#and I can afford going fancy with his speech for that reason
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Imagine being so detached from society and fossil that when you try to speak to someone else you think you're being highly respectful of them and even honoring them but instead you come off as pejorative instead.
#◟༺✦༻◞ what lays behind the mantle of faux stars ┊ooc.┊#it's just funny to me#Dain be using the term 'kisama' in the JP voice acting#when referring to 'you'#to be respectful#but turns out that it developed into being colloquial and pejorative#what a fossil smh#but in a way it's great#because I adore to be creative with more archaic terms#and I can afford going fancy with his speech for that reason
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Fish Man and Damien in ms paint (+related fic under the cut because i have no self control)
You carefully look around the area for the sight of your university friend amidst the crowd. You expected the large group for winning the election, but you never anticipated how many people wanted Damien to win.
it warmed your heart to see your friend be cared for by this many people.
after a few more "oh sorry's" and "pardon me's" you spot a man in a black suit standing at the empty gazebo just a few paces away from the party area.
as you carefully walked up behind him, you hid the pin in your side pocket before starting to speak.
"Congrats on winning the election Damien!" You cheered, popping beside him to reveal the small smile on his face.
"Ah, old friend! Fancy seeing you here."
You rested your hand on his shoulder. "And miss you winning? Wouldn't miss it for the world!"
The man smiled brightly at your words before turning back to the sky again. Eyes wistfully looking to the stars ahead as he rested his arms against the railings.
You know that look, "What's wrong?"
Damien pauses. "I don't know, little monster. I suppose anxiety? I've always dreamed of getting this job but now I'm unsure of how I am to be able to meet my goals. I fear I may not live up to the promises I've made to the city and its people-"
"Damien," You state. "Look at me."
His head turns to you wearily as you suddenly grab him by the arms.
"Damien, my good friend. I have-"
The Mayor starts snickering silently.
"Hey! I'm trying to give you my speech damnit!"
"Pardon me," He laughs, "but you look like your about to sell me a vacuum rather than motivate me."
You barely try to keep the laugh that escapes you before you cough dramatically and stare him in the eye.
"Damien, my good friend. I have many many reasons to believe that you are able to accomplish your goals, and go through with the promises you have made. And while it may seem that it may be improbable in your current position, all those people out there can see this too."
You pull out the handmade pin that reads 'Mayor' from your pocket.
I remember back in University you said to me that you wanted to become a Mayor of this city, and I could barely believe you at the time."
That was nearly a decade ago. You have worked nearly 10 years just to get to now, and I am not going to let you give up this easily just because your unsure."
Taking the pin with both hands, you carefully pull at his jacket and pin it next to his left lapel.
"I've had this since you told me that back in Uni. I was so sure that you would win, I made this with everything I could afford back then with my limited supplies."
Damien looks down at the pin, eyes swimming with the passion you saw years ago.
"So know this Damien. You are going to be great as Mayor. I believed in you for this long, I know that your going to do wonderfully. Its like you said-"
"Life is ours to choose." He added breathily, hands going to the pin tenderly.
You smiled, "Exactly, so don't worry about it friend. Your going to do great things."
The man wiped a tear smiling, "Thank you, Old friend. Truthfully."
"Any time, Damien."
Putting the pin back on his jacket, the mayor turns to you and extends his hand. "Now enough of my worries, want to hit the liquor table? Ill grab you your favourite. "
You took his hand. "Of course."
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stupid mastermind i'm fucking ballin
So that’s it, then.
In the end, just learning the truth doesn’t grant the opportunity to change it. Everything is as it is meant to be; your souls remain forfeit, the game continues, and Alou wins.
(Though, that would imply losing was ever even an option in the first place.)
Naturally, there’s meant to be a pause after Alou finishes speaking– a solemn lapse into silence as inevitability sinks in and smothers the final flame of resistance. Or perhaps for some, it would only serve as a moment of consideration before a final futile attempt at lashing out for your freedom.
Not that it really matters either way, considering it doesn’t actually happen.
The should-be silence is afforded hardly a passing second before it’s broken by the sudden, jarring sound of laughter. Even without looking, the source of it is obvious. Hisashi’s mad cackle is, unfortunately, all too familiar by this point.
Those whose eyes had followed Alou’s to the blood covered pair would have seen Hisashi’s face slowly contorting, mouth pressed into a thin line and brow furrowing deeper by the second. It would have been easy to assume he was finally starting to get properly angry.
Looking at him now, lips pulled in a wide grin and shoulders shaking with each terribly loud laugh the scrapes its way up his throat, it’s pretty clear he was just trying to hold it in for as long as he could.
“Ohhh my God–”
For a few seconds, it seems like he’s having trouble pulling himself back together– he even reaches up and wipes at one of his eyes.
“Sorry, sorry! I just– I cannot keep this up anymore, guys. Holy shit.”
As another bark of laughter escapes him, his subdued, calculated expression from before has fallen away entirely at this point. This look – this wild eyed, fang filled look of an animal – feels far more at home on Hisashi’s face. The way he speaks without any of the fanciful speech of before is much the same.
That was always Alou’s thing, you know? And as Hisashi stares at the man in question, it’s clear he no longer has any reason to indulge him.
“So, like– okay. Okay. Let me get this straight. You saw me and Olwin walk in covered in blue blood that is clearly not ours– you obviously can’t even see any of Olwin’s very super green blood anywhere– everybody else is also super not fucked up– I’m still getting around just fine even though I am fucked up– and you still–”
Hisashi cuts himself off with another harsh laugh, clearly finding something amusing.
As he does, he reaches over to Olwin and– okay, well, now he’s shoving his hand down the back of Olwin’s sweatshirt. Alright, then. There’s a split second where Olwin seems as perplexed as one would expect, but it quickly fades, and soon enough, Hisashi pulls his hand back out–
And all at once, this sudden shift in tone makes sense.
It likely takes a second or two to register what exactly Hisashi is now holding in his hand– the twisted black horn is, after all, harder to recognize removed from its hostess’s head. The same navy blue that splatters Olwin and Hisashi encrusts the base of it, bits of butchered skin still visible.
Hisashi holds Fumiko’s horn up for everyone to see, the gruesome trophy reflected in the near manic grin he wears.
“You really think I would lose a fight with Fumiko, you fucking moron? Me? Seriously? Like, are you actually fucking stupid? No– I kicked her shit in so that Olwin could shoot her in the head with the gun we bought from your own stupid shop, you dumb motherfucker. She’s dead. Surely you can do the math to figure out what that means, right?”
He laughs again, leaning back in his chair as he roughly tosses the horn onto the table. It slides and rolls before finally coming to a stop when it collides with Alou’s empty plate.
“But by all means– do go on about the motive.”
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Hit me baby, but it won’t hurt
Right now I’m particularly infuriated. A particular blast from the past was just chatting with me, and what seemed like a perfectly normal conversation turned into a spitfire just because I spoke my mind. Frankly, it’s my fault for even reaching out in the first place- but honestly I was just checking up on the dude and just being a decent person! I mean, the guy recently moved to a new country and is still settling in, so I did the decent thing and checked up on him- I did not see this coming.
To be fair it all went sour because I told him that it turned me off that he was acting immature and irresponsible. Or rather he gave a big speech about living life that way and I told him his big speech turned me off because I like power, ambition and drive. What was I supposed to do? Lie?? Lack of ambition and lack of responsibility is in fact a HUGE turn off for me in anyone. It’s not like I’m perfect or that I’ve got my life completely under control- but that’s not even what I’m saying. I appreciate a man who’s TRYING. Who has a sense of responsibility (and may fail from time to time); someone who believes in hard work and passion; who wants to make something of themselves and someone who is mature in their views about the world. They may fail from time to time- hell, I fail so many times- but I like a guy who still tries.
It’s so unattractive when a dude acts like women, sex and living in the here and now with no vision for the future is all there is to life. It’s just how it is for me- maybe there are women who find that attractive in a man, but I don’t. And so when he yapped on and on about that it really was a turn off. In fact, I wondered to myself how I ever managed to date him, and was he always like this? Don’t get me wrong- he was (and still is.. I think...) a very nice person with a lot of kindness in his heart and a lot of capabilities- all the more reason why it’s so infuriating that he doesn’t want to do something useful with his life.
It’s really just that you can afford to lean on someone who is mentally mature and can take responsibility. It feels like a partnership and not like you’re carrying dead weight with you- because being with someone mentally immature and lacking in ambition, (when you yourself are a hard worker with ambition) feels a lot like you’re being held back or dragged down because you’re holding on to dead weight. It was how I felt latterly in our relationship, and why ending it did so much good to my mental and emotional health.
But none of the above was what infuriated me... No, what pissed the shit out of me was because dude was like- oh what has your fucking ambition and responsibility and blah blah gotten you??? At least I was happy unlike you... Umm bitch, what?? When I asked him what makes him think I’m not happy he said I used to always complain!! And when I pointed out that he was always fucking depressed and suicidal he has the fucking audacity to say it was coz of me!! Well, bitch.. My complains were because I was with you! I just didn’t want to be mean and say it- but if this is how you’re gonna play it, then so will I!
it was a fucking drag to date someone who never fucking saved and therefore we couldn’t really go to fancy places on dates because he found it too expensive or preferred to eat at cheap places. Listen, I’m all for saving money and eating at cheap places too- but at least when it’s date night, I’d like to splurge. I mean we’d go stay at cheap hotels because of his budget, and the thing is that’s fine at 23/24 but at 29 I had worked hard and built myself up. I wanted better. I wanted what I have now- going to actually nice hotels without the dodgy looking/tween guests, going to nice restaurants for dinner and going to those places with a guy who can afford to pay his half of the bill and not starve for the rest of the month because of it! True, this guy may not be my official partner or whatever, but that’s a choice I’ve made, and I’m happy with it.
And so it was a bloody drag and that made me feel like shit, coz I wanted better because I’d worked hard for better. It’s not like I was looking to live off his money, I just wanted him to have the same standard of living. It annoyed me that he would just leave work and play hookey with his boss and somehow justify earning a salary after that. It annoyed me that he was like everyone’s errand boy- legit being told to get this and do that by his richer friends- I mean have some self respect. I have richer friends too- but I wouldn’t dare let them treat me like their errand girl. I have more respect for myself. It annoyed me that he didn’t care about creating an impression in the world outside- that they’d steal a traffic-cone and be proud of such violation of public property. I could ramble on about the things that infuriated me- but the bottom line is, I was fucking miserable in that relationship too!! So yes, dude... I complained. I’d have said all this- but I just couldn’t be bothered. All I know is, it annoys me to hear about his life choices and they are a fucking turn off.
Nothing more unattractive than a fucking man-child!
As for me not being happy with my life- that’s bull shit! Sure, I’m not a hundred percent happy always and all the time- but that’s because of other deeply inset issues and not because of my life. My life is the one thing that makes me happy. Looking at the life I build for myself, knowing I built it from the ground up and knowing the shit I’ve endured to get here is what makes me feel so blessed with my life. God has blessed me abundantly and I see His hand in so many aspects of my life and I feel thankful everyday for this life. Sure, it gets lonely without a partner- but that’s because the right person hasn’t come along yet, and I will wait. I’ve built this life with hard work and a lot of pain- I won’t just settle for anyone. So I can endure the wait for a partner- because partner or not, I’m surrounded by kids who love me profoundly and I am en-route to my dream life and I couldn’t be happier. My seven day work week is my greatest blessing! So he can give his big speech and judge me based on who I was when I was with him, but the truth is I love my life with all its ups and downs.
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Can I Have This Dance?
childe x reader
word count: 1.2k
genre: fluff
warnings: not proof read lol
you find out that Childe truly is a man of many talents
a/n; ever since paimon mentioned in passing that childe can dance my brain has been doing somersaults
How did you want to spend your Saturday? Well the answer to that was easy – in bed. You wanted to lie in for as long as possible, doing nothing for the whole day with your favourite person by your side the whole time. You wanted to take things slowly and enjoy his presence along with the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. With his job, moments like that are rare so you planned on savouring whatever you could.
Regrettably those plans were thwarted before your day even started as all sorts of stylists had flooded into your shared apartment, waking you up from your slumber (in all fairness, there was no need for you to sleep until midday). You had completely forgotten about the annual fatui ball your boyfriend was dragging you along to. Your entire afternoon was spent with strangers poking at your face, pulling at your hair and throwing on and tearing off all sorts of garments from your figure.
And now it’s Saturday evening, the fancy outfit you’re wearing is a little too tight for comfort and you’re in a ballroom full of people you don’t know, the one exception being your lover, Childe. He had forgotten about this ball himself but when he was reminded he knew that as a harbinger he was obligated to go and the last thing he wanted to do was spend an entire evening alone with his co-workers who he knew weren’t particularly fond of him. Fortunately for him, harbingers were granted permission to bring along a plus one and, unlike the other harbingers who prefer to remain alone for work related reasons, he had you to bring with him. So he did.
But unfortunately for you, even at events like this, duty still calls. Childe was busy wearing the best fake smile he picked for the night while he mingled with his colleagues and gave speeches to those in the lower ranks, which is why you were sat alone at the bar, swirling around the drink that you could tell was too expensive for your tastes in a glass you couldn't afford to drop. You had been moping there for a while, doing your best to ignore all the strange looks you received as the only unfamiliar face in the room who somehow had more privileges than the actual recruits. In fact, if it wasn’t for childe personally escorting you to the bar before being dragged away by who you assumed to be another harbinger, the bartender probably wouldn’t have served you to begin with.
Just as you let out what felt like your 20th sigh of the hour, you felt a pair of hands grasp your waist, causing you to jump in your stool before you felt a familiar pair of lips brush against your nape. The normally loud and lively voice of your lover had been reduced to a soft whisper as he tried to coo his apologies for leaving you into your ear. When he received little reaction from you, he swiftly spun your stool around so you would face him and he just couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face at the adorable pout you were wearing on your lips. He quickly pressed a sweet, chaste kiss onto you lips, and you were admittedly left wanting a bit more but before you could complain, your boyfriend spoke again.
“I know it seems like I abandoned you and wasted your night and I’m sorry but I think I have a way to make it up to you”, the smile on his face grew from apologetic to a radiant grin. “My dear Y/N, would you grant me the pleasure of having this dance with me?” The charming smirk on his lips and the glimmer in his cerulean eyes were just so mesmerising that you hadn’t realised you had blurted out a yes until he started pulling you by the hand you subconsciously placed in the one he offered you.
“W-wait”, you pleaded as the two of you approached the dancefloor. “I don’t even know how to dance.” The pace of your heartbeat slightly sped up as you could feel all the judgemental eyes burning into you from around the room.
“Well I do, so I can teach you”, the redhead murmured with a reassuring smile. He used a finger to tilt your head upwards to face him and the warmth his usually icy blue eyes radiated made you feel giddy. “Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”
After a deep breath in and out, you finally gave Childe a wary nod and let him guide you. You weren’t as graceful as you would have liked to be but you were definitely just as clumsy as you were expecting. Though your partner took things slow for your sake, you still managed to find ways to trip over both his feet and yours and each time he failed to hold back a chuckle of endearment.
Nevertheless, it seemed that Childe really wasn’t lying about knowing how to dance – he was an amazing teacher because, before you knew it, you were following his movements as if it was second nature and you both subconsciously made your way to the centre of the dancefloor, unintentionally garnering a lot of attention whilst doing so. You honestly didn’t expect to enjoy dancing so much, you never did before anyway. There was just something so intimate about dancing with Childe, your lover, your other half. Both of your movements would be aimless on their own, however when you come together, you find your purpose in each other as you’re able to become one and get lost in the other. All you could see and feel in that moment was Childe. Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered – not the scathing stares nor the fatuous gossip – only the feeling of one of Childe’s hands on your waist as he drew you closer to him and the warmth of his other hand that held tightly onto yours.
You wished to stay as the two of you were forever but alas your moment in the clouds came to an end and you were dragged back to teyvat in an instant as your lover’s movements came to a halt. A look of perplexity overtook your features as you rose an eyebrow at Childe, who was smiling at you from ear to ear. With the beaming grin on his face and way his eyes were shaped like beautiful blue crescents, like the moon reflected on the ocean in the deep of night, you wanted to kiss the living daylights out of him, and you definitely would have if you didn't notice that the reason Childe had stopped was because the piece the band had been playing was over and they were preparing their next. Embarrassment washed over you as you realised you were so engrossed in dancing with your partner that you hadn’t noticed that nearly every eye in the room was on you. Nevertheless, he didn’t let you dwell on that thought for much longer, the feeling of his hand squeezing yours pulling you out from inside your head. His eyes briefly scanned the rest of the room, a triumphant smile on his face, before they locked with yours again.
You could hear the next piece starting but paid it no mind, the only noise registering in your head being the sound of Childe’s voice saying, “you did well for your first lesson – are you ready for another?”
#genshin#genshin x reader#genshin impact#childe#genshin childe#childe x reader#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#genshin imagines#childe x y/n#childe-dni writes
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If searching for non-existent signs that Sirius might fancy him, is all Remus has to do to get Lily to drop her crazy theory, then so be it.
Read Part One here!
Read Part Three here!
Read The Final Part here!
Get What He's Saying: Part Two
Remus drops down on the couch next to Lily holding a cup of tea.
“Potter just left for Quidditch practice in quite a state,” Lily says. “Was he still mad about me going to Hogsmeade with Chase Danes?”
“Hmm? Oh, no. I think he’s over it. He’s actually going with Hestia Jones.”
“Oh.” Lily presses her lips in a tight line. “Well, good for him. What was he getting himself worked up for now, then?”
“I guess that’s my fault,” Remus sighs. “We had this weird conversation, and I think he got upset because I didn’t believe the stuff he was telling me.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, he was all like ‘Moony, someone told me he fancies you, and it’s serious and you should-’”
Lily lets out a shriek and bolts upright, staring at Remus with a hand covering her mouth. “Merlin’s beard, Remus! Why didn’t you say so immediately? This is huge! Potter confided in you that Black fancies you? I knew it! I just knew it! How can you be so calm about this?”
Remus blinks at her for a moment. “What? Oh. Oh! No, Lily, no. Merlin, no. Why would you even think- Serious, Lily! As in not joking.”
“Oooh.” Lily sags back on the couch. For a moment, she looks disappointed, but then she starts laughing. “I’m sorry! I totally thought you meant it was Sirius! Really, that boy’s name!”
Remus shakes his head at her, while Lily, still laughing, wipes some tears from her eyes. “Remus, Remus, Remus,” she says. “Getting my hopes up for nothing.”
“Its not my fault you’d jump to such a ridiculous conclusion!” Remus says defensively. “How can that be- Wait. Hopes up? How so hopes up? And what the hell did you mean with ‘I knew it’?”
Lily shrugs. “‘I knew it’ is probably too strong a phrase. More like, I suspected it? Or at least I thought about the possibility before.”
Remus, who has never considered it as a possibility, gapes at her. “Why?” Is all he manages to say.
“I’m not sure,” Lily replies, looking at him thoughtfully. “He’s just... different when he’s around you. More grounded, somehow.”
“Well,” Remus mutters. “We’re best friends. Would be strange if he didn’t feel comfortable around me.”
“No,” Lily says in the same contemplating tone. “It’s different. Different than when he’s with Potter. When you two are together, it’s like... puzzle pieces falling into place.”
Remus can only stare at her. If only. If only he could be Sirius’ missing puzzle piece. But if Sirius’ puzzle is some bright, sunny landscape, Remus is a dreary raincloud that has no business being there.
Lily smiles sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know how else to phrase it.”
“Phrase it however you like,” Remus says. “I’m not going to let myself believe such fancies. It’ll only lead to disappointment.”
“Oh?” Lily smirks. “So you’d be disappointed if Black would turn out to not fancy you?”
Remus clenches his jaw. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”
“Anyways,” Lily chuckles. “Good thing you didn’t misunderstand when Potter told you! That would’ve made for an awkward conversation.”
“The thought didn’t even cross my mind,” Remus responds. “I’d never get such an idea in my head. He’s clearly way out of my league.”
Lily opens her mouth to protest, but Remus beats her to it. “No, Lily. Don’t try to boost my confidence. ‘Remus, you’re not in a different league, you could date someone like Sirius’. James already gave me that speech. He even said I could ‘date someone exactly like Sirius’.” Remus rolls his eyes. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Remus...”
“And the conversation was awkward enough without misunderstandings. He kept repeating ‘it’s serious’, while giving me these weird, intense looks. Like, what can I even do with that information if he won’t tell me who it was? But when I asked, instead of answering, he just repeated ‘it’s serious’ again.”
“Remus.”
“And even if James meant it, the person who told him could’ve very well been messing with him. James can tell me this person was serious all he wants, but how can he be sure? I mean-”
“Remus!”
“What?”
“Remus! Bloody hell, Remus!”
“Yes, Lily what?”
“Remus, for Godric’s sake, Remus. You bloody idiot!”
“What, Lily? What am I missing?”
“I’ll tell you what you’re missing, you bloody oaf!” Lily crosses her arms over her chest, giving Remus a firm stare. “You’re missing the whole bloody fact that Potter looked you right in the eyes and told you Black totally fancies you!”
“He... What?” Remus chokes. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”
Lily sniffs. “From what I gather, he wasn’t even very subtle about it.”
“No, Lily. No.” Remus shakes his head. “I really think I would’ve noticed!”
Lily raises an eyebrow. “Do you, Remus? Do you really?”
“You weren’t even there,” Remus mutters.
“Alright, alright.” Lily throws up her hands. “So he didn’t consequently phrase it as ‘it’s serious’ and ‘this person was serious’, and never anything like ‘I’m serious’ or ‘it’s for real’?”
“Well, yeah, he did, but-”
“And wasn’t he throwing you meaningful, emphatic looks every time he said that?”
“He was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean-”
“Come on, Remus! He was sending you a message, you must acknowledge that!”
“Lily, please,” Remus says pleading. “I can’t afford to hope. Hope... is dangerous.”
Lily’s face softens. “Remus, I don’t expect you to run up to him right now and declare your undying love. Although I do think that would be the right course of action,” she adds with a stern look. “But nevertheless, you shouldn’t let fear stop you! Just... try to at least open up to the possibility. Keep your eyes open the upcoming time, for any signs he might actually like you. That’s all I ask.”
Remus sighs. “Fine. I will.”
Lily stares at him for a moment. “Nope,” she then says. “No. Nope. No, you’re not getting away with it that easily. Knowing you, Black could be wearing an ‘I love Remus Lupin’ shirt tomorrow and sit down on you lap at breakfast, and you’d go ‘ah, such an affectionate friend’.”
Remus rolls his eyes, but Lily ignores him and picks up a quill and a piece of parchment. “I’m going to make you a list of specific signs you need to keep an eye out for! Number One,” she says. “Looking at you often.”
“We are best friends,” Remus says dryly. “We do tend to look at each other occasionally.”
��You know what I mean!” Lily says, but still she adds “Looking at you often, while you aren’t talking, or doing anything interesting, so when he has no reason to be looking at you. Let’s see, what else?” She taps the quill against her chin, before bending over the parchment again. “Number Two. Blushing/biting his lip/doing that thing were he tilts his head downwards and looks up at you through his lashes while interacting with you.”
Ah, yes. That thing. Remus definitely knows that thing. Not that he has ever thought Sirius does that around him in particular.
“Number Three,” Lily continues. “Giving you loads of compliments.”
Remus crosses his arms over his chest. “He only says he likes my sweaters to have an excuse to feel how soft they are!”
“Number Four,” Lily says pointedly, while looking at Remus unwaveringly. “Making up excuses to touch you.”
Remus huffs, and looks away.
Lily taps her quill in thought again. “Oh, right! Number Five. Acting extremely jealous when other people flirt with you.”
“How the hell am I supposed to check that?” Remus asks. “It’s not like people flirt with me every day! Or any day for that matter.”
“Well, I could-”
“Oh no, Lily! Don’t you dare! James’ sad deer-eyes are heart-breaking enough without knowing I caused them.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind that much,” Lily mutters.
Remus looks at Lily, then down at the list, and then back up at Lily. “Well, hello kettle. Nice to meet you. My name is pot.”
“I’ll think of something else,” Lily says irritably. “Let’s stick to these five signs for now, starting tomorrow at breakfast. If by the end of the week you haven’t seen any of them, I’ll drop it, but if you do manage to catch a few, you have to start seeing it as a serious option. Or as Potter would say, a Sirius option.”
“Fine,” Remus says, taking the list from Lily. “If that’s what it takes to get you to drop it.”
The next morning, Remus sits down at the breakfast table in his usual seat next to Sirius, across from James and Peter. James is rambling on about some new Quidditch strategy he wants to try out, and Peter is pretending to understand and trying to ask questions that don’t sound too dumb.
As Remus reaches for the porridge, he notices Mary McDonald batting her eyes at him. At first, he frowns at her. Does she have something in her eye, or is she trying to get his attention? Is she sending him a message in Morse code or something? Her finger is twirling in her dark hair so fast, that Remus is worried it might get stuck in there. Then Lily leans over and whispers something in Mary’s ear, and Remus understands. So this is Lily’s ‘thinking of something else’ for the last point om her list.
Remus groans under his breath, but decides that he might as well get started keeping his end of the deal. He turns to Sirius, and startles when he finds Sirius, head resting on his hand, staring right at him.
Sirius, also startled, jerks his head up when he suddenly meets Remus’ gaze. Remus wouldn’t consider blushing as something Sirius Black does, but the colour on his cheeks having been caught staring is definitely red. Sirius bites his lip, and tilts his head downwards, before looking up at Remus through his lashes. “I... Erm, I was just wondering if that’s a new jumper you’re wearing?”
“Eh, no. No, it’s not.”
“Well, in any case, I like it.” Sirius gives him a small smile. “I like how it looks on you. The colour really brings out your eyes.” Sirius chuckles as he reaches out and gently brushes Remus’ hair from his eyes. “If you don’t let that floppy hair of yours cover them completely, as adorable as those curls are.”
While Remus is struggling to form a reply that makes more sense than his first urge to promise Sirius he’ll never wear anything else ever again, another voice demands his attention.
“Rrrrrremus!” Mary makes the R sound like a purr. She has walked up to him and is now standing right behind the bench where he’s sitting, leaning in close over his shoulder so she can directly speak into his ear. Really, if she’s going to lean over like that, she should button up her blouse a bit more. Poor Peter nearly chokes on his toast.
“You’re so good at DADA. I was wondering if you have time after classes for some tutoring? I could really use some practice with my wand work.”
“Eh...” Remus once again struggles to form a reply. If she really needs help it’ll be rude refuse, right? Or is it part of Lily’s scheme? And if it is, would Lily want him to refuse or agree?
Before he can say anything though, Sirius speaks up, his cold gaze intently focused on Mary. “He can’t,” he says in an icy voice. “Remus is already working on his Potions Paper after class, with me.”
Remus doesn’t recall making such plans, but they do have a Potions Paper due, and Remus does desperately need Sirius’ help when it comes to Potions, so he just nods.
“Oh, booo,” Mary pouts prettily. “Better luck next time, I suppose.”
She turns around and walks out of the Great Hall, swaying in such a manner Remus worries she might dislocate a hip. Boys all over the Great Hall hang out of their seats to watch her go, but Remus is pretty sure that Sirius is the only one who’s glaring daggers.
Even though he only started keeping an eye out five minutes ago, Remus goes over the signs on the list in his head.
Well, fuck.
Part One
Part Three
The Final Part
#my tumblr writing#wolfstar#wolfstar fanfiction#wolfstar fic#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#marauders era#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius#lily evans#james potter
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It was a fool proof plan, if Lup did say so herself. She was really quite proud of it, and her mastery of the art of the grift in general.
The fancy restaurant was extremely crowded, and also much more expensive than either her or Barry could really afford. Considering all that, there was really no reason for them to have made a reservation on valentine’s day, especially considering they weren’t even dating.
No reason to, except Lup wanted to treat herself. And also Barry. And also lord it over her brother that she got to eat here before he did. So she came up with a plan, and valentine’s day was the best time to play it out for maximum effect.
It was a genius twist on an old classic really. Simple, but just unexpected enough that no one would see through it. Her and Barry were going to enjoy their dinner, acting as a sickeningly in love couple for all to see, highlighted by the valentine’s day atmosphere.
As soon as dinner started to wind down, Barry was going to propose. Most grifts would leave it at that, but this kind of place wouldn’t offer a free meal for a proposal, not on valentine’s day of all days. The most they could get was probably a free desert. No, they needed to go bigger.
Barry was going to propose, and all Lup had to do was turn him down. Awkwardly grab her stuff and shuffle off, leaving him all sad and dejected.
And them bam! Free steak and shrimp and wine. They would still leave a tip for the waiter, but otherwise Barry would meet her outside and it would be hilarious.
Lup had just about finished up her meal now, and damn it was nearly worth the ridiculous price tag. She was laughing over something Barry had said, and really the easiest part of all this was the whole pretending to be in love with him thing, mostly because she really didn’t have to pretend.
She saw his eyes flicker to hers, and then off again. She didn’t look, but she guessed the waiter was starting to head over. She stopped laughing, giving him a quick, subtle nod. With a nervous smile, he stood up. They had already been holding hands across the table, and he didn’t let go now.
“Lup,” he started, and it was adorable how red his face already was. She knew he didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, so she would have to find some way to make this up to him later.
“Lup, we’ve been together for a long time now. Ever since you came into my life I’ve had to wonder every day how I could have possibly gotten so lucky to even know you. Getting to actually share my life with you? I’d say it’s a dream, but there isn’t a dream out there that could live up to you,” he continued, and she could feel her face starting to heat up now as well. She hadn’t been expecting a speech.
Probably a smart move. Garner up even more sympathy.
“How someone like me could possibly be worthy of someone as intelligent and loving and beautiful as you, I’ll never know, but that day in eighth grade when you called me a nerd and made me help you and your brother catch the class mice you accidentally let loose was legitimately the best day of my life. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you, and I don’t ever want to let go.”
“Shit,” Lup whispered under her breath, having to blink rapidly as her eyes started to get all moist. She didn’t expect him to be so good at this, why was he so good at this?
“I love you Lup, with all of my heart,” he said, finally getting down on one knee now. With the hand that wasn’t holding hers, he pulled out a small ring box, having to finally let go to actually open it.
“So I need to know. Lup, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
Barry’s eyes widened, genuine surprise on his face instead of the fake devastation that was supposed to be there. It took Lup’s brain a moment to catch up with her words, and when it did she nearly slapped her hands over her mouth.
“O-oh? Awesome,” Barry said, clearly trying to recover from her going incredibly off script. When he reached over Lup let him slide the ring onto her finger.
And well, there was nothing left to do but fucking lean into it, so when he stood back up Lup pulled him into a kiss. The restaurant broke into cheers around them, and when they finally pulled apart Barry looked like a tomato.
“Might I be the first to say congratulations,” their waiter said, and Lup forced herself to grin up at him over the wishing for death she was doing inside. Well, the wishing for death mixed in with the absolute euphoria of finally getting to kiss Barry.
“Thank you,” she managed, watching as he put down what she could only assume was a free heart shaped chocolate cake with vanilla ice-cream.
And also the check.
“Uh, Lup?” Barry asked after a moment, seeming to have finally gotten the ability to form words back again. Instead of responding Lup quickly reached over, flipping the check before she could actually see any of the numbers.
“If I don’t see the numbers they can’t hurt me,” she said in a rush, and Barry was looking at her somewhere between befuddled and endeared.
“I don’t- I don’t think that’s how it works,” he said, and Lup shook her head. Taking a spoon, she started shoving cake and ice cream into her mouth. If she was going to pay for this, she was going to enjoy all of it.
“Nope, totally how it works,” she said. Barry chuckled at that, starting to eat some of the dessert as well.
“Fair enough,” he said, and it was quiet for a moment.
“I’ll... pay you back for this,” Lup whispered quietly. Barry waved her off, and she could see that he was eating more of the ice cream than he should. Considering the night though, she couldn’t blame him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. After a moment she could see his eyes glance towards her hand, which was still wearing that engagement ring. “Hey do we... do we need to talk about uh, anything? After this?” he whispered, and Lup kind of wanted to die.
But she also really wanted to kiss him again.
“Maybe. Can we make out again first?” she said, and despite the shade of red of his face Barry quickly nodded.
“Definitely,” he said.
“Cool,” she said, and yeah, there was going to be a lot they needed to talk about, but also really not that much.
They had already pretty much said everything.
#taz#the adventure zone#blupjeans#lup#barry bluejeans#nothing says valentine's day like blupjeans#lup: this plan is fool proof i just need to pretend to not be in love with barry for a minute#ten minutes later: ThIS plAn WAs NoT fOoL PRooF#I am The Fool
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Charter schools are money laundries
Critiques of charter schools usually focus on poor quality education (disproportionately affecting racialized and poor people) and dangerous ideology (the movement is funded by billionaire dilettantes and religious maniacs), and with good reason!
Charters hand public funds to private institutions with minimal oversight. Public money should not go to schools that endorse slavery and indigenous genocide, nor schools that deny evolution and claim humans and dinosaurs co-existed.
https://web.archive.org/web/20180604002542/http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/education/school-zone/os-voucher-school-curriculum-20180503-story.html
Charter students know they’re getting substandard educations — that’s why the 2019 valedictorians for Detroit’s Universal Academy used their speech to denounce the school, its curriculum and administrators.
https://www.freep.com/story/news/education/2019/06/10/salutatorians-criticize-charter-school-graduation/1381474001/b
The more we learn about charters, the worse the situation gets. Take New Orleans, where, post-Katrina, the Republican statehouse and wealthy dilettante “philanthropists” eliminated all public education in favor of charter schools.
https://www.nola.com/news/education/article_0c5918cc-058d-11ea-aa21-d78ab966b579.html
A decade later, the state education regulator gave half these schools “D” or “F” grades.
No wonder that charter teachers joined LA public school teachers on their Red For Ed pickets in 2019:
https://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-edu-lausd-strike-accelerated-school-20190114-story.html
Charter schools pitch themselves as grassroots phenomena, made possible thanks to the passion of parents seeking quality educations for their kids. The reality is that the movement is funded and promoted through a corrupt network of ultra-wealthy ideologues.
The Kochs and the Waltons (Walmart) have secretly funneled vast fortunes into disinformation campaigns aimed at demonizing teachers’ unions:
https://www.theguardian.com/education/2018/apr/12/teacher-strikes-rightwing-secret-strategy-revealed
They were joined by the likes of Trump education secretary Betsy DeVos, a fundamentalist who makes no secret of her view that charters can remove the barrier between church and state and institute publicly funded Christian indoctrination in schools:
https://www.cnn.com/2017/02/02/politics/eli-broad-letter-betsy-devos/index.html
Destroying public education is the sport of kings. Bill Gates blew $775m on a failed charter experiment whose subjects were children who got no say in the matter:
https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2018-06-27/here-s-how-not-to-improve-public-schools
Gates has solid teammates in his anti-public-education crusade. I mean, who can say no to Mark Zuckerberg?
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/21/technology/silicon-valley-kansas-schools.html
Misery loves company, which is why the Sacklers — mass-murdering architects of the opioid epidemic — sunk so much blood money into the charter project (incredibly, this “philanthropy” is supposed to improve their reputation):
https://web.archive.org/web/20171113043810/https://www.alternet.org/education/notorious-family-contributing-opioid-crisis-and-funding-charter-schools/
But a critique of charters that starts with poor outcomes and ends with ideological billionaires misses the third leg of this stool: money-laundering and financial fraud.
Admittedly some of that has been in plain sight for years. Remember when an LA school board exec plead guilty to felony finance fraud and conspiracy for his role in the charter-backed takeover of the board?
https://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-edu-ref-rodriguez-resigns-20180722-story.html#
But “Chartered For Profit,” a report from Network for Public Education is by far the most comprehensive look at the means by which billions are transferred from public school districts to profiteers, at the expense of kids in both the charter and public system.
https://networkforpubliceducation.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Chartered-for-Profit.pdf
In an interview with Jacobin’s Meagan Day, NPE’s executive director Carol Burris discusses the blockbuster report, which is so damning that it prompted a bill in Congress that bans funding to charters that are managed by for-profit contractors.
https://jacobinmag.com/2021/07/charter-schools-for-profit-nonprofit-taxpayer-public-money-oversight-education-salaries-real-estate-burris-interview
Burris explains that even though nearly all charters are nonprofits (except in AZ), there’s a widespread practice of contracting with for-profit corporations to “manage” these schools; the for-profits are often owned by the schools founders or their relatives.
Others are nationwide chains that offer comprehensive management services — “comprehensive” in the sense of steering schools to procure materials, services and supplies from affiliates that overcharge and kick-back to the management companies.
From substandard, overpriced cafeteria fare; to janky, nonfunctional ed-tech; to unqualified, underpaid teachers, these for-profit entities figure out how to minimize costs, maximize profits, and disguise poor student outcomes so they can keep doing it.
They deploy opaque corporate structures to give the appearance of a thriving ecosystem of suppliers — meanwhile, the largest chain, Academica, consists of 56 companies at one address, more than 70 at another, and a network of real-estate, holding and finance companies.
Real estate plays a major role in charter profiteering. Profiteers scoop up tax-advantaged funding and subsidized loans to buy buildings, leased at inflated rates to charters, with the tax-payer paying their mortgage.
When the mortgage is paid, more tax dollars are used to buy the school at inflated prices.
But it’s even more profitable to run a “virtual school” where you can deliver canned lectures and fake attendance records and pocket vast sums in public money.
For-profits are also loan-sharks. They offer credit to the nonprofit charters so they can afford the inflated prices for educational “services,” charging high interest rates that ensure they get an additional rake off of every public dollar the charter receives.
NPE’s “Another Day Another Charter Scandal” page is a good look at the tip of the corruption iceberg — the crimes that get caught, from fake invoices to outright embezzlement. Charter execs use the school’s credit card to pay for fancy dinners even trips to Disney World.
https://networkforpubliceducation.org/another-day-another-charter-scandal/
Charters shouldn’t exist, period. But if they must exist, then the loophole that allows for-profits to run the notionally nonprofit charter sector must be closed.
Meanwhile, if you want a look at education “reform” that works, check out Andrea Gabor’s 2018 “After the Education Wars,” and learn how eliminating hierarchy, funding the arts, offering good wages and good training to teachers transform schools.
https://www.ineteconomics.org/perspectives/blog/millionaire-driven-education-reform-has-failed-heres-what-works
The formula is rather simple, really: “a respect for democratic processes and participatory improvement, a high regard for teachers, clear strategies with buy-in from all stake-holders, and accountability frameworks that include room to innovate.”
“Robust leadership and strong teacher voice. Their success underscores the importance of equitable funding and suggests that problems like income inequality are far more detrimental to education that the usual suspects, like bad teachers.”
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rafe taking barry to a fancy kook party👀
“but you’re still coming, right?”
rafe is pacing back and forth in his room, gnawing on his lip with his phone pressed to his ear.
“sho’ thang, country club,” barry says from the other end, and rafe can immediately tell that he’s fucking blasted already.
it’s four in the afternoon.
but that’s fine, great even. the less barry tries, the better. that’s the whole point, after all. to make everyone but himself as uncomfortable as humanly possible at tonight’s fundraiser or gala or whatever shit his family is hosting.
rafe can never be bothered to remember.
barry maybe possibly perhaps could be a minor casualty in this little endeavor, when it comes to ward at least. it’s not enough to deter rafe - he’ll just. make it up to barry later, or whatever, if it’s a problem. that’s what normal people do, right? just do whatever the fuck you want then ask for forgiveness later. or something like that.
rafe can’t be bothered to remember timeless sayings or what the fuck ever, either.
“wear something- ” rafe pauses, effectively cutting himself off. he was about to tell barry to wear something nice out of habit (the words were even thought in ward’s voice. rafe can feel a vein start to pulse in his forehead). “wear whatever you want. and be late. bring the bike.”
barry is quiet for a moment, and rafe doesn’t know why, but he feels like barry is doing that small half-smile dimple thing that makes rafe feel all wobbly inside.
probably because, as rafe remembers with sudden clarity, barry lives for drama just as much as rafe. it’s kind of why they’re fooling around behind everyone’s backs in the first place.
sure, barry is nice to look at and decent in bed and blah blah blah, but the best part about their relationship is the knowledge of how much it’d cripple people if they knew about it. people like ward cameron, for example.
rafe thinks barry is just as interested as him in seeing ward’s head burst like a grape after seeing them together for the first time. although rafe is pretty sure that’s more because barry just wants their relationship to be public, and he doesn’t really give a shit one way or another how it happens.
ward’s head turning purple from stress is just, like, the cherry on top of the whole shit cake.
“heard,” is all barry says in response to rafe’s requests (or demands, depending on how you look at it) before hanging up.
rafe exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. he turns towards his mirror, smoothing a hand over the shirt that he’d stolen from barry’s closet earlier this morning.
he’d wanted to stay at barry’s all day and convince him that they should go to the fundraiser together instead of just meeting each other there, but rafe never even got a chance to suggest it, only getting so far as asking barry if he could go at all. because barry had to work, the busy fuck.
when he’s not working, he’s dealing nonstop. when he’s not dealing, he’s busy making rafe’s life miserable by filling him with all sorts of stupid mushy feelings that have him missing barry when he’s gone. it’s disgusting, and he despises the fact that he loves it so much.
but he’ll make an exception, because it’s barry. always because it’s barry.
that doesn’t mean that rafe has to fill barry in on all of his plans, necessarily. he can just invite him places and vaguely allude to the real reason for the invite without actually saying it and barry can either go along with it or not.
at least in this situation, barry is seemingly okay with being conned into going to a cameron family event for more reasons than just being rafe’s - well, they hadn’t exactly settled on barry being his date.
rafe had simply asked barry to go and barry had simply said yes.
after barry left for work, rafe had raided his wardrobe, and he’s been wearing the ratty t-shirt ever since. it smells like barry, and rafe wants to smother himself in it.
he also wants to show up tonight in it, just to make things that much worse for ward.
so, rafe does.
sarah’s eyes bug out of her head when she sees him. she opens her mouth when he breezes past her, but he doesn’t stop to listen to whatever she has to say.
rafe can deal with whatever sarah throws at him later. right now, he’s setting a plan in motion and can’t afford to be distracted.
by the time the party is in full swing, rafe has yet to make it into ward’s line of sight, and barry is late. which was the plan, but barry’s almost too late.
the speeches have long since passed, and everyone is either dancing or mingling at this point. his chance to crash the party on-stage, an idea he’d been toying with, comes and goes as the hours pass.
rafe had kind of been hoping he could make a scene.
in the end, he sort of gets his wish.
barry comes strolling in when the party is starting to wind down. he reeks like he smoked a blunt on the way over - rafe can smell it wafting off of him as he storms over.
“are you fucking kidding me?” rafe snaps, ignoring the way barry is eyeing his shirt.
“that mine?” he asks, one brow arched.
rafe looks down at his shirt, then back up at barry, glaring. “yes? whatever. shut up. i had a plan. would it have literally fucking killed you to show up on time?”
“shit, baby boy. you said be late,” barry snorts, rolling his eyes. “ain’t i late?”
“you missed- ” rafe snaps again, an octave higher, before cutting his response short and pinching the bridge of his nose. “i didn’t say this late.”
“pretty sure i don’t remember hearin’ you specify, country club.”
which is fair, rafe was vague for a reason, and perhaps it backfired on him a little. but whatever, he’s mad at barry anyway and there’s not much he can do about that, except, well. be mad.
“i had a whole goddamn thing i was going to do,” rafe bitches. “and you missed it.”
barry glances around, eyeing the rather quiet crowd starting to notice their little display. for a moment, it looks like he wants to pull rafe outside for some privacy. but he must see something on rafe’s face, because his expression shifts, and then he’s grinning like a shark.
“ain’t i tell you to quit takin’ my shit?” barry asks, suddenly taking the argument in a new direction. “the fuck i give a shit about being late for when you taking all my damn clothes?”
rafe glances around at the crowd, noting sarah eyeing him from the corner of the room. and next to her, ward.
staring right at rafe, looking murderous. it’s entirely too good, and rafe could kiss barry.
but there’ll be time for that in - well. in like, the next minute, but rafe is determined to draw this out at least a little bit.
“maybe don’t ruin my clothes in the first place and i won’t have to steal yours,” rafe tosses back.
he’s pleased to see barry’s cheeks turn pink - just a little bit.
and then, “you want me to ruin some more? keep stealin’ my shit, that’s what’s gonna happen, princess.”
barry dangles the bait in front of rafe so nicely, he really can’t help but take it.
“i do, actually,” rafe says, then adds, thoughtfully, “wanna take this argument somewhere else?”
“shit, country club. i didn’t know you was such a romantic.”
rafe will certainly show him romantic, if that’s what he wants. only because rafe gets a whole hell of a lot more out of it, too.
he kisses barry right there in front of the whole crowd, with purpose. like it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.
based on the color of ward’s face, it just might be.
barry grabs the front of rafe’s shirt - or, well, barry’s shirt, technically - and hauls him in closer, kissing him deeper. barry always kisses him like it’s the first time - like he’s constantly discovering something he never knew existed, and now he can’t get enough of it.
rafe is utterly consumed by it. he feels like he’s burning from the inside out, like he’s being stripped bare in front of the universe itself, and he wants to drown himself in it.
“get me out of here and i’ll show you just how romantic i can be,” rafe breathes against barry’s lips, his fingers still knotted in his hair.
barry bumps their foreheads together before extracting himself from rafe’s embrace, barely sparing his surroundings a glance before dragging rafe right back through the front doors. rafe hears the heavy wood shut behind them.
he feels like he’s snorted the fattest line in history when he climbs onto the back of barry’s bike, hearing it roar to life. rafe pulls his helmet on and wraps his arms around barry’s middle, slipping his fingers under the hem of barry’s shirt.
just a touch to tide him over. just until they can get back to barry’s trailer.
it isn’t until they’re speeding out of the parking lot that ward storms outside, shouting something at them from the front steps. it’s completely inaudible, but rafe looks back in time to see the look on ward’s face. his expression alone speaks volumes.
rafe surprisingly finds that, in the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t really give a fuck either way.
#rafebarry#outer banks#i don’t like this but i also didn’t like any of the other versions either lmao#i don’t even know if it’s COHERENT but here it is#i feel like it’s way too fanon rafe for my tastes eugh but i just couldn’t get the vibes right idk#hopefully this is somewhat readable i’m sorry 😭#my fics#ask#anon
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Impressions of Bride and Prejudice (2004)
I finally watched this movie as it is currently free on YouTube! It's a really interesting "modern-day" adaptation (specifically a Bollywood musical) of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice which takes place in Amritsar, India, London, England and California, USA instead of the English countryside. It stars Aishwarya Rai as Elizabeth Bennet (now Lalita Bakshi) and Martin Henderson as Mr. Darcy (William Darcy).
Names:
Bakshis = Bennets
Jaya Bakshi = Jane Bennet
Lalita Bakshi = Elizabeth Bennet
Maya Bakshi = Mary Bennet
Lakhi Bakshi = Lydia Bennet (Kitty isn't included here)
Kholi Saab = Mr. Collins
Balraj = Bingley
Chandra Lamba = Charlotte Lucas
Kiran = Caroline Bingley
Darcy's mother (Catherine Darcy) = Lady Catherine de Bourgh
The Casting:
Aishwarya Rai as Lalita Bakshi. She's captivating and beautiful as Lalita, with intelligence and wits to match. The film understands why Elizabeth Bennet is one of literature's greatest heroines: she has a lot of self-respect, speaks her mind, and refuses to compromise on her values. What's most important is that she achieves the balance between the two clashing cultures: she cares about her family and respects Indian traditions yet is also a strong individual who keeps her dignity.
Martin Henderson as William Darcy. I don't like that Darcy is an American in this movie because (in general) Americans are usually less reserved than British people, so it takes away a key part of Darcy's character (his repressed emotions). He's much more sympathetic than book Darcy because he seems to be more open-minded towards Indian culture the more he learns about it (unlike book Darcy, who is stubborn and insists that his "good opinion once lost is lost forever"). In the book, Darcy's pride has several characteristics (belief in the correctness of his opinions, belief in his social superiority, bad treatment of others he thinks is beneath him). I don't like how the film simplified his pride into imperialism/ethnocentrism, which he lets go of pretty quickly. Plus his "rudeness" can easily be perceived as discomfort in a new cultural environment because he hasn't been exposed to Indian culture, whereas in the book it seems to be intentional (and Darcy acknowledges to Elizabeth that he was taught to treat others beyond his own social circle meanly). Overall I had rather too much sympathy for him because he's too easy to read; he's experiencing a lot of culture shocks which he isn't prepared for, and his imperialistic beliefs (which come from his mother) don't help. One of the reasons book Darcy is interesting is because he's mysterious; his emotions remain hidden and the only sign of his growing love for Elizabeth is his staring at her. This Darcy is just a typical white American boy who is in love with a woman far superior to him in terms of intellect and cultural awareness.
Nitin Ganatra as Kohli Saab. Mr. Collins is one of my favorite cringe characters ever and never fails to disappoint. In this movie, he's an accountant who lives in the Beverly Hills area in Southern California and is very arrogant because he thinks he's a big shot living close to celebrities in a one-of-a-kind colonial home (when in actuality he lives in a cookie-cutter house in a suburb). He peppers his speech with Western slang to show off how "American" (and thus wealthy) he is, yet still clings to outmoded beliefs that women should be submissive housewives. He represents the very worst of Western culture in that he's materialistic and looks down on Indian culture as beneath him. In his quest for riches he has lost his Indian identity and become greedy.
Notable Scenes:
The first dance. Balraj is happy to have fun and show off his awesome dancing skills. Darcy, meanwhile, observes that the mothers are eyeing Balraj for the marriage market and is worried that his friend may be trapped by gold-diggers. He's clearly uncomfortable and out of his element here, so Kiran helps translate the songs for him. It's interesting seeing Kiran as a translator here because it would explain why she's one of the few people Darcy hangs out with; she's a cultural intermediary here to help him acclimate to a strange new environment.
Darcy snubs Lalita. This part in the book where Darcy insults Elizabeth by proclaiming her "tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me" is significant in forming Elizabeth's hatred of Darcy. Not only is he impolite in refusing to dance with Elizabeth, he also shames her by criticizing her looks. In the movie, Darcy excuses himself from dancing with Lalita by saying that he's busy preparing for a conference (in this version, he's a rich businessman who operates luxury hotels). I wish they had kept the original insult in because without it, Lalita's dislike of Darcy has less merit. While it was impolite of him to not dance, he did use a proper excuse and didn't insult Lalita, so unlike in the book, it doesn't make sense why she would hate him so intensely after that one meeting.
A Marriage Has Come to Town song. In this song-and-dance number, Lalita and Jaya are preparing for the wedding to Balraj. The whole town is excited for the wedding and Lalita wonders if life for a woman is all about getting married to be a mere wife: "It seems they had nothing in their lives before today / and why are they so happy to give a daughter away."
Darcy and Lalita conversation #1: Lalita points out most Amritsar residents can't afford to stay at Darcy's luxury hotels; Darcy says standards are necessary, justifying the high price. Darcy says he finds arranged marriages strange and "backwards," hinting at an affinity with Lalita as they are both "romantics." Lalita, still thinking that Darcy is attempting to insult Indian culture, says that arranged marriages have evolved and may not be so evil as he thinks it is.
Lalita and Darcy "accomplished woman" scene. So they have the part from the book where they have Darcy's unrealistic list of the characteristics of his perfect woman and then it becomes a culture clash. Lalita says Darcy's whole hotel business is imperialism (the tourists visit without appreciating Indian culture and the jobs created only benefit the well-off). Darcy replies: "But I'm not British" ("American exceptionalism" is just another form of imperialism).
Dinner with Kohli Saab. I love watching all the "Dinner with Mr. Collins" scenes from all Pride and Prejudice adaptations because it reveals Collins' great arrogance in assuming himself to be of greater importance than he is, as well as his bad manners. This movie does not disappoint; Kohli Saab literally eats with his fingers, shoving rice into his mouth while talking at the same time. Meanwhile, he spews out misogynistic views of women, stating that he came to India to find a "traditional" wife who will serve and obey him; after all, there is "no life without wife." He notes that the Indian-American girls have "a conceited sort of independence" (not what he actually said in the movie, this is a quote from the book which really fits here) and that some of the Indian-American girls "have turned into the lesbian." Lalita later recalls that watching Kohli Saab eat is like observing "a Jackson Pollock painting."
"No Life Without Wife" song. An accurate reading of Kholi Saab: he's "crude and loud" and came to find a wife by flashing his "green card, new house, and big cash." The song reveals what a hypocrite he is; he's lonely and pathetic because there is "no life without wife" yet he won't respect his wife as his equal. I love the "Kohliwood" fantasy sequence where Lalita pictures herself unhappily serving Kohli as a submissive wife. After the song ends Lalita imagines herself marrying Wickham in the English countryside before it turns out Darcy is the groom; she runs away from him.
The Cobra dance. Maya shows off her dancing skills in an awkward dance. Kholi criticizes Indians for being "unsophisticated" (what an arrogant person) while Darcy, in a change of heart, praises how highly they value family.
Kholi's proposal. I love how he tries to train himself to power walk because it's trendy and before proposing stretches himself clumsily, knocking over a pot (he definitely isn't husband material). Lalita mocks Kholi's obsession with physical health, pointing out that many people are physically healthy but don't exercise their minds.
Visiting Kiran. Kiran is arrogant and takes the Bakshis over to her fancy apartment where the mother tries and fails to show some cultural knowledge. I find it interesting that the movie made Lalita and Kiran foils of each other. They are both intelligent women who are "multicultural" in that they can navigate both Indian and Western culture, but they use their cultural knowledge in different ways. Kiran uses it to belittle others and demonstrate her own superiority, while Lalita uses it as a means of gaining respect for herself and others.
Darcy ends up on the same airplane flight as Lalita. This is a cute scene where he gives the first class seat to Mrs. Bakshi just so he can sit with Lalita in economy class (he's totally in love with her!).
Kohli Saab's epic house tour. Love how he pays great attention to the jet tubs and the closets.
Meeting Darcy's mom. She's totally ethnocentric and possibly racist. The first thing she asks Lalita is "tell me about India" and she expresses her disappointment at Darcy's decision (because of Lalita, it's so obvious he's in love) not to buy the hotel in India because "everybody has their hand on India these days" (brings to mind spheres of influence/colonialism since the mother sees India as a place to make a profit). Then the mother reveals that she really isn't interested in India and only knows about its stereotypes: "well, with yoga, and spices, and...wonderful Eastern things here there's no point in traveling there anymore." Meanwhile Lalita retorts that "people haven't stopped going to Italy because Pizza Hut's around the corner."
The first proposal. Darcy's conflicted feelings for Lalita are effectively summed up (perhaps better than in the book, where he begins well but ends with a long account of the inferiority of Elizabeth's connections): "he loves her in spite of the fact that he tried to forget about her, he still wants to marry her in spite of the fact that his family (specifically his mom) will disapprove." Unfortunately, the emphasis on the social inferiority of Lalita's family is left out; Darcy doesn't say anything else until Lalita claims that he thinks her family is inferior and blames him for separating Jaya and Balraj. I don't like this because it seems like the separation of Jaya and Balraj was the only reason Elizabeth rejected Darcy. Also Elizabeth's admission that she did try to overlook her prejudice of Darcy doesn't make sense, because only after the first proposal does she do so.
Plot Changes. The major plot points are all included but the "order of events" has changed:
Lalita and Darcy become friends and she meets his family before his disastrous first proposal. There's a montage where they are traveling alone together, visiting the Grand Canyon and sharing a moment on the beach. I don't like this change because Darcy's separating Jane and Bingley wasn't the only reason Elizabeth rejected him, it was because she hated him (arrogant, proud, doesn't treat others nicely). By showing early on that Darcy is a good person, Lalita's prejudice against Darcy makes less sense because she now has a glimpse of Darcy's true character which in the book doesn't happen until the Pemberley visit.
Their early friendship disrupts Darcy's character journey because it reduces the significance of the first proposal to his character development. In the book, he doesn't start to reform himself until Elizabeth tells him that he needs to behave in a "more gentleman-like manner."
The first proposal is the consequence of all the miscommunication and false perceptions affecting Elizabeth and Darcy, and it motivates both characters to change. Elizabeth rightly scolds Darcy for being inconsiderate; he did the proposal for the selfish reason of purging his feelings so that he wouldn't have to suffer anymore and assumed that she would say yes. Elizabeth rejects him because of his rude manners and lack of consideration, and his defensiveness (where he portrays himself as the victim of feelings and implies he's such a good boy for wanting to marry her in spite of her horrid family) doesn't help. After realizing the extent to which Elizabeth hates him, Darcy writes The Letter to set things right, and Elizabeth realizes that she is not the best judge of character. Thus, giving us a fuller picture of Darcy's character and letting him charm Lalita before the first proposal reduces the significance of the event to the plot and character development.
Wickham and Lakhi have a connection early on, making Lakhi's attempted elopement inevitable. Right after the failed first proposal, Lakhi runs off with Wickham and Lalita and Darcy find out about it at the same time that Darcy comes to apologize and tell Lalita that Wickham is bad. I love that Wickham was punished really badly; after Darcy fights him, he gets slapped twice, once by Lalita and the second time by Lakhi. Even better is that Lakhi doesn't end up with Wickham.
Themes
The film uses the culture clash between India (Eastern) and Western cultures to examine what makes a good marriage.
Indian culture as presented by the film is more collectivist ("we" over "I"). It also promotes traditional gender roles, with women expected to be "meek and submissive" wives. In contrast, Western culture in the film is more individualistic and aspirational (careers and love are possible). But at its worst it condones exploitation of others for profit and cultural intolerance.
In the book, there are different kinds of "culture clashes:" traditional nobility versus new money (the Bingleys made their fortune in trade and Caroline is hoping to be an accomplished woman to make up for this), country versus city (Darcy offending Mrs. Bennet by claiming that the society is "confined and unvarying") and arranged versus romantic marriages.
The misunderstandings that propel the story (Darcy's dismissing of Elizabeth as "tolerable," him falling in love with her even though she still hates him, her belief in the legitimacy of "first impressions") are emphasized through the culture clash. Many of the conflicts in the film are a result of cultural stereotypes and conflicting beliefs.
Interestingly the film doesn't resolve the question it raises of how best to appreciate India and its culture. Lalita raises a lot of points about not oversimplifying Indian culture to a few stereotypes, but one could argue that India as represented by the film might be stereotypical. With the exception of the resort scenes and Goa beaches (which are tourist traps according to the film), the scenes in India heavily emphasize the "developing country" aspects of India with lots of pastoral scenes (cows crossing the road unharmed, farmland, dirt, shacks, dirty motorcycles fighting each other in traffic). Plus the "culture" as represented by the film's dance sequences seems to be the dominant Hindu culture with lots of elephants and saris and curry. Yes, I know this film is a romantic comedy, but the assertion that India is a complex, diverse country is contradicted by what we are presented. Presenting the rustic aspects of India would explain why the characters want to get out of India and go to the richer Western nations, but it harms the premise of the story that we shouldn't judge based on first impressions because the India scenes seem to confirm a Westerner's stereotypes of India (exotic people living in a primitive land).
Changing views on marriage: In the film, as in the book, we are presented with traditional and modern views on what makes a good marriage. Mr. Collins' marriage represents the traditional view in which marriage is a practical "economic proposition," much like a business deal where the marriage is made for the securing of material wealth and happiness comes last. Lady Catherine and other members of the aristocracy view marriage as a means of producing heirs (and bringing large amounts of money through dowries) to keep the property (source of power and wealth) in the family. The modern view of marriage is a partnership of equals who love and respect each other; happiness rather than material wealth/power is the priority. It threatens the power of the traditional nobles as it provides the potential for social climbing. Finally, it becomes another part of the culture clash, as it also ties in with the Western value of individualism, putting it at odds with the more collectivist Indian culture as presented by the film.
Elizabeth and Darcy in the book and in the film are united by their belief in a marriage based on love (the modern view). In the film, Darcy says he wants to look forward to starting each day with his wife, while Lalita says she wants a man who is a romantic and respects her for her mind. For instance, Elizabeth states that "only the deepest love will induce me into matrimony" and that Jane and Bingley should have some time to get to know each other before being rushed into marriage. To Elizabeth, mutual love and respect are essential for a marriage to succeed.
As for book Darcy, when Caroline catches him admiring Elizabeth and asks if he will marry her right away, he jokingly rebuffs her for making that assumption: "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy." Significantly, he mentions love needing to come before marriage, hinting that he shares the same belief about respect (admiration) and love being necessary for a good marriage. In fact, a big reason he separated Jane from Bingley was because he feared that Jane did not love Bingley in return. In short, love in marriage is just as important to Darcy as it is to Elizabeth.
Conclusion:
Bride and Prejudice, as shown by the title, focuses heavily on the theme of marriage and uses the culture clash between India and the West to emphasize the importance of first impressions in our treatment of others.
Even if you aren't into Pride and Prejudice, the movie is worth watching for the Bollywood dance sequences. I also liked the songs because they effectively developed the marriage theme.
The characters are mostly true to the book, except for Darcy, who isn't proud enough and is quick to reform his character.
Last but not least, the real villains of the story were imperialism and ethnocentrism.
Tags: @thatvermilionflycatcher @appleinducedsleep @princesssarisa
#bride and prejudice#aishwarya rai#martin henderson#bollywood#pride and prejudice#jane austen#mr darcy#elizabeth bennet#elizabeth x darcy#book adaptation#adaptation
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Never Worn White (Part Three)
Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.
Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader
Words: 11.7k
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Unprotected sex and loss of virginity
Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.
Mando’a terminology
vaar’ika - little runt
nehutyc’ika - feisty one
sarad’ika - little flower
mesh’la - beautiful
-
You’d never had so many sets of eyes on you at one time until you had left the Paradise Atrium in the company of Boba Fett. The crowd had swept apart for you as if by the powers of a Jedi Knight of old, with Fett’s hand in yours, leading you out of the lounge and into the cool night air. You had been alarmed about leaving so abruptly at first - a part of you had expected to sit and chat for a while longer, get to know each other, but you supposed that prolonged discussion wasn’t really Boba Fett’s style. Once it was agreed upon that you were to spend the night together, he had simply enveloped your hand in his gloved one, and begun pulling you along towards the doors, much like a parent guiding an unruly child rather than a suitor escorting his barroom hookup.
You had balked as you approached the exit; you hadn’t settled your tab. Fett had turned and regarded you with a mute stare for a brief moment, then had wordlessly tugged you towards the bar, the Bothan bartender gazing towards you with a look of mingled pity and amusement. You didn’t think he’d really expected your irrational scheme to work out. You’d begun digging through the small bag swinging from your arm with a shaking hand, desperately searching for the credit chip that had disappeared into the recesses of it, all too aware of Boba Fett’s presence at your shoulder, breathing down your neck. He watched you struggle for a moment longer before he jostled you to the side and reached into one of the many pockets lining the flak suit underneath his armor, pulling out a haphazard pile of gold and silver Imperial credits, easily several hundred worth, the largest amount you’d ever seen in one setting. By the way Fett slammed the chips down on the counter, he knew he was vastly overpaying your dues, but you knew he wasn’t just covering your tab - he was also buying the bartender’s silence pertaining to this tryst. The Bothan wordlessly swept the money off the bar and into a cupped paw, being careful to not make too much eye contact. It was more than obvious that this kind of transaction had played out here many times before; it was better to just take the money and continue on with business as usual, no questions asked. You’d attempted to thank Fett as he’d silently led you through the shipyards towards his cruiser, but he didn’t even turn to acknowledge your words, so you dropped it. He hadn’t done it out of a display of romantic chivalry, after all - he’d only been covering his own ass, trying to make a quick getaway with you in tow. You were his prize for the night, his bounty .
So you found yourself within the confines of the Slave I , a ship the sight or sound of which would send most creatures fleeing in terror for their lives. You sat frozen on a narrow bunk in the pilot’s quarters, unsure whether you were trembling from nerves or from the cold. You hadn’t been on very many space vessels in your lifetime, let alone ones owned by galactic mercenaries, but the sterile spotlessness of the Slave had shocked you upon first entry. Based on the chipped and battle-worn exterior of the transport, you’d expected it to be dingy, the walls bearing the mark of blaster smoke residue, maybe even some old bloodstains, but instead your surroundings gave off the impression of having been scrubbed down meticulously, carefully - and fairly recently. You could tell this wasn’t the work of maintenance droids - this kind of immaculate cleanliness could only be the mark of human hands. You tried to imagine Boba Fett sitting back on his haunches on the hard durasteel floor, a sponge and bucket beside him, diligently scouring the insides of the cages that held the captives he was entrusted with transporting to their dooms. You envisioned the armor of his breastplate glistening in the artificial light, rivulets of soapy water dripping down the front of it, soaking through the thick material of the leather gloves he never took off. You’d been so kriffing wet ever since you’d arrived aboard the Slave I, anticipating what was to come. Boba Fett’s hand had felt so warm in yours as he’d led you up here to his personal quarters, and you shivered at the memory of his large palm on your ass, steadying you as he’d instructed you to climb the ladder behind the cockpit. You’d never been touched in that way before, and you’d momentarily frozen, before a rough push from below had boosted you up through the hatch in the floor.
And now here you were, sitting on Boba Fett’s bed, listening to the rhythmic release of the hot water in the adjacent shower. You hadn’t expected a bounty hunter to have such an extravagant luxury as a chemical-based bathing system onboard his craft - although you supposed that he could afford any type of vehicular modifications he wished, with the kind of exorbitant payouts he received for his work. Fett had told you - practically ordered you, in hindsight - to stay put and wait for him to get out of the ‘fresher. Despite the arousal coating your thighs beneath your dress, you couldn’t stop your knees from knocking together. You hadn’t known it was possible to be horny and petrified at the same time, but you were. You truly hadn’t expected to get this far in your fantasy - it had seemed like such a pipedream, a childish adventure you’d anticipated to end in rejection and embarrassment and heartbreak. You hadn’t expected such a man to be a willing participant in your flight of fancy. But instead you were now aboard Fett’s personal transport, waiting for him to finish washing up. Unless something were to go unspeakably wrong in a very short amount of time, you were going to lose your virginity to Boba Fett tonight. The shiver that curled up your spine as you said it to yourself in your head was both one of expectancy and timorousness.
“You’re still dressed.”
The voice was gruff, the unexpectedness of it causing you to gasp and leap to your feet. You whirled towards the source, and felt as if the breath had been forcefully knocked from your lungs as if by a sharp blow.
In all the time you’d spent researching Fett, siphoning up every piece of information on him that you could find, not many creatures had ever thought to describe what his voice sounded like. You supposed that Fett didn’t talk much, being such a singular man - in all the holovids you had seen of him, never once had he spoken, even when speech had been directed towards him. Just that stony silence answered, maybe a tilt of that mysterious worn-out visor or a quick gesture with a gloved hand, but that was it. The modulated voice that came through the Mandalorian helmet’s vocoder back in the cantina had been harsh, unforgiving, devoid of most emotion save annoyance and the venom that you expected from the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. There had still been that odd kindness to his tone when he’d seen you were upset, however, a shift that had seemed so out of character based on what you’d seen and read about the man that it had stunned your senses into complete sobriety, stilling your tears. This voice that confronted you now was very much human, but gravelly, made harsh by years of hard living and long periods of solitude. There was an inquisitiveness to it, though, and a youthfulness you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t place the accent, although you’d heard rumors that Fett’s family was from the Mandalore sector of the Outer Rim, some backwater moon called Concord Dawn, but none of the bounty hunter aficionados you’d spoken with seemed to be sure. He did wear Mandalorian armor, after all, but most assumed it had been plundered, not inherited or earned. Of course, nobody had ever asked Boba Fett himself - and lived to tell anyone, anyway.
The man standing before you was bare-chested, a thin towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in the doorway of the refresher, residual steam still collecting behind him, water beading on the muscular expanse of his pectorals. His shoulders and upper arms and abdomen were covered in tattoos, unfamiliar spiraling patterns as well as glyphs in a language you’d never seen before, and every inch of his body that you could see was riddled with scars - some obvious blaster wounds, others looking like the marks of vibroblades or crude spears, some overlapping others and completely unrecognizable as being from any particular weapon. His skin was like a canvas, a story detailing decades of fierce battles, of wins and losses. You longed to run your hands over each and every scar, hear those stories yourself. Even more so, you yearned to tangle your fingers through the thick black curls atop his head - for some reason you had always expected him to have a shaved scalp, like so many other humanoid mercenaries, and the surprising full head of hair gave Fett a strangely boyish appearance. You pegged his age at anywhere from late twenties to mid-thirties, although it was hard to tell; the scars peppering his body also extended across his facial features, a prominent one in particular slashing a ragged arc through his furrowed brow, making him look older and harder than his years. His hooded eyes were a deep brown, more black in the light, almost the color of the darkness between the stars, and his nose was broad and slightly flattened, then upturned at its tip, which would have given him a haughty air, if it weren’t for the deep scar directly across the bridge. You wondered how he came across these distinctive wounds if he really never did take off his helmet. But it was his mouth you couldn’t tear your eyes away from - the sharp line of his strong jaw left him perpetually unsmiling, but the soft pout of his lips was intoxicating to look upon. You were dying to have those lips on yours, feel them leave a trail of kisses down your neck, across the stretch of your belly towards the wet heat between your legs. Soon .
This was the infamous Boba Fett, unmasked. A mortal man, after all.
You stared dumbly at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your limbs trembling where you stood. Your face was impossibly warm, and you could feel the sweat beading on your forehead. This was too much. You were starting to think that maybe you did understand why Fett was never seen without his helmet - creatures the galaxy over would fall before his feet at every turn, more so than they already did. Whole dynasties would crumble for him.
He was easily the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your lifetime.
And he was to be yours tonight.
“What’s the matter with you, girl? Loth-cat got your tongue?” Fett asked as you continued to ogle him like something out of a menagerie, one eyebrow arched questionably, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stalked towards you. You backed up as he did so, your calves hitting the edge of the cot and causing you to fall onto the thin blankets. Your face burned from the display of clumsiness, but Fett acted like he hadn’t noticed. He just continued to stare with those deep dark eyes, the thoughts behind them all but unreadable.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… you’re beautiful. ” You stumbled over the words, and felt slightly ashamed. To describe such a hard man with that word seemed almost wrong, sacrilege. You’d heard of the Diathim, mysterious beings that supposedly dwelled on Iego’s moons; known for their uncanny beauty, creatures called them angels. You didn’t care how odd it might sound to others - you felt that if angels truly were real, one was standing before you right now.
Your declaration was met with a derisive snort and a roll of the eyes on Fett’s end.
“I’ve been called many things over the course of the years. Most of them aren’t worth repeating in the company of others. But ‘beautiful’ isn’t one I hear very often, nehutyc’ika .” His voice was even and highly controlled, for someone who was nearly naked in the presence of a stranger, although you knew from your talks with Rystáll Sant among others that this was nowhere near Fett’s first casual fling.
“What does that word mean? Nehut…? You’ve called me that twice now.” You cocked your head in confusion, trying and failing to think of anything to talk about that would distract your feverish mind from the sight in front of you. Fett’s unwavering eye contact and the way he seemed to be drinking you up was starting to make you nervous. Everything was happening so fast .
“ Nehutyc’ika. It’s Mando’a, the language of my father’s people. It means you’re a feisty one.” He answered matter-of-factly, taking several steps towards you. You sat frozen, looking up at him mutely. You were vaguely aware of how badly your hands were shaking and quickly placed them underneath your thighs to hide them from Fett’s watchful gaze, although you feared it was too late. You were dumbfounded. You still couldn’t believe you were actually here , that the man of your dreams was standing shirtless in front of you - clad in nothing but a towel - and had brought up his family , and was now calling you ‘feisty.’ Was Boba Fett actually flirting with you?
He took another step forward and dropped the towel.
Oh.
You supposed he was doing more than just flirting now.
Blinding heat instantly pooled in your cunt, and you gasped from deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t been expecting this level of boldness - ‘more like sluttiness,’ the whimsical voice in the back of your head chided before you shoved it back down into the recesses of your mind - from Boba Fett. Trembling, you unconsciously scooted away from him on the bunk, your eyes glued to his waist.
He was huge .
Not that you had any personal experience to work with, but you’d watched enough holoporn on the ‘Net to know that Boba Fett was packing . He was eight inches at least, thick and veiny, already half-hard. Kark , even his balls were perfect - tight and plump, sitting there nestled in a patch of dark, wiry hair. He gauged your clearly shocked reaction smugly, looking you up and down with a barely perceptible smirk ghosting his features. He was amused by your wide eyes, the hang of your jaw, your tensed limbs.
“ Hmm . You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” There was laughter in his voice, and - oh, stars - blatant arousal. His cock had twitched as he’d said ‘virgin,’ and your pussy throbbed in reply. Part of you wanted to grab him by the wrists and pull him down on top of you, beg him to satisfy the growing ache between your legs as soon as possible, but instead you could only let out a torrent of stutters.
“W-...w-why would I lie to you about that? That’s the reason I’m here, i-isn’t it? I w-wanted you to be my first…” You answered faintly. Your tongue felt heavy, your throat tight. It felt as if every molecule of heat in your body was collecting in your cunt, and you hoped the growing damp patch in your panties wouldn’t soak through your dress, let alone into the cot.
“It wouldn't be the first time a beautiful woman has tried to lie her way into my bed.” His lascivious grin grew broader, and it struck you then just how white and straight his teeth were. You felt dizzy, and your eyelids fluttered. Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. ‘This is what you wanted. You’ve come so far. Don’t let your nerves turn you back now.’
“Not going to get shy on me now, are you, girly?” You opened your eyes when you felt a warm, calloused hand come down on your shoulder, and you had to stifle a surprised yelp. Boba Fett was standing directly over you, looking down on you as if he were a god watching his flock from above. His stiffening cock was level with your nose, and your mouth watered. It was so close that you felt as if you would go cross-eyed if you continued to look at it. You wondered if he expected you to take him in your hand, stroke him, pleasure him with your tongue, but Fett shoved you back by your shoulders, and you landed unceremoniously back on the pillow, shifting your eyes downwards to the foot of the bed. Fett now balanced there, one knee resting on the edge of the cot, exposing himself unabashedly to you. He observed you broodily, his lips slightly pursed, and you wondered if he was expecting you to try and make a run for it, and what he would do if you did. You had the mental image of a completely nude Boba Fett chasing you down the boarding ramp of the Slave I, blaster in hand, penis flopping as he ran, and a hysterical giggle rose to your lips, which Fett silenced with a stern shush.
“Go on, girl, lay down. Let me help you feel good...” The bounty hunter purred, climbing on the bed to fully kneel before you, reaching out and placing his large hands on either side of your hips, rucking the shimmersilk dress up to rest above your belly button. You breathed heavily through your nose, in and out, hyper-aware of the feeling of Fett’s rough palms on your skin, the warmth radiating through him coming across more like fire licking up your pelvis to your ribcage. You wondered if he could tell just how badly you were shaking under his hands, if he could feel how hot you were for him already; if he did notice, he kept it to himself - he seemed solely focused on that spot between your legs, the junction of your sex that felt almost numb with how turned on you were. It didn’t even register to you at first that you were almost naked in front of a man for the very first time, that maybe you should be embarrassed - stars, he didn’t even know your name, hadn’t even expressed a passing interest in learning it - until you heard the low, animal growl emanating from Fett’s throat, and saw just how greedily he was admiring your soaked panties.
“Already wet, are you? Good. That’ll make it easier on you.”
You groaned at his words and covered your face with sweating, trembling hands, your core tensing as you felt your underwear being pulled down around your knees, then your ankles, and finally being harshly yanked off entirely. An arm nudged your knees even further apart, and you gasped, the ship’s cool air bathing your spread pussy lips, the wetness gathered there making it feel even colder. There was a brief pause, and a hand encircled your wrist, pulling your hands away from your eyes. You blinked to see Fett looming over you, the ghost of a smile upon his lips, and he settled to lie between your legs as he made sure you were making direct eye contact with him. You could feel his hot breath on your core, and your head swam. You had Boba Fett between your legs, about to pleasure you with his mouth. It was like something out of your most secret fantasies, but this was real .
“Keep your hands away from your face, vaar’ika . I want you to watch me taste you. I don’t get to eat unspoiled fruit very often, you know.”
He buried his face between your legs without another word.
Oh, stars above.
You’d never felt anything like this before, and struggled to keep from fainting back against the pillow. His tongue was hot against your cunt, licking warm stripes up and down, lapping up the juices that had collected between your folds as if it were the most delicious nectar he’d ever tasted. Fett hummed against you and the vibrations traveled up your spine like a shock, and you twisted your fists in the blankets, biting your lip to keep from crying out already. His lips latched onto your swollen clit at last and he suckled on the engorged bud hungrily, and you finally allowed yourself to moan. Fett gave a deep rumble in return that you didn’t immediately recognize as laughter due to the fact that his face was nestled against your sex. He was laughing at your reactions to his ministrations, and your face and chest only flushed hotter. Fett’s arms came up for a moment to loop around your thighs, dragging you downwards and causing you to emit a strangled whine, before he settled your legs over his broad shoulders. The change of position - you were practically sitting on his face now - prompted another rush of arousal to flood your needy cunt. Boba Fett groaned appreciatively as his tongue probed inside of you, its tip curled, licking at the opening of your sex. You gasped deeply and arched your back, and Fett grumbled, holding you down as you began to squirm underneath him, digging your heels into his shoulder blades. He turned his mouth back to your clitoris, flickering his tongue methodically back and forth, up and down, swirling circles around the sensitive bud until you began to pant and whimper in earnest. You were so wet that you could hear him eating you out, obscene slurping sounds interspaced with pleased grunts, his nose pressed into your vulva, his hips grinding into the corner of the cot beneath him in an effort to bring himself some pleasure.
All it took to send you over the edge was an unexpected nip of his teeth to the hood of your clit, and your vision went white. You let out a choked sob, your hips bucking off the cot and your fingers threading through Fett’s tight curls, holding him in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face.
You weren’t sure how long it lasted, but the waves of your climax finally began to ebb, and you released your hold on Fett’s hair, quivering helplessly in the aftershocks of your first-ever assisted orgasm. Fett released his iron grip on your thighs and raised his head to look at you, and you couldn’t help but let out an overwhelmed squeak at what you saw.
His chin and mouth were glistening with your arousal, shiny in the light, and your breath stuttered as you watched him slowly lick his lips, his tongue circling to gather every last bit of your cum that had coated his features. It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen in your life - the Boba Fett now sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, wiping the rest of your cum from his mouth with the back of one hand and absent-mindedly stroking his cock with the other, observing you with an almost bored expression. His cheeks were ruddy with arousal, the rosy head of his length weeping pre-cum, his dark pupils blown. But despite everything he had just put you through with his mouth alone, he wasn’t even breathing heavily, hadn’t broken a sweat. He looked zen, if anything.
“...Can I kiss you? Please?” You asked breathlessly, your chest still heaving, leaning back on your elbows on the cot in front of him. The question took him by surprise at first, his eyebrows raising, the scars sprinkled across his features distorting with the movement. And then he laughed , a genuine laugh, oddly musical and light coming from such an imposing figure, so much so that you could help but grin in response, your cheeks hurting from just how hard you were smiling at this show of vulnerability on his part. Fett leaned forward and grabbed you by your biceps and hoisted you into his arms, bringing you to sit straddling one muscular thigh, his skin hot and firm under your pussy, and you felt yourself becoming aroused all over again at the press of his bare flesh against your center. Fett tapped your shoulder and gestured with a curt jerk of his head for you to lift your arms, and he yanked your dress above your head in one smooth movement, tossing it out of sight. You didn’t care if it got ruined, that it had cost you nearly a third of your weekly pay - all you cared about anymore was Boba Fett.
“I just made you cum and you’re asking if you can kiss me? You’re a strange one, girl. Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed a man before either.” Fett teased, cupping your chin in one hand, his face so close to yours that your foreheads were nearly touching.
He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he captured your mouth with his.
You could taste yourself on him, a musky, earthy tone, and you moaned as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, playfully darting at your own and biting at your lower lip. You had never understood when your friends had claimed to have seen fireworks when being kissed, but you could wholeheartedly say that you did now. It felt like the celebrations on Empire Day in the pit of your belly, full of bright sparks and incredible explosions of color.
Fett hefted one breast in his hand, absently flicking the nipple back and forth with his thumb and kneading the tender flesh as he lazily kissed you, mostly letting you take the reins in your experimentation. You kissed him deeply, your nose digging into his cheek as you turned your head for a different angle against his mouth. You could have kissed Boba Fett forever, your arms around his neck, your chest flush with his, your nude body pliant in his lap, his cock pressed against your thigh. You eventually came up for air, breathing hard, dropping your hands to rest your palms on his brawny chest, searching his face for any sign of what the bounty hunter might be thinking. He simply stared back at you, any and all contemplations he may have had hidden behind a deathly still visage. You thought Fett must be an incredibly adept sabacc player, with that kind of self-control over his expressions.
“So, this is where you fuck me now, right?” You breathed, and Fett narrowed his eyes, scoffing as if you’d just asked him if Ewoks could speak Basic. He placed his hands on your hips, gripping the flesh there so roughly that you involuntarily let out a hiss of discomfort.
“Oh no… you’re not nearly ready to take me, not yet. You’re still too tight. Do you want to enjoy this or not?” You’d thought you were getting somewhere; you’d thought that maybe you were actually beginning to see a softer side of Boba Fett, but the annoyance in his voice was palpable. Your face burned with shame. You knew he thought you were an idiot, blinded by lust, eager to use him as your personal fucktoy so you could tell your friends that you had lost your virginity to Boba Fett, and now he was angry with you. You were brought out of your thoughts by a slap to the meat of your ass, just sharp enough to make you yelp and refocus on Fett with widened eyes.
“ Answer me .”
You gulped and nodded your head rapidly in response, stammering despite your attempt to remain calm. “Y-yes… I want to enjoy this…”
Fett reached further around and patted your ass as if praising a beloved pet. “ Very good. Don’t question me again, and don’t go thinking you’re the one in control here. You’re only here because I took pity on you. I could just as quickly throw you off my ship, naked as the day you were born. Don’t think I haven’t done it before. Would you like that, princess , or do you want to continue with our little game?”
Fett reached between your bodies and pinched at your clit with his thumb and index finger, and you let out a little shriek of surprise, gripping his muscular shoulders. Despite his threats, the broody edge to his voice, his almost violent touches, you didn’t think you’d ever been so turned on in your life. The dangers that seemed to be around every corner concerning this encounter were exciting rather than frightening - even the image of having to make your way home in the nude, a walk of shame after having been cast out from Boba Fett’s company, felt like more of a thrill than anything else. You didn’t even care that he called you ‘princess’ in a clearly derogatory way; as he’d said himself, this was a game, and judging from the pre-cum dribbled down the side of his cock, he was just as willing to play as you were.
You raised your eyes to his, drawing your gaze away from his hand, where it was resting on your pubic mound, his thumb just barely grazing your clit. There was an almost mischievous glitter in Fett’s eyes as he waited for your reply, and the slightest pressure he was applying was killing you. In lieu of words, you simply grasped his wrist with a shaky hand and pressed his palm harder into your pussy. Fett let out a deep chuckle in response, and began rubbing your clit tortuously. Humming contentedly, you bucked your hips sloppily, attempting to work up a rhythm in time with Fett’s hand. Your pussy dragged back and forth along the hard expanse of his thigh, your arousal smearing over his skin, making for slicker traction with every push of your waist. Fett looped one strong arm around your middle, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on his leg. He continued to jerk your clit at a frantic pace, his entire hand settled over your dripping cunt, occasionally running his thumb up and down your slit to gather the juices there and spread them along your swollen bud before resuming his direct assault.
“You love riding my thigh like this, don’t you? Is this what you think about when you’re alone in bed at night, girly, with your pillow between your legs? Rutting your hot little cunt against me like a felinx in heat?” Fett goaded, and you let out a quiet moan in response, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, focusing on the sensations building in your quim. He knew. You didn’t know how, but it was like he was aware of every single dirty fantasy you’d ever had about him. All you had told him is that you wanted to give yourself to him - nothing more, nothing less. Had he been contemplating what sparked your nocturnal emissions while he was showering earlier in the night? It was true, you thought of bringing yourself to climax this way often - daydreaming scenarios in which you were some faraway planet’s heroine, kidnapped for ransom by a ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, forced to grind against him like an animal for his pleasure, a blaster to your temple - but no reverie could ever compare to this.
The sweet, cresting wave of another orgasm had been building within you for quite some time, both at the urging of Fett’s deft fingers as well as the movements of your own undulating hips against his thigh, when he suddenly took his hand away and stilled your movements with a painful squeeze of your hip, and you cried out pathetically. You’d been so close . Fett clucked his tongue at your begging, and his hand slowly went back to its place between your legs, his fingers crawling further down than before, and you automatically tensed.
“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now, vaar’ika . If you really want to take my cock, I need to open you up more.” Fett warned, circling his thumb over your clit and poking at your entrance with his index and middle fingers. Your breath hitched at the probing, the muscles of your groin bracing for yet another sensation you had never experienced, but you nodded desperately. You were ready for this.
Fett dragged the digits up and down your slit, back and forth, collecting your wetness, and then dipped them into you slowly, gently. You emitted a whooping gasp at the intrusion, bucking your hips against his fingers as they slipped deeper into your cunt. Fett’s fingers were blunt and thick, and you already felt stretched out deep inside - you wouldn’t call the feeling painful, but your inner muscles fluttered wildly, pushing back against this unknown invasion, and you had to concentrate on keeping your breathing even in an effort to get yourself to relax. Fett stilled his movements as he sensed your muscles contracting uncomfortably around him, and waited for your breathless nod of consent for him to resume. He began gingerly pumping in and out of you, listening for little moans and whimpers on your part to know it was alright to move faster. As his pace increased, he continued rubbing your clit with his thumb, and the unfamiliar pressure of his fingers inside you quickly gave over to a pleasurable massaging sensation that had you groaning aloud. You began to experimentally wriggle your hips against his motions, seeing what felt good, and dug your nails into Fett’s arms as the shifting of your weight back and forth helped guide his probing fingers to a spot deep inside you, one you’d never been able to reach by your own hands. Fett sensed the change in your movements against him, the stutter of your hips against his digits, the sudden gush of wetness dripping onto his palm, and knew he’d found what he was looking for. He curled his fingers up towards himself inside you, pushing in hard against the soft, spongy patch and pulled your cunt back and forth rapidly, reveling in the way you cried out and clutched at him. The sweet pressure within your groin was building rapidly, becoming more intense than anything you’d felt in the past.
“I… I think I’m going to…” You stammered weakly, your words punctuated with little whines and squeals of pleasure. You attempted to continue your warning with the words ‘to cum ,’ but you could only let out a loud moan instead, letting the bounty hunter jerk your pussy whichever way he wished. Your face burned, your ears zoning in on the loud squelching noises coming from your cunt as his fingers worked faster and faster, his arm pumping rapidly with the exertion.
Fett answered you with a teasing snarl, completely unbothered by your pleading. “ Oh? What’s that? You’re going to cum on my fingers, hmm? If this is enough to make you fall to pieces, just wait until I’ve got my cock in you, girl…”
That did it. His words, and the insistent, constant press of his fingers against that unbearably sensitive spot deep inside of you, sent you crashing over the edge. You let out a strangled scream, burying your face in the crook of Fett’s neck, scrabbling at his back with your nails as your orgasm devastatingly washed over you. Fett swore loudly as you let yourself go on his fingers, although he showed no signs of slowing, and your face burned with the realization of what was happening. You could feel the buildup of pressure gradually releasing from your cunt, could feel yourself gushing onto his hand and thigh and onto the cot beneath, but in that moment you were beyond caring - every nerve-ending in your body was in ecstasy.
It felt like hours had gone by before you finally felt him remove his fingers from within you with a soft wet noise, followed by another dribble of fluid from your core, and let out a choked sob at the sudden emptiness. Boba shifted to rise from the cot and you clumsily slipped off his lap and back onto the blankets, cringing uncomfortably at the wetness beneath you. It was once you were seated and had regained control of your breathing and heart rate that you were aware of just how drenched everything was. The cot was soaked, your ass settled in the center of a large damp patch, the inside of your thighs coated with your own juices. You turned to look at Fett, and your jaw dropped when you saw just how much of your slick was glazing his stomach, his thighs, the arm he had coaxed your orgasm from you with. And he was grinning .
“You squirted all over me, girl.” To your disbelief, Fett sounded impressed, and the self-congratulatory smirk on his face reflected it. He was curiously inspecting his dripping fingers, rubbing them together, then stuck them in his mouth like a child with a sucker, his eyes boring into you darkly. He pulled the digits free with a noisy pop after a long moment and looked down at his hand, a whispered “ So sweet …” emanating from his lips. You didn’t know whether he’d intended for you to hear him, but the object of your affection speaking in that way, about you - about your arousal - had you feeling weak. You’d never squirted before in your life, and Boba Fett had drawn it out of you within mere minutes. You wanted to repay him for the pleasure he’d given you - twice over, now.
“I… I want you in my mouth, Boba.”
He gave a start at your use of his name - it was the first time during this encounter that you had said it aloud, and you didn’t think he’d been expecting you to at all. His cock twitched openly and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the slit at his head, dribbling onto the blanket to join your own mess, and when he spoke, his voice was even rougher, lower, full of flagrant excitement. You expected him to forcefully grab you by your hair and shove your mouth onto him, fuck your skull with wanton abandon, but instead Fett regarded you silently, stroking himself with languid pumps, swirling his thumb across the tip of his cock to spread his arousal down his shaft.
“I’ll have to teach you. How to suck a man’s cock. Do you want that? Do you really want to suck my cock ?” He rose from the edge of the cot, standing before you as you crawled on your hands and knees towards him. You nodded fervently, not in the least ashamed that you were literally begging for this man’s cock; you no longer cared, you just wanted your lips around him. You’d never given a blowjob before, but you wanted to taste him like he had tasted you. Fett watched you and held himself out straight, one fist gripping the base of his thick member, as you sat yourself before him.
“Open,” Fett ordered brusquely, and you obediently followed his command, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. This seemed to amuse the bounty hunter, and he smirked, a low rumble of laughter emanating from deep within his broad chest. He jerked himself a few more times as he stood over you, then took another step and laid his heavy cock directly on your tongue. You were surprised at the taste of him - you weren’t sure what exactly you had been expecting, but he tasted of soap, and clean skin, and some sort of minty cologne you’d assumed he’d applied in the ‘fresher, with a hint of salt that intrigued you. It was a distinctly Boba taste, although you didn’t think you’d ever be able to explain what you meant to another living being. As you experimentally wrapped your lips around his girth, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with your teeth, Fett let out a soft groan, and you felt him reach out to pat your hair. “Yes, that it’s… good girl. ”
You paused like that for a long moment, focusing on the heat of him in your mouth to distract from the fact that your jaw was already tiring a bit, then dipped your head to take more of him into your mouth, hesitantly suckling on his glans and attempting take him further down your throat before reflexively retching and pulling back. Your face burned with embarrassment as you wiped spittle from the corner of your mouth, and you looked back up at Fett hesitantly, expecting to be reprimanded for this novice’s folly. Instead, he was smirking, and you got the strong sense that he was impressed that he’d made you gag so soon.
“Go slow, girl. No need to choke yourself. ...Or is my cock too much for that pretty mouth of yours to handle? Here, I’ll show you...” Fett cooed smugly, and he reached out to take your wrist in his large hand, helping you wrap your fingers around his cock. He was throbbing under your touch, and you felt your cunt heating up all over again at the sensation, fresh wetness gathering between your thighs. Fett tapped the underside of your chin once your hand was secured around him, and you opened your mouth, taking him on your tongue of your own accord. He was so heavy, you couldn’t help but let out a groan at the weight of him, and Fett let out a hiss at the feeling your vibrations made against his length. He put one hand on the back of your head, pushing you forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, allowing you to gradually become accustomed to his presence in your mouth without further triggering your gag reflex.
“No teeth , girly… careful, careful… now suck . Gentle . Use your tongue to massage my cock… there you go, that’s it…” Fett coached as you gingerly swirled your tongue around his head, making sure to pay extra attention to the prominent vein running along the underside of him - maybe you’d never actually done this before, but you liked to think you had an idea of what to do based on all the dirty holovids you watched. You just couldn’t believe you were actually trying all of this out on Boba Fett himself. He was too girthy for you to swallow him to the hilt, so you shyly brought one hand up to rest shakily on his thick thigh, the skin still damp from your juices, and knead the flesh there, and a jolt went through your pussy as Fett emitted a purr at your ministrations. You reached your other hand out to cup his balls, heavy and hard in your hand, and the bounty hunter’s cock twitched violently in your mouth as you massaged them, almost making you gag again. He groaned under his breath every time you squeezed and rolled his sac, and you relished the feeling of his length spasming against your tongue, the salty sweet taste of his pre-cum filling your mouth. Stars, he was delicious. You wished you could see yourself, on your knees, sucking Boba Fett’s cock, and reprimanded yourself for not having the foresight to bring your holocam, strategically place it somewhere in the room to record tonight’s tryst so you could watch it over and over again.
You were just building up a rhythm - digging your nails into Fett’s thigh, occasionally tugging at his balls, and slurping greedily on his cock, when he ended it. With a growled moan, Fett grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him, his short nails scratching at your scalp in a way that sent shivers up your spine. He left with your mouth with an audible pop , a string of drool leading from your lips to his glistening glans, which only broke when you placed a chaste kiss to it, grinning up at him. You felt drunk on his cock, if it were possible to be so - he hadn’t even been inside you yet, but you already found yourself yearning for his presence in your life, for this to be more than just a one night stand, a fantasy come to life. You didn’t think you’d ever not be able to envision the gorgeous creature standing in front of you the next time you saw the faceless entity who prowled after bounties featured on the nighttime HoloNews.
“But I wanted to make you cum …” You pouted as Fett wordlessly pushed you onto your back on the bed, walking forward on his knees until he was nestled between your spread legs. He pressed his arms into the cot on either side of your head, holding himself up above you, his face hovering above yours. You could feel his hot breath on your skin and wanted to place your hand on the back of his neck, draw his mouth to yours, but you found yourself frozen in place, staring up at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped to your breasts.
“No, vaar’ika. Not yet. I want to cum with that tight little virgin pussy of yours squeezing me.” Fett crooned sweetly, and you whined loudly at his words, bucking your hips up, trying in vain for your sopping core to make contact with his dangling cock, but he pulled away, rising to sit back between your knees, his member rosy and standing at attention, a clear drop of pre-cum beading at its tip. You laid beneath him, spread out and open, and Fett pushed your thighs apart even further, positioning himself at your entrance. He began rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb, pressing in slow circles, and you mewled appreciatively.
“I’m not going to lie to you. This will hurt.” Fett warned, leaning forward slightly and skimming the head of his cock up and down your slit. With every swipe, his heavy glans would catch on your swollen clit, and you had to stop yourself from grabbing him in your hand, keeping him positioned there so you could get off from the friction alone. You were so wet that you could hear the slick sound of his hardness passing through your folds, and that alone eradicated any doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted. You needed him inside of you more than anything else. It was time. There was no turning back. You didn’t care if it would be painful. Not anymore.
“Boba, please . I’m ready for this. I’ve always been ready. I want this… I want you .” You urged him, and he nodded curtly in acknowledgement. It was then that the realization hit you - in your rush to leave your flat earlier in the night, you’d forgotten perhaps one of the most important things. Your roommate always stored contraception in your shared ‘fresher, which you’d completely bypassed in your mad rush to get to the Paradise Atrium and find Boba Fett. Now you were here, about to do the deed with the man himself, without any sort of protection, and you’d only remembered at the last possible moment.
“ Wait . I’m… I’m not on anything. Do you… ?” You began, and cringed to yourself, fully expecting Fett to rise and demand you to get out of his sight for your stupidity, cast you out into the night like he threatened to do earlier. Instead, you were met with a huff and a shake of his curly head, and he patted your inner thigh. Again, he looked smug, almost proud of himself.
“I have an implant, girl. If I didn’t, I’d have bastards the galaxy over. You came all this way with nothing of your own? Hmm. Interesting . Now just relax… ” Boba replied, and you nodded, feeling faint. Of course he had an implant, why hadn’t you considered that? You supposed you ought to look into getting one too, but your thought was interrupted by something hard and hot and blunt poking at your folds, and you cast your eyes downward to watch as Fett spread your lips with the fingers of one hand, using his other to line up his cock with your hole.
He entered you slowly, with a gentle nudge, just the tip breaching your entrance, and you involuntarily cried out despite yourself. He was so big already. The stretch was unlike anything you’d felt, it was as if your opening was going to tear, and you silently reprimanded yourself for thinking his karking fingers alone had been too thick for you. Your hips canted upwards to try and escape the discomfort, and Fett laid a massive, warm hand flat against your belly, ceasing his movements as well as your own squirming, shushing you.
“Easy, little one, easy . I’ve only just started to enter you. This is nothing . Are you absolutely sure you can handle the rest of me? You’re allowed to change your mind if you don’t want this after all. I can still turn you loose…” Fett offered, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the skin of your tummy in a way that was shockingly comforting, coming from such a harsh character. The weight of his hand on your stomach was oddly grounding, and you closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths through your nose, and nodded for him to continue.
He slid into you further and it was like a rod of flame had been inserted up your cunt. You yelped, biting back a proper scream as you involuntarily hunched away from the invading presence. Fett held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away further, and immediately stopped his movements once more. He wasn’t even fully sheathed within you yet, but the pain was unbelievable. You didn’t imagine that it could hurt this much, especially with how wet you were. He was just so huge , you couldn’t fathom how the rest of him would fit inside of you. There were already tears of frustration filling your eyes at having to stop him again so soon, and you gazed upwards at the bounty hunter, who was looking down at you with a completely unreadable expression. Your hands were gripping his forearms and you could feel just how taut the muscles there were, how much self-control it was taking him to keep from pounding into you like a wild beast despite your discomfort, and you admired him for that. You wanted him deep inside you, you wanted him to finish the job, fully claim you at last - you wished he would just push forward with one savage thrust and break you open already.
“If you keep crying out like this and trying to move away from me, vaar’ika , we’ll be stuck here all night.” Fett said simply, looking down between your bodies at where you were partially joined. You followed his gaze as well, your eyes growing wider as you took notice of his hard length sitting between your legs, halfway vanished into your quivering pussy. You felt sweat gathering on your brow, underneath your breasts, and the sight brought a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your cunt. Fett obviously felt it, as he let out a soft groan and you felt the tip of his member twitch within you, and a delicious shiver of pleasure went up your spine. That sensation alone made you want to wiggle forward yourself, despite the pain, and impale yourself on him fully. You squeezed Fett’s arms and he raised his head to look into your eyes, his gaze boring into yours. The arousal in his eyes was intoxicating.
“Boba, I… I want you to move. Just do it, even if I scream or cry or try to get away. I give you my full permission. If… if I need you to stop, really stop, I’ll tap your shoulder three times. Is… is that okay?” You asked nervously, already feeling yourself begin to shake from the anticipation of what was coming. You wanted this more than anything , and now it was actually happening. You couldn’t have imagined you would actually be here even a few mere hours ago, underneath Boba Fett in the pilot’s quarters of the Slave I , about to lose your virginity to him. You expected to wake up in your own bed any moment, the night’s events having been just an incredibly vivid dream. Boba Fett didn’t answer your request with words. His eyes shifted to the side, almost imperceptibly, as he considered your proposition, and then, silently, he brought one hand up to rest on your flushed cheek. You took a shaky inhale as he gently craned his neck to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, then dipped lower to capture your mouth in his.
In one smooth, hard motion, Boba Fett snapped his hips upward, forward, and claimed you for his own.
Your eyes flew open and you let out a muffled scream against his mouth, your feet kicking out briefly, your hips jerking, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. It felt as if you’d been torn open from the inside, like a blade had been thrust up into you, and the stretch was immense. You couldn’t fathom how the whole of him had fit. Your vaginal canal burned terribly, and you couldn’t help but let out several loud sobs at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so deeply. Fett broke his kiss and stared down at you, still buried to the hilt inside of you, unmoving.
“ Easy there, little one . Look at me. I’m inside of you, see? You’re no longer a virgin, at last. How do you feel? Do you want me to stop?” Fett hummed softly, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face with the pad of his thumb, his hips flush with yours. You could feel the dark patch of pubic hair at his groin against your vulva, and the sensation was somehow soothing. Your cunt involuntarily clenched around his member, gradually becoming used to the feeling of him as time dragged on, and you were surprised that you could feel his hardness, the ridges of his glans pressed into your inner walls, the veins on his cock against you. The pain was receding, little by little, as Fett remained motionless and let you get used to his presence. It occurred to you that he was waiting for you to give him permission to move, and your walls fluttered.
“No, no, please don’t pull out. Oh, kriff … it hurts , but it’s getting better. You’re so big . I feel so full. But… I just can’t believe…” You gasped, struggling for words. You swore you could feel Boba Fett in your guts, were shocked that you couldn’t see a bulge in your lower belly where his cock was nestled inside of you, that’s how big he felt. Fett let out an amused chuckle, cutting off your words by pressing a blunt finger to your lips.
“Well, you’d better start believing it… you’ve got a bounty hunter inside of you. Tell me when I can move, mesh’la . I’m getting restless.” Fett replied, and it was then that you noticed the sweat beading his forehead as well, the way his speech was coming in harsh pants, how his arms were shaking with need above you. He needed to move . You could feel your swollen cunt becoming hotter and hotter, your natural lubrication helping to ease the pinching burn that had settled deep within you, and you found you wanted him to move too. Your tears had dried for the most part, although you had a feeling he’d have you weeping again soon enough. You shakily moved your hands up to cup Fett’s sharp cheekbones, his eyes locking onto yours with the movement. The words that next left your lips, barely above a whisper, were ones that you never imagined you would find yourself saying to this man, but they resulted in an amorous growl that sent a thrill through your bloodstream and straight to your pussy.
“Fuck me, Boba.”
His first few thrusts shook your entire body, and you let out a grunting squeal for each one, your breasts jiggling from the force of them, although Fett still moved slowly. It wasn’t until you wrapped your legs around his calves, pulling him in closer, and settled your palms on the tense cheeks of his ass, urging him to pump into you harder, faster, that he began to really fuck you. With every thrust, your pain turned more and more into pleasure, a white-hot ball tightening within your belly until it felt as if liquid fire was seeping through every inch of your body. If this was what being fucked was like, you never wanted it to end.
“ Stars , princess… you’re so kriffing tight . The tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked… you’re going to make me cum soon…” Fett groaned, and you let out a keening wail in response, focused only on the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, his glans bumping that same spongy spot inside you that his fingers had seemed to find immediately, the obscene slap of his thighs colliding with yours again and again and again. You could hear your own juices sloshing against his cock’s pounding, a squelching that only became louder and wetter as your movements continued.
Neither one of you lasted very long. Combined with Boba’s slow, deep strokes into your pussy, and his fingers dancing over your clit, helping you along towards yet another climax, you found yourself hoarsely shouting his name over and over again, your nails raking red slashes down his back in pure ecstasy. Fett lifted up your hips into his hands, arching your bottom off the cot, his angle becoming impossibly deeper, and you shrieked aloud. You wondered if the durasteel walls of the Slave I were soundproof, but found that you didn’t care. You didn’t care whether the entirety of Cloud City heard Boba Fett fucking you - you wanted them to. This was happening , you had manifested this for yourself through nothing but determination, and if the whole colony heard you being claimed by the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter, so be it.
“Cum for me, girl. That’s it, let go… cum all over my cock, like you’ve always wanted to…” Fett urged you, his own voice shaking as he frantically worked your clit with his fingers, his thrusts becoming manic and sloppy. You could tell he was getting close - you could feel his cock twitching violently inside of you, preparing to shoot his load up into you. Your own orgasm hit you unexpectedly, just one expertly angled stroke from Fett’s length, a circular grind of his hips, and your vision instantly blacked out. You felt as if a thermal detonator had gone off in your pussy, and all sound seemed to go out of the room. Your mouth was gaping open, you knew you were screaming at the top of your lungs, but all you could hear was a high-pitched static noise, you were so far gone. You didn’t even hear Fett’s answering groan as he spilled his seed inside of you moments later, the clamping of your walls around his cock proving to be too much for him to withstand. The feeling of him emptying his balls within you was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and only served to bring your peak to a new height. You could feel him pulsating, your cunt milking him for all that it was worth, his hot spunk filling you up, marking you where no one else ever had before.
The next thing you remembered was lying in Boba Fett’s arms, weeping openly into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if you had momentarily passed out from the pleasure, but you had no memory of him flipping you over so that you were lying atop him, draped across his broad chest, his cock still sheathed within you, a strong but pleasant ache settled deep between your thighs - a lingering effect of your lost virginity. Fett, despite all of his cultivated roughness, let you cry it out, one arm thrown lazily across your waist, his free hand cupping the back of your head. His fingers scratched at your scalp, and you could have sworn you heard him murmuring softly in a guttural tongue, possibly that Mando’a he occasionally spoke in - the idea that he may’ve been trying to comfort you in his own awkward way only made you cry harder. Your sobs finally ebbed away into sniffles and quiet hiccups after a short while, and Fett slowly rolled you off of him, his cock leaving you with a wet squelch that gave your oversensitive clit a jolt and left you feeling sore and empty. You laid on the bed and watched Boba Fett’s cum ooze out from between your legs and onto the blankets, stained pink from your breaking in, and you flushed as he rose and stood at the foot of the cot, cleaning both your arousals from his softening cock with a cloth he’d retrieved from a compartment hidden in the wall. You wished you could have kept his cum inside of you forever, in a way, although you supposed the bruises his mouth and fingers had left on your skin would serve as reminders as well. You still couldn’t believe the night events had really happened, after so long.
“Are you alright, girl? You came quite hard. I thought you were going to break my cock right off, the way you were clenching me. How do you feel, now that you’ve been properly fucked?” His tone was one of gentle teasing, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you, a smirk upon his pouty lips.
“That… that was incredible. I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe I just got fucked by Boba Fett .” You replied, and hid your face in your hands, embarrassed as soon as the words had tumbled from your mouth. Fett, good-natured and relaxed after a satisfying fuck, snorted and shook his head. He sauntered past the cot on his way to the ‘fresher and patted your thigh as if to assure you that ‘ Yes, you sweet little fool, all of your wildest dreams have come true.’ He didn’t think he’d ever understand these beings who sought him out as part of their bizarre fantasies, but he didn’t care - it got him laid, and sometimes the temporary company was even enjoyable. This hopeless romantic of a virgin - well, former virgin - had been one of the better ones. As he took one last glance at you before the door slid shut, as you nodded off in his bed, Fett found himself feeling glad he hadn’t rejected your advances, as he’d originally been planning to do. It was a shame he couldn’t keep you around a while longer - you were easy to please, and so eager to learn - but there was business to be done tomorrow, and it was nothing that an innocent girl like you should be caught up in.
Not this time, anyway.
-
The first light of dawn was just beginning to emerge over the swirling mists of tibanna gas that enclosed Cloud City, and you were in a panic. You’d been awakened from your blissed out slumber by the incessant bleating of your comlink, buried within the confines of your purse, which lay in a heap along with your clothing on the durasteel floor of Boba Fett’s transport, the Slave I . Jumping up from the cot and wincing at the sharp sting radiating from between your legs, you’d rifled through your belongings until you’d uncovered the damn contraption. Pressing the button on the side, a scrawl of Aurebesh sprang into being, and your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Dank farrik. Your roommate.
‘Where are you?’ The urgency of the message was clear, having been sent thrice over the past half hour. You’d be surprised if they hadn’t already raised the alarm, that the Wing Guard wasn’t already out combing the city for you. They’d begged you to be home by dawn, and by the sound of the traffic outside, it was more around the time of the typical morning commute, a full hour or so later.
You had to leave. Now .
There was no sign of Boba Fett.
You didn’t remember falling asleep after your tryst the previous night, but you had a vague memory of Fett waking you in the night and ordering you into the ‘fresher to urinate, and you’d been alone in the pilot’s quarters when the comm had begun chirping later on, fully waking you up. It didn’t look like anyone else had joined you on the cot overnight, and as you’d scrambled to scoop up your bag and don last night’s outfit - you were pretty sure your dress was inside out, but you found yourself beyond caring - and descend the ladder leading back into the cockpit area, you’d discovered where Fett had gone. He sat motionless in the pilot’s chair, fully armored and helmeted, studying a holo of what appeared to be the inner passageways of the Administrator’s Palace that was being projected from the ship’s dash, emanating a flickering, ghostly blue light in the early morning rays visible through the viewport. You stopped short across from the chair, and although Fett’s head didn’t turn even a hair, you knew he was watching you, wondering what you were doing.
“I have to go. I was supposed to be home by now and my roommate’s going to kill me.” You explained briefly, then dashed towards the ramp leading to the docking bay outside. You felt as if you had become part of a child's bedtime story, a maiden whose jewel-encrusted gown would disintegrate to rags, whose enchanted ship would transform back into a jogan fruit if she didn’t return home by the stroke of midnight. This was all over too soon. As you rushed down the platform, you wondered whether Fett would say anything or if that would be it, if he would just watch you run off into the sunrise and consider his work done. You’d made it just beyond the confines of the ship’s overhang when you heard the telltale sound of spurs from behind you, slow and methodical steps. You stumbled to a halt and turned back to face the Slave I. Boba Fett stood there motionlessly, observing you.
“Tell me, sarad’ika. Was it everything you've dreamed of?” The helmeted figure asked slyly, standing on the boarding ramp of his imposing, mottled ship, one hand resting casually on the overstuffed utility belt at his waist, the other dangling free at his side. You felt yourself flush at his question, knowing he was most likely grinning lecherously underneath his Mandalorian armor, but you still nodded, shifting your weight anxiously from one foot to the other. His gaze still penetrated your very soul from behind that black, T-shaped visor, made you feel so vulnerable.
“Yes. And more. I… I don’t know what to say, other than… thank you.” You softly replied. You wondered, foolishly, if he was expecting payment for his services. Did he consider his conquest of you to be a job of sorts? Your answer came with a sharp gesture of his hand, cutting a quick line across the morning air between the two of you.
“Then don’t say anything.” With a barely perceptible nod, Fett turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the confines of his ship. Something about watching him walk away from you made your heart hurt, although you doubted you would ever be able to explain why. You wondered whether you could make something more of this, something long-term and lasting, perhaps beyond your better judgement. You wanted to feel his mouth on yours again, and still felt his presence inside of you, the throb left behind by his considerable length filling you, and you already knew that you’d never want anyone else. You were addicted. You stepped forward, back towards the Slave I and its retreating owner, hopeful. If Rystáll Sant could do it, why couldn’t you?
“Boba, wait. ”
Fett’s form stilled, halfway up the ramp, and he turned to face you once more, the dented helmet cocked to one side, obviously intrigued as to what you had to say. You had a feeling he knew what was coming and your stomach somersaulted at the thought, but you heard the words leave your mouth anyway, heard the pining in your voice despite your best efforts to sound neutral, unattached.
“When can I see you again?”
‘ Fierfek, you stupid girl. Now he’ll think you’ve gone and fallen in love with him, just because he was your first fuck …’ Your mind swam, and you wished you could rewind time, seal your mouth shut, take back the words as soon as you had spoken them, until you saw that Fett was sauntering down the ramp towards you. You froze, every muscle in your body turning to ice, as he strode towards you, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was close enough that you could have reached out and placed your hands on his chest, thrown your arms around his neck, but you found you didn’t have the courage.
“You can’t.” Fett answered you brusquely, emotionlessly, and you felt like he had slapped you across the face. You weren’t sure what exactly you’d been expecting when he’d approached you. The bounty hunter deftly reached out and cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, pinching the skin in his grip and holding your gaze level with his. That visor was so dark, but you were so close you still could've sworn that you could see his face through the darkened T-shape, and that he was smiling . He released his grip and tapped the underside of your chin with his fingers, in an oddly playful manner. “Run along, little one. Go home. You don’t want to get into any more trouble now, do you?”
With that, he whirled back around, cape flapping on his shoulder, marching solemnly back into the blackness concealing the innards of the Slave I. The ramp closed behind him with an anticlimactic hiss , and Boba Fett was gone from your life, just as quickly as he had entered it.
Your ‘walk of shame’ back to your apartment felt more like a victory march, and when you walked into your living quarters, your roommate rushed towards you and demanded to know what had happened, where you had been, if you were okay. You only gave them a knowing smile. Maybe someday you’d share the story of your night with Boba Fett, but for now, you thought you’d let them try to put the pieces together on their own.
Later that evening, when Baron Calrissian announced the Imperial takeover of Cloud City and the evacuation orders were given, as you packed a bag full of necessities and boarded a transport out of the city and listened to the whispered rumors that Han Solo had been frozen in carbonite and abducted from the Administrator’s Palace by a mercenary wearing Mandalorian armor, you couldn’t help but smile.
‘Well, kriff. He’s actually done it.’ You thought smugly, grinning to yourself amidst a sea of panic. You hoped Boba Fett had been able to escape off-world with his bounty before the Wing Guard had sealed the docking bays, but you didn’t think you truly had anything to worry about. There was a reason why he was considered the best in the business.
Boba Fett had done it.
Right after he’d done you.
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Expectations
Zeke Yeager/Reader
18+
Chapter 1/???
Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content
a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.
Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him.
You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.
You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything.
On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.
But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles.
In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it.
He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.
You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans.
None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery.
So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you.
The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest.
He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.
You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move.
Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.
“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.”
The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.
You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion.
He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner.
“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says.
And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.
“How did you know- where did you learn my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous.
“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink.
“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”
You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children.
“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.
“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”
You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-
“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”
He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.
“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”
You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way.
Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.
You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching.
“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”
The sudden affectionate name has your heart flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.
Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter.
You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute.
Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat.
You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.
“I couldn’t put it down.”
You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession.
“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”
You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man.
“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it.
“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”
“Brilliant.”
His smile is captivating.
You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels.
But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking.
When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment.
You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly.
He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating.
“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh.
And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share.
As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature.
His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers.
He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring.
It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances.
When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his.
You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature.
When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless.
He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.
You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.
“Do you want to-?”
“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does.
He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin.
He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you.
His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.
“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra.
“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps.
“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.
“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin.
“You enjoying yourself there?”
He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes.
“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”
Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you.
“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”
“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed.
Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers.
Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses.
“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”
He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.
“What are you-?”
“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs.
“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“
You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.
He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.
“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”
You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.
“Z-Zeke, I-”
“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now.
“Too much.”
He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face.
“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”
He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you.
You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit.
“I’m- I can’t-”
“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.”
His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”
You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste.
He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.
“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”
You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.
“Never been fucked in the compound.”
“We can change that.”
Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”
His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.
You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric.
“Zeke, please…”
He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic.
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”
Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing.
“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”
He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds.
“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”
He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust.
You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good.
“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”
He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks.
“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”
You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”
“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.
“Yes!”
“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”
He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.
“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”
“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”
“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”
He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy.
Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.
“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”
You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall.
“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”
“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.”
You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise.
Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.
You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch.
He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed.
His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own.
“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest.
He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”
You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again.
You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”
He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”
You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother.
That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right.
You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go.
Every week you repeat it all like routine.
Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift.
It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.
“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close.
It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made.
You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”
He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.
You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through.
You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate.
And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.
#zeke x reader#zeke yeager x reader#me strolling into aot reader fic tumblr like hello I am new in town#I wrote this in an insomniac daze#aot x reader#snk x reader#this will have a plot later but for now I am just sitting here hoping it's both comprehensible and people will like it
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39 FOR THE PROMPTS PLEASE AAAAA
LOOK OK, i’m going to start by saying this one... got away from me a little bit. And I didn’t originally mean to combine the prompts, and neither are technically correct. BUT consider you can’t stop me
39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.
30. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.
Cw; This takes place after the unknowing but before Jon wakes up in canon, and Martin starts in a rough headspace. Also accidental compulsion.
(This is actually a sorta part-2 to the pre-unknowing ficlet I did! Tho u don’t gotta read it to understand it works as a standalone too. Anyway welcome to the AU ZONE)
EDIT: fixed a typo
Martin usually visits Jon on Thursday.
He used to visit every day. But the nurses began to give him looks after the first month, and it was hard to balance checking on Jon with regular life things like groceries, laundry, and work. So he’s cut back. If only to preserve his sanity.
He considered Sunday. But Sunday is the day he visits his mum, another thing that has been hard to balance with- well. Everything. Besides, it’s hard to stack that much heartbreak into one day.
The receptionist gives him a funny look. He would give himself a funny look too, he looks a wreck, he knows it. She knows him, so seeing him on a wednesday looking like he crawled out of the back end of hell. Or maybe just hasn’t done any laundry for a few days. Or showered. And got in a fight and lost.
He’s already waited too long though, he thinks. He... well. It’s his last chance, he supposes. If Jon isn’t coming back, then...
Yeah.
It’ll be for the best.
He turns the knob on the door, he knows what he’ll say. Even if he’s talking to a dead man he needs a speech apparently. And-
He bounces off of something- or someone. Who trips back a step in turn.
“Oh god- I’m so sorry-” He says almost automatically.
“No, don’t worry about it I wasn’t-”
“I wasn’t even looking where I was going a-and-”
“Really it’s fine-”
The man isn’t a nurse, Martin’s sees that much. He’s tall-ish. Handsome, certainly. Definitely no-one he’s ever met. And certainly no-one he thinks might have a reason to visit Jon. Not that Jon shouldn't get handsome visitors, but- well. He doesn’t- didn’t? Have many people outside of the institute he ever talked about. And so this guy turning up out of the blue is... well.
“Er- I’m sorry, but who... who are you?” He’s not- he’s not upset. that this random stranger is visiting Jon. It’s just weird is all. Yeah. Really weird, actually.
“Oh! I- I’m- I’m a friend of Jons.” The man says with an awkward smile, his eyes darting down to his shoes for a moment as he says it. “Er- Antonio.” He tacks the name on like an afterthought. This time his gaze flicks somewhere around Martin's shoulder, he shuffles on his feet.
Martin’s never been an expert at picking up on lies, not to say he’s bad at it. He just doesn’t find it something to worry about generally. But it’s hard not to notice when ‘Antonio’ is basically holding an imaginary blinking neon sign that says ‘I AM LYING’ with accompanying metaphorical Morse code with the same message.
He swears he’s heard that name before though.
“Oh. Er- he’s never um, talked about you?” he says carefully.
“Oh, yeah. Very old friends. Haven’t um- talked in a while.” ‘Antonio’ waves a hand awkwardly. And casting consistent looks towards the elevator.
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyway! I’m uh- I’ll be going now. Visits over stuff to do y’know.” He’s already walking away as he says it, backing up for a moment and casting a quick wave before trotting away down the hall.
“Oh, y-yeah. Sure, bye?” Martin waves- though ‘Antonio’ isn’t looking. Watching as he basically runs down the hall.
“Bye!” ‘Antonio’ throws over his shoulder as he turns the corner to the elevators.
Well then.
“Huh.”
That’s not how he thought this visit was going to start.
He pauses for a moment. He’d been working off of something of a momentum. Check in with the nurse, make his speech. And be ready to say his goodbyes. But that... whatever just happened. Well, it threw him off.
He sighs.
It doesn’t matter. Weirdo visiting Jon. Seems about right, actually. If he thinks about it. Probably left a statement somewhere too, just to complete the weird weird picture.
The word ‘weird’ is starting to sound less like the a word the more he thinks about it.
He pushes the door to the hospital room open, he knows he’s imagining it. But the air feels heavier. The dread of the situation. The finality. Jon is still there, unmoving in his hospital bed. There's several machines tucked into the corner, they’d unhooked him from everything after the first month when it became clear that this is simply his state of being. That’s also about the time the nurses started telling him Jon probably wasn’t waking up.
He’s not going to wake up. Martin knows he’s not going to wake up. He’s been fooling himself for so long but now with the flesh attack he needs to do something. Or at the very least stop feeling like he’s doing nothing. But being miserable isn’t a solution either.
Maybe there is no solution. Maybe it’s just, problems. Stuff he can’t fix or deal with and just- has to let it follow him until he dies.
He shifts, and his ankle twinges.
He’d tripped. It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even the monsters. He’d just- fallen and ended up hiding in a side room while everyone else dealt with meaty things crawling out of the floorboards. Just sat and hid and did nothing.
He’s tired of doing nothing.
Jon snores, interrupting his train of thought.
Martin smiles, god he’d forgotten Jon did that. Those little snorting snores- he’d only heard them a few times, back at the institute. It had scared the hell out of him the first time he’d been living-
Wait.
What?
Martin blinks. And watches as Jon scrunches his nose, making a small irritated noise- and turns over.
What.
His head skips, rewinds. Plays what he just saw back. Jon is breathing, how long has he been breathing? Doesn’t matter, he’s breathing which means he’s alive but what-
That weird guy. “Antonio”
He’s gone, Martin knows he’s gone. But he checks anyway. Even running all the way to the elevators. But he’s gone.
And Jon...
Jon is alive.
The thought hits his brain, and then slips away like a wet fish. There’s no guarantees. This could be a fluke, this could be a trap. It might not even be Jon. Just... something that looks like him, and snores like him. And-
A nurse taps him on the shoulder. And he realizes he’s been staring at the elevators for, well, he doesn’t know how long. Long enough to catch several concerned glances from passers-by though.
“Are you alright sir?” She asks, politely. He recognizes her, he chatted with her once when visiting Jon. She’s nice. She does the check ups a lot of the time, one of the few who’ll actually do it.
“He’s alive.” He says flatly, instead of answering. Because he’s not sure what the answer to the question is anyway.
The doctors do tests, though not many. According to them he’s fine. Fit as a fiddle aside from some fatigue and a little confusion. Which clearly makes them uncomfortable. Which he understands. A man wakes up from a three-month coma like he’d just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning? It makes him uncomfortable too, he thinks.
Basira drops off a statement. ‘Just felt like I should’ she’d said when he asked why. And neither of them felt particularly good about that answer.
After the statement he’s fine, not even fatigued. He’s alive.
He keeps looking at Martin.
Martin isn’t sure why he doesn’t want to look back.
Maybe it’s because it still feels like a trap, all of a sudden he comes back with no- no fanfare no effort. Right as rain and just... there.
Nobody else wants to deal with him right now- not after he just pulled a Lazarus like that. Jon wants to go to the institute. But Martin isn’t having it. He just woke up from a three-month coma. He’s going home. And yes- his lease apparently expired before the unknowing, so he doesn’t have a place to stay. And yes the only person willing to give him a place to stay is Martin. And Martin... well, it’s Jon. and even if it wasn’t, in the wake of losing three months of his life- and a friend. Or someone who had been a friend at a point before this all went to hell. He wouldn’t leave him alone for anything.
Martin tries to force himself to come to terms with it as they both climb into his car- this is what he wanted. He should be overjoyed. But it feels... it feels like if he looks at Jon for too long he’ll just... disappear. Or stop breathing again. Or stop being Jon.
“Good to see not too much has changed while I was gone.” Jon says wryly as he wrestles with the seatbelt. Which squeaks as he struggles to pull it out far enough to actually fasten it.
Martin just hums in response. Not trusting his voice not to betray whatever it is he’s feeling right now.
The drive to his flat is mostly quiet, aside from a few awkward attempts at conversation from Jon that all fall miserably flat. Eventually he gives up, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence.
It’s not too far from the hospital to his flat. So before he knows it he’s leading Jon up the steps to his home.
It’s not much, he knows. Can’t afford anything truly fancy when carrying medical bills around. But it’s nice, homey. He hopes.
“Home sweet home.” He says, dropping his keys on the table by the door and hoping he sounds cheery. Because he doesn’t know what else to be right now. He’s figured out what emotion he’s feeling, though he’s not sure it counts as an emotion honestly.
Numb.
Stupid, isn’t it?
“The bathrooms down the hall- I think your stuff’s all in storage at the moment,” his voice wobbles at that, he swallows “so we’ll have to go get that soon. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge-” He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. Familiar, too-thin, and cool.
“Martin.” Jon says. “Did I... did I do something to upset you?” It’s a question, small and helpless. Martin just wants to brush it off, he’s fine. He just needs time-
“You died, Jon.” He says instead. The words coming out unbidden.
“I- I came back.” He tightens his grip on Martins wrist for a moment before loosening “In one piece even. I believe that was a part of our agreement” There’s a note of teasing in that last part, Martin wishes it was funny.
“I said come back safe Jon, not ‘come back from the dead’” Jon's hand drops from his wrist.
“Do you not... Are you not glad I’m back?” He sounds- sad. Of course he sounds sad Martin basically just said he wished he'd died.
“Of course I’m glad your back, I just-”
“Then what’s wrong?” The words are just- they’re just words. But Martin feels something pull in his chest.
Martin looks at Jon for the first time since the hospital.
“I’m scared, Jon! I You were dead for three months, Y-you didn’t even have a heartbeat and I-” He brings a hand upland runs it through his hair, Jon doesn’t need to hear this. He should be resting not listening to Martin dump his issues like this- “you were dead and I was the only one left. A-and yeah you came back, but- god what even is this! You’re just, fine. A-and I’m- I don’t want you to not be fine but I- I can’t even prove to myself that you’re real and not- I-I don’t-” He forces himself to stop. clamping his jaw shut around the words that suddenly feel like they’re pushing at the back of his throat like bile. Jon stares back at him, eyes wide and confused and hurt. He’s disheveled and still wearing the pajamas Martin had brought for him in the first week. Small and tired and maybe even real. He looks at Jon until he can’t because his vision begins to blur and his eyes begin to burn.
“Martin, I- I’m- I’m sorry I-” Jon's blurry form moves, and Martin shuts his eyes. Shaking his head. He should be the one apologizing, Jon didn’t need to hear that and he just- threw it at him.
“I’m-” Martin tries to apologize, but it comes out as little more than a croak. Cool hands cup his cheeks, and he opens his eyes. Jon's face is closer now, eyes scanning desperately over Martin's face.
“I- I’m not- I don’t know what I am but I’m- I-I’m me. I-I promise, I don’t know how to prove it to you but I-” Jon starts, and Martin can see his lips move to form the words-
Jon is here, he’s alive. He’s awake. His hands are on Martin's cheeks and he’s running his thumb through the tear tracks, fumbling over awkward reassurances. and looking so, so earnest. Hell, he made a joke about a conversation nobody else heard. Something just between the two of them, nobody else. And to fear entities, maybe that doesn’t matter. But for now, with Jon so close and acting so perfectly imperfectly Jon. Martin can let- no. Make himself believe. Jon’s not dead, it’s not a trap. Not right now, not yet. Just for right now, Martin isn’t alone anymore.
It doesn’t take much to lean forward, pressing their lips together. Jon makes a small, cut-off sound of surprise before melting into it, letting a hand move to the back of Martin's hair and the other fall to his shoulder. Martin's arms wrapping around Jon's waist.
Eventually they have to part for air. Martin doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Jon's breath on his face, and his hand in his hair and it’s all just another reminder he’s alive. And so wonderfully real.
He feels Jon move after a moment, using the hand he’s left on the back of Martin's head to guide him down. Pressing now-warm lips to the wet patches on his cheeks. Martin tries to laugh, he’s not sure why. It all just seems a little absurd all of a sudden. but it comes out as sort of a wet hiccup. Prompting Jon to tilt his head, and lock their lips together again.
Martin doesn’t know how long they stand in his entryway, trading kisses and just... being in each other's arms. But it’s long enough he’s run out of tears for Jon to try to kiss away, and the strange wired feeling has faded. Leaving him tired and heavy and in desperate need of a lie-down.
He pulls back, though not far. He can still feel Jon's lips against his as he speaks.
“Please don’t die again.” He says softly.
Jon sighs, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips.
“I’ll do my best,” he says, and Martin can feel the words as Jon's mouth brushes his as much as he hears them. And then he kisses Martin again, like he’s trying to seal the words there with his lips.
And, Martin supposes that promise was enough last time. It might be more than enough for him now.
#tma#the magnus archives#ficlet#jmart#jonmartin#Jonathan sims#Martin blackwood#Ghostly scribble#Ghostly scribbles#coulson-is-an-avenger
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Here Be That EniKao Fic I Told You All About
Please note that this is post "The Final" movie. This happened around 2 months after Kenshin and Enishi's fight. AND OH MY GOD, this is my first RK fic since what? 2017?! It has happened and I would like to thank Mackenyu for making this possible. LOL.
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An Unexpected Invitation
Winter and spring had passed quietly without much excitement. Which was exactly what the occupants of the Kamiya Dojo, and indeed the residents of Tokyo, needed. After much turmoil from the previous year, the quiet restful months have allowed everyone to heal from their wounds.
Physical injuries were all but gone now. No one was wearing any bandages, no one was limping around, clutching a broken shoulder or needing a change of bloody bindings.
Megumi has finally been able to get a decent enough stock of bandages and ointment for the actual patients of the Ouguni Clinic. A feat she didn't think was possible especially since everyone seemed to have been incapacitated in the aftermath of Yukishiro's Jinchuu.
"You're all a troublesome bunch." She told them when she'd given everyone a clean bill of health. She haughtily tossed her hair, looking imperiously down at them. "Next time, you're replacing everything that you'll use up in the clinic."
"Just let Sano take you out for dinner as payment." Yahiko suggested. Boldy too, since he had never really tried teasing Megumi before.
Megumi didn't seem to mind as she actually winked at him before turning to give Sano a look. "Dinner, eh? Sagara Sanosuke can afford dinner?" If she had any eyebrows, it would have disappeared up into her bangs. But the curl of her lips was enough to let Sano know that she was merely teasing him.
"Jou-chan would lend me money, right Jou-chan?" He sidled up to her, elbowing her and making faces that Kaoru supposed was meant to make him look like an adorable puppy, but failing miserably with the still darkened bruises on his face. His spiked-up hair did nothing to help his cause.
"I will most certainly not!" Kaoru indignantly crossed her arms, sending both Sano and Megumi a glare.
"I'd rather that Kenshin take me to dinner, ne Ken-san?" Cool hands snaked around his arms and Kenshin was quick to jump away from Megumi's clutches.
"Why you-"
"Maa, maa -" Kenshin said, raising his hands, trying to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.
As usual, they all ignored him; insults and intimidations of violence were quickly tossed around which ended when Kaoru actually promised Sanosuke that she will give him the money he needed just to shut Megumi up and make her stop acting so inappropriately towards Kenshin.
To which Megumi had answered with a laugh, sultry enough to make both Kaoru and Sano blush. Chaos ensued and Kenshin reveled in the happiness that stirred inside of him as he watched his friends chase each other, threatening murder and all sorts of physical pain.
It was good to be back.
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All traces of the violence and destruction from last winter was gone. It was as if it that night of chaos and fire, explosions and screams piercing through the night, the ghostly air balloons silently stalking the sky had become more like a nightmare that had faded away.
It was now the height of summer, the humidity so unbearable that even when Kaoru had changed the schedule of her classes to the hour of the hare, ("too damn early, busu!" Yahiko had complained), by the mid-morning everyone was drenched with sweat, limp and tired.
Classes were dismissed by noon which gave her ample time to take a long, cooling bath and sit at the engawa eating watermelons while watching Kenshin do the laundry or the gardening or whatever household chore he fancied for the day.
Today however had been hotter than usual and Kaoru briefly wished that she was alone at the dojo so she could changed into something more lightweight, like a yukata.
A slightly opened yukata.
She missed those days when she could just lie down, arms and legs thrown around and not have a care in the world about propriety. It was a constant learning process and test of patience living with two grown men and a young boy on the verge of manhood.
She could not understand how her father had dealt with so many hotheaded, pigheaded, sweaty, untidy – well, except for Kenshin – scoundrels.
Ugh!
Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, leaning her head against one of the columns of the engawa, her socked feet listlessly swinging at the edge. If only there was tiny little breeze to alleviate this heat. She wanted very much to loosen the summer kimono that she was wearing.
She'd been planning on going to The Akabeko later. It was the only reason why she had dressed up today. Tae-san had promised her that she'd prepare anmitsu and Kaoru could already taste the sweet red bean paste inside her mouth, but as the day progressed it had become too hot that she could barely move from her spot.
Even Kenshin had decided not to do any outdoor activity, quietly sitting beside her instead. Apparently feeling the same kind of stupor that had descended upon them.
It was the kind of heat that robbed you of thought and speech and Kaoru had been imagining dipping into a tub filled with ice cold water when the sound of bells and sirens blasted through the tepid air.
Another fire.
There have been small conflagrations around the city, what with the heat and people being addled by it, someone was always bound to fall asleep with a lit cigarette or mothers too distracted by the heatwave would leave matches lying around for bored children to play with. Easily put out without much fuss but when she'd look up, startled by the sound, she could see dark plumes in the sky, getting bigger by the second.
"It looks like that's from the docks." Kaoru murmured, sitting up straight.
"That it does, Kaoru-dono." There's an almost sleepy quality in Kenshin's voice, low and raw from not having spoken for a quite a while, but she sensed his alertness as he stood up, grimly looking at the cloud of smoke that had impossibly become larger at such a short amount of time. Before Kaoru could say anything, Kenshin had stepped off the engawa, already sliding his zori on.
"Kenshin-" she had started to stand up as well, but Kenshin had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, stilling her.
"Please stay here, Kaoru-dono. It is too hot, that it is. Yahiko and I will go check if we could be of any help." His eyes are narrowed, an unpleasant thought obviously occurring to him but Kaoru didn't think that a fire, a safe distance from their home, should be of any concern.
"Don't over exert yourself Kenshin." She told him, the warning tone in her voice softened his eyes, the corners crinkling as he very visibly tried not to smile.
"I mean it, Kenshin." She added a little more firmly, fighting the urge to grab on to the ends of Kenshin's hair and pull on it just to show him how serious she was. "Absolutely no running inside burning buildings. None of that foolishness. I forbid it, Kenshin."
Kenshin's eyes gleamed at her. "Aa, Kaoru-dono, this one promise to stay behind the police line, that I do."
A blatant lie. The insufferable jerk. But Kaoru was too tired to argue and she only gave him her mightiest glare, one that was enough to make Sano squirm.
It apparently does not work on Kenshin as he merely reached out to briefly pat the top of her hand, his fingers lingering for just a few second more and Kaoru suddenly felt all hot inside. Like she had swallowed a whole taiyaki fresh from the oven and now it was idly swimming inside her stomach. She felt her whole face heating up and was rewarded with a genuinely amused smile from Kenshin who had leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch, head bowed down that she couldn't even see his eyes.
She felt herself freeze, her heart stuttering inside her chest. Kenshin seemed to have sensed this as he slowly, almost languidly, pulled back, the same amused smile still on his face before murmuring a quick goodbye.
She reluctantly let him go, trying not to worry so much as she watched as Kenshin waiting for Yahiko by the gate, ready to provide some much-needed assistance to the Tokyo Police.
Once they have closed the gate behind them, Kaoru sent a quick prayer to Kami-sama that no one was hurt from the fire and that her boys would come back unharmed.
She let her lids drop, trying to recapture that emotion she had felt when Kenshin had nearly invaded her private space. He'd never done that before…she wondered if it was brought upon the heatwave or something that he had seen in her face – when she had been imagining tugging at his hair…
Kaoru took a deep breath her eyes suddenly snapping open as she realized that she was finally alone. She let out a lazy smile as she pulled on the collar of her kimono, loosening it a bit. She let herself lay down, sprawled on the engawa, enjoying the little comfort it gave her.
--------
A shadow loomed over her.
It took her a second to realize that she had fallen asleep and the presence of someone looking down made her sit up, grabbing the nearest object she could reach to use as weapon: it was an emptied tea cup, utterly useless but she threw it with all of her might, hoping that in her still half-asleep state, her aim would be good enough.
It wasn't.
A hand caught it with ease and then a glint of light caught her eyes as she stared up into the face of Yukishiro Enishi, casually staring down at her as he pushed the bridge of his eyeglasses up to his nose, his other hand crushing the tea cup in his fist.
Kaoru let out a small gasp, realizing that that was her favorite and most expensive cup. Kenshin always took great care when handling it and now it has been turned into dust.
The indignant scream of rage that had wanted to escape her throat was swallowed down as Enishi wordlessly tossed something at her feet, it made a soft sound as it hit the wooden floor. Scrambling to sit up she glared at the object only to find out that it was Tomoe-san's diary.
She frowned and then slowly turned to look up at Kenshin's possibly deranged brother-in-law, now apparently escaped from prison, fugitive brother-in-law.
This could not be happening to her.
"I'm dreaming." She muttered darkly, more to herself, ignoring the man standing before her. She reached out to touch the diary, but pulled her hand at the last minute, her fingers curling in mid air before digging into the plump flesh of her palms. "I just need to wake up and everything will be fine." She closed her eyes, wondering rather inanely, if closing one's eyes would work when trying to wake up, wasn't she supposed to be doing the opposite? But -
Enishi was not cooperating. "I've read it." He told her, breaking the silence and forcing her to once again open her eyes, back to the dream. He was looking at her as though they were having some conversation that she had missed entirely because, what?!
"What?" She asked, equal parts perplexed and irritated at her inability to wake herself up.
"Nee-san's diary. I read it like you told me to." Enishi's voice held the same quality as Kenshin's earlier. A low rumble that sounded too unused and raw. Like those were the first words he had uttered since the last time she had seen him at his ruined garden, clutching at his stomach, sobbing Tomoe's name. He looked strangely normal all things considered. He was wearing an unusually bright orange Chinese robe that made Kaoru squint.
Kami-sama. She brought her hand to the side of her head, pressing hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
And then completely out of nowhere, in an almost toneless, disinterested voice, Yukishiro Enishi asked her: "Are you married now?"
Again, "What?!"
Enishi frowned at her. "Am I not making myself clear, Kamiya-san?" Now he was impatient, the tone of his voice changing into something that sounded suspiciously patronizing.
Kaoru absolutely hated being treated like she was a child. "Shut-up." She hissed at him. "What are you doing here?"
Enishi made a displeased sound at the back of his throat, "Why is your kimono open, Kamiya-san?"
Why is my -?
Kaoru felt her left eye violently twitching before letting out a shrieked loud enough to disturb their neighbors, it was a wonder no one came rushing in to check if she was alright. Kaoru had the presence of mind to clutch at her kimono, closing the tiniest of gaps that Enishi deemed improper. The stupid jerk. He couldn't have seen anything.
She took a deep breath, both hands clenching into tight fists as she gathered all of the swearwords Sanosuke had taught her and was about to let Enishi have them when something inside her head clicked.
She blinked up at her former captor who looked almost friendly, if it weren't for the stoic expression on his face that might actually surpass the permanently emotionless face of Shinamori-san. "The fire, that was you?!"
Enishi merely shrugged, untroubled by her accusation. "It was an old, hideous building. Abandoned." He added when Kaoru opened her mouth to protest, "I did Tokyo a favor."
A favor?! Kaoru wondered how exactly Enishi's head worked. How was deliberately burning a building –
"It was the green one with the stupid yellow door." He explained further, seeing the balled-up fists that Kaoru was shaking at him.
Kaoru saw the building inside her head and winced. It was incredibly ugly and she had complained about it to Tae-san about how much of an eye sore it was and she wished someone would just burn it to the ground but hadn't meant it literally!
She suddenly jumped up when she noticed Enishi stepping into the engawa.
Going into her Chūdan-no-kamae stance, her left foot just a few inches behind her right foot, her left heel elevated, hip thrust forward. Her shoulder was too tense though and she had to concentrate, trying to relax her shoulders.
She took deep breaths, readying herself for any attack. She didn't have her bokken with her, dammit, but she wasn't going to be taken without a fight. Not again. Never again. If she had to claw out Enishi's eyes or shove his glasses to his eyeballs, she'd do it.
"Stay back." Kaoru hissed at Enishi as he took another step towards her. "I will not let you take me again."
Enishi frowned at her. "Take you? Why would you think I'd want to take you?" He asked in a tone that suggested something entirely different to Kaoru, she just didn't know what, which further annoyed her. This was too weird to be a dream.
Yukishiro Enishi was really here. Again. In her dojo. And he made damn certain that no one was with her but he didn't want to take her.
Why couldn't Kenshin's brother-in-law be Yahiko's age?! She'd have a better way of dealing with that instead of this brown eyed, six feet, bulging muscles of insanity - Kaoru shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "What do you want then, you creep?"
Enishi merely raised his eyebrows, a dark severe line, in complete contrast to his disheveled white hair. "Is this how you normally react when asked if you're already married?"
Kaoru's jaw dropped. A hummingbird can probably fly inside and make a nest inside her mouth. She quickly clamped it shut before, letting out a battle cry: "You jerk! That's not of your business!" She lunged at Enishi, who smoothly slid out of her way and she tried another attack, swiping her feet from underneath him, which he also dodged by jumping away from her. He backed into the dojo and Kaoru followed, grabbing a bokken. Finally, a weapon she could use. She grinned in triumph and prepared to attack once again.
The bastard didn't even break a sweat as he effortless avoided her blows – and if he hadn't, she would've cracked his head. The whistling sound her bokken made every time she swung it towards Enishi filled the air.
Still, he sidestepped, graceful and damn it, oh so elegantly. It was almost as if he was dancing, his feet light and silent.
"Kuso, stay still!" Kaoru ordered, completely losing her patience, panting like a wild boar.
And the stupid fucking Yukishiro smirked at her.
Smirked! She was going to wipe that off of his beautiful face.
Wait.
WHAT?!
"I take it you aren't married yet." Enishi finally said, stepping into the line of her attack.
Gotcha!
But of course, like before, his hands clamped around her bokken, snatching it from her with restrained viciousness and throwing it somewhere against the wall where it noisily clattered.
Completely unperturbed by the events, Enishi then very casually asked her, "Do you want to go to Shanghai with me, Kamiya-san?"
And Kaoru thought, not for the first time in her life, that she was cursed to deal with incorrigible men that she would very much like to whack with her bokken.
Mou!
------------
Author's Note:
And that is what I have so far. I don't know what to do with it. Anyway, tell me what you think. This fic is borne out of the sheer frustration of The Final and how Jinchuu Arc, which I am now calling the Cursed Arc for obvious reasons– had been - watered down seems too kind, ne?
But I'll rant some more if I can manage to have a second chapter up. Maybe.
Lastly, I typed this all up really fast while pretending to work so, if there are any typos, annoying grammatical errors, I promise I'll come back and try to fix them. I hope.
Translations and notes:
The hour of the hare: 6:00 a.m.
Anmitsu is a traditional Japanese dessert, traced back to the Meiji era (1868 to 1912). It consists of cubes of agar jelly, which are made using water and/or different fruit juices. Typically served in a bowl, with toppings like slices of fruit and sweet red bean paste. The dessert is also served with a sweet black syrup, kuromitsu,(the -mitsu in anmitsu) that's poured over the treat just before you enjoy it.
Taiyaki - Fish shaped cakes filled with anko (red bean paste)
Chūdan-no-kamae is the middle posture used in kenjutsu. The most basic stance, it allows for a balance between attacking and defense. When performed correctly, the practitioner's trunk and right wrist are protected
#enikao#enishi x kaoru#kenkao#kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death#kidding#sort of#take this The Final#hahaha#no really#rurouni kenshin fanfic#rurouni kenshin#i'm done
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Consider:
Isaac and Hector (from Castlevania) being Legally Fake Married for a modern AU so they could get a rent-controlled apartment.
They don't... like each other
But they did it for the money
And then Dracula found out and threw them a surprise party
He gave a really touching speech congratulating them in front of their entire social group
And now they're Stuck Like This
It's too late
Carmilla is going full Denzel Crocker trying to get people to believe they're not actually married
Half the people she talks to don't believe her. The other half don't care. They do believe her, but recognize that it'll drive her batty if they pretend they believe in the Love, and while they don’t care about Hector and Isaac’s fake marriage, they do care about pissing off Carmilla.
The sisters are all a little tired of how weirdly obsessed Carmilla is with this. They believe her, but like... chill, girl.
Lenore goes to seduce Hector, to prove it’s all fake, and she starts to succeed but Isaac comes home and kicks her out of the apartment.
He doesn't actually care if she seduces his legal (and disliked) husband
But get the fuck out of their apartment
[monotone] "Hey, thats legally my husband."
Isaac: Get your heterosexual nonsense out of here.
Lenore: Excuse you, I'm bi.
Isaac: I legitimately apologize for assuming you were heterosexual. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.
Alucard is the only person that is fully aware that they aren't married for love. He may have been the notary.
Actually, no, he was definitely the notary and officiant.
They asked him to do the paperwork, and, after they explained why (since he didn't believe they had Romantic Reasons), he said "Oh, fuck it. Why not."
He might also be the reason that his Father found out. Isaac might also want to murder him over this
Dracula is offended that he didn't get invited to the wedding.
And then he's distraught because they tell him they didn't have a wedding.
Isaac bullshits something about how weddings are very expensive and they both prefer to spend money on their forgemaster supplies grad school.
So obviously
Dracula
Pays for a Wedding
Things continue to get dramatically out of hand
"Lisa they couldn't even afford a WEDDING we have to throw them a fancy party"
"Of course dear"
They still don't like each other
They keep having to pretend they're at least somewhat in love
Lenore decided to take seducing Hector as a Challenge
Hector is terrified of her after a certain point and Isaac just wants people to leave him alone
But they won't
And he keeps coming up with bullshit reasons he supposedly fell in love with the moron he's sharing an apartment with so he can afford grad school.
Hector keeps wanting to get a dog but Isaac keeps saying they can't afford one and also the lease says no dogs.
#castlevania#isaac#hector#lenore#alucard#adrian tepes#carmilla#dracula#Lisa Tepes#Dracula Tepes#mini fic#modern au#fake married
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You really made me write a 2.6k fic after I said I wouldn't write a fic, hum. Have some 'drunk, tired and jealous but will never admit it' Senator Kenobi who just wanted to spend one quiet night bitching about other politicians with Anakin:
Growing up in the Temple made Obi-wan way more aware of how to control negative emotions, but possessiveness has never been a huge problem in his life. He's not a Jedi, so he does have material possessions -admittedly, fewer than most people- but the rule about attachments still has a particular impact on him and even if he hasn't made a deliberate choice to keep respecting it, he understands the value of it and makes a point of keeping it in the back of his head.
Until now.
Senator Odage is laughing obnoxiously and putting his grabby hand on Anakin's arm. Senator Odage, with his wide smile and passionate speeches, seems to have been galvanized by the standing ovation following his latest intervention in the Senate Chamber and is now chatting with Anakin. Anakin who had enthusiastically clapped with the rest of the Senate a few hours earlier after Odage's remarkable intervention.
"You boiling with hate is not a sight I'm used to."
Glass raised to him in greetings, Bail lifts an eyebrow at Obi-wan's flat look. That's the first time Obi-wan sees him tonight, lost in the myriad of senators, committee members, ministers, dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses, representatives and official dignitaries, exchanging platitudes, plotting their next moves, faking smiles and drinking to forget at the Senate Holiday Party.
"I am not."
"You’re giving shorter and shorter answers to diplomats you wanted to talk to for weeks and you’re holding your glass so tightly that I can almost hear it shattering as we talk.”
"I might be a bit tired," Obi-wan admits as he forces himself to unclench his fist and looks at something else than Odage and Anakin.
"Tired, yes. I would have said trying not to snap at people of your own party and mentally throwing daggers at Odage, but tired is good enough I guess."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know, Senator Odage? Young, bold, promising career in front of him, antislavery committee member, currently flirting with your Jedi and making you sulk in a corner?"
"Oh. That Odage. No, I'm quite sure I'm just tired."
"And why would you be tired?"
"Why would I-"
Something that has been growling inside of him for hours finally snaps and the floodgate opens.
"Please Bail, I just came back from my seven-week-long trip with tragically boring representative Bar, where, do I need to remind you, I finally put in motion the underfunded education program for children of the Outer-Rim, was supposed to come back to Coruscant in time to deliver a speech that would have proved that I achieved some kind of progress, which is unheard of for someone working in the Senate, but had to make a 'quick' detour by Naator's moon and got stuck with the Duke there who thought Stewjon was a show on the HoloNet because Chancellor Palpatine wanted someone from the 'remote' Mid-Rim to explain that even 'backwater dust-ball like your planet has benefits of allying themself with the Republic!' and then came back to Coruscant just in time to see young, bold, promising Senator Odage ending my own speech with, I'll admit, more punch and sincere sensibility that I could ever deliver! So maybe I'm just tired Bail, and want to spend my night quietly sulking in a corner."
And with Anakin who I haven't seen in two months, he didn't add.
Still in his corner, but this time with Anakin complaining about politicians to his face, moving Jar Jar's glass with the Force every time he puts it down, giggling at Padmé's attempts not to laugh. Yes, Obi-wan would have liked that.
He is maybe, just maybe, a bit more than tired.
Obi-wan risks a glance at the Jedi still listening to Odage. His hair is longer than when he left and getting in his face, preventing Obi-wan to see his reaction to the senator’s gesture for another drink. Anakin knows better than to indulge in public, he huffs internally, raising his own glass to his lips. He learns that the hard way the first time Obi-wan took him to a boring party and they both realised that he was, despite his stature and his ‘strong Outer-Rim boy who fears nothing’ declarations, a lightweight incapable of keeping down drinks with more alcohol than sugar.
"You need to drink," Bail says, reaching for the closest bottle.
"This is my fifth one."
"You need to stop drinking," Bail corrects, reaching for Obi-wan's brandy.
"No, I don't. It's fine Bail," He sighs as Bail sends him a worried look. "I think it's just time for me to go home."
"Without me?"
And there he is. The only Jedi present at the Holiday Party without any clear reason why. The only one Obi-wan can bear to see after such a terrible day for his ego and moral dignity. Obi-wan is almost relieved to feel him close again after so long, but the warm feeling of reunion with the incandescent supernova that is Anakin in the Force is tainted by Senator Odage's presence at his side.
"Obi-wan."
Anakin's warm hand on his elbow distracts him from the senator, but he doesn't move close enough to make the gesture looks intimate. Even if the way Anakin keeps looking at him makes Obi-wan wants to chuckle with fondness at the obviousness of the whole thing. The Force is vibrating with bright delight around them. It's a good thing no other Jedi is in the room because if Anakin's blinding smile is not enough to translate all his emotions, he's certainly not shielding anything in the Force right now. The only thing stopping him from reaching out or saying more is that he knows how Obi-wan feels about displays of affection, particularly in public.
Before Obi-wan can say anything, Odage is gesturing his glass in front of his face, dragging his attention away from Anakin's eyes.
"Good evening Senator Organa. Senator Kenobi, a pleasure to see you back! I was just talking about you with Knight Skywalker and how your speech was truly something. I hope you didn't mind that I tweaked some parts to make it mine? Being part of the antislavery's committee brought me a new perspective on social activism, and on the... How did you say, Anakin?"
Anakin replies something at the same time that he lets his hand fall from his arm. Obi-wan can only stare in disbelieve at the man calling a Jedi he barely knows in such a familiar way. Is it really their first encounter? Did Anakin meet Odage in the past fest weeks when Obi-wan wasn't here? He certainly looks like someone he would have a lot to talk too, being approximately the same age and Odage having this magnetic pull that seems to enthral most of the Senate.
What else did he miss during his time away?
"...I'm sure you can submit a demand to the Jedi Order for this, Mariv," Anakin says.
Mariv? Mariv? Who the kriff is Mariv? Surely it isn't Senator Odage, who is now leaning towards Anakin with the smile of someone who's finally hearing what he was aiming at for the past hour.
"But wouldn't you be the best for this, Anakin?"
This is it. Obi-wan probably had too much to drink, especially combined with his exhaustion and sour mood, but he knows he will not let that slide. Anakin looks clueless and Obi-wan will not let him be roped in whatever grubby schemes avid politicians have in mind with a Jedi, however smart and better than him at his job they are. Especially if they're smarter and better than him.
"Anakin," Obi-wan cuts in, and just like he hoped it will, it immediately grabs Anakin's attention. Obi-wan doesn't call him by anything else than a respectful 'Knight Skywalker' when they’re not alone. He barely does it in front of Bail and Padmé. "I'm sure you can't take decisions without consulting the Order first, that would be presumptuous, wouldn't it?"
If Obi-wan's complete focus on him hadn't distracted him from Odage, the small step he takes closer to the Jedi, making them arms brush, would have done the trick. He never gets that close in public and judging by Bail’s raised eyebrow, he’s not the only one surprised by his own boldness.
"Oh," Odage says in a suave voice, his eyes following the way Anakin unconsciously shifts his whole body towards Obi-wan, "yes, you would know about this, Senator Kenobi. I keep forgetting your past as a Jedi apprentice. That must be a real advantage to have this connection to them. Not every Senator can have the chance to call for a specific knight when they want company on their trips or when they fancy it."
Obi-wan feels Anakin's reaction in the Force before any movement and almost as a reflex to prevent him from throwing a comment they will both regret, Obi-wan grabs his shoulder. It’s enough to stop him. Obi-wan feels him slowly relaxing under his fingers. His hand, a light touch at first, slowly goes down to the small of his back, applying just the right amount of pressure there to make the man under it quiet and contented in the Force once again.
Sometimes, Anakin being so receptive to touch is a blessing.
"You're perfectly right, Senator Odage," Obi-wan declares with the most polite smile he could afford after four glasses of brandy and rethinking his entire career in the past twenty minutes. "Nothing like good-old fashion favouritism to get out of assassination attempts and surviving Outer-Rim fascist government leaders who don't appreciate feeling like you're giving them a lesson. Thanks the Force for failing my Jedi training, I don’t know how I could be a competent politician without completely relying on the Jedi Order."
The poorly covered laugh coming from Bail, who has been suspiciously quiet until now, does nothing to stop Odage from opening his mouth again. Obi-wan is drunk, hasn’t slept in the past 48 hours and has a hand on Anakin: One more inappropriate remark from Odage and fist-fighting would feel less and less outside of the realm of possibility.
“Senator Kenobi, I never knew you were so funny.”
“I haven’t been funny since my last run-in with a gundark,” Obi-wan deadpans, eyes locked on Odage as he downs his last glass of brandy.
“I think Senator Kenobi is tired,” Bail proclaims before Odage has the chance to reply. “He was just telling me that he was going home, and I’m sure it’s also time for Knight Skywalker to head back to the Temple.”
“Sure, we’re going the same way and I came with a speeder, I can take Obi-wan home.”
“Wait Anakin, I didn’t have the time to-“, Odage tries but Bail is already putting a firm arm on his shoulder.
“You two have a good night! So, Senator, did I already introduce you to Representative Bari? I’m sure you and her seven heads will get along marvellously.”
“That was…” Anakin says once they’re gone, leaning completely against Obi-wan’s hand on his back. There is no reason for it to still be there, but Obi-wan can’t stop his slow insistent up and down movement against Anakin’s back. “For one moment I thought you were going to use the prissy tone you take when I’ve irritated you enough to make you lose patience, and just starts listing everything he did wrong since the day he was born.”
Obi-wan narrows his eyes at him, finally retracting his hand and turning away toward the main exit of the Senate’s reception room. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Anakin is right behind him.
“I don’t have a prissy tone.”
“Hum hum.”
“I had…” Obi-wan’s shoulders sag and he slows down to match Anakin’s pace. “…A long week.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Ah. I’m afraid that if this is the way I start the week, my chances of ending up in jail are going to blow up at the end of it.”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” Anakin dismisses, getting his robe and Obi-wan’s coat from the cloakroom, “I would bail you out. If you ask nicely.”
“Would you?” He feigns a distract tone as he turns around to slip his arms in the coat Anakin is holding for him. “I was under the impression that you would be too busy mooning over Mariv to think about it.”
There is a strange noise behind him and before he can react, two hands are on his shoulders and forcing him to turn around and confront Anakin’s wide eyes.
“Are you… Are you jealous? Is this why you were all…”
He makes a little hand gesture to his back and tilts his hand. Obi-wan really wants to tell him that he looks like an idiot with his silly gesticulations and shaggy hair everywhere, but unfortunately, a slight blush from the party is still visible high on his cheeks and the amusement in his eyes is tangible in the Force around him, and by extension, around Obi-wan. It’s infuriating.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin,” He huffs, shifting around, but Anakin must see something on his face because he’s suddenly laughing and squeezing his shoulders.
“Obi-wan Kenobi, you are jealous! You're a jealous man! I have never seen you jealous before, I didn’t even think you knew how to, this is the greatest moment of my life!”
“Anakin, you’ve been knighted. And freed from slavery.”
“I stand by what I said!” He declares loudly. “Were you ready to defend my honour?”
“Force, would you stop saying-“
“No, no, answer the question Obi-wan.”
“Can we go-“
“Did you think I was into Odage? Were you seething with rage because he touched me? Did you think I would forget all about you after two months and, what, elope with the first politician to talk to me?”
“You’re a terrible person, do you know that?”
“Because you know I would only elope with you.”
There is no answer to that.
Anakin is the picture of sincerity, grin still full of mirth, golden curls framing his flushed cheeks and the Force humming softly around him. It feels warm and kind, loving in such a playful way that it’s begging Obi-wan to join him, give in, love him.
And Obi-wan is a tired, old, drunk fool who wants.
He’s shoving Anakin behind one of the pillars of an adjacent corridor before he realises what he’s doing, fisting Anakin’s tunic in one hand and grabbing a handful of curly hair to keep him in place with the other. Anakin’s eyes suddenly darken, his lips moving to form the beginning of a shameless taunt, surely, but Obi-wan’s demanding mouth is on him to prevent it in an instant. He tastes like expansive cocktails at boring parties, but underneath it’s him, only him and no one else.
A leg is pushing Anakin against the pillar, pressing and pressing at every little noise escaping from him. Obi-wan wants to melt into him.
“Terrible, awful boy,” He grumbles as Anakin tries to laugh before getting kissed again, instantly pliant under him.
“Well,” Anakin finally breathes. His hair is an absolute mess, half in his face and half pulled by Obi-wan’s fist, letting him admire an immaculate throat. Where he found the strength not to bite there before, Obi-wan doesn’t know. “I think I need to send a ‘thank you’ card to Odage. Or maybe grant him his-”
A sharp pull on his hair and his words turn into a faint whine.
“Will you, Anakin? Will you really?”
Anakin’s eyes shut blissfully, like he’s finally where he wants to be.
“I guess I won’t have time for that.”
#*obi-wan 2 seconds away from verbally destroying someone*#anakin:*delighted overjoyed ready to get on his knees*#senator kenobi au#obikin#this was... a very good prompt#I should probably find a beta instead of making you read my broken english#asks#anon#fic i will never write#well it's more a fic I wrote now
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