrs.

“Can’t keep moving the same guys around everywhere in the galaxy. Too bad you’re stuck with us I suppose. Surrender and there will be no bad blood,” you spoke up, twirling your saber once for intimidation.

“Surrender? Why do so when the Jedi will inevitably lose?”

You looked to Ahsoka with concern, preparing yourself for a bloody match with the Sith that almost eliminated Obi-Wan Kenobi. After a small back and forth, you lost track of Maul. You discovered that Darth Sidious was responsible for the Clone Wars, ensuring that the Sith were playing a game with the Jedi from the very beginning. After hours of gruesome fighting and snide remarks, Ahsoka was able to capture some time with Maul to discover Darth Sidious’ plot while you and Bo-Katan resolved the smaller fights on the surface.

You were separated from Ahsoka, busy taking down the enemy forces of the surface of Mandalore. Your saber made quick work of the blaster fire, blocking it from coming into harm’s way with your comrade. Slashing down enemies with an impressive twirl of your saber, mimicking the style of your master from so many years ago.

You hadn’t seen Ahsoka in a few hours, too busy fighting alongside the other troops assigned to the upper levels of the city. You received notice that Ahsoka was in pursuit of Maul, determined to uncover his motive and the greater plot at play. Through her continued efforts, she successfully captured Maul. You reunited and met with the Council to discuss further efforts to eliminate the Chancellor’s control.

“We have Maul. We will escort him back to Coruscant,” Ahsoka speaks up to the Council.

“The war could be over soon…” you trailed off quietly.

“If the Chancellor complies,” Master Windu confirms.

You nod, doubt troubling your mind. Where was this coming from? You knew Anakin and Obi-Wan would complete their mission and get the information necessary to end the war. But something lingering in the back of your mind continued to grow; you were so close, was this really going to be the end of a long war?

Master Yoda questioned your thoughts, “Doubts about the war, you have.”

“Doubts, yes. Is this too good to be true? If Darth Sidious is truly playing both sides...how can we know this war won’t go on for many years to come?”

“Faith in your colleagues, you must have.”

“Yes, Master,” you replied, looking to the floor.

“A message for Skywalker, perhaps?”

“No, when I see him after all of this is over, I’ll tell him myself.”

“May the force be with you.”

And with that, Master Yoda ended the transmission.

“Ahsoka, you didn’t tell the council about what Maul said” Rex spoke up.

“You’re right. I didn’t,” she spoke as she walked through the doors.

You followed her through, mind wandering endlessly. Is the council right? Is this almost the end of a multi-year war?

“Wait...What did Maul say? You didn’t mention it to me”

“In time...if what Maul said is true, it will reveal itself. I don’t want to distract you from the truth and from the mission, Y/N.”

“I see...why can’t you tell me, Ahsoka?”

“I just can’t,” she continued after a long silent pause, “I can sense something troubling you, Y/N. What is it?” Ahsoka asks as you make your way to the ship where Maul is to be boarded.

“Do you really think the Council is right? That Maul is right?”

“There’s no way to know for certain, but your doubts echo my own. I know the Order has a reputation for corruption, and it’s not up to me or to you to eliminate that, but I can’t continue knowing I contributed in an effort that allowed innocent people to die.”

“That’s why we’re here, Ahsoka. You know what is right.”

“I suppose, I just don’t want to be a soldier anymore” she closed, taking her position on the bridge alongside Commander Rex, while you sat outside the briefing room, unable to tolerate the pressure of more diplomacy.

As you traveled through hyperspace, the force called out to you in a series of struggles and arguments between an unknown party.

“It’s not the Jedi way!” a voice called out through the force, exhausted.

The painful thoughts plagued your mind as the scuffle continues.

“What have I done?”

“Anakin?” you said quietly into the empty hallway, looking around for anyone that could help you, or maybe you could share the news with.

You hurried to find Ahsoka, surely she felt this too. As the doors to the bridge slid open, Commander Rex stood between you two, guns drawn and aimed at both of you. Pulling your lightsaber from your belt and igniting the blade. Ahsoka stood still, shifting her focus from you and then back to Rex.

“Rex...what is this?” Ahsoka begged.

“Under Order 66, all Jedi are to be executed for treason. You are in violation of Order 66,” he spoke in a tone that was dissimilar from his normal.

Firing a shot at both of you, you and Ahsoka ducked out of the way; using her lightsaber to deflect the back-and-forth fire between the troops. Before you had the opportunity to get caught in the middle of the fire, you fled the scene, running into the hallway of the ship. You ran to escape the fire of the corrupted troops, finding a quiet supply room to yourself.

You thought if you could find the quiet space to meditate, perhaps you could send a message to Anakin. What was the argument that you heard? What did Anakin do that was so terrible that he immediately regretted it? There has to be some good left in him, surely nothing is solidified quite yet.

Reassuring yourself that nothing has been set in stone, you sat on the cold floor of the supply closet. Inhaling deeply, you centered your thoughts to reach Anakin’s. The blaster fire continued outside, drawing you away from your meditation now and again. As you tried to connect with Anakin, you were once again dragged down by Anakin’s panicked and angry thoughts.

“Anakin...” you spoke into your force bond, hoping he would reciprocate.

You waited, hanging on desperately for a response. You let a tear fall as you reached for the charm on your belt.

Three clockwise, four counter.

“Please, Anakin…”

“Y/N…” Anakin spoke out, heartbreak is laden in his voice.

“Where are you Anakin…?” you pleaded.

“Coruscant,” he quipped.

“What has happened?”

“I can’t-”

“Anakin, please…” your connection was brutely interrupted by clone troopers searing the door, attempting to break the door down.

You looked between the door and the charm in your hand, pondering your next move. As the clones came closer to breaking down the door, you forfeited your force bond with Anakin, leaving your meditative state and igniting your lightsaber.

Two clones broke down the door to the supply closet, exposing your hiding place.

Another clone echoed Rex’s command from earlier, “you are in violation of Order 66. You will be executed for treason.”

You fought off the clones, finding a way to flee the clones, and reunite with Ahsoka. After running what felt like forever, you found Ahsoka. Breathless, she stopped you.

“Y/N. The clones are compromised.”

“You don’t say,” you huff.

“No, they were designed that way.”

“What??��

“The Kaminoans installed an inhibitor chip. Order 66 was the plan all along.”

“Darth Sidious…”

“Yes.”

“Is this what Maul was talking about…?”

“Yes, but there is something else.”

“Tell me.”

“Y/N, I really can’t.”

“Ahsoka, please.”

“It’s Anakin.”

“What about him? I felt it. I tried. Ahsoka, I tried to talk to him. He pushed me away,” you spiraled.

Ahsoka caught your shoulders, squaring you to herself, “Y/N. Maul said Anakin is behind this. The destruction, Order 66. He is Sidious’s apprentice.”

You pulled away from her, “You lie. There’s no way that Anakin could have done this…”

“I know. But I think Maul may be right. Anakin has always doubted the Council, and increasingly so in recent days…”

“Ahsoka...I..”

“Right now, we have to worry about the clones. We gotta get that chip out of Rex’s head.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the mission. Your personal matters and attachments could not intercede. As Maul caused his own chaos in the corridor, you worked with Ahsoka to fight off the clones and get out of here. Eventually, you made it outside, where after a messy battle, Maul was able to escape after a struggle with Ahsoka.

The ship was gaining speed rapidly, and the clones were gaining on you. Ahsoka, Rex, and yourself fought back to back, blocking blasters and the increasing pressure from the clones. Ahsoka dropped the three of you to the lower level and covered you and Rex as you looked for an escape ship.

With a boost from Ahsoka, you boarded the ship with Rex, fleeing the wreckage. Ahsoka confirmed she would find her way and would work to defeat the clones. You steered to bring Ahsoka on board after she fled the wreckage herself. When it was safe, you landed on the moon’s surface, examining the wreckage behind.

You took a moment to yourself, finding a quiet space to allow yourself to feel the devastation. You had been through so much within the last day and this was time to rest. Tossing your lightsaber back and forth between your hands, you remembered your fondest memories while training. Working side-by-side with Anakin while you were both padawans were some of your favorite memories. The first time you sparred with him, you took him down practically instantly.

With a knee on his chest, you leaned into his face, “what? Can’t keep up, Skywalker?” you chuckled, smirking.

“Oh, I can keep up, Y/N,” he smirked, shoving you off his chest.

You laughed while standing back up, “I thought Master Kenobi was supposed to be teaching you something.”

“Hush,” he teased.

You smiled fondly at the memory from your youth. These much happier days seemed so long ago now, both of your lives completely different. Anakin’s choice was confirmed; he had truly given up on the Jedi and on the light side of the force. Hope was lost. In an attempt to comfort yourself, your hand wandered to the charm on your belt again.

Three clockwise, four counter.

A tear fell from your eye as you pulled harshly on the charm, detaching it from your belt. You tossed it out onto the expanse of the moon’s surface. You’ve lost hope in redeeming Anakin. You could sense he was gone. This was your only chance for survival.

Following your unceremonial separation, Ahsoka wandered over to you.

“You ready to go?” she spoke softly.

Wiping your eyes, you stood and followed Ahsoka to the shuttle, leaving the moon for good to start your life over again. Your life away from the Order, and away from Anakin.

Vader returned the moon months later. There was a rumor that wreckage from the clone wars existed, rumor that possible Jedi have crept through the cracks of Order 66 and escaped. He searched the surface with a dedicated team of troopers. Through the snow, helmets from the 501st peppered the snow.

Vader knelt to the surface to brush some of the snow aside. In his efforts, a silver piece of metal was hidden under the snow’s covering, beside one of the helmets. He picked it up and recognized it instantly- the same charm he had given to you as a boy.

He took this as a sign of your suffering; the wreckage was brutal and there was no way you survived. Vader pocketed the charm; his own was left burned and charred on Mustafar. Perhaps there was hope and you were alive. Wherever you are, he tried to reach out to you, but the door was closed.

Vader repeated the ritual in his gloved hands.

Three clockwise, four counter.

tagged: @kenobee @hxldmxdxwn @smokahuntis @obiwkenobi @jbarnesss @takenbymyfandoms @ilovesupersoldiers @ahsxkaa

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tsvestidiabolus · 3 years

Text

It’s that time again, fellas. A new chapter of memento vitae, my Yamato/Robin multichap fic is out!

summary: Robin joins the Beast Pirates. This wasn't by choice. AU, Yamato/Robin endgame.

if you would like to read it on tumblr, the whole chapter is under the cut! Please considering reblogging and supporting my Romato agenda.

At one point Robin would have given up everything to be out in the ocean, and now all she wanted to do was to return home. Of course, this was no longer an option, so the only alternative she could consider was to drown herself, and that didn’t sound pleasant either. In the end she was forced to live, and that was the greatest punishment the world could give her.

Having travelled almost four weeks with King - a name she couldn’t tell if he deserved or not - Robin was beginning to grow bored with each passing day. Not that she particularly minded that, for it was a far better alternative to whatever King had in store for her. But still, the anticipation was almost killing her, and the jeers and sneers from his crew didn’t help. It was like they knew that something was to happen to her, and the fact that she didn’t know frustrated her to no end.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, King would visit her. He would never speak a word, merely stare, and she would never speak a word, looking straight back at him. She didn’t know what he was thinking or doing in those little stare-contests of theirs. She wondered if he thought of a hundred ways to kill her, as she did him. Whatever the case may be, she was winning. Two wins to her, one win to King. Spending hours and sometimes days awake did wonders to help for her to stop blinking.

Most humiliating was when, during the times where she was allowed to eat, the pirates would taunt her. It always came down to them either placing the plate of food just out of reach, or not bothering to unlock her arms from her cuffs. They could easily have done so; the cuffs were clamped tightly around her ankles too, but apparently it was more enjoyable for them to watch her struggle to eat with just her mouth, like a dog. The pirates had laughed and mocked her, throwing as many obscene words her way as possible. Robin ignored them, for the most part. She’d rather live in humiliation than die for their satisfaction.

Still, that didn’t mean she could forget any of their faces.

Robin spent her time counting her teeth, when she wasn’t trying to catch a glimpse of outside her cell. Not that the view really told her much about where she was, but the smell of sea salt and fresh air was certainly more favourable than the stench of burning leather that lingered in her cell after King’s visits. If she were adept at navigation, she could probably tell where she was from smell alone. She wasn’t, though, and being able to tell where you were from scent alone seemed like a pretty useless ability outside of mere curiosity.

On what could have been the eve of the fourth week, Robin was greeted by King once more. Though, this time he seemed impatient. Irritated. The flame on the back of his neck was crackling violently, to the point where Robin was afraid it might set the room on fire. It didn’t, though. Unfortunately.

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re taking a detour.”

Robin looked up to him, knitting her brows together. “A detour from where?” she asked. Just as a casual reminder that he still hadn’t told her where they were going.

King ignored the question, of course. “You will be removed from this confinement shortly. I thought you’d be happy about that.”

“Ecstatic.”

“Don’t talk back to me,” King snapped.

The inferno flared up for a moment before dying down to a gentle blaze. She found her eyes drawn to it once more, taking in the wintry wrath of a man who lived by fire. This was not someone to trifle with - she couldn’t take the same chances with him as she could with the other, hot-headed pirates. He would not kill her, but a sense of dread followed him, like the calm before a disaster. Robin told herself she wasn’t scared of pain anymore. Robin was a very good liar.

She swallowed. Perhaps it was best to do as he said for now.

“I trust you know what will happen if you try to escape,” King continued. “We may need you alive, but that doesn’t mean we need all of you.”

His gaze travelled over to her wrists hanging loosely above her head with an almost ravenous stare. Suddenly Robin felt the need to hide her arms from him. The implication didn’t sit very well with her, and her arms were her most useful asset besides her mind. To take them away would be to take away her very will to fight. But she couldn’t hide them, as they lay bare for King to see, and she had the chilling sensation that he was slicing them up in his mind.

Although much of his face was hidden behind that abhorrent leather mask, Robin had the feeling he was smiling at that moment with what could only be called sadism.

“I trust I have your full cooperation?” King asked - the first question he had ever uttered in the four weeks.

What choice did she even have?

“Yes,” she answered, head hung low.

“Good.” King left the prison, letting her linger in the stench of ash and burnt leather.

It took less than a day for Robin to find out what exactly King meant by a ‘detour’. Detours, as it turned out, meant battle. She was taken, still cuffed in seastone, to a room far below the deck, only able to catch a glimpse of the sun and a faint outline of an island they were approaching. The pirate escorting her said something about how she should be grateful they were offering her so much protection. Robin imagined shoving her fist down his throat.

The pirate shoved her roughly into the new prison - not so much a cell as before, but actual sleeping quarters now. A single king bed laid in the corner of the room, the walls covered in ornaments and spoils of war. The walls were painted black half-hazardly - but on closer inspection, they were not painted, they were burned. She was in the berth of the ship, and whoever this room belonged to - she had a pretty good idea - was someone of importance here.

Just as the pirate began to say, “Now listen here,” the whole room - no, the ship itself - rocked, and the two were thrown against a wall violently.

Cursing profanities, the pirate was the first to recover, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s started already?”

“What’s started?” Robin asked from the floor, unable to stand up. “What’s going on?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” The pirate stomped his foot with every word. His skin was pale, and his eyes were wide, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck. For someone who was reacting like a petulant child, he was keeping his balance quiet well despite the tremors and shaking the ship was experiencing. Unlike Robin, who was already weakened by the seastone cuffs.

The pirate locked the door, her only exit out of the room, and shoved the keys in his pocket. Robin briefly wondered if the keys to her cuffs were in the ring - a thought that was swiftly replaced by a blinding white pain. Her head was turned to the side, and she tasted iron in her mouth.

“Don’t you even think about it,” the pirate snarled from above her. He patted his pocket. If he didn’t look so frightened by whatever was outside, Robin would be intimidated. “We’re just making sure you’re not seen by anyone.”

Robin struggled to sit up, leaning against the wall. The pirate seemed to enjoy watching her suffer and humiliated, the one thing giving him satisfaction during this clearly troubling time. Finally, she could sit up somewhat properly, her hands tied behind her back and blood dripping from her nose - broken.

She glared up at him.

“Whatever’s outside is enough to warrant King moving me from my prison,” she said. “If it’s a Marine or Government ship - which I doubt, as King knew beforehand that I would have to be moved, and the only way I can see them being an issue is if they caught you by surprise - then I wouldn’t have to be worried, and you wouldn’t have to be worried. If it were an enemy pirate ship, the only reason you would be scared this much is if they were considerably more dangerous than you are -”

“SHUT UP!”

“- so I can only assume it’s a pirate ship out there, and, if they know who I am, then they must know of my abilities,” she continued. “The reason I’m here is because you can’t risk losing me.”

From the moment the pirate’s hand twitched and she felt the impact against her temple, she knew she was right. Such a visceral reaction wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Feeling a sort of satisfaction along with the throbbing pain in her head, Robin’s eyes travelled from the pirate to the door. The trembling and rumbling continued, along with screams, yells, gunshots and cannonfire. It was pure and utter chaos outside, that much she could tell. But still, if there was the slightest chance she could be removed from King’s prison, and run away freely…

“HELP!” Robin howled. “PLEASE, ANYONE!”

Her voice hurt from not being used, but that didn’t stop her from screaming her lungs out. A little humiliating, true, but anything, anything was better than staying with these pirates for any longer.

The pirate swore and lunged forward - Robin ducked underneath his reach. He banged his head against the wall, groaning in pain while Robin lifted herself, struggling heavily, to her feet. Without another word, she ran for the door and slammed against it with her shoulder.

“I’M IN HERE!”

The door didn’t budge. In fact, she barely made a dent on it. What was worse, the pirate was now recovered and glowering at her. With a raging cry, he ran forward again like a bull, and tackled her to the ground.

Snap.

Robin did not make a sound, but the Beast did. A small gasp escaped his lips and he jumped back off her, the weight gone from her arm. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though. Internally she screamed, oh how she screamed, but externally she merely tried to get up onto her feet once more, determined to throw her body against the door again.

The pirate snatched her arm before she could begin running again. She winced at the sudden pain jolting up her body, grinding her teeth to stop herself from screaming.

“King’s gonna fucking kill me,” the pirate groaned as he pulled her back from the door. “We’re not supposed to hurt you -”

Robin bit him.

He kicked her shins.

It was a mutual relationship they had.

She didn’t know how long they scuffled for, her only weapon being her teeth while he retaliated and made her bruise in return. All the while the ship trembled and rocked dangerously, causing the pair of them to stumble and fall every-so-often. Their fight was only halted when the door suddenly slammed open - not opened by unlocking it, but by sheer force.

The relief on Robin’s face was bright, and her smile lit up for the first time in months. This was it, her saviour had come. She could finally rest easy and escape this place.

“ZEHAHAHA!”

For some reason, the laugh sent chills down her spine, and she didn’t know why. In her vision stood a hulking mass of a man, the stench of alcohol and smoke and blood wafting from his direction. She would have gagged, had she not been so desperate to leave at that moment. The new pirate grinned down at her with hunger, half of his teeth missing. Robin looked up to him with pleading eyes.

“Didn’t know King was into that!” the stranger said, amusement clear in his voice. Whipping out a pistol in his hand, he shot the Beast dead and leaned towards her, leering. “Little girls ain’t my thing, but who am I to judge him?”

His grubby hands grasped her throat, lifting her up off the ground. She choked and struggled against his hold to no avail - he was simply too strong for her, especially in her weakened state.

“Now, now, why do ya look so familiar?” He tilted his head, bringing Robin closer to him. The pong of his breath was overwhelming now. It took all of her energy not to throw up. “Ah! I know!”

He leered at her, and Robin felt her heart sink.

“Nice ta finally meetcha, Devil’s Child! ZEHAHAHA!”

---

Marco prided himself on being one of Pop’s commanders. It was the greatest honour one could have onboard the Moby Dick - no, in the seas. Not only was he trusted enough to be a commander in one of the Emperor’s ships, but he was deemed important enough by the Government to have almost a billion berries on his head. He was flattered, honestly. But in his mind, he - and everyone else onboard the Moby Dick - were priceless.

Unfortunately, it was not the Government who were so desperately fighting for their lives against him in that moment, nor were it the Marines. No, it was a rival pirate crew. How incredibly dull. At least, that was Marco’s first reaction.

Then he spied the flag that the enemy ship sailed, and heard Whitebeard’s distinct “GURARARA!” from behind him, and excitement ran up his blood like a shot of electricity.

Kaido’s crew.

Marco grinned from ear to ear, his brows narrowed down to a look of pure hunger for battle. He squatted on the railing of the Moby Dick, blue flaming wings flickering behind him. The rest of the crew readied themselves, armed with whatever weapons or powers they could use. And Whitebeard sat proudly behind them all, grasping Murakumogiri in his hand. They were all ready for a challenge.

More importantly, they were ready for revenge. They’d heard what happened to Oden, and while they weren’t willing to attack Wano in the case that one of their own would be hurt or worse, Kaido was not enough of a fool to declare war on Whitebeard for attacking one of his ships in neutral territory.

“You’d better have some grog on you, brats!” Pops declared. “My kids are hungry!”

The Whitebeard Pirates cheered and cried out a war cry.

On the other ship, there was silence. Not a single word uttered, despite them seeing a crowd of Beast Pirates on the deck. Then, Marco felt a thumping in his chest, a vibration in his very bones. A distant BOOM, BOOM, BOOM that reverberated throughout the ocean, but not a sound that was cannonfire - no, this was… bizarre. This was something that he couldn’t explain. This was…

Funk.

The rhythm pounded against their skin, making even the ocean ripple and waves crash against both their ships. An island nearby was hearing the full burst of funk, seagulls soaring from the tops of trees with a unified screech - a sound that could not be heard over the blaring music. Marco did not feel scared, certainly, but there was an air of confusion around the Whitebeard Pirates. He glanced back to look at Pops. Whitebeard looked unimpressed.

Shrugging, Marco turned his attention back to the Beasts’ ship. This certainly wasn’t Kaido onboard, by any means - he wouldn’t be so theatrical. So vain. Whoever was onboard the ship, whichever poor soul had encountered an Emperor, was relishing in this moment.

The enemy ship rocked from side to side, not enough to tip the whole thing over, but enough to cause the pirates to almost lose their balance. Marco stood up from his perch. He was curious about what sort of pirate was making such a noise.

“I’ve got a plague, and that plague is funkin’!”

Some of the Beasts dispersed, creating a path along the deck.

“It excites me to my core, I’mma chunking!”

Finally, the pirate came into view - a man Marco had never seen before. He was a massive, round-figured man, one that danced to the beat of the music. His body jiggled with every move he made in an almost hypnotizing fashion, the blond braid at the back of his head bouncing up and down. He entered the scene with flair, with vanity, and with so much theatricality that Marco thought he was overcompensating for something.

“LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT! ONE, TWO…!”

Not a word was spoken amongst the Beasts, nor the Whitebeard Pirates. Marco could practically sense Pops growing impatient with every second that passed. It seemed he wasn’t the only impatient one.

The round man whipped his whole body around to face his crew and roared, “YOU USELESS MAGGOTS! CAN’T YOU GET THIS SIMPLE SHIT RIGHT?”, before throwing a nearby barrel at them. Most of the crew ran away before it could hit them, save for a large boy with pigtails, who felt the full force of the impact. The poor boy was holding a transponder snail in his hand, and didn’t see it coming.

Marco just decided that he didn’t like this man very much.

Evidently, Whitebeard didn’t either. The old man slammed his naginata down, shockwaves reverberating around them as he unleashed his haki. “Who the hell are you, brat?” He didn’t have to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the thumping music.

The said music stopped, and the round man turned to stare at Whitebeard. A moment of silence passed between the two ships.

“HOLY SHIT? WHITEBEARD?” the man screeched, his jaw dropping. He began to sweat bullets. “YOU DIDN’T SAY HE WAS HERE!”

One of the Beasts said something incoherent in the man’s ear. That seemed to calm him down somewhat, as he turned back to the Whitebeard Pirates.

“UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I DON’T HAVE ANY GROG ON ME!” he declared. “BUT I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL SEND CHILLS UP YOUR SPINE! LISTEN UP, I’M QUEEN! AND I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!”

He raised his arm and lowered it quickly. Then, everything happened at once. All the cannons on their ship exploded with a BOOM, the cannonfire approaching their ship at a rapid pace. Marco and the others were able to knock most of the balls into the ocean, but some hit the Moby Dick - barely scratching it, of course. But it seemed that didn’t help the Whitebeard Pirates at all.

After a moment passed, smoke began erupting from the balls. Purple smoke.

Marco swore. Poison gas.

He screamed at as many as he could to cover their mouths and to get inside - he would be alright, with his powers, but what about the rest of them? Jumping up from the railing, he covered the old man and his brothers in his flames in an effort to protect them from the gas.

In a manner of moments, the worst of the fog lifted, but by then it was too late. Half the crew was choking and writhing around the floor. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The Beasts had, in that time, sailed to them, and grappled at the Moby Dick with their own galleon. Pirates were climbing up ropes, weapons in hands, and prepared to battle.

The fight had begun.

#one piece #nico robin #one piece fanfiction #yamato #op fanfiction #romato #;; my fics #memento vitae

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salty-sith-bitch · 3 years

Text

Sweet Child O’ Mine

Chapter 1

Words: 5k

Pairings: Din Djarin X Orla Fett (Boba Fett’s daughter), Boba Fett & Daughter

Genre: Fluff, humor, angst, romance

Warnings: cursing, canon typical violence, eventual smut, more to come?

Summary: Orla Fett is reunited with her long-lost father five years after his presumed death and welcomed into his palace. Hired as one of his best bounty hunters, Orla struggles with finding her place in the galaxy and if she wants to stay a bounty hunter. Her new companion, The king of Mandalore - Din Djarin - may end up helping her make up her mind.

“I’m just a simple woman trying to find her way in the galaxy, like my father before me ”

That’s what Orla told herself every morning when she woke. She was just a simple woman trying to survive and make her way in the galaxy, catching one bounty at a time as her father did. It was her only job - staying alive and filling her father’s spot.

When her father passed five years prior Bib Fortuna hired her as his main mercenary and provided her with more than enough jobs to support herself. Orla didn’t particularly love it but it’s what she had. Her father had made sure that if anything were to ever happen to him that she had a large and appreciated skill set, making it easier for her to find work. She was thankful for that. Thankful her father prepared her for the worst like his father before him.

There were still days she missed her father. Days where it became hard to get out of bed and put her armor on. She missed the Slave I too. Not because it was a great ship or that it was supposed to be passed to her at the fall of her father, but because of the memories she made with her father there.

Laying in her cramped quarters Orla stared at the ceiling, brushing her fingers through her hair gently as she recalled one of her earliest memories - her first hunt with her father.

The smell of rain and metal dripping from her father's armor made her slightly queasy, reminding her of blood. She could almost taste the iron in her mouth if she thought about it too much. She wasn’t used to it but her father said it would become less noticeable over time. Nodding silently she watched her father drag the bounty away and towards the carbonator. She could hear the hissing and screams of the bounty and it sent a cold shiver through her body. She tried to instead focus on detangling the soaked braid on her head.

Growling in frustration Orla dropped her hands and stomped her foot. Her body ached with exhaustion and she was uncomfortable. Letting a sniffle escape she leaned her head against the wall of the ship and cried.

"Ad'ika," her father called softly.

When she didn't respond he approached her and set a hand on her shoulder. "Orla, my princess. What is wrong?"

Orla rubbed her eyes and took in a hiccuping breath before speaking. "My hair is tangled, papa."

Smiling sweetly, her father patted her cheek. "Come, daughter. I'll fix it for you."

Orla found herself being scooped up and cradled into her father's chest. He carried her to the makeshift cot he made for her and set her down, letting his fingers gently pull apart the tangles.

"You did good today my child."

Humming Orla let her eyes drift shut as she leaned back into her father.

Sighing heavily Orla raised a shaky hand to her cheek and wiped away the tears. A full-grown woman and highly respected bounty hunter, crying in the sleeping quarters of her little hut long before the suns had even risen. She laughed at herself. If her father was here now he would sternly tell her to get herself together and then gently pat her cheek lovingly.

Steadying herself Orla wiped the last few tears and sat up in bed. Throwing the covers off she made her way across her hut and started to assemble her armor.

***

Orla sat in the Cantina of some outer rim planet stressed and annoyed. She had been on this mission for nearly a week and still couldn’t find her bounty. She had even asked the locals and none of them could give her information on the bounty. Clutching the glass in her hand Orla watched as foam swirled as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was ready to give up, head back to Tatooine and tell Fortuna he could just shove it up his ass. The thought brought a smirk to her face but she knew she couldn’t do that.

Sighing heavily Orla poured herself another glass of mead and brought it to her lips. Throwing her head back Orla downed the entire glass and slammed it on the table. Wiping her mouth she raised an eyebrow as she made eye contact with the new visitor.

The woman, small and sleek with a braid down her back, eyed Orla back. Her eyes were piercing and it made Orla unsettled. It wasn't often that she felt uneasy about someone but for some reason, this woman in front of her made her uncomfortable.

“I’m not really in the mood for company at the moment. So unless you have info about my bounty I would appreciate it if you left.” Leaning back in her chair Orla reached for the pitcher of mead.

Her new, unwelcomed visitor was quicker though, swiftly grabbing the pitcher and her glass to fill for herself. Lips pressed into a thin line Orla continued to lean back, letting her hand slowly brush over her thigh and towards her blaster.

“I’m not here to keep you company or to give you info about your bounty. And there's no use in trying to shoot me. I know all your tricks. You’re just like your father.” Smirking, the woman lifted the glass of mead and downed the entire glass much like Orla had just a moment prior. “I’m here to take you back to Tatooine. Your presence has been requested at the Hutt Castle."

Orla scoffed. She was starting to grow unsettled but refused to let it show. No one openly talked to her about her father, especially so forward. Yet here was this woman she knew nothing about and seemed to know almost everything about her.

"I'm on a hunt. I'm not just abandoning. They know where I am. If it was so important they could comm me."

"It's under new management now. This hunt isn't important. What is, is that you come back with me to Tatooine and do just as I say."

"Dank Farrik," Orla cursed under her breath.

Her mind was racing with hundreds of questions and thoughts. New management was never good. It meant Fortuna was most certainly dead leaving her without work. The new owner could very well be demanding she come back to the castle to give her a new position… or to simply kill her off. It would all depend on just who killed Fortuna and where the Fett Clan stood with them.

Orla couldn't think of anyone who would be seeking her demise but her father told her to always assume someone would be after her. She thought about escaping. Trying to find a way out of the cramped cantina and find a new home elsewhere, or maker, even change her name and lay low in a village or dinner caves. But then her thoughts turned into what if she just listened to the woman in front of her and went back to Tatooine. This woman wasn't trying to fight her or take her as her own personal bounty as far as she could tell, and if she listened maybe they would see that as her committing her skills to them and hire her on a permanent mercenary.

"Listen," the woman spoke up. "I can see you thinking. This isn't a trap and you're not gonna die. You're more than welcome to just leave now, forget about the bounty you are on, and start a new life but I think you'll want to see what happens at the castle."

Chewing her cheek again, Orla stared into the woman's eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. When she couldn't find anything Orla leaned forward and grabbed the pitcher and glass, pouring herself the last serving and gulping it.

"Fine. I'll go. But what about my ship? And how can I trust you? I don't know who you're working for and I doubt you'll tell me, so can I at least get your name?"

"Your ship doesn't matter anymore. You'll be given a new one. We can stop and collect anything you may need from it for now but if you wish to come back and get it in the future then do as you will."

The woman stood and Orla followed, trailing after her out of the cantina and to the ship docks.

"And my name," the woman said as she looked over her shoulder, "is Fennec Shand."

***

The ride to Tatooine was spent in silence. Orla didn't mind, she was never one for conversations with people outside her close ring and Fennec didn't seem like much of a talker either. Orla spent most of the flight napping in the passenger seat, hand lingering over her blaster just in case Fennec tried to do anything funny. The trip was long and Orla's body cried for rest. Relaxing into her seat she let sleep eventually consume her. When the ship started its descent she woke and stretched her stiff limbs as the dunes came into view.

Even walking to the castle was spent in silence. Orla started to worry less and less about Fennec trying to harm or kill her but she still couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to happen. The universe felt off, heavier, and almost foggy like a dream. Shaking the feeling off Orla continued to walk until she reached the castle, stopping just outside the entrance to the lower level.

Fennec didn't bother stopping calling out to her as she continued to go down. "You don't want to keep him waiting."

Shutting her eyes and taking one last steadying breath Orla walked down the stairs and down into the throne room.

The silence that welcomed her was terrifying. She had never seen the palace empty and was prepared for someone to jump out and attach her. Turning around in circles she searched for Fennec but couldn't find the woman anywhere. The only thing that greeted her was the echoing sound of her footsteps bouncing off the palace walls. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt the tension in the air, like electricity wrapping it around her and coursing through her veins.

Down the hallway, a new set of footsteps echoed off the palace walls. Orla turned slowly to see who it was, her hand inching towards her blaster prepared to draw and start shooting if anyone tried attacking. Before she could reach her blaster though she froze. Every muscle in her body locked up and she felt her lungs screaming at her to breathe.

Brain screaming, Orla tried to calm herself but she found it nearly impossible as she stared at the bounty hunter before her. Finally able to breathe again Orla dropped her hand away from her blaster, only for her brain to start screaming more, telling her this could still be a trap. She felt like she was going in circles. She couldn't process what she was seeing.

Finally getting herself to relax enough Orla took in a couple of steadying breaths before collecting her thoughts and speaking.

"Dad," she questioned, brows knitting together. Her knees started to shake as she continued to eye the man.

Giving a small tilt of his head the bounty hunter started to take cautious steps forward. Shaking her head in disbelief, Orla walked backward until her back was pressed against the wall.

Confused and on the verge of tears Orla reached for her blaster and drew it quickly. She knew this was an imposter, her father was dead. Killed many years ago by the Sarlac, leaving her to take care of herself and forge her own path in the world of bounty hunting. The only other explanation she could find was that she was also dead. That she had gone with Fennec and was killed in her sleep and as some cruel joke, the maker chose her and her father's resting place as Jabba's palace - the last place she had seen her father.

Continuing to watch the man slowly approach, she studied the freshly painted armor. It didn't fit the man like it did her father, being a little tight in the gut, but the dent on the helmet told her it was indeed at least her father’s beskar. That dent had been there as long as you could remember. Orla had heard rumors not long after her father's death of his ghost walking around in the far parts of the planet but refused to believe it. Then she heard about how it was just a marshal who had found the beskar, using it for his own advantage. She pondered if this was that man, but couldn't think of any reason why he would be here and why he would have killed Fortuna.

Shaking her head Orla switched the safety off on her gun and lifted it, aiming at the man in front of her. No matter who this was it was not her father and she wasn't willing to let anyone take her life or get her father's armor.

"Take one more step and I'll shoot," she snarled through clenched teeth; her hand shaking just slightly from the adrenaline.

Stopping, the man raised his hands in surrender, letting them drift slowly to the helmet as if going to take it off.

Trembling, Orla clenched her jaw, unable to speak any further as she watched the man lift the helmet from his head. Time ticked by slowly, almost painfully as she waited for the man to reveal himself. When the helmet was completely removed and tucked under the man's arm Orla felt as if the wind was knocked out of her.

"My child," Boba whispered. He studied Orla, wide-eyed as he took in her face. "You've grown so much, little one."

Dropping her blaster Orla lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut; hot tears sliding down her face. The world started to spin as she continued to shake, her breathing becoming heavy and labored.

“This, this can’t be happening. Y- you were dead!” Snapping her head up she pointed a finger at her father. “You left me! You left me to fend for myself and promised you’d be back!” Taking the last couple steps towards Boba she pushed against his chest with both of her trembling hands, the sound of flesh hitting beskar echoing in the empty room.

Stumbling back Boba threw his free hand up in defense, allowing her a minute to process and sob.

Orla was so full of rage and anger she couldn’t tell if she was still shaking from the shock of seeing the man she thought was dead or because she was so furious he was alive all this time and didn’t come to find her.

Furious Orla gave out a shriek and started swinging at her father. Boba was quicker though, quickly stepping back to avoid her fist colliding with his face.

“Verd’ika…” Boba pleaded his own desperation and hurt seeping through.

Letting her fists fall to her sides Orla hung her head and sobbed. She had almost forgotten what her father's voice sounded like after all the years he was gone. The sounds of her nicknames rolling off his tongue were like a spear through the heart. It sent her body limp and every nerve on edge. But the desire for nothing more than to hug her father and beheld was stronger than her anger.

Rushing forward Orla threw her arms around her father, almost knocking him over. Dropping his helmet Boba threw his own arms around her, lifting her from the ground and burying his face into the padding on her shoulder as dust flitted around. The smell of her father overwhelmed her causing her to cry harder. Trying to inhale and catch her breath Orla clung closer to her father like she did when she would have a nightmare and he would be there to protect her.

Maybe that's all this was, she thought. A bad dream and she was just now waking up.

“My little girl,” Boba wept. “I’m so sorry. I should have come back sooner. Should have told you."

"Papa," Orla cried. "I'm just happy to see you. I can't believe you're here."

Setting Orla back down Boba took a step back and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I was so scared, Orla. When I was tumbling down into the pit I-I thought about nothing besides you and how I had failed you." Boba's lip trembled as he tried to hold back another sob, determined to be strong for his little girl.

Boba was a fierce man. Anyone could tell you that. He was a little rough around the edges and seldom let outsiders into his life - Fennec, Din, and Orla's mother's being the exceptions. When it came to his daughter though he would go to the ends of the galaxy for her. She was his entire life from the moment she arrived. A piece of him and a piece of the woman he once - and even now still- loved. She reminded him so much of himself when she was younger and when he was falling to his death he couldn't help but think about how he was leaving her, just like his father did. Since the day of the Sarlacc pit, the idea of leaving his daughter haunted home.

Reaching up Orla gently wiped the tears from her father's scarred cheeks. "But you're here now Papa. And I'm here. We're ok. It's gonna be ok."

Giving a wet and loving chuckle Boba pulled his daughter into another hug.

They stood there for a couple of minutes holding each other until their crying died. Father and daughter reunited again and both were determined to keep it that way.

"Sorry to break up family time," Fennec said from the hallway. "But Mando is back and I don't think it will do him good if he sees you crying from your little reunion."

Sighing heavily, Boba stepped back from Orla, giving her a smile and a soft pat on the cheek.

"Buir," Orla groaned playfully. "You haven't done that since I was a child."

"And every day I was away from you I wished I could do it again." Scoping up his helmet Boba set it back on his head. "Now come child, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

***

Meeting the Mandalorian was… interesting. When introduced to him by her father he gave a curt nod and nothing more. The rest of their meeting went with little talking. Her father gave him the credits he earned for his bounty, told him where to find his next one, and asked him how he was doing.

At her father's last question the Mandalorian hesitated before answering, his helmet turning to her for a brief moment before responding with a quiet "fine."

When the Mandalorian left the room Orla stood and looked down at her father.

"Seems like some great company. Reminds me of a certain someone." She said cheekily.

Sighing heavily Boba stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You'll warm up to him while we are all here. The man's just been through a lot."

Frowning slightly Orlla raised her eyebrow. "While we are all here? What does that mean?"

"You work for me now little one. And you'll be staying here in the castle with all of us."

Scoffing, Orla brushed her father's hand away. "Working for you?"

"What, you think just because your father shows back up you don't have to work?"

Shaking her head Orlla leaned against the wall. "Well, I didn't ask to be a bounty hunter papa. There are other things I want to do in life. And I have my own home."

A low growl cake from Boba. "What do you possibly want to do in this life ad'ika?" His tone was sharp as he spoke. "You're a fantastic hunter from what I have heard and just because you are my child doesn't mean I'm gonna give that up."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Orla glared at her father. "I'm a great hunter because I had to be. Without you, it's all I had. It's not what I wanted at all. I want to be able to be me. Do things you never got to do properly and I know you longed forward. Like having a real family! To fall in love and not worry about losing them or my children! And you just came back! And you're gonna send me out on hunts? You of all people should know how dangerous that is!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble Orlla, but that's not how our lives work!" Boba's voice continued to rise in volume, causing Orlla to flinch away from him. "We'll never be the type of people to settle down and just enjoy the mundane things in life. I tried, and look at how that turned out for your mother! So if you want a family then you're gonna have a damn struggle of a time keeping them safe. And maker above, if that day ever comes I hope you're prepared to be fighting for the rest of your life, and whoever the bastard is that touches my daughter - so help me Orlla, it will not go well!" Sighing again Boba took a moment to try and cool himself. "As for the missions I know it's dangerous and the risks I'm running by sending you out there. That's why you're going with Mando."

"What?!" Orla yelled, throwing herself from the wall and storming towards her father. "If you wanna send me out then Ita best to tell you now, I work alone. I trust no one. Not even you right now. You taught me that! I'm an adult! I don't need some sort of babysitter! Or you telling me what I can and can't do with people!"

Lowering his head Boba stared at his daughter through the visor of his helm. "You're my daughter! My only family left Orla! I'm just trying to protect you! In and out of bounty hunting! And I've changed my opinion. At least when it comes to mando. So you're going with him on missions and that's final!"

Grinding her teeth together Orla set her piercing gaze on her father's helmeted face. She couldn't see it but she knew underneath his face was twisted with worry for her. "Fine. I get it. I won't argue. For now. Right now I'm tired physically, emotionally, and mentally. I haven't slept in a bed in I don't know how long. I haven't eaten anything today and I'm still trying to process everything. Let's talk more about this later?" Relaxing her gaze on her father softened, telling him she was done fighting.

Nodding his head in agreement, Boba looked towards Fennec in the doorway. "Show Orla to one of the rooms please so she may rest."

Turning, Fennec left down the hallway, leaving Orla to wander behind.

***

Sleeping was impossible. Tossing and turning in the unusual bed Orla replayed the events of her day in her head. The fact her father was alive and well - despite some gnarly scars and possibly some emotional damage - overwhelmed her. Everything she had known over the last five years was abruptly coming to a halt and she couldn't help the gut feeling that the actions of today were going to drastically change her life. She wasn't sure how but she knew they would.

The argument with her father wasn't how she wanted to say goodnight to her father but it was fitting. Before he left the last time she saw him they would constantly argue before he left for every mission. She didn't like it and it was stupid but it seemed to be their way of communicating with each other. It worked needlessly to say. They always heard the other out and usually came up with a middle ground where they could meet each other's requests. But this argument was different. Orla, much like her father, was not an open book. She didn't share her truest desires or feelings but seeing her father today set her emotions over the edge.

Groaning, Orla tossed over in bed looking at the chronometer on the wall.

4:34 am

"No use in sleeping," Orla grumbled.

Throwing the sheets off she climbed out of the bed and pulled on her slacks. Running her fingers through her hair yelping when she hit a knot, accidentally tugging on it. Giving up on her hair before even really trying to fix it she tucked her long unruly into the collar of her shirt, keeping it out of the way.

Shuffling her way down to the dining room the smell of freshly brewed caff welcomes her, pulling her towards her destination. Wondering if her father was already up by some miracle or perhaps he couldn't sleep either - neither of them were morning people - she rounded the corner into the dining area and was met with a surprising sight.

Standing at the counter pouring coffee was a man with luscious deep brown hair and soft tanned skin. He wore a gray old short sleeve and what appeared to be his flight suit pants. She couldn't see his face straight on but the tiniest bit of facial hair could be seen.

Gasping louder than she meant Orla realized it was the Mandalorian from earlier. Looking over to the table she saw his gleaming silver helmet staring back at her.

"Hi."

The single word filtered into her ears softly, causing her to whip her head back to the man.

Gawking she restudied the man. His eyes were gorgeous. A warm earthy brown that made it feel like summer was swimming around her. Ans his lips… she watched as he brought the mug up to his mouth, his lush lips kissing the rim as he drank.

"H-hi," she croaked.

Lowering the mug mando licked his lips before speaking. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be up for a while."

"I couldn't sleep," she said sheepishly.

Nodding in understanding, Mando moved from the counter and sat at the table in the middle of the room.

Making her way across the dining room Orla grabbed her own mug and poured herself a cup of caff. She could feel the Mandalorian's gaze burning into her back as she rummaged around I'm she cupboards, trying to find the object she was looking for.

"If you're gonna stare can I at least get a name to address you besides Mando?" Reaching behind some cans of food she found want she was looking for. Standing she uncorked the bottle and dumped the contents into her coffee.

Turning to lean against the counter she looked at Mando who was still eyeing her.

"Isn't it a bit early to start drinking?

Rolling her eyes Orla took a drink of her caff; the hot liquid and burning of the alcohol warming her insides and helping her relax. "Not in this family. It's never too early. More like too late by the time you find the alcohol." Taking another drink she rolled her shoulders, leaning further into the counter. "So do I not get to know your name? I'd like to know something about the man I am going to be spending most of my time with."

"Din."

Curling her lip Orla gave a soft 'hmm'.

Looking away from Orla, Din stared down into his mug. "I get the impression you don't like me very much. Any particular reason? Or do I just have to go off of the information I heard between you and your father earlier?"

Flushing, Orla's gaze burned into the side of Din's face. "That's none of your business. And now that I know your eavesdropping on my conversations it just gives me reason not to trust you even more."

"Not really eavesdropping when the two of you shout at the top of your lungs," he mumbled under his breath.

Seething, and knuckles white from gripping the mug so tight Orla let out an annoyed snicker.

"I'm just saying," Din said with a shrug as he turned to look back at Orla. "Your dad is just trying to protect you. He's scared of losing you again."

"And how would you know that?" She snapped back. "You've been part of my father's life, what, maybe a week?"

"I know what it's like. To lose a child," Din admitted heavily.

"Oh." Relaxing Orla made her way to the table and sat across from Din. "I-I’m so sorry. I didn't realize you were a father."

Sighing, Din gave a weak smile. "It's ok. He was a foundling I saved from the empire. He's with his people now. If it wasn't for your father I don't know what would have happened to the kid."

Looking down into her mug Orla fought the tears that tried to spring from her eyes. Of course, after everything her father had been through with her grandpa, and thinking he lost his own daughter he would help another man save his child. Again, her father was tough but when it came to children the poor man turned into a softy.

"I'm glad your kids safe," she whispered. "However," she raised her eyes back up to look at him, "that still doesn't mean I fully trust you."

"Who says I don't trust you either?"

Smirking Orla brought her mug up to her lips once again with a smirk and a twinkle in her eye. "Touché."

Din and Orla sat in silence for the next hour, sipping coffee and spacing out. It wasn't until they heard footsteps down the hallway they perked up and looked at who it was.

"My own daughter, up before me?" Boba chucked before ruffling her hair.

"Couldn't sleep. Fresh caff is brewing. Alcohol is in the cabinet."

Smiling Boba made his way to the counter, coming back a moment later with a steaming cup of spiked caff.

"Taking It you couldn't sleep either mando?"

Shaking his head Din finished the last of his coffee.

"Well, sorry to say but we've all got work to do today."

Groaning, Orla stood from her seat, downing the last of her coffee. "I'll go get ready then."

Before she could leave the room though she felt a tug on her hair; pulling it free from the collar of her shirt.

"Ad'ika… what is this? Please don't tell me you let your hair be like this all the time while I was gone." Boba scolded.

Orla smiled sheepishly at her father. "I never learned to braid after you left. So I just put it in a ponytail or bun. But when it's down it gets tangled so easily. It's just so thick.

"Orla," Boba chided.

"Papa! I didn't have the energy to learn when you left! And I was gonna cut it off but I couldn't bring myself to do it…"

"You're just like your mother. And if I ever find out you cut off your hair it might be the actual death of me." Chuckling Boba guided his daughter back to her chair. "Now sit."

Groaning Orla plopped herself down into her seat, letting her father pull apart the tangles in her hair.

"Your so dramatic buir."

"And you're not?"

Both chuckling Boba continued to gently separate her hair into strands, braiding them together and picking up pieces as he went.

Across from them, Din went unnoticed as he watched intently; learning how to braid.

*******************************************************************************************

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generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years

Text

He Smells like Petrichor

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin/female reader

Five times the Mandalorian is a protective caretaker to the kid and you, and one time you protect them both.

Rating: T

Warnings: a mild concussion, the Razor Crest not having it, fluff

Thirty-seven solar cycles since you left your home world and everything about the Razor Crest is a surprise. The power lines are messy and corroding, the electrical work is shoddy. The schematic you’d asked the Mandalorian for isn’t comprehensive at all, and you’d privately made it your project to take every chance you set down dirt-side to re-write the manual.

Well. Write the manual.

The green kid loves it. He sits in your lap and happily holds cables you hand him until you’re done cataloguing and ready to re-connect them. It’s grueling, but talking out-loud to the green bean helps stave off your exhaustion. He loves to be held and talked to. You’re happy to hold him against your hip and oblige.

You have no idea if your inquiries to the baby about the ship’s guts bother the Mandalorian. You hardly see him anyway.

He’s a predator, and he acts like it. You never see him sleep. He hunts for hours and brings back bodies walking or dragging-it doesn’t seem to matter to him. You do your part to keep the ship flying and take care of the kid, and leave him food on the dashboard or in the recessed cot he shares with the kid. Sometimes after a long hunt he comes and takes your work buddy from you and recedes to the cockpit. You guess it's how he deals with not carrying the child on hunts anymore.

You have no idea if he eats. He must , you think, he isn’t a droid . You literally wouldn’t know that except for one time he’d shucked his gloves to cradle the kid after a particularly bad encounter with a stick bug and seen his hands. Fingernails and crevices along his knuckles. Human for sure.

There are always three bowls to clean though.

He’s been up in the cockpit for a few hours, hopefully still sleeping. You’d climbed up there to ask where his toolkit was but he didn’t respond, and the kid was trying desperately to climb out of Mando’s heavy grip. You’d sprung him and taken him downstairs to help you track some more wiring. He gratefully cooed at you for freeing him.

“Come on, snack time,” you tell him.

You like digging into the ship. It’s exciting and similar to genetics, finding what makes the organism tick, grow, change, evolve. You could get by as a mechanic, but being around green things was really your strength, and the heat of the greenhouses always made you feel better. You don’t doubt you could do a number of software and hardware updates on the ship over time if Mando let you. But you need a blueprint first.

You’ve only been working for an hour with the baby happily munching on a jerky piece in your lap when Mando’s boots make contact with the hull. You peek at him quickly before returning to your work.

“We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. The atmosphere on this planet is dense. Could get bumpy,” he says simply. You’re used to the utilitarian way he talks. Just enough and no more. It’s just with you though. You know for a fact he talks nonsense the kid.

“Where are we?” you ask, setting your tools down and latching the box shut one-handed.

“Dagobah-”

Hyperspace falls away and deposits the Razor Crest in a gritty atmosphere, and you’re thrown side-ways at the change. Wild beeping comes from the cockpit, alarms on the navcomp system screeching to alert you something is wrong. You scoop the baby against the u-shape of your body as you try to make it to your knees on the quaking hull floor. Mando has one arm wrapped around the ladder and a boot jammed against the steel. He’s furiously clicking buttons across his vambrace and does get one beeping system to stop.

An updraft kicks the side of the ship up and you’re swearing furiously under your breath as you’re thrown down against the hatch. You hope this isn’t the day it decides to yield to atmospheric pressure whistling against it. The Mandalorian makes another complicated set of beeps in-between furious swearing that pitches the ship forward this time, throwing your curved body directly toward the cockpit opening and into the buckethead’s armor.

Your head contacts the beskar chest plate, and you hear an awful noise rip out of your throat at the impact. The Mandalorian wraps his whole arm grasping around your shoulders, your face squished against him. This kid has never been safer, you think as Mando hitches you against his ribcage. You close your eyes and taste the iron sting of blood against your lip, and between the baby cooing, Mando swearing, and the growl of the Crest encountering-that’s too nice a word, let’s call it battling-the atmosphere, you’re disoriented.

The ship clangs and pitches sideways again. You groan as the grip around you shoulder slips under your armpit and is hard as durasteel, and Mando lets out a pained grunt when your knees clank against the inside of his thighs. You want to curl up and die from embarrassment, but if you do, you’ll drop the baby, so you try to wrap an ankle around the back of his knee, and end up forcing your whole thigh against him.

Fuck you think miserably, cheek scrunched against the harsh drop off between his chest plate and cloak.

You suck in a breath, too scared to take too much in or you’ll throw up. You close your eyes as the hull screams against the troposphere, g-forces squishing all three of you together, hot and freezing all at once. Mando pulls you tighter if that’s possible to get at his vambrace buttons. You think you’re going to scream. When the beeping finally stops, the ship slows and levels out. The Mandalorian doesn’t let go until the Crest has flown smoothly for a full 10 seconds, and you can hear him breathing deeply through the helmet filter. He releases you slowly, hands off once both feet are planted securely on the full floor. He takes the kid from you, probably to check him over himself. All you can do is hang onto the ladder and slowly, slowly slide down the wall.

It’s a sickening few moments where you’re somewhere between throwing up and passing out. You’ve traveled in space before, but never in such an old ship, and always been strapped in. This is-fucking terrifying.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. Concern laces his voice, enough to sound interested. You try to shake your head but it’s still ringing from contact with his chest plate and you end up reaching up to thumb your lip.

“I think my lip is bleeding,” you say. You can taste it’s metallic richness on your tongue tip. Running your fingers a little higher you feel the indent on your cheek from where your face was pressed into his armor.

“You’ve got a bruise on your temple too,” he tells you, gently handing the kid back to you. “I’ll find a landing site then see about the swelling.”

Once he’s back in the cockpit you move around on shaky legs to find the floating pram in the hull’s carnage. Crates are everywhere, and it takes some effort to free it from the mess. You settle the kid inside it. He keeps reaching up one wrinkly hand toward your head. Even though your stomach is in knots you start moving containers back to where they should be, anything to occupy you away from a bought with burning alive. Your head feels like it's swimming, and you’re moving a little slower than you should be.

“Any luck?” you try to call up. Landing in Dagobah can take the better part of a solar cycle, so you've heard. It’s surprising the ship sets down less than an hour later. You’ve barely moved...three crates? That doesn't seem right. For an hour? It should be done .

When Mando slides down the ladder with a medkit in hand he finds you with your hands on your hips, staring blankly at one crate that...is just too heavy to move.

“You done?” he asks, startling you out of your focused attempt to make the box move .

“I don’t understand. I moved this yesterday,” you say. You realize slowly Mando has your elbow and is guiding you to his cot to sit. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure your concussion doesn’t cause permanent damage,” he says. He jerks his head at the closet he calls a bed, and you lean back against it. “Sit, don’t lean.” You push yourself back further until you’re seated. Shoving your knees to the side with his hip, he stands blocking your escape from the cot and the med-scanner. You pull back a little when the red-blinker shines directly in your eye, but Mando’s quick and not having an argument. He grips your jaw not ungently, and proceeds to inspect your head wound. You stare directly at the spot where you think is forehead would be. He’s leaning heavily into your knees: he knows you will try to escape medical care. Or maybe he just needs something to ground against too. It wouldn't surprise you.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, tonguing the spot you can taste blood on inside your mouth.

“Beskar has been known to kill people on impact,” he replies tiredly. Like you should have known that. “Lucky for you, this is a concussion. You’ll have a bump for a while,” and to prove it he pokes a finger into your still forming egg. “This bounty should take a few hours. I suggest you turn out the lights and sleep.” He holds the cooling pack to your skull, and you reach up to hold it in place so he can release your legs and pack away the scanner.

“The kid has been cramped, he’ll want to play,” you tell him. He snaps the medkit closed and looks directly at you.

“You aren’t much use if you can’t think clearly,” he tries back. “I’ll take him with me. Might find a lizard or something to eat.”

“Mando-”

“Zip it,” he scolds. He’s gigantic in the suit of armor, and you sit dutifully still as he doles out pain medication for you to take. “Take these. Then lie down.” He watches you swallow the gel capsules down, and you sigh in relief as soon as they kick in and settle the nausea in your stomach.

“How long will you be gone?” you know he just told you.

“Few hours,” he says. He shoves a crate away with the flat of his boot and finds your crumpled bedroll on the hull floor. You obediently curl up on the non-lump side, drowsiness overtaking your body. He’s clinking around the armory. You hear the dull snap of blasters and charges.

As soon as you close your eyes, everything is quiet.

.....

The Razor Crest had landed at the vineyard’s loading docks before midday on Pamarthe. You’d heard the push against the sound barrier while in your greenhouse as your shift ended. Sweaty and satisfied with hours put in, you'd gone to meet your neighbor for a tasting of the sample blend. A newly modified vine that you’d all hoped would produce a slightly new taste in the vintage community.

You’d been giggling over the strong draft with your neighbor Anijae when you heard your shift super call your name from behind you. No thank you, you thought about saying.

“I’m off duty, Flitt” you say instead, barely turning.

Her hand clapped down on your shoulder and you almost sent your elbow reeling into their ribs. “This Mandalorian needs a guide,” she tried again testily.

You leaned back to see behind her, and sure enough a full suit of new beskar with a rifle strapped to its back and a tote lying across its shoulder stood waiting. Your brain is wine-addled and the first thing you think is big-

“You need a guide?” you ask, clearing your throat, and hoping to high stars he didn’t see you leering. He did, your second brain chimes in, he one hundred percent saw.

Following him out of the bar, you hear Anijae tell Flitt she’s a fool , and she’s not coming back, and haven’t you heard the stories ?

You led him on a safe path through quarries and rock rubble to a bunker the Rebel Alliance had used for a time, and now was regularly degraded by fugitives and tipsy patrons, who were sometimes the same life forms.

“Do you live here?” he’d asked, one of the few things he’d said the whole trip. You were both lying belly down looking over a ledge leading down into a stony gully devoid of foliage.

“My whole life,” you respond. You think for a second he can’t be that dangerous. He’s got a green critter with huge soft ears tucked in a bag behind his elbow. It reaches a little clawed hand at you. “There are housing units built into the cliff face above the greenhouses.” He tilts his helmet to the side. “Do you need anything else from me?” you asked, ready to ditch your work jumpsuit for something comfy.

He considers for a moment, and you squirm a little under the visor slit. “Yes,” he says, and removes the satchel with the kid from his person..

...and pushes it toward you.

You looked at the kid. He looked at you through big bulbous eyes, and before you can protest, he’s got a little hand tugging on your hair. You sigh and lean into his tiny hand.

“My unit is four-seventeen,” you tell Mando, scooping the baby up, and striding away. You aren’t really sure if this is a gift or a temp job, but the kid falls asleep on the walk home, and you aren’t complaining.

You took a day off of work to watch the kid. A day turns into two, and two turns into three, so you take him to the greenhouse with you for your shifts. He’s happy to walk up and down the rich soil plots, but you have to stop him from eating the pollinating lizards. A...few times.

The Mandalorian shows up late on day four. You and the baby are curled up on your couch, resting after dinner. You had had to gently uncurl the little green bean’s claws from your undershirt while handing him back over to the Mandalorian.

“What do I owe you?” Mando asks when you hand the kid back over.

“Nothing. He was fun to watch. Don’t suppose you need a full time babysitter?” you ask, half-kidding. The kid has one of your fingers wrapped in his claws. In Mando’s arms he looks itty bitty. First big , and now nanny? Get it together .

Mando lets his helmet fall to the side, considering. You feel a blush come over your cheeks, that was too forward. “What I do isn’t safe for little ones. He seems to like you.”

“I like him too,” you say. The thought of abandoning your little apartment is very appealing all of a sudden. You can't be a wine-geneticist your whole life. “Whatever you’re doing sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” he concedes. You leap.

“Should I pack my blaster?”

“I’d advise it.”

“When do you leave?”

“Now,” he says.

Pamarthe glows violet in space.

.....

The edges of the dreamscape are disturbed by clunking boots and rifle thunks. Your dream about thick pickle-green vines and caves is shaken out of focus.

Mando’s knee sets into your blurry vision. The scrape of his glove against your bruise makes your mouth twist in pain. Who needs weapons when you can just incite enemies to head-butt you and instantly die.

Once you’re out of the atmosphere, he comes back and holds a cool pack against your head with one hand, and the snoring kid in the other. He uses your shoulder as a pivot point.

“You smell good,” you hear yourself mumble. You’re going to blame it on pain meds later, or just deny ever saying it. Forever .

“I smell like a swamp,” he rasps.

“No…” you trail off. “Like healthy dirt. Like ozone.”

“Like I said,” he says, lifting the cool pack to inspect the lump. “Swamp.”

“Was it raining outside?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper. Your throat is parched, the pain meds must have absorbed all the water in your system. It’s a coherent sentence, and you’ll never be able to deny telling him he smells good now.

“Yes,” he answers, prodding at your forehead.

You hum and let the lull of hyperspace rock you back to sleep.

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