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zerobaselove · 11 months

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zb1 being protective

pairing: zb1 x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: catcalling in jiwoong's, mention of thunderstorms in matthew's, mention of bullying in yujin's. lowercase intended, not proofread

notes: idk if all of these are even considered as protective but i view them that way so i hope that's okay <33

members under the cut!

jiwoong ;

window shopping was a frequent hobby for you and jiwoong. the two of you often enjoyed just walking around, drink in hand, as you browsed the store lined streets of your city. it wasn't abnormal for you to get some stares from people, but usually they were from women looking at jiwoong; you couldn't even blame them, your boyfriend was quite the sight.

this time however, the attention came in the form of calls and whistles from a group of men nearby, and you knew it was directed towards you. you were just going to speed up, attempting to drag jiwoong past the group without saying anything, but he wasn't having that.

"who do you think you are, really? do you have nothing better to do than make someone uncomfortable in your presence? no wonder you're all sitting here with nobody other than each other." he spit out, an almost venomous tone to his voice, a contrast from his usual voice. grabbing your hand and walking you around the corner, out of their sight.

pausing for a moment, jiwoong faced you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "are you okay?" he dropped his hand to grab yours, "i'm sorry they were acting like that, and i'm sorry you had to see me like that." his voice trailed off slightly, reflecting on his short tempter. "i just couldn't let them continue thinking that they could get away with that."

you simply smiled at the boy, cupping his cheek as you placed a quick peck on his lips, "it's okay jiwoong, i'm okay," you squeezed his hand lightly, "and i appreciate it, i appreciate you."

zhang hao ;

it wasn't abnormal for you and zhang hao to like to go for walks together; you both enjoyed the fresh air, especially with summer around the corner, and you enjoyed just having time to yourself to chat as you admired the breeze through the trees or the pretty flowers that lined the sidewalks.

the two of you weren't walking with much purpose, but you had ended up in the middle of town on a street lined with bakeries, cafe's and little boutiques. despite your best efforts you had come out of a few of the shops with small bags, some earrings you couldn't pass up or a small pastry.

"give me those," zhang hao said quietly, reaching out to hold the bags you've collected, adding them to his own in his hand. you tried to turn to him to respond but before you knew it he was on the other side of you, separating you from the cars on the street. you couldn't help but smile at the act.

"you didn't have to do that you know," you shook your head as the two of you continued down the street. zhang hao simply hummed, switching the bags to his other hand so he could use his free hand to grab yours, "who've you been hanging out with?" he almost sounded disappointed at the idea of you not getting this respect before him, "it's a basic courtesy."

it was foreign to you though. nobody had ever done something like that, even if it was just simple. and it made your heart speed up faster than it should've. "at least let me carry the bags." he only shook his head playfully, leaving you in defeat as he squeezed your hand, holding it up in front of you, "and anyways, your hand is already busy."

hanbin ;

hanging out with your friends was fun and all, until it wasn't. you loved your friends, you did, but your social battery only lasted so long and you were well past your limits. you just wanted to go home and wash off the day you've had, but here you were with your group of friends, unable to leave as they were your ride here.

the only thing keeping you sane at this point was texting your boyfriend hanbin, he always knew what to say and what would calm you down, and he had some good ideas rolled up his sleeves too. "do you want me to come pick you up? i can even call you with an excuse if you'd like ^^" the text read, and without any further consideration, you typed back a quick agreement and awaited the call flashing across your screen.

you muttered a small, "sorry i have to take this," before answering the call, ready for whatever fake situation hanbin had managed to come up with. as he relayed the information to you, you could hear the faint sound of his keys jingling and the door shutting in the background, signifying he was already on his way. you had to hide the smile threatening to spread to your face at the idea of getting to relax with your boyfriend instead of getting dragged to the next bar your friends wanted to hit.

soon enough you hung up, explaining the "dire emergency" to your friends. they all wished you well as you walked outside to wait for hanbin, soon seeing his car pull up. "never knew you were such a good actor," you chuckled as you got into the passenger seat. "what can i say," he smiled, "i'm a jack of all trades."

you and hanbin chatted over the soft music playing over the radio, and you had felt at ease for the first time in hours. after a moment of silence had risen, you let your words surface, "i love you hanbin," you looked over to the boy as you watched his ears immediately turn a light shade of red. he stuttered a few times before gathering a response, "i love you too," he reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze; you couldn't think of a better way to spend your night.

matthew ;

ever since you were a kid you had been afraid of storms; whether it be the loud cracks of thunder or the heavy downpour or the potential aftermath, you hated storms. you remembered countless nights as a kid when you'd seek comfort in the blankets on your bed as you hid under them in an attempt to muffle the rumbling sky. but now you were grown up, you were past that; the blankets that is.

because once again you had found yourself unable to sleep because of the raging storm outside. the rain so strong it felt like it'd break your windows at any moment. and quite honestly, you were terrified. but lucky for you, you had a new vice. matthew.

the usual blanket wrapped around your frame had been replaced with matthew's arms as you leaned into his chest, finding comfort in the heat radiating off of his body and the smell of his shampoo. while he couldn't quite drown out the noise, he did make for a pretty good distraction.

"it's okay my love, you're safe, i've got you" he whispered close to your ear, his hand rubbing circles on your back as your breathing evened out. you weren't keeping up your end of the conversation too well but that didn't stop him. whether it was reassurance or telling an embarrassing childhood story, or singing his favourite song, he found a way to keep your mind off of the outside world. and you were forever grateful.

and like always, the storm had slowed, beginning to pass as it soon became a memory of the evening. "thank you matthew," you breathed out with a shy smile. despite the storm being over you still couldn't help but cling to him. he made everything feel okay.

taerae ;

"i don't want to go," you whined, a pout prominent on your face. you hated the dentist, there was no way around it. quite honestly you hadn't been in what most would consider way too long, but you knew you had to. after some convincing, and promises of cuddles, from your boyfriend taerae, you had made the appointment.

all was fine and well until the day had actually arrived and you found yourself running through every excuse in your head on why you shouldn't go. unfortunately for you, nothing had seemed to come up that would leave you with a good conscience.

"well, if it'd make you feel better, i can come with you," taerae smiled, "moral support and all that." having him there sounded a lot better than going alone, you couldn't lie. and so, you took him up on his offer, reluctantly leaving with the boy.

soon enough you were in the waiting room being called to come into one of the offices, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. but you had taerae.

"i'll be right here okay? you're not alone, and before you know it it'll be over and you won't have to worry about it again," he placed a small kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and then a chaste kiss on your lips. "you've got this." he mumbled against your lips, causing you to smile for the first time all day. maybe things wouldn't be so bad if you had taerae by your side.

ricky ;

you had never really thought about it, but sometimes you could be quite oblivious. it wasn't always a bad thing, at least that's what ricky insisted, but it did seem more prevalent on days like today. maybe it was how safe you felt around ricky, or how it feels like you're the only people around when you're with him, but sometimes you forgot how not everyone is as kind and respectful as ricky.

you had opted for a shorter, flowy outfit for your shopping trip today, and while you thought you looked good, you hadn't considered how the clothes would be to walk around in; spending the better part of your day tugging and pulling on the fabric and being overly aware of every passing breeze.

"here," ricky stopped the two of you in your place, turning you around to face him as he tied his jacket around your waist, "don't need anyone seeing what they shouldn't." he smiled shyly, "plus you should be more comfortable this way, and you still look good." he shot you a wink and a smile before grabbing your hand to continue walking.

you couldn't help but blush at the gesture, letting your free hand fiddle with the sleeves tied around your waist as you let your mind wander. "thank you," you mumbled, getting a smile in return from the boy.

"no need to thank me," he shook his head playfully, "it's the least i could do."

gyuvin ;

gyuvin was a little clumsy to say the least. you found it quite endearing, but he had collided with one too many cabinet doors and countertops to see it the same way; and so, subconsciously he had found himself protecting you from a similar fate.

you hadn't noticed it for a while; the way his hand would hold the edge of the counter you were crouched underneath, or how his hand would cover the corner of the table you had to walk past. sometimes he would even try and physically move things out of your way if he could help it.

however, today you did notice. you noticed when you stood up too fast from trying to get something under the sink and instead of the solid countertop, you had a softer impact with his hand. you had braced for the sharp pain to rush to your head, but nothing came. "thank you," you mumbled, "do you always do that?"

he chuckled, nodding slightly, "i guess i do," he let himself think back on all the times he didn't even notice himself doing it. "gotta keep you from ending up like me." he laughed again as he rubbed the back of his neck; the memories of one too many near concussions flooding to his head, literally.

you joined him in laughter as you brought your hand up to card through the his hair, "you've gotta be more careful you know," you lightly scolded. he only let out a tsk before responding, "you try being this tall."

gunwook ;

"don't you live in the other direction?" you asked gunwook, curious as to why he was heading in the same direction as you instead of leaving you with a simple goodbye. the dim streetlights casting a glow on his skin, just enough to see the way his cheeks flushed at the question.

"i do," he paused, turning his sight from the road in front of him to you, "but i wanna make sure you get home safe." a smile spread across his face and you couldn't help but mirror it on your own. "you know you don't have to do that wookie, i live just down the street." you said matter-of-factly, knowing he knew where you lived.

he let the two of you bask in the silence for a moment. the only sound being your footsteps and the light buzz of some bugs in the summer night. "i know," he grabbed your hand in a moment of bravery, "still going to walk you home though," he beamed.

you accepted defeat in that moment, too caught up in the way it felt to have your hand in his. that wasn't something that happened a lot, but you sure could get used to it. the comfortable silence surrounded you again, this time accompanied by a faint hum from gunwook, presumably whatever song he had stuck in his head at the time. in that moment, you felt completely content.

you felt almost disappointed as you approached your front door. the two of you stood facing each other in front of the door for longer than you should've, trying to decide between making eye contact or staring at your still intertwined hands. "thank you for walking me home wook," you looked up at the boy, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. almost instantly he was a stuttering mess; his cheeks flushing a light pink as he couldn't control the smile spreading to his face. "for you, anytime."

yujin ;

before meeting yujin, your days at school were rough to say the least. hell, they still weren't the best. but they were better thanks to the boy you had befriended. you finally had somewhere to sit at lunch, finally had someone to hang out with after school, and finally had someone to call a best friend. and you were so thankful.

but life wasn't always so easy, and you didn't want to bother yujin with it, so you kept it to yourself. and today was one of those days. after one too many passing comments from classmates you had found yourself holding back tears in an empty classroom, trying to dry your eyes before going to meet up with yujin for lunch.

"what are you doing in here?" a familiar voice made your head snap up towards the door, seeing yujin's figure walking to you, you quickly wiped your eyes and stutter out an excuse. "i was just packing up." now yujin was sometimes a little oblivious, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew something was up. "was it them again?" you only nodded in return, shoving your pencil case into your bag and zipping it up before slinging the bag over your shoulder.

he let out a small sigh as he grabbed your hand, "c'mon, we are getting out of here," he dragged you by the hand out of the classroom, and subsequently out of the building, only stopping when you made it to a small picnic bench in the back of the property. "i'm sorry i couldn't protect you more," he mumbled as he fiddled with your fingers.

"yujinnie, you protect me plenty, and plus, that's not your job," you placed your free hand on top of his, "i can't thank you enough for what you do for me." a smile spread across your face, a similar one mirrored on yujin's face at the sight of you smiling. "i'm gonna do my best to make it all okay," you shook your head at his response, "you already do."

#zerobaseone #zerobaseonefics #boys planet #boys planet fics #boys planet imagines #boys planet reactions #kpop #boys planet drabbles #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines

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lennadanvers · 1 month

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Hi! I love everything youve written with my entire fucking heart like you dont understand there hasnt been a single thing of yours that I havent liked! Anyways, I was wondering if you could write some more Simon Riley? You write him so well it isnt even funny. If you cant, no worries! I think youre amazing!!!!

Hi! Thanks a lot for the praise, it means a lot (you don't even know how much, I'm pretty new to fanfic writing and posting stuff is still kinda terrifying, but when people say things like this it warms my heart). Anyway, I had this sitting in my drafts for way too long, and found the energy to finish it today. Sorry for the delay, I hope you still enjoy it.

Thanks for your patience <3

Every coin has two faces

Ghost doesn’t like to think about himself.

Maybe the mask is an effort to conceal his own face when he walks past a mirror, rather than to guard his identity. Maybe it has a double purpose. Maybe it’s just one: to hide. Whatever the case, Simon Riley avoided thinking about himself. Of how he looked. How he sounded. Or moved-

Until he had met you.

Fresh blood. As in a new recruit and as in that you were bleeding the first time he saw you. Despite the bloody nose, there was something there. A burn in your eyes. The sharp smile you threw to the recruit laying at your feet. To the one responsible for your pain. Sparring wasn’t supposed to be this dirty, but they had crossed the line. And you had slaughtered it in response. A fucking demon; you had become violence on the flesh and unleashed something nasty upon them.

Once you had won the fight -not fair and square, but they had asked for it-, you stopped. Put the leash on whatever it was that took over you, and stepped back, hand to your bloody face.

Simon smelled something rotten.

For the untrained nose, it wasn’t noticeable. Most people would have looked at you and seen a surprisingly skilled recruit, that’s it. But he saw himself. Broken recognizes broken, he supposes. The anger ready to jump out. The control; years of training that someone as young as you would only have if they started before even learning to talk.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You were another survivor. Another messed up past. Another broken child who grew into a desperate, cold monster.

Ghost saw himself in you.

It went downhill from there. Simon Riley knew it was a bad idea, he was a bad idea. But you were so good. Scary good. Too damn close to perfect for him to be at ease. He kept an eye on you. From afar. Very, very far. From a second-floor window. From his elevated position as a sniper in the field. From a couple dozens of yards in the training area. Through Soap’s gossip.

Simon Riley had never been so close to liking himself. You were fast, methodic, smart and precise. You were strong, witty, sarcastic and poisonous. He was interested, involved, captivated and weirdly vulnerable.

It haunted Ghost how much of himself he saw in you. It just made the few contrasts (sparkly smile, short body, soft curves) feel sweeter. Just made him want to be closer. If you were so… So beautiful, so elegant, deadly, appealing, valuable… Maybe he was, too. Maybe it happened to you too. Maybe, when you looked at him, you saw yourself. Maybe you understood.

That’s why the way you looked at him it chipped his heart a little.

He had never considered himself particularly handsome. Just a man. But this man had a good body -strong, healthy, taller than most. He was good at his job- effective, respected, he had earned his position. He knew not to get into other people’s business, and he had a decent sense of humor. Some women had even complimented his accent- apparently his voice was quite attractive. The few that had seen his face hadn’t complained, either.

Obviously, he didn’t expect everyone to be interested in him. Simon knew the mask weirded some people out. But it wasn’t the mask, was it?

It was him.

You looked at him like he was the president of the welcoming committee of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Like you’d shoot him if he took a step too close (he never stood within less than six meters from your personal space, mind you). Whenever he entered the room, you stabbed him with your side eye. If Ghost had to walk past you in the hallway, you’d stick to the wall like a fucking tree frog, for God’s sake. And he hadn’t even talked to you directly.

Simon hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it.

Until now, that is. After you had been chosen to go with the team to a mission. One that was supposed to be easy. In and out. No more than a couple hours. No finding a place to stay the night. No ending up divided in a couple different locations. And definitely no spending the night hiding with you.

Alone.

There had been bullets flying everywhere. He was calm, fast. You knew better than to give him dirty looks when he dragged you to safety. But you were looking at him now. And he was terrified.

All this time, the scarred, broken kid inside him had recognized the scared, lost kid inside you. Ghost had seen himself in you.

But you had seen someone else in him.

His broad figure and trained muscles weren’t attractive, were they? They were menacing. His stealth, aim and training weren’t worthy of admiration, but fear. The hard-earned respect, the power, was nothing but a weapon, a strategic position from which to attack. Your dirty looks were the hate you had spent years nursing. God, the way you pressed against the wall in the hallways- your most basic instincts keeping you away from the predator.

Simon is a threat to you.

And you’re looking at him as if he was his father.

Ghost stares back at you from across the abandoned building you’re going to have to spend the whole night in. He’s going to be sick- you look sick. Simon knows how you feel. Being trapped in a house with a man who can beat you into a bloody pulp. Someone bigger, stronger and more powerful. Big body, hard knuckles and labored breath. Next to him, you’re so small. You’re weaker, have less experience and power over him. And you can’t leave: it would be worse. You’re trapped with him.

Alone.

It kills him, the way you step away from his body as soon as you can. How you don’t look him in the eyes, following his hands instead. He feels disgusting.

Simon takes a deep breath and forces his voice to sound calm- he’s not- and quiet.

“You alright? No wounds?”

He knows both answers: no and no. But he has to ask. Has to let you know he cares. He’s on your side. Here to take care of you. Not to hurt.

You shake your head.

“Good. Gonna stay ‘ere tonight. The others can’t be far. Contact Price to let ‘im know our position.”

A nod. He’s used to giving orders, but right now his voice sounded harsher than he would have liked to hear. Ghost winces.

“Thank you.”

It’s the surprise in your eyes that ignites his hope. He’s not an asshole. Maybe.

You don’t trust him, either way. After you eat- pressed against the wall, knees between you and him-, it’s time to prepare for the night. Simon knows how he’d feel if he was in your place. He’s more than sure you’re not happy sleeping in the same room as the big, creepy guy with military equipment who reminds you of a nightmare.

He takes off the gloves first. Someone told him he has nice hands, once. They’re brutal. But human. The mask is next. Usually- always- it stays on during missions, even if they last days. He can make an exception. His naked hand undresses the chin, the mouth, the nose- the scars. Simon bats his short eyelashes, as if the dim light of the sun setting was bothering him- he wants to show you he’s weak. He can be.

You stare at him from the other side of the room, still, a deer in headlights. Simon tucks the mask and his gloves into one of his pockets. Decides he’s keeping the bulletproof vest. But he can spare his gun. And the sniper rifle. And his knives- except for the one hidden inside his pants: he’s not undressing in front of your terrified eyes, and at least he has something to defend himself with, in case the enemy finds you. Everything else goes into a pile on the floor. He then steals a glance at you.

You’re looking at him unsure. He’s not only your superior, but a ruthless soldier. This is not the protocol. In fact, he’s being quite stupid by choosing to spend the night disarmed.

Simon shrugs. He’s not going to explain himself to you.

“’s uncomfortable to sleep with all that metal. ‘m a fucking bell.”

You give him another nod. It’s weird, how much you talk around other people. You’re usually loud, even your laugh. You laugh with other people. He’s seen you laugh at Soap’s jokes. He’s heard you teasing him about his accent.

Or, rather than that, the weird thing is how quiet you are next to him.

Ghost likes his recruits obedient and focused. Makes it easier to give orders if people have a cool head and are ready to follow. But you’re not. You’re ready to fight, flight or freeze, and you don’t trust him. You don’t trust he’ll keep you alive and well. Because you’re too busy making sure he can’t hurt you.

Except he can. He could. If he wanted. He doesn’t. For the life of him, he does not want to hurt you. Simon himself is terrified of the possibility.

Ghost knows it’s an absurd idea. He has no reason to. He is your superior, and you’re together in this. You’re supposed to watch each other’s backs. To be a team.

But right now, all you are is terrified.

And he doesn’t know how to make it stop. So he resorts to giving you choices.

“Wan’ the first watch?”

Say no, and he’ll make sure not even a cockroach crosses that door. You’ll be safer than in base.

You nod.

He bares his neck. Ghost has seen your teeth, and they’re more than enough to cause serious damage. Go on, he’s telling you, make sure I can’t fight back. Simon doesn’t say it, of course. Instead, he lays on the cold floor, away from the door and from you. Look, he’s out of the way. You can run, if you want to. You can wait until he’s asleep, grab his weapons and disappear. You can hide somewhere else until the sun rises. He just knows you’re good at hiding. He turns his back to you. There, it is yours to stab. If he ever gave you any reason to feel like this about him, by all means, go on. End his misery. But, most importantly, end yours. Take your pick, he left you an arsenal. He’s dying a death by his own weapons either way.

The shadow your body casts on the wall stays still a long time. It’s been well after an hour since he slowed his breathing down when you finally move into a comfortable position. The ruffling of your clothes and the little sigh you let out make him feel a little less cold. A little less like a monster.

When the sun wakes him up the next morning, you’re still sleeping. Ghost should reprimand you severely; should have woken him up, should have made sure someone was watching the door. But he can’t find it in him to do it, to betray this shadow of trust.

So Simon takes a mental picture of your relaxed face- he’s never seen it so close, it’s a sight worth risking his life for- and turns around. He pretends to sleep until you wake up and start making noise.

I hope you liked it, thanks again for the ask <3

If you (or anyone) have an idea/request/suggestion, I'll be happy to read them. It may take some time, but I promise I'll do my best. Also, I'm sorry if I made any mistakes, English is not my first language and today my brain was particularly confused. Just let me know and I'll fix it.

Masterlist here

#fanfiction #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lennadanvers #len answers #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader

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eoieopda · 10 months

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menace (pjm) — pt. vi

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 6/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Genre: Smut + Fluff Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 6k+ Summary: This Valentine’s Day looks a lot different than the last one. AUs: Older brother’s best friend, fuck buddies that hate(d) each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer, Jimin is so soft omg, ✨vulnerability✨, so much kissing wtf who am i?, nipple play, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), DID I SAY SOFTNESS? A/N: Thank youuuuuu to everyone that stuck with me and these two idiots until the very end 💕 If you get lonely now that this is over, check out the rest of my masterlist. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

It was odd, starting over with someone you’d known longer than nearly everyone else in your life. Jimin wasn’t a stranger by any means; he’d always been present, life running parallel to yours, but you’d never truly seen him up close.

Not accurately, anyway.

When you were younger, the pedestal you put him on kept the sun in your eyes. You’d have to squint to see his shortcomings, but you never did. Maybe that was one of yours, willful blindness. As far as you knew then — or, rather, as far as you bothered to look — Jimin had none. All he had was a bright, white light.

After that pedestal crumbled and Icarus took a swan-dive to the sub-basement of your expectations, the shadows down there warped the flaws you finally recognized. A trick of the light, they exaggerated every shitty thing you thought you saw and made them all worse. Scarier, even. Worth hating.

Once you finally allowed him to exist on equal footing, you realized that Jimin wasn’t made to be viewed in such high contrast. He wasn’t the monochromatic figure you’d mythologized, not two-dimensional. In reality, he was a prism refracting a thousand different, complicated colors that you hadn’t been giving him due credit for.

The first shade you discovered was the one that broke your brain the most. Jimin — the only person you knew that never responded to anyone’s calls or texts — wasn’t actually as solitary as he seemed. Really, the only thing he hated more than being by himself was having to admit that fact to anyone, especially you.

So, instead of calling to invite you along on his errand runs, he started showing up at your door to ask, “You’re not busy right now, are you?”

And just like that, without meaning to, you learned his routine. Another shade.

Every other Sunday, you’d wake up a little earlier than usual. No matter how tired or hungover you were, you would crawl out of your bed, into your well-functioning shower, and make yourself presentable. Then, when you no longer looked like a hobgoblin, you’d sit on your couch with your tea.

None of it was a conscious decision — waiting in the nearest seat to your front door, angling yourself so you could keep an eye on the driveway — at least, not at first. In fact, you didn’t even notice what you were doing until your newly-acquired therapist pointed it out.

“It sounds like you’re making space in your life for him, brick by brick.”

You laughed it off when she said it, but as weeks flew by, you finally had to concede that she was right. She was right about something else, too: you hadn’t been viewing yourself fairly, either.

“Cellophane can be iridescent, too, if you hold it right.”

Whatever shades of your own that you uncovered, you gradually learned to let Jimin see, too. He picked up on all of your intricacies much faster than you did — because of course he did — and unlike you, he didn’t stumble upon revelations by surprise. He didn’t muddle through your less-pretty shades by trial and error, like you did. To the contrary, he had an unexpected knack for anticipating your reactions, and he planned accordingly.

Everything he did was purposeful, from his choice of words to his actions. Like exhuming his phone from his pocket — “only because it’s you” — to let you know if he was running late to plans you’d made. It was rare that he didn’t show up on time, but whenever he couldn’t, he’d call to promise that he really was on his way. And he always was, no matter how shitty the weather was, or how much he might’ve wanted an extra hour of sleep.

Jimin and all his shades showed up for you.

On Christmas, when Seokjin’s part-time girlfriend threw a dinner party without knowing what the fuck she’d signed up for. You were three-quarters through a bottle of wine before you were pulled in to take over meal preparations with Seokjin; and although Jimin was mostly useless in front of a stove, he was good at fetching whatever you’d need next without you having to point to it. He was even better at keeping your respective glasses full, which felt even more important. Washing dishes after the fact wasn’t all that bad with him there, also drunk off his face, drying them.

On New Years’ Eve, when Jimin was too sick to join the bar crawl but still set an alarm to wake up and call you — right at midnight. You stepped out onto a snow-slicked sidewalk in order to hear him, disappointing the hell out of the girl whose lips wanted to kiss you into the new year. You ignored her pout, ignored the chill in the air, and focused on the way Jimin’s raspy voice had dropped an octave. He was asleep when you swung by shortly after with a box of tissues and a bottle of decongestants, but that didn’t matter; his spare key wasn’t well hidden, either.

And again — now — on Valentine’s Day, when you both decided to blow off Seokjin’s deranged, annual Parent Trap scenario.

Sprawled out on his couch like you owned the place, you scrolled idly through Netflix’s home page with your face scrunched. The hand not holding the remote dipped down into the bag of kkokalcorn chips resting on your chest.

“You’ve got an identity crisis in your watch history, Jimin,” you yelled out to him, hoping he’d hear your teasing clearly from where he stood in his kitchen. “I’m having trouble believing that you’re not actually a middle-aged white woman.”

At this, he stopped rummaging through his refrigerator and stood straight up to glare at you. His eyes and mouth all flattened into matching, straight lines.

You rattled off your findings, nudging him further. “The Notebook, Sleepless in Seattle —”

With every title you dropped, so did one of Jimin’s heavy footfalls. He was halfway to you, scowl growing, in the blink of an eye.

“10 Things I Hate About You?” You snorted. “Little too on the nose, don’t you think?”

Standing at the other side of his coffee table, he parked his hands on his hips and scoffed. “My choices are being criticized by an entire adult with corn-chip witch fingers? Are you kidding?”

Sheepishly, you pulled your hand from the kkokalcorn bag. He was correct; you had stuck your fingertips in the openings of the funnel-shaped chips. You wiggled them at him with a coy smile that made him roll his eyes. Satisfied, your mouth claimed the chip perched on the tip of your index finger.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that the flash in his eyes just then was fondness.

You held the bag out to him, careful not to disrupt the rest of your manicure, and smiled to yourself when he accepted your offer. He tilted the bag and dumped a few of the chips into his open palm. With a small smile, he mused, “Haven’t had these since we were kids.”

That wave of nostalgia must have caught him in a riptide because he went quiet in a way that made you pause. You were about to speak up — to say what, you weren’t sure — but you promptly shut your mouth. Index and middle fingers now extended, he held out his hand to make a peace sign. Each fingertip had a small cone sitting crooked on top.

Jimin laughed unexpectedly, which almost made his already-crinkled eyes disappear completely. “Kinda look like little wizards.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that the thumping in your chest just then was fondness.

After shaking your head to clear those thoughts, you realized that the little wizards weren’t holding the glass of hard cider he’d gone to his kitchen to refill. You pushed yourself to your feet with one hand and a playfully exaggerated groan, popping the remaining chips from your fingers into your mouth at once.

“Leaving already?”

He should’ve known better than to ask you a question while your mouth was full, but he didn’t. The explanation he received was therefore unintelligible. Head cocked curiously to the side, lips slightly parted, he tried to connect the dots. Just as soon as he started, he gave up and trailed after you.

Jimin didn’t stop until you did, right in front of his refrigerator. He was so close, in fact, that you accidentally hit him with the door as you pulled it open.

“Oh, shit!” You muttered, shutting the door again quickly.

Wincing, your gaze flitted over to assess the damage you’d done to the outside of his bicep with the metal corner of the door. On instinct, you reached out to run the pads of your fingers over the faint red mark blooming there. Goosebumps spread in the wake of your touch, but you didn’t feel that same phantom chill. Just something electric that sparked against your fingertips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said gently. “I don’t bruise like you do.”

In the moment of silence that followed, you felt compelled to lift your eyes but not your hand. Unless you were imagining things, he leaned into your touch, just slightly. Not enough to see, but enough to feel.

It’d crossed your mind a thousand times since you walked through his front door. With that throwaway statement, Jimin confirmed he’d been thinking about it, too — about who you both were on this date last year. About the way you’d only ever let him treat you roughly because anything sweeter threatened the distance you were trying to keep. About the bruises given with no chance to kiss them better.

You weren’t that person anymore, and neither was he.

“Jimin,” you started.

It was the farthest along in your sentence that your voice would let you go.

After the million baby steps you’d taken in his direction and the healing you’d allow yourself to do, you were still scared to show your cards. Now, you’d seen him in technicolor. Now, if you fucked things up, you’d never be able to go back to black and white.

What if you fuck things up again?

Jimin sensed your hesitation, but he didn’t accept it. Instead, he closed the distance so slowly that your hand wasn’t disrupted from where it rested on his bicep. His hands found you just as easily. One made its home at the small of your back while the other cupped the side of your face.

With a whisper lighter than air, he asked, “If I kiss you, will you let me?”

His eyes flitted from yours, to your lips, then back again.

“Or will you kamikaze dive into my kitchen table?”

Your reply was even softer than the question posed. “Only one way to find out.”

If the uptick at the corner of his lips told you anything, it was that he intended to.

Cautiously, as if sudden moves would startle you, he pulled your body flush against his. His other hand tilted your face upwards, thumb gently tucked under your chin while the rest of his fingers rested in the space just below your ear. His touch kept your body present even when the sensation of his kiss threatened to sweep your feet out from underneath you.

Plush pink and delicate, his lips molded to yours like they were specially designed to do just that. Like cracks giving way to let the light in, you opened yourself up for him. Licked into his mouth, eager to learn the parts of him you’d missed in all the time you��d shut him out.

And if you listened — really listened, over the moan he swallowed from you — you could’ve sworn you heard all the silly pages of your childhood diary flipping furiously. Scribbled to hell and back with a glitter gel pen, each one noting that this is what you wanted, this is what you wanted, this is everything you wanted.

The eternity in that kiss wasn’t long enough. Eventually, he broke the contact, pulling a disagreeing gasp from you when he pulled away. Your lips buzzed from the sudden loss of pressure — that, or they trembled without the warmth of his mouth. Either way, he was gone too soon.

The hand you had resting against his bicep slipped down to the center of his chest to tug at the fabric of his t-shirt. Unable to nip that growing neediness in the bud, you frowned.

“Jimin,” you sighed. You had nothing to follow-up with. His name was the totality of that thought.

Several moments of silence came next. His brow furrowed, like he was trying and failing to find something less vulnerable to say. He couldn’t. When it slipped out, his eyes searched your face for a reaction.

“I want to be soft with you.”

Any time you’d been together before, it was carnal, dripping with unarticulated hurt. He didn’t want that, not this time. You didn’t have to guess why.

Though the level of desperation you both felt now was familiar, the underscore had changed. Jimin wanted to touch you carefully because he felt fragile — so did you. If either of you moved too quickly, too roughly, you ran the risk of upending the balance you’d found. Like you, Jimin seemed to know that this was delicate.

You lifted your hand from his shirt and placed it on top of his where it sat above your jaw. Gently, your fingers wrapped around his and lowered them so you could intertwine them properly. Then, without a word and without letting go, you led him out of the kitchen into the small hallway.

This was the first time you’d crossed his house without sprinting and violently shedding your clothes as you went. It felt like you were seeing it all for the first time because, in a way, you were.

You’d never noticed the framed photos lining the walls of the hallway, or the subtle notes of grey in the white paint behind them. In all the time you’d spent there before, it’d never clicked that this house was a home. Everywhere, there were hints of him — his interests, his achievements, the friends you’d never met — sitting so blatantly in places you’d previously ignored.

Jimin apologized when you stepped over the threshold into his bedroom. “My plan was to clean it tomorrow.”

He smiled sheepishly as his free hand carded through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Doesn’t do you any good today, though.”

“I don’t mind,” you hummed in reply, shutting the door slowly behind him. “My plan was to do laundry today, and — well, you’ll see how that worked out for me.”

You kept your fingers interlocked with his while you surveyed his room. Like the rest of the house, you’d been in there countless times before without truly seeing any of it. Apart from the bare minimum clutter he’d needlessly apologized for, every surface was thoughtfully decorated. Even the absence of some keepsake or trinket on his shelf was purposeful.

He keeps space.

Propped on a stand near his dresser was his guitar, which you didn’t even know he still played. Of course he does, you thought, he’d have been an idiot to throw that talent away.

You were smiling long before you noticed you were doing it, even more so when you clocked where it sat. Just like it did in his childhood home, the guitar was positioned directly across the room from his doorway — the first and last thing he’d see when he came and left.

Carefully, you reached out and trailed one finger over the tuning pegs. It all felt forbidden, but stupidly, you felt compelled. You spent a lifetime aching to touch him. For reasons you couldn’t explain, his guitar was no different.

Watching you caress his guitar made his pulse race harder; you could feel it where your wrist aligned with his. If nothing else had changed, you suspected that he still didn’t let anyone lay a finger on it. Jimin always insisted that he did all the maintenance himself because he didn’t trust the technician at the local music shop to be careful enough.

To your surprise, it didn’t appear to be anxiety spinning circles in his stomach as he watched you. He spun you around, and it was clear from the look in his eye — the unshakeable desire he felt to touch you that same way.

You wondered what he was thinking while he studied your face in silence — if the months he’d spent trying to teach himself to hate it had blurred your features; and if he saw them clearly now.

The smattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose which swept over the tops of your cheekbones — even though it was winter, and you hadn’t seen much of the sun for weeks.

The small scar interrupting your eyebrow, which you’d gotten when both of your families went camping together a million years ago. He’d sprinted across tide pools to help you back to your feet, reaching you long before Seokjin could catch up.

You didn’t know if it was a conscious decision now, but he leaned down and placed a kiss there the way you wished he had back then.

“This isn’t still illegal, is it?” He murmured against your skin.

Unable to breathe, let alone speak, you shook your head so subtly that it couldn’t reasonably be counted as movement. Your next move was bolder, though: You unzipped your sweatshirt, shrugged your way out of it, and let it fall at your feet.

With a quick glance down, you remembered what you were wearing and cringed with your whole body.

Neither of your socks matched; your sweatpants had a hole near the crotch; and your sweatshirt’s sole task had been to hide the ratty, old MapleStory t-shirt that you stole from Seokjin when he went off to college.

A certifiable mess in a self-imposed dry spell.

Jesus Christ.

“Laundry day,” you blurted out in explanation, though he hadn’t asked. He wasn’t laughing, either — not reacting in any way to roast you the way you expected him to. Still, the tips of your nose and ears burned with embarrassment. “I didn’t plan for… this.”

His index finger dipped under the hem of your t-shirt and his thumb mirrored the way it traced the stitching.

“I kind of forgot that you own shit like this.” He replied softly, looking more pensive than usual. “Never see you in sweats.”

It was a fair point.

Jimin had slept next to you on three occasions — when the rules permitted — and you always woke up the same way you’d fallen asleep: completely naked. Somehow, it felt even more intimate for him to see what you wore when you went to bed without him. The silly, branded t-shirt probably said more about you than your bare chest did.

You realized that you’d never seen him in his current state before, either, with black joggers hanging low on his hips. His fluffy, air-dried hair didn’t sit smoothly the way it normally did. You wanted so badly to run your fingers through it, but there was a stronger compulsion to reckon with:

His shirt was ripped at the hem, not quite covering the lower inches of his torso.

Unthinkingly, your hand reached out so your fingers could rest against the skin there, midway down faint the trail of hair that dipped under the waistband of his pants. So much warmer than you, he shivered at your touch. You paused, self-conscious, then glanced up at him with eyebrows raised.

Is this okay?

You didn’t have to ask out loud to get an answer. It came as a whisper — “cold hands” — and it was accompanied by a smile that made your knees weak.

He nodded towards the other side of his room and said, “C’mere.”

The hand that previously held yours found it again. Fingers slipping easily into the spaces between yours, he led and you followed.

The crisply folded sheets contrasted completely with the effortless coziness of the rest of the space, but they didn’t stay that way for long. With his free hand, Jimin gripped the comforter and tugged it loose. It fluttered and fell freely back down over the bed.

Sighing reflexively, you slipped into the opening he’d created within the blankets. Every fiber smelled like him — clementine flower, orange blossom, water lily and orris — and now, so would you.

Jimin waited for you to scoot over before filling the space next to you, tilting his body inward to keep his eyes on you. His bent knee pressed against your outer thigh. It was chaste, especially when you considered the thousand other ways he’d touched you, but it had you vibrating in place, nonetheless. He probably felt it when he leaned in and kissed you for the third time, fingers sliding into your hair.

Tangled in him, your intrusive thought won out. Loose, it flew like a ping-pong ball around the inside of your skull: He can probably feel all that dry-shampoo, too.

Like he was begging you to focus, the tip of his tongue flicked across your bottom lip and stole a whimper. Your lips parted eagerly against his to accommodate him; both of you starving for every bit of tenderness you’d refused to let him give before.

As he poured more of himself into that kiss, the hand in your hair ran slowly down the length of your neck, over the slope of your shoulder, and down the curve of your torso. It stopped on the top of your thigh, warming you through to your bones. For the first time, his fingers didn’t dig harshly into the doughy flesh he found there. Now, his feather-light touch left you buzzing instead of bruised.

With every second that passed, your tingling spine struggled more and more to hold you upright. Noting the slight shift in your posture, Jimin guided you — still lip-locked — to rest your head on his pillows. It wasn’t until you tilted your head slightly to the side that his lips left yours; dipped down below your jaw to pepper the exposed skin there with unbearably soft kisses.

Each one made your pulse race harder than the last, pulled needy little breaths out of your mouth.

“Sound so pretty when you sigh like that,” he hummed against your throat. “Might have to kiss you like this forever if this is what it gets me.”

You’d been underneath him more times than you could presently recall, but never like this. Until now, you never understood how a person could say they loved you without any words at all, but you heard it. More than anything, you felt it in every brush of his lips — in the static crackling around you, charged with every little, languid line his tongue left behind.

The only thing distracting from your swelling heart was the wetness pooling in the bikini bottoms you’d hastily thrown on in the absence of clean underwear.

Fucking laundry day.

The sole consolation was the fact that the blend of polyester and elastane was better suited for a flood than any lace you would’ve consciously selected.

The breath behind his words tickled and surprised you, derailing your train of thought.

“Is it against the rules to tell you how beautiful I think you are?”

The circles he drew against the fabric of your sweatpants had you hypnotized, but you still managed to reply, “No more rules. Except — Oh, fuck.”

You mewled at the sensation of him suckling at the spot where your neck joined your shoulder.

“Except that you can’t ever stop.”

His lips curled into a smile against the love bite he’d so carefully crafted.

“I won’t,” he murmured before placing a kiss in the same spot he’d marked. “But I may need an intermission to get these incredibly chic clothes off your body. Kind of feels sacrilegious, though, I’ve gotta say.”

Your eyes flickered over to him, eyebrows raised. He pursed his lips to keep from smiling, forced the straightest face he could muster, then traced his fingertip over the rip in the crotch of your sweatpants. Sounding downright reverent, he explained, “They’re holey.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” You dropped your head back against the pillows with a groan that didn’t outgun your laughter. “Straight to jail for that. Seriously, that’s a federal crime.”

When your eyes stopped rolling and settled on him, Jimin was already looking down at you with amusement sparkling in the deep brown of his irises. He said nothing, opting instead to kiss you — for the fourth time — as a farewell before pulling away entirely.

The spot next to you went cold as soon as he sat up, but — bravely — you didn’t complain. You watched with your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. He grabbed the end of his haphazardly, perfectly cropped t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.

Your only instinct was to reach up to his bare chest and trace every plane of it. To your dismay, Jimin intervened. Fingers at the hem of your top now, he stared expectantly at you until you stretched your arms above your head. That stupid, stolen shirt was guided up and off before it was discarded somewhere unseen.

Jimin’s pupils dilated immediately, gaze sweeping over your bare chest like he was beyond grateful that all your bras were at home, drowning in your washing machine. Uninhibited, he leaned forward. The delicate, cuban-link chain of necklace tickled the skin of your stomach while he placed an open-mouthed kiss in the space between your breasts. Cool to the touch, you shivered for more reasons than one.

When his tongue flicked out over one erect nipple, all you could offer was a breathy sigh, brain scrambled to hell and back. He seemed to draw inspiration from this — him and his goddamn mouth promptly switched tactics. Mimicking you, he looked up at you from under his lashes and blew a warm stream of air over your other nipple.

You were full-out whimpering underneath him. “Shit.”

“Yeah?” He smirked before taking the pebbled bud into his mouth and sucking softly, eyes still locked on yours.

Can I cum from this?

Oh god, I really might cum from this.

His mouth’s ministrations continued while his hands swept gently down the curves of your waist. That is, until they reached the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. Abruptly, Jimin stopped and sat back onto his calves.

You didn’t have to ask. Jimin’s eyes widened in tandem with the grin on his face; and you knew what he’d discovered. Smiling now with all his teeth, he tugged playfully at the knotted tie sitting above your right hip, keeping your bikini bottoms in place.

He snorted incredulously, “Be fucking for real.”

“Stop.” The word was elongated as you whined. It was useless, but you swatted at his arm. “I told you — ”

“I know, I know. It’s laundry day.” Fuck, his affection for you was written all over his face. “Incredible — truly, I have no notes.”

You buried your face in your hands to hide from him, but he didn’t let you. Just like he did that time on your couch, Jimin pulled your hands away from your face and held them in his own. This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t tear yourself away from him. Instead, you did the opposite. You grabbed the sides of his face in your hands and leaned into him.

With his hands now free, he was able to push your sweatpants down the rest of the way without extricating his lips from yours. Those fucking bikini bottoms went with them when he slipped the fabric over your ankles and tossed them blindly over his shoulder.

Mouth moving hungrily against yours, his hand hovered over your cunt, radiating warmth. You fought to keep your last shred of patience but lost, shifting underneath him to beg wordlessly for his touch. He obliged. His middle finger dipped between your sopping folds until it found the swollen bead of your clit and spiraled over it.

“Fuck,” you moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it, kissed you so deep your mind went blank.

The slow pace he’d chosen normally would have driven you mad, but instead of coming across as a taunt — or a punishment — you got the impression that he was basking in your arousal. That he was taking his time, savoring you and the million ways your body craved his.

When you pulled back, your lips were kiss-bitten and palpably swollen. He must have felt your quickened breath against his own lips. They autonomously curved into the tiniest sliver of a smile.

Watching him watch you, it was clear that Jimin loved you like this — wide-eyed, unguarded, inviting. He loved you generally. You knew that much for certain as he gazed down at you, and you were so fucking thankful that neither of you had to keep pretending otherwise.

Whatever trance he’d fallen into ended when you whispered, “Please.”

Though your plea wasn’t much more than an exhale, he didn’t need to be told twice. Momentarily, he stood; and as he did, your own hand dipped down between your legs. He stepped out of his joggers with his focus trained on you, staring spellbound while you touched yourself in his absence. Wet enough to drip.

If you had to wager on it, you’d bet that he could’ve stood there all night observing, listening to the way you moaned as you slicked your own fingers, but the darkened tip of his cock was weeping like he wanted you badly enough to ache. Completely incapable of spending any more time as a bystander, he fell to his knees between your legs. There, he guided them further apart with his hands.

Desperately, you grabbed one of his hands from where it sat on your knee and pulled him so that he was leaning over you once again. You wanted to feel the way his breath caught as he entered you, bare chest pressing into yours while he filled you. Needed him — just him — all the time.

Forearms now pressed to the mattress and fingers in your hair, he caged you in. His forehead came to rest against yours when you reached into the space between your bodies and dragged his tip through the mess he’d made of you. That faint squelch was obscene enough in the quiet of his room. It couldn’t hold a candle to the groan that escaped his chest when he finally entered you.

“Holy shit.” He exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. Your walls enveloped him, squeezing tight enough that no question remained about where he belonged. “Fucking missed you.”

That initial, perfect ache threatened to blind you, but it wouldn’t have mattered with the way your eyes screwed shut — too overcome with want to do much more than breathe. Slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretched you until he bottomed out. It was the closest thing you’d ever had to an out-of-body experience.

“Missed you,” you mumbled.

Well beyond fuck drunk, you bordered on incoherent. A kiss on your forehead lassoed you, brought you crashing back down. It was redundant, but he murmured, “Come back to me.”

You blinked up at him in a haze.

“Want you to look at me.”

He sounded shy, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him, and you didn’t need any further explanation.

Eye contact had never been on the table before, deemed early on to be far too fucking intimate. If this is what he wanted, you decided, you’d never take your eyes off him again. Especially not when he looked at you the way he did then, like you hung the fucking stars in the sky.

You countered, “Kiss me.”

And he did, like he might never get the chance again.

No amount of closeness could’ve been enough, but you settled for wrapping your legs around him. With his range of motion now limited, he grinded against you; the curve of his cock rubbed against that secret spot behind your pubic bone.

Bones? Do you still have any of those?

Every tantalizing, slow thrust made it harder for you to remember why you’d ever required harshness when his gentleness now was infinitely more intense. It was so much better — being loved by him rather than hated.

Desperate fingers left half-moon imprints on his back, which was beginning to slick with sweat. The spaces between your whimpers lessened while the pressure in your abdomen began to build. Jimin had you teetering at the edge of the world, and you told him so with your lips at his ear, “Please — I’m so close.”

His forehead creased, and you watched in real time as determination etched itself into his features. He was perfect — beautiful — and he was close, too. You clenched; he cursed, “Fuck.”

You looked up at him through fluttering lashes, silently begging him not to stop. Not now, not ever. Stay.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” Jimin murmured, burying himself deeper with every thrust. “You know that, right? How much you mean to me?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He watched your face as you came — when your eyes rolled back, and your head tilted against his pillows. Your legs loosened their binds around him as they shook, gasping moans tumbling out of your open mouth. His pace didn’t falter; his presence deep inside of you only elongated your orgasm.

Bliss.

You were still fluttering around his length when your eyes finally drifted open again. Not even through your first aftershocks, his panting breaths alone could’ve pushed you headfirst into a second orgasm.

His gaze had dropped at some point to see the way your cunt clung to him with every backstroke. He must’ve felt you staring, though; he looked back up at you, pupils blown wide. That was all it took to dot stars along the edges of your vision.

Back arching up off the mattress, you gushed around him once again. Mindless babbling — consisting only of his name and expletives — fell clumsily off your tongue. It caught both of you off-guard when your shaky voice managed to plead, “Wanna feel you cum — please. Want you to let go for me.”

Only after you begged him did his thrusts become desperate, reckless. There was the unmistakable sound of your wetness and skin colliding with skin, and then there was the low moan that built in the seat of his chest and broke free. Face buried in the crook of your neck as he came, the heat of his breath on your skin was rivaled only by the dizzying warmth of his release spilling into you.

He struggled to hold himself up while his spent cock still twitched inside of you. If you were being honest, you adored the way his weight pinned you against his mattress. Maybe, you thought, you could stay there forever.

Eventually, an exhausted voice came from the curve of your shoulder, almost too muffled to hear.

“How is it —” Jimin panted. “— That in the hundred times we’ve had sex, it never felt like that?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. Tingling fingertips ran lightly and lazily across his shoulder blades. The hint of hesitation bubbling in the pit of your stomach cautioned you not to speak your thoughts out loud, so you stared at the ceiling above you and willed yourself to be brave.

Your voice threatened to give up on its way out.

“Nobody’s ever fucked me like they love me before.”

He mustered all the energy he still had to turn his head and look at you. At first, you couldn’t tear your eyes off the ceiling to look back. Make space, you begged yourself; and so, you did.

With his chest resting heavily on yours, you wondered if he could feel the way your heart skipped a beat at that eye contact alone. The glimmer in his eye informed you that, yes, he could.

“Better get used to it, then.” He punctuated his thought by pressing his lips to your temple. “‘Cause that’s what you signed up for.”

You smirked, “Oh? Was there a contract?”

You might’ve kept teasing him if he didn’t tilt your head to kiss you properly — and fuck, you were melting all over again.

“Sealed with a kiss, no less.” He leaned down to nip affectionately at your earlobe. Mouth at the shell of your ear, he purred. “Like any deal with the devil should be.”

“Goddamn.” You whistled. “Promoted from menace to devil already. Congratulations.”

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled out of you and forced himself upright to his feet. Before you could even ask him to, Jimin leaned down to kiss the lips you’d poked out into a pout. Your voice was uncharacteristically needy as your question slipped out.

“You are coming back, right?”

“Nope,” he hummed against your lips. You leaned away from him with your jaw dropped incredulously. “I’m taking a shower and I’m taking you with me.”

That was the only warning you got before one of Jimin’s arms slipped under the hinge of your knees, and the other disappeared behind your back. You screamed. Instead of flailing — a one-way ticket to the floor, you imagined — you threaded your arms around his neck and clung to him as if your life depended on it.

“Pardon me,” you sputtered. “But what the fuck is happening right now?”

“Shhh — pipe down. I’m keeping a promise.”

You stared at him expectantly. For a moment, he ignored you and continued quietly on his way towards the bathroom. It wasn’t until he reached the threshold that he paused with a sigh.

The look he shot you then was far more earnest than you could’ve expected under the circumstances. One that said he saw you, not through you, and he wasn’t going to look away.

Jimin said it breezily, like it cost him even less than the air it took to vocalize it: “I am not letting you down again.”

A pinprick of tears stung the corners of your eyes. You fought like hell to keep them where they belonged. It was such a stupid joke — made so lightly — and it still held more weight than anything you’d ever heard.

Eyes swimming despite your resistance, you sniffled and laughed. “Not, like, literally, though — right?”

“Aw, baby.” He kissed your temple again, cooing. Part of you hated it, but the rest of you swooned. “Don’t test me.”

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kookie-doughs · 3 months

Text

Evermore

Dracule Mihawk X Reader

-Your evermore with Mihawk is a story to be told

Chapter 1: I Was The One Who Had It All, I Was The Master Of My Fate

The island was bathed in the soft hues of sunset, a tranquil paradise now stained by the recent clash of pirates. The aftermath of the Red-Haired Pirates' intervention painted a scene of contrasting emotions on the once troubled island. The air carried a sense of relief, mingling with the residual tension that still lingered like a fading echo.

Strewn across the sandy shores were remnants of the tumultuous battle—broken weapons, discarded pirate flags, and the occasional charred mark on the earth—all testaments to the chaos that had been averted. The island's residents moved with a renewed purpose, repairing the damage inflicted upon their homes while grateful smiles and whispers of gratitude flitted through the air like a shared secret.

The village, once shrouded in the shadows of despair, now basked in the soft radiance of newfound hope. The wooden structures, adorned with vibrant tapestries and flowers, stood as beacons of resilience against the adversity that had threatened to consume them. Laughter, hesitant at first, began to resonate from the now-reopened market stalls as merchants and buyers alike engaged in the timeless dance of commerce.

Citizens bustled about, picking up the pieces of their shattered lives. Among them, you moved like a ghost, haunted by memories of the invaders who had ravaged your home. Sold into slavery, you were a mere shadow of your former self, shrouded in trauma.

Amidst the chaos, a solitary figure stood out. Dracule Mihawk, the enigmatic Warlord of the Sea, had graced this island with his presence. Red-Haired Shanks and his crew welcomed him warmly, celebrating their recent victory. As the festivities ensued, Mihawk's keen gaze fell upon you, a lone figure on the fringes of the crowd. Your eyes met his, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Shanks, ever perceptive, noticed Mihawk's interest and nudged him playfully. "Seems like someone's caught your eye, Hawk-Eye."

You tensed, ready to flee, but before you could act, Mihawk stepped between you and Shanks. "Akagami, stop frightening her."

Mihawk's words held a strange comfort, and you hesitated, your eyes darting between the two formidable figures. Shanks smiled kindly at you, but his presence still felt overwhelming. As you turned to leave, Shanks made a move to reach out, but Mihawk's hand halted him with a gentle but firm touch.

"Akagami, give her time. Leave her alone."

The night settled over the island, and the festivities dwindled. Mihawk, shrouded in his dark aura, left the crowd and followed the path you had taken. Through winding alleys and dimly lit corners, he found you huddled in the darkest and most secluded part of the village. Mihawk's presence was unsettling, but your fear had been replaced by curiosity.

He approached silently, his boots making no sound against the worn cobblestone. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Mihawk said nothing, respecting the silence that enveloped you. Just as he was about to leave, you summoned the courage to grab the edge of his coat, your fingers trembling.

His gaze met yours, and you pointed to the sword strapped to his back The legendary blade, Yoru, gleamed faintly in the moonlight. With practiced ease, Mihawk drew the sword and placed it before you. Your heart raced as you hesitantly reached out, your fingertips grazing the blade's surface. A mixture of awe and fear filled your eyes as you studied the intricate craftsmanship.

Seeing your desire to touch the sword, Mihawk's lips curved into a rare smile. "You may touch it."

Hesitantly, you extended a trembling finger and brushed it against the blade's edge. A rush of emotions surged through you, and a genuine smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Mihawk's own smile deepened, as a silent connection formed between you and the sword.

Just as the moment seemed to linger, Shanks appeared, his jovial laughter cutting through the silence. Your guard snapped back into place, and you retreated, your heart pounding. Mihawk swiftly moved between you and Shanks, his grip on Yoru tightening subtly.

Shanks laughed heartily. "Hawk-Eye, I didn't expect to find you here."

Mihawk's gaze remained fixed on you, and he simply nodded in response. With a playful wink at you, Shanks allowed himself to be dragged back to the crowd by Mihawk, their shadows fading into the night.

The following day, as the sun began to rise, Mihawk returned to the secluded area he had found you. There you were, sitting, your gaze fixed on the sword that had captured your heart. A silent understanding passed between you and Mihawk as he picked up the sword, the weight of its history evident in his grasp.

You looked up at him, your eyes bright with anticipation and curiosity. He extended Yoru toward you, a silent invitation. The sword practically hummed with energy, and you couldn't resist. With a hesitant smile, you reached out and took hold of the hilt, the cool metal sending a thrill through your fingertips.

Mihawk settled onto the ground beside you, his presence both comforting and enigmatic. As you inspected the blade, your excitement spilled over into a monologue about its history, its legends, and its unparalleled craftsmanship. Mihawk listened intently, his usual stoicism softened by genuine interest.

As your words flowed, Mihawk's curiosity grew. "You seem quite knowledgeable about swords."

You looked up at him, a mixture of emotions in your eyes. "I was swordswoman."

Mihawk's eyebrows lifted slightly, surprised by your admission. "And do you possess a blade of your own?"

A wistful smile tugged at your lips. "I did, once. A legendary sword, passed down through generations. But it was taken from me."

Mihawk's gaze turned contemplative, as if he were piecing together the puzzle of your past. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his tone measured. "Would you like to come with me?"

Without hesitation, you nodded, a spark of excitement igniting within you. "Yes."

Mihawk's lips quirked into a faint smile. "May I ask why? Why would you agree without hesitation?"

You met his gaze, your eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and determination. "Because your sword is the only thing that can bring me back to who I was before... before everything happened."

Mihawk nodded, his gaze softening. He shared stories of his own home, his castle perched atop a desolate cliff, where the sound of crashing waves was a constant companion. Your heart raced at the thought, and the idea of a new beginning filled you with hope.

Mihawk's boat glided smoothly into the calm waters surrounding his remote island sanctuary. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the tranquil scene. As the anchor found purchase and the gangway was lowered, Dracule Mihawk stepped ashore with his characteristic grace.

His arrival, however, was met with a sight that drew a rare quirk of his eyebrow. There, standing near the shore with her arms folded and a pout on her lips, was the ever-quirky Perona. Her vibrant pink hair stood out against the backdrop of the island's lush greenery, a vivid contrast to her annoyed expression.

"Finally! You took forever to come back, you know," Perona huffed, her tone a blend of frustration and relief.

Mihawk turns regarded the brash yet endearing ghost princess. "I apologize for any inconvenience, Perona."

Perona's annoyance seemed to dissipate as she caught sight of the turning away. "Hmph. Well, it's about time. Leaving me here with that marimo was a nightmare."

Mihawk arched an eyebrow. "Marimo?"

Perona rolled her eyes, her exasperation evident. "Yes, that swordsman you're so fond of, that green-haired, three-sword-wielding Roronoa Zoro. He's insufferable, you know. All he does is train, act all serious, and get into fights. And the way he talks back to me! I can't take it!"

Mihawk's stoic façade held firm. "Ah, I see. Zoro has a knack for invoking strong reactions."

Perona's arms crossed once more as she launched into a full-blown tirade. "Strong reactions? That's an understatement! He doesn't appreciate my powers, always giving me that scowl. And he's utterly dense when it comes to my Negative Hollows. I tried to have a conversation, you know, something civilized, and all he wanted to do was spar!"

"It appears you had quite the eventful time."

Perona huffed, her annoyance still palpable. "Eventful? More like excruciating! I'm just glad you're back so I can have some semblance of sanity."

"I am tired, may I retire back home? You can regale me with your adventures in dealing with our dear marimo whilst we walk."

Perona's scowl softened into a begrudging grin, and she floated closer to him. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."

Masterlist | Next

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @nykie-love-anime @khaleesihavilliard

#x reader #fanfiction #y/n l/n #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #op mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece x reader #one piecr dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk x reader #mihawk

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eternal-kosmo-ghoul · 5 months

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*°:⋆ₓₒ day 15. praise kink

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “nice list”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ what a good pet you’ve been… and it looks like secondo has taken notice

pairing: papa secondo x gn!reader

a/n: think of it as a nice contrast to the spanking fic with terzo 🙏

cw: nsfw content. praise kink. pet names (?). sexual tension. secondo flirting. neck kissing. no actual sex happens. idk ahhh

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“you’ve been so well behaved as of lately.. i should treat you with something special tonight.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

you’ve always been a gentle, kind person.

always remained humble to your peers, and treated your superiors with respect and kindness. some may have called you a pure soul because of your constant kindness, sometimes a goody-two-shoes, but you’d rather remain respectful rather than resentful.

hell, you’d even go as far as to stay away from scandalous activity such as drinking, smoking, or anything that was sexual in nature. it was kind of ironic, considering you were living in a satanic church, surrounded by siblings and demons who constantly followed the narrative of going against standard christian rule— and by that they did anything that wasn’t chaste or pure in nature. you didn’t mind this kind of environment, if anything, it gave you a purpose within the ministry; to be the voice of reason and balance that the church desperately needed to continue running its operations.

that’s when papa emeritus ii, secondo, really started to take a liking to you.

he noticed your hard work. how you’d constantly look after the ghouls and make sure they didn’t tear each other apart. how you always assisted the siblings of sin with their chores, even if some of them gave you nasty attitudes. it’s something he didn’t see so often. why would such a gratifying person be willing to stay in a place such as this? he didn’t think someone like you could even last a day within the ministry.

but he was proven wrong multiple times.

secondo didn’t want this behavior to go unrewarded. no no no, you were probably one of the most loyal followers to date. you deserved some recognition for your hard work.

so that’s exactly what secondo did. right now, he was sitting in his office, tapping a pen against his desk rhythmically. he had called you to his office for a meeting, so now he was just awaiting for your presence, remaining as patient as ever.

right on the dime, the wooden door creaked open after several knocks sounded behind. you peaked your head into the small space, and secondo gave a warm smile, gesturing for you to come inside.

“don’t be shy, dearie. come on in.” secondo reassured. his sudden kindness caught you off guard. the emeritus was usually a lot more reserved, stoic and stern. so this was new.

needless to say, it was refreshing, and nice too. so you nodded and obliged. “oh yes— sorry about that.”

“no need to apologize.”

you closed the door behind you, and made your way to sit on the velvety seat that was positioned across from where secondo sat in his seat. you took a good look around his office. the fireplace was crackling with glowing embers to keep the place cozy and warm. old yule decorations strung up against the walls and ceiling to add a more welcoming feel to it. this kind of environment is truly something you wouldn’t expect from a man like secondo. he was such a commanding presence, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by him from time to time. even now, it was a little suffocating to be around him.

the emeritus seemed to take notice of your nervousness, and he sighed, a small smile forming on his lips.

“please, don’t be afraid, angel. i promise i don’t bite.” secondo said with a light chuckle. your eyes widened, not realizing how easy it was to read your expression.

“s-sorry, i just got a little nervous.”

“again, no need to apologize. i’m used to people thinking i’m scary.”

a shocked expression took over your face, and you waved your hands to try and correct him. “ohh no no no that’s not what i—“

secondo just laughed at your reaction. “relax, honey. i’m just pulling your leg. no need to get all antsy over it.”

you paused for a moment, and let out a sigh of relief, wiping off invisible sweat from your forehead. “oh thank satan.”

the two of you sat in the office for a brief silence. that was until you decided to break it.

“so… why did you call me to your office? i’m going to assume it’s for something important.”

secondo tilted his head at this, and put his cup down.

“right…” he hummed. “well, i wanted to bring you here for a variety of reasons, mainly regarding your behavior and work within the ministry.”

you gulped at the sound of this. were you in trouble? no, you couldn’t be. you did too much a of a good job to be.

secondo then continued.

“you’ve always exceeded above and beyond my expectations with your resilience. you live in a place of sin, yet you don’t give into temptation, which is… baffling, but noble. you keep your morale levelheaded, and use it to help aid the ghouls and other siblings of sin. and through it all, you’ve kept your kindhearted nature.” all of his words were filled with praise and admiration for your work. it truly touched your heart. you weren’t expecting it, but it was… lovely.

“i… i don’t know what to say other than.. thank you.” you spoke bashfully, truly pleased by the recognition of your efforts.

“my pleasure.” he smiled. “a little birdie also told me that you’re preparing gifts for all of your peers for this year’s christmas. is that right?”

you nodded at this. “yes i am.”

secondo nodded. he got up from his seat and slowly walked around his desk to approach you. you yourself remained seated.

“hmmm.. and no one is getting you a gift, i assume?”

your heart skipped a bit from this. “well… i don’t mind. as long as my other peers are getting presents then—“

he cut you off before you could speak further.

“no no no. that just won’t do. you do a lot for our family, you deserve something in return.” secondo said with a more low, smooth voice. his body made its way behind the chair you were sitting on, and his hands moved to gently grip your shoulders.

the sudden contact made you gasp, but the warmth of his hands felt nice on your body. he then leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“you’ve been so good, doll face. you surely deserve more than what you get.” he whispered huskily, being sure to rub your shoulders in a way that had you squirming and panting. “and you deserve it all too, deserve praise and support for what you do… ohh i’ll be sure to give it to you.”

you tried to speak up, but secondo’s sudden flirty behavior made your voice sound meek. “s-secondo—“

“tell you what.” he started. “your gift from me will be some nice, old fashioned… loving. to show you how appreciated you are within this ministry, by me.”

your breath hitched. you could feel secondo nipping at your neck with soft, tender kisses, occasionally sucking on the skin. you sighed heavenly.

“you’ve been so well behaved as of lately.. i should treat you with something special tonight.”

“i.. i-i just..”

you couldn’t get the words out. you were too stunned. his touches were delicate to the core, and you felt like you were on cloud nine from each time he kissed your neck, you even tilted your head upwards to give him more room.

“don’t worry, baby. i’ll make sure you feel real good.” secondo smirked, still kissing your neck. as he did so, his hands slithered down to move under your shirt, resting his hands right underneath your chest and on your ribcage.

“so… how about it? you want me to give you my extra special christmas gift? as my gratitude for all of your hard work?”

damn. you couldn’t just say no. when would you ever get an oppylike this again? not in a million years

you whimpered and spoke. “please.”

he smirked. “now that’s what i like to hear.”

and he slowly started to slip your shirt off.

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#holiday hoes event #secondo #secondo x reader #papa secondo #secondo smut #papa secondo smut #papa emeritus smut #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost bc x reader #ghost bc smut #smutty drabble #christmas prompts #christmas

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stanchett · 1 year

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ooooh for the prompts, maybe sub!lucifer x reader, like lucifer not in a million years thinking that being submissive would be enjoyable but after reader touches her wings lucifer is like ....... whaT are these Feelings :) so like i guess a wink kink? haha

Here you go, anon! It’s a little shorter than my other fics, but I hope you enjoy it!! This is also unbeta'd, so I apologize for any errors I might've missed!!

Also, thanks so much for 500 followers??? I’m floored by all the support on my writing, you guys are the best 🫶

AO3 Link

Playing with Fire

Warnings: NSFW

1.6k words

The black marble floors of Lucifer’s throne room stung your bare feet with a chill at each step, contrasting perfectly with the heat of the hellish realm. The air smelled of burnt sandalwood, vanilla and sin; a strangely comforting scent, one signature to the Morningstar. You ascended the steps to find them seated at the edge of the small pit of fire at the center of the room, fingers dancing amid the flames. You watched closely, their long digits twirling them around, coaxing them higher. They had yet to regard your presence, but they spoke up nonetheless.

“My curious Little Lamb.” Your next steps were hesitant, and you came to a halt a few feet from them. Deciding it was in your best interest to remain on their good side, you knelt before them out of respect, dropping to one knee and lowering your gaze to the floor. Out of your line of sight, they turned to take you in in your submissive state, a pleased smile crossing their features.

After several moments, you lifted your eyes to meet theirs, and a chill ran down your spine at the way they looked down at you. “Rise, and join me,” were their only words, turning their attention back to the flames beside them.

You stood slowly, hands clasping behind your back as you moved in their direction. Taking a seat in front of them on the cool ruddy stone, you turned your gaze to the fire as well, its heat licking at your exposed skin around your white silken gown. A rogue spark flew in your direction, landing on the back of your hand. You hissed in pained surprise, and shook it in the air briefly. The Morningstar only chuckled; of course your pain brought them joy. The sound of their laugh distracted you momentarily, as it was a sound that hinted at the life they once lived - it was an angelic, throaty sound. You scowled in return, but couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. You were making a habit of proving yourself a fool in front of this timeless being.

“Give me your hand,” they said gently, reaching out their own in encouragement. Placing it palm-down, you assumed they meant to tend to your small wound, but they turned it upward instead, their other hand still dancing amid the flames. Drawing it out, they brought with them a perfectly round ball of heat, and you watched as they manipulated it with their fingers. “Keep very still.”

They eased the ball of fire into your palm, and you gasped. You watched in bewilderment as it failed to burn you. Instead it danced and lashed about, hovering only inches above your flesh. Eyes wide, you shot them a wide grin, amazed at its inability to harm you. Their fingers rose to toy with it absentmindedly before scooping it from where it sat and dropped it back into the pit.

You scooted closer toward them, their adoring gaze inviting you into their space. As your eyes swept over their form, they fell to their glorious wings peeking over their shoulders before rising to meet theirs. You were so curious about them; were they heavy? How often did they use them for their intended purpose? How did Lucifer dress in their robes if they protruded from their back? As you pondered, their smirk never left their face, as if they could sense your questions before you voiced them.

“What do they… feel like?” You nodded in the direction of the leathery appendages, hoping such a question wasn’t too imposing. You couldn’t imagine carrying the literal nor metaphorical weight on your shoulders as a reminder of your faults. Lucifer turned their head to regard them before answering, and they fluttered in acknowledgement.

“I suppose they took some getting used to, but adjust to them, I did,” they answered plainly. Your fingers twitched in curiosity, hand still resting in the Morningstar’s much larger one. They raised an eyebrow and caught your gaze, spurring you on to ask what you really wanted to.

“May I touch them?” Their eyes narrowed at you, not out of anger, but in interest. They thought you quite brave for making such a request. Not a single soul in Hell dared touch them in that way, let alone ask to. Realizing you could do no harm to them in their own dominion, they silently obliged, left wing unfolding from behind them. Your eyes followed its length outward; their wingspan was easily eight feet, maybe more. Stretching to its full size, it flexed around its owner’s form in your direction before coming to rest a few inches from where you sat, shielding you from the doorway through which you entered.

Your fingers were gentle as you reached out, allowing only the backs of them to stroke the bone beneath darkened flesh. They were much softer than you had anticipated, and the joints twitched at the contact. You flinched away at the small reflex, before spreading the pads of your fingers over the expanse between its thinner connective structures. Your fingers traced the small veins that showed through them due to the fire’s light delicately, and a small sigh emanated from beside you. Your movements stilled as you turned your head to meet the gaze of a flushed Lucifer Morningstar, who immediately retracted their wing to their back.

“I think that is quite enough.” You didn’t mean to offend them, and you assumed you had, until your mind put the pieces together. They refused to meet your eyes with their own, which were now hooded by something darker, as they turned their attention back to the flames beside you both - desire. Boldly you stood from your seat, and your feet padded their way behind them. Both folded wings sat before you, and you knelt upon the raised ring of stone to maintain your height with theirs. Against your better judgement, you reached out and placed your hands on their shoulders and began massaging through their blood-red robes. A hum of approval came as a welcomed surprise as you manipulated the tense muscles beneath, Lucifer’s eyes fluttering shut as they succumbed to the contact. The sound filled you with a newfound confidence, and you lowered your lips to their ear.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you enjoyed that…” You were pushing your luck, you knew, but if your reward was more of the heavenly sounds of their pleasure, how could you even consider stopping yourself? The glorious entity before you sighed again, more deeply in response to your whispers.

Your fingers worked the muscles to the base of their wings, thumbs digging into where they were rooted in their back. A low growl rattled in Lucifer’s chest and you placed an open-mouthed kiss on their pulse point, tongue tracing over the sensitive skin. Their initial shock at the eroticism gave way to submission and they melted into your touch, their posture going more slack as you continued in your descent upon them.

Both wings spread outward to half their full length to grant you better access, and you smoothed your hands over their upper ridges, digits dancing over their horned peaks. A breathy moan fell from Lucifer’s mouth as your gentle touch swept over the sharp points, and you whispered to them again, your voice dropping several octaves.

“Would the Ruler of Hell do me the pleasure of touching themselves for me?” You nearly groaned at the suggestive nature of your own question, and their legs immediately fell apart. Taking advantage of the large split in their robes, you watched as their long fingers stroked up their bare thigh, and you blushed upon realizing they had been naked beneath them the whole time.

You timed your next move perfectly; just as their touch reached the apex of their thighs, you brushed your thumb over the curved edge of the horn in your grasp, and the Morningstar threw their head back against your shoulder with a rumbling moan. The effect you had on them amazed you. What began as innocent curiosity had turned into something so much more fruitful and satisfying.

Lucifer’s breaths were labored as you continued to work them up, hands rubbing and squeezing along the joints of their massive wings. You then splayed your fingers apart, running them down the expanse of flesh between them. They quivered in response, their breaths shaky as they drew closer to their climax. Your mouth watered at the sight of them pleasuring themselves, the muscles of their forearm flexing as they circled their bundle of nerves that was just barely hidden from sight. Pressing your body into their back, you applied pressure to where their wings sprouted from the pale, toned flesh beneath the red silk, and they relished in the closeness.

With a final stroke over the lower tips of their leathery appendages, they came undone before you with stifled cry. Your hands grasped their waist as Lucifer fell, steadying them against your form. You pressed a kiss to the top of their spine causing them to shiver before you pulled away, any and all confidence you had dissipating that very moment. Unsure of their reaction, you bowed your head as they turned to face you once more. Their hands caressed your jaw reassuringly, raising your head to meet their eyes. Their features were relaxed, and any worry left your mind upon regarding them as they spoke in the timeless fashion you adored.

“You have served me well, Little Lamb. Allow me to return the favor.”

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #the sandman #gwendoline christie #my fics

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lightsaber-dorphin · 7 months

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This post sprang from an ao3 comment conversation where I mentioned my “Fulcrum sounds like a clone name essay” and the author said they wanted to hear it. This was supposed to be a short thought-dump…

Ahsoka is the original Fulcrum. The symbol is based off her markings, and she choose the name. While the alias was later used by other rebel spies, Ahsoka created it as her own spy persona, not a title for a rebellion spy.

When I say Fulcrum sounds like a clone name, I am being literal. It sounds like the kind of name a clone would have. Ahsoka’s other alias, Ashla, has a deep meaning but is common enough that people don’t immediately know she’s lying about her name or connect her to the Jedi. By contrast, the only group in the galaxy who would find Fulcrum a normal name is the clones.

A fulcrum is “a thing that plays a central or essential role in an activity, event, or situation.” It reflects how Ahsoka sees herself. (She has a bit of an ego, and that’s okay.) It represents what she wants to be and do as part of the rebellion. “Fulcrum” is a description of Ahsoka by Ahsoka. That is a very clone-style way of choosing a name!

For someone else it could be a coincidence. But Ahsoka, who fought alongside clones for years and was close to many of them, would’ve seen the similarities. What did it mean to her, to pick a name a clone might choose in a way a clone might choose it?

Take a look at Ahsoka’s other alias: Ashla. An ancient name for the light side of the Force. There’s no such thing as a “Jedi name,” but Ashla is arguably the closest thing to one there is. She used this name right after leaving the Order, and again when in hiding after the Jedi were massacred. Both were times when her emotions about the Jedi were very raw.

Ahsoka created Fulcrum right after she returned to her troops, they and every other clone had their free will stripped away, and she had to kill many of them to survive. What does Ahsoka do in that situation? Tell no-one about her past while going by a name connected to the group she’s having heavy emotions about!

Ahsoka’s relationship to the clones was different from her relationship to the Jedi. To the Jedi she was one of them, a Padawan. They betrayed her. She wasn’t one of the clones, to them she was a friend, an ally. To the 501st she was Their Commander. They trusted her to lead them into battle. Ahsoka rejected who she was to the Jedi but not who she was to the clones of the 501st.

Rex said the “I am no Jedi” line first. Ahsoka used that phrase specifically when she said she isn’t a Jedi. It framed her non-Jedi status in a similar way to Rex’s. She subtly aligned herself with Rex identity-wise as she unaligned herself with the Jedi. Ahsoka isn’t a Jedi and the clones aren’t Jedi. They are both non-Jedi Clone Wars veterans. Ahsoka doesn’t identify as a Jedi anymore but she does keep identifying as a comrade to her troops.

Her troops were the first to say that even though she left she is still Their Commander. The 332nd painted Ahsoka’s markings on their helmets— the same markings that she made the Fulcrum symbol. Her troops painted themselves to represent her and she named and illustrated herself to represent them. Like poetry, it rhymes.

Ahsoka couldn’t openly declare that she missed the clones, that she respected them, that she didn’t blame them for the rise of the Empire. Most of the galaxy doesn’t know about the control chips and thinks the clones are loyal servants of the Empire. No other rebels would trust her. So Ahsoka can’t do that. But she can fight the Empire under a clone-style name, and honor them in that way.

Fulcrum sounds like a clone name and that’s on purpose!

#there’s cultural crossover between the clones and the Jedi but that’s another post #ahsoka tano #501st battalion #332nd company #mine #fulcrum sounds like a clone name on purpose #star wars #fulcrum

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 11 months

Text

The past couple of weeks I've been reading a bunch of Django Wexler books, and the thing that caught me by surprise was how many of his main characters came across as fairly nuanced aspec rep, and I'm not entirely sure whether it was on purpose or not.

The first book I noticed this in was Ashes of the Sun. It and its sequels are queernorm, and textually acknowledge asexuality and aromanticism as things that are known and accepted within the setting. There are two protagonists, Maya and Gyre, and Gyre's experience of sexual and romantic attraction is deeply interesting in its absence. He has sex on multiple occasions, and seems to enjoy it somewhat, but nothing about his narration ever indicates that he has any interest in seeking it out. He never expresses a specific sexual attraction to either of his partners (or anyone else for that matter), never initiates sex, and never even seems to be thinking about sex as a possibility until someone else points it out to him. His feelings for his partners don't necessarily read as romantic, either. That part is more complicated and more open to interpretation - one of his partners is a fling, and the other deliberately avoids defining their relationship beyond "we are friends and sometimes sleep together", but he clearly feels awkward about the possibility of getting involved with other people in any capacity in spite of their explicit lack of exclusivity. However, his primary partner doesn't receive emotional priority in his narration. He treats her and thinks of her like all of his other close friends, without prioritizing her either higher or lower than anyone else.

However, neither his narration nor anyone else comments on this apparent lack of sexual or romantic interest, which is what makes the authorial intent seem ambiguous to me. In a queernorm setting where aspec people are textually a known and unremarkable part of society, it feels odd that neither Gyre nor anyone else describes himself in those terms. Given that his only partners are women, I'd normally be inclined to say that the author intended for him to allo and straight and just didn't really focus on writing sex and romance if not for our other viewpoint character, Maya. Maya's narration is chock full of visceral romantic and sexual attraction. The force of her attraction regularly hits her like a punch to the gut. At first she has to psych herself up to look her crush in the eye because every time she does her brain functions are replaced with "hnnnnnng girl pretty😳😳😳". It's such a dramatic contrast that it feels like it almost has to be deliberate. It's also worth noting that Maya's eventual partner, Beq, describes herself as having never been interested in someone before and that she hadn't ever expected to be, and as being kind of overwhelmed by the whole experience, which certainly sounds like it could be a description of demisexuality. She doesn't get a pov, though, so that's about as far as that exploration goes.

Demisexuality does come up in a different Wexler series, though. The Shadow Campaigns series is not queernorm - misogyny is dealt with extensively, and homophobia peripherally. One of the pov characters, Raesinia, spends the first half of the series utterly uninterested in romance or sex. She's not dismissive of them, or without opportunities to explore either - she simply doesn't feel either kind of attraction to anyone and never has, and is unbothered by that fact, except for when it puts her in the situation of needing to let one of her friends down gently. However, over the course of two books and about a year and a half in universe time, she develops a friendship and mutual respect with one of the other pov characters, Markus. In spite of a few comments from some of their other friends, Raesinia's feelings for him are pretty unambiguously platonic, with the most she'll concede to her friends' teasing being that he seems and looks nice enough, I guess. However, eventually her feelings for him begin to shift, until eventually she expresses a romantic interest in him. Again, this is not a queernorm series. One of the pov characters and several other main and supporting characters are unambiguously queer, but there's no in-universe cultural awareness of aspec identities, and no one remarks on them as a possibility. Again, here is where I would normally assume that the author intended to write a slowburn between a two allo heterosexual characters, except. There is a specific point in the story, years since they first met and months after they became romantically involved, where Raesinia specifically and dramatically experiences sexual attraction for the first time. And the degree to which that is emphasized by the text makes me think that her demisexuality might have been purposeful.

Ultimately I'm not really concerned with authorial intent; the text is the text, and both series feature characters who read as aspec to me. But it's not often that I'm so uncertain about what the authorial intent was. In any case, it makes for compelling reading.

#the wlw review #burningblade and silvereye #ashes of the sun #the shadow campaigns

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redux-iterum · 10 months

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Why are Sun- and Moon- not allowed as prefixes even though Leopard-, Tiger- and Lion- are? I know traditionalists usually don't use Sun- and Moon- because the cats would view it as basically blasphemous, but then why is naming after the Three allowed?

A couple reasons!

The sun and moon are considered body parts of two of the Three - that is, they're the eyes of Horoa and Suriin. For a Clan cat, it's similar to naming your kit Foot- or Whisker-. It sounds silly from a practical standpoint.

The sun in particular is blinding to look at, so getting a color out of it is difficult at best. Combined with the fact that part of Horoa's mythos is that he can burn out your eyeballs by looking into them, there's not a lot of drive to stare at the sun and contemplate what color it should represent.

As for the moon, it's inconsistent. Sometimes it's white, sometimes it's yellow or orange, it's constantly opening and closing...you could name a kit Moon- and another Clan would have no idea what that kit looks like, when the purpose of a prefix is to identify by color or pattern.

In contrast, the Three are very clearly described: Horoa is gold, Suriin is spotted (the pattern being what cats name for with her, rather than the color), and Rokhar is starkly striped (again, pattern is what matters over color). You can get a good idea of what a cat looks like when they have these prefixes. These cats also tend to be larger for whatever reason, which adds more identifiable traits.

Some cats do consider it respectful to acknowledge the Three in this way - reminding everyone that they exist and their might and spirits reside with the Clans. Others see it as a good luck charm, giving their kit a strong name to help them grow strong in turn.

It should be noted that these prefixes are not okay in every Clan. ShadowClan considers it blasphemous to name after the Three, so these prefixes never show up in their territory. ThunderClan is the most okay with it, because those prefixes represent strength and power, things that they like to name for. The other two Clan are more or less neutral, though the prefixes rarely show up in WindClan (but more pragmatically; they're not striped or spotted as often as the other Clans). It even varies between individuals within the same Clan! These names are about the most divisive and controversial within the naming system.

#ask #anonymous #i speak #the three #prefixes #horoa #suriin #rokhar #naming

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pikapeppa · 1 year

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re: your post about quen glyphs... it's possible that the old focuses they found in the delta were formatted to work w/ simplified chinese characters... after all, the focuses are pre-zero dawn and would have been formatted to whatever the local ppl used, right? its even possible that being able to write and speak simplified chinese in addition to any other languages that a focus could be formatted to might be something on the diviners examinations alva talks about... (also the fascinating implications that the quen might have had the only record of other languages existing pre-apollo)

I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REPLY TO THIS. But I wanted to do it when I had time and brainpower to fully think it through 😂

So this ask is in relation to my tags on this gorgeous photo, where I remarked that it's weird for this beautiful Quen person to be carrying a tablet with what look like nonsense glyphs, when we know canonically that the Quen read and write English in the Roman alphabet. This is in contrast with the Oseram, for instance, who read and write English in their own original glyph system (as evidenced by Erend having trouble learning to read the Old Ones' glyphs).

For the purposes of this reply, I'm going to focus on Mandarin and Cantonese as the spoken forms of "Chinese" since they're the most familiar Chinese languages, and since Mandarin is considered the "standard" Chinese language. Before I start, I should also point out that there is no such thing as spoken simplified Chinese; "simplified Chinese" refers to a variation of written Chinese that's usually used to transcribe the spoken language of Mandarin, whereas "traditional Chinese" refers to the written variation of Chinese that's usually used to transcribe Cantonese.

ALSO, STRAP IN, BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO GET A LITTLE NERDY HERE. I'm a speech-language pathologist by day (smut writer by night! 👹) and my favourite class in undergrad was a course about writing systems of the world, so I'm just giving advance warning that YOU ASKED FOR THIS. 😂😂😂

Okay, diving in now! That's a really good point re: the Focuses in the Great Delta -- it would make sense for many of the Focuses there to be set to display in Mandarin and/or Cantonese, and thus for the "glyph system" to be simplified or traditional Chinese characters, respectively. But if we're sticking to canon lore, the Quen don't speak other languages. There is a datapoint from Alva about this where she expresses some (VERY ACCURATE AND ADORABLE) disgust at Ted Faro for the loss of all languages except the Zero Dawn "default" language of English. If we're taking this at face value (and I see no reason why Alva would lie about this in her notes), then even if the Focuses were formatted to display Chinese characters, the Quen wouldn't be able to read them. This would also explain why being a Diviner is a rare and highly-prized role: it would probably be rare for the Focuses they found to be set in English, and those English Focuses would be even more prized and revered since they're interpretable.

Now, we might wonder why the Quen wouldn't be able to learn to speak Mandarin or Cantonese by deciphering the glyphs on a Chinese-formatted Focus. The problem is that the Quen have no spoken language to map the Chinese characters onto. Chinese characters are not an alphabet, and thus there's no one-to-one correspondence between a character and a sound or a sequence of sounds; instead, Chinese characters are largely morphographic, meaning they represent a unit of meaning rather than a sound or a sequence of sounds. The Quen might be able to figure out what some Chinese characters represent by comparing a single piece of text that's written both in Chinese and English, but they would not be able to figure out what the Chinese characters sound like.

Ah, but you might be wondering if the Quen could have figured out how to speak Mandarin/Cantonese by listening to audiorecordings or holovids in Mandarin/Cantonese and mapping them to transcripts written in Chinese, then comparing those Chinese transcripts to English transcripts of the same text? (Wait, YOU'RE NOT WONDERING THAT? SERIOUSLY?? I'm teasing. I'm clearly overthinking this.) I mean, yes, they could, but that would require you to have a piece of text in both English and Chinese that also has a corresponding holovid/audiorecording in Mandarin/Cantonese for that text, which... I mean, maybe I'm wrong, but that seems like a pretty big ask. Then again, if the Focuses have like a library of C-dramas with subtitles, then that could work???

But this brings me back to Alva's datapoint again. If all of the Diviners learned Mandarin/Cantonese for their exams, either Alva is being secretive about this in her own notes (seems implausible to me, she is not a disingenuous person), OR there is a faction of Quen Diviners above Alva's proverbial "pay grade" who are working on that. So that could be an interesting avenue for someone to explore in fic! Actually, the more I think about it, the more plausible it seems that there is some "upper class" of Diviners who are secretly working on restoring old languages and who get extra perks from the Imperial family for interpreting the most valuable texts. Okay, you got me, you talked me into it LOL.

But let's return now to my original cheeky remark re: the Quen glyphs as pictured in the game. This is a more detailed image of some Quen glyphs in Burning Shores:

Now, we can't say whether this piece of text is meant to be read top to bottom or whether it was pinned to the post sideways, but it looks to me from the brackets and the red lines (likely underlines) that it's posted sideways and is meant to be read either right-to-left or left-to-right. This does not look like Chinese characters, either simplified or traditional. On a superficial inspection, it looks to me more like the Tibetan syllabary, or maybe the Hebrew abjad, without actually being either of those. In the image I referred to at the beginning of this post, the glyphs look more like the Arabic abjad as it would be used to transcribe Farsi. In other words, the Quen glyphs as pictured in the DLC alone are inconsistent.

To be perfectly honest, I think that these Quen glyphs are a "game-ism": one of those things that's a visual element in the game that actually doesn't match up with the lore, similar to how Grudda is canonically from the Desert Clan but has Lowland tattoos. (If you've never noticed this, I implore you to use tearblast arrows to blow off all his armour until he's naked down to his underoos the next time you play LOL. Drakka would greatly approve.)

In short, I still adhere to the idea that the general Quen population read and write in English using the Roman alphabet, and that the Quen glyphs pictured in these images are visual nonsense (NO OFFENSE). If there are any Quen who speak and read in other languages, it would most likely be a secret faction of Diviners that Alva doesn't know about.

I hope this answer was satisfying and not fucking boring as hell BAHAHAH. Thank you for making me think about this, though! It also reminds of a mini-rant I have about Hekarro wanting the Tenakth to learn Carja glyphs that I should find some time to write out!

If anyone has further thoughts about this, feel free to comment/reblob/send me an ask or a message or whatever! ❤ Also, forgive any typos, it's past 1AM when I'm writing this LMAO.

-- much love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika xoxo

#horizon forbidden west #hfw #horizon burning shores #burning shores spoilers #horizon meta #is that a thing? IT IS NOW #pikapeppa talks #quen #alva #alva hfw

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mejomonster · 2 years

Text

some reasons Love Between Fairy and Devil is good:

the music. we got a lovely opening/theme song, a Liu Yuning secondary song, and a nice mix of traditional romance xianxia sounding stuff (think Eternal Love soundtrack etc) and rock music (which I personally love when xianxia do this - Love and Redemption and Men with Sword did this, and The Untamed did this with Meng Yao’s theme song). Just overall a solid soundtrack

the looks. while still distinctly fitting the usual romance xianxia aesthetic (think Love and Redemption, Eternal Love, Ashes of Love), its also got some individuality. Its partly taking some western fantasy elf aesthetics, which may be why it reminds me of Ice Fantasy so much (Ice Fantasy’s costumes felt very much like xianxia and western fantasy mixing with the design choices). As a result, some outfits really uniquely stand out, different locations have more distinct looks both set and Clothing wise (and its nice to see different regions have their own distinct looking culture and identity to a degree). Haishi city, Cangyan Sea, Shuiyuntian, and Lucheng all look like their own places with their own clothing. Stand out costumes are worn by our boy Qingcang who has some very cool horn-wood-piece looking crowns, and the Shuiyuntian headpieces remind me in a good way of Ice Fantasy a Lot. This show looks distinct enough to have its own identity.

the writing. consistent, straightforward, with meaning. While the meaning isn’t particularly deep, very much like Love and Redemption the main love is partly attractive because he respects consent (which when its lacking in a romance xianxia i tend to hate it - however the second love interest is also fairly nice in this, in contrast to Love and Redemption’s quite horrifying Bai Lin). Consent and abuse are definitely themes in this - just look at Dongfang Qingcang’s dad and him. Also, themes of compassion. While Love and Redemption really hammered home you should figure out right and wrong for yourself, and make your own fate? This show goes with similar themes but in a much different way. Destiny is much more set in this show - and YET we open early on with Lanhua purposely going against Fate to go save Changheng, so her entire relationship with Qingcang is a result of her breaking fate. While that hasn’t come back to bite her yet, it definitely puts her on a path outside fate - despite fate seeming much move inevitable in this show. Likewise, in the mortal arc, both Lanhua and Qingcang immediately change the ‘necessary fate’ of the people they’re trying to keep ON fate’s path. So I imagine this isn’t the last fate versus personal choice will get highlighted. Meanwhile goodness is somewhat critiqued in the sense of hypocrites (like Love and Redemption). But instead, its more like there’s genuine goodness to all the regions populations, and genuine suffering they’ve all been through. While showcasing all areas as equally capable of good and evil is very Love and Redemption, the way this show does it is more on a level that reminds me a bit of Goodbye My Princess. We get to know each area, care about them, and see why its so hard for the characters to decide what to do that would be best for their people and the world at large. Its not so simple as LaR - the god of war Changheng is genuinely good and kind, with good goals (unlike Bai Lin in LaR), meanwhile Qingcang’s father was awful to him, but the ultimate goal his dad (and he has) to help their Cangyan Sea is understandable and also an attempt to help their people.

the romance. 1. absolutely love the acting (and they did great doing body swap scenes!) 2. the romance setup of ‘Big Bad’ guy as romantic lead i LOVE, of the commoner fairy who isn’t particularly strong and is not the ‘right noble class’ i LOVE (she might turn out to have some Important Identity but for the bulk of this story she’s very low power and treated as a nobody which I really like). They get along in a very nice way, its very “how do these characters interact” rather than feeling like tropes are forcing them together. The setup is literally just: orchid fairy accidentally saves Big Bad Type Character, and then Big Bad type due to a spell feels what she feels and more importantly HURTS if she hurts, so Big Bad has to care about her/help her for a little while. A very cool set up that reminds me of some big bad being forced to care for spiritual pet and learn life lessons as a result. But he’s not that bad, and she’s not threatening to him despite her control-option over him, so for the vast majority of time they just seem to have become ‘friends’ who mainly are caring about each other. I just. I can’t express how cute they are, how they just Work together. I am real picky about my xianxia, and my romance, and my Romance Xianxia, so all i can say is if I like it then they are doing a Lot right in how they write the characters.

the characters. Like Love and Redemption this show is doing some new stuff with some character types, although less in a ‘lets subvert these obvious expectations’ and more in a ‘lets keep what parts of the types we liked and leave the rest.’ which is very cool. I can see elements in these characters that i’ve seen in other xianxia, and also unique bits special to them in particular. The god of war has some characteristics i expect (he reminds me a bit of God of War in Eternal Love) but then he’s also a younger brother, also very emotional and kind, just very individual. Meanwhile the original God of War reminds me of Xuanji-god-of-war in Love and Redemption (but without the abuse and trauma making her) again but with some very unique characteristics. Orchid reminds me a bit of the lead heroine in Love and Destiny, but Orchid is very genuine in a way that almost feels down-to-earth Everyday person in a way xianxia heroines don’t always feel. She really does feel like a Nobody in her realm, instead of someone Somehow Most Beautiful and Talented and Amazing. Our ‘big bad type’ mold is not so mean at all, on paper he’s fulfilling the ‘Devil/Demon Emperor’ mold, but he’s also genuinely emotionless to start like Xuanji in Love and Redemption (just emotionless but does care for his people and want to do the Right thing as best as he understands), and like Xuanji he is gradually getting his feelings back. In part I think this show reminds me of Ice Fantasy to such a degree, because the realms and characters do feel a bit more individual and less perfect maps onto the usual molds i expect in romance xianxia (and even Love and Redemption, while very much subverting and flipping molds, used a lot of expected Traits to comment on the molds in the first place - whereas in this show they just don’t really neatly fit the mold Ever).

pacing. i just... cannot tolerate slow pacing for more than like 4 episodes max... and usually i give up if a cdrama gets paced slow for more than 2 eps. this show is so well paced im flying through it and never bored, which is always great in cdramaland where some dramas just Tend to Have a slow period of 5-10 eps at some point.

#love between fairy and devil #lb #theres a lot more i like but these are definitely some key reasons

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year

Text

City of Sin

Chapter Sixteen of The One Condition Series | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: Pretty Thing and Din make it to Daiyu.

TW: Mentions and depictions of drug and drug use.

Notes: Hi everyone ! I have no idea why I am so nervous for this chapter and the upcoming ones. I think I just want to make sure I do all of the characters justice and handle everything with respect and care. Happy reading <3

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The right side of your neck still shows signs of Din’s lips. It had been two days since he had branded you with them. The once red spots of adoration have softened into a light purple. You brush your fingers over each one while looking at the mirror in the fresher. Your band only hides a few of them. It’s like he was purposely trying to make sure that you couldn’t hide them. The marks he made may fade, but your feelings certainly won’t. As you continue staring into the mirror, your eyes drift over to the left side of your neck. What you see there is in direct contrast to the right. One side marked with love and the other marred by hate. Your fingers follow your eye line and run themselves over the raised skin. You would think that after all these years it wouldn’t hurt anymore both mentally and physically. A quiet knock comes from behind the fresher door. Even though the sound is meak, it's enough to startle you.

“Yes?”

When no answer comes you call out again, but to no avail. You lean over and press the button for the door. When it slides open you aren’t greeted by your bounty hunter, but by his son. The small child looks up at you and motions with his hands to be picked up.

“I really can’t get any peace on this ship, huh?”

You obey his greedily little demand and take him into the fresher with you. After you close the door the two of you pick up right where you left off. You have long since stopped being ashamed of your scar in front of the kid. He, thanks to his powers, knows everything that went on that night in graphic detail. He never loved you any differently because of it.

You see him watching your hand move over it in the mirror. He blinks so slowly when he is concentrating. You look down at him when you notice his hand lifting towards it. As always, he is gentle when his little hand reaches it. You close your eyes and let the tickling sensation his claw brings wash over you. The anxiety in your body slowly starts to diminish the longer he makes contact with your skin. You swear you can feel it being pulled from your body. It’s exit point: the scar on your neck. When you open your eyes you find that his have closed.

“Hey you don’t need to do that,” you tell him softly. “I’m okay now all thanks to you and your dad.”

He opens his eyes and grunts up at you.

“Alright, mainly thanks to you.”

His eyes scan yours for a lie and when he doesn’t find one he returns them to your neck. A surprised squeak escapes him when he sees the marks on the right side. Your cheeks burn as he moves his hand over to inspect it. You could just about die as he looks up at you with such concern. How the fuck do you explain that those were so lovingly inflicted by his father?

“I told you, sweetie, I’m fine. Those are nothing.”

Maker, the level of embarrassment you are feeling right now is astronomical. Before he can use any of his baby magic on them, you set him down in the sink. He speaks incoherently up at you while you reattach your band. You swear up and down that you are fine while trying not to laugh. After you fix your band just the way you like it, you pick up the child again. Your words clearly mean nothing to him as he keeps trying to reach for the right side of your neck. You frantically swat his hands away as he babbles up to you. Din opens the fresher door to find the two of you in this state of chaos.

“Hey, I need the two of you to- what did I just walk into?”

At this point you are holding the kid as far away from you as your arms will allow. He doesn’t make it easy to keep your grip on him as he wiggles from side to side and flails his arms every which way.

“Your son is trying to heal me.”

“Heal you? You got hurt?”

You allow Din to take the child while you catch your breath.

“He seems to think so even though I told him I was fine.” You scold.

Din tilts his helmet from you to the baby and then back to you again. “Why does he think you're injured?”

“He saw my neck.”

“Your neck? Your neck.”

“You try explaining what a ‘good bruise’ is to him.” You can’t say it without letting a little laugh slip.

“Listen kid I- well maybe when you're older- it’s hard to explain because-,” an exasperated sigh comes through his modulator. “If she says she's fine, she's fine, end of story.”

“Nice bedside manor, Tin Man.”

All you get in response is him cocking his head to the side and shrugging.

“What were you going to say when you first opened the door by the way?”

“That the two of you need to get up to the cockpit and strap in. We are about to drop out of hyperspace,” his voice gets softer as he speaks. “We made it to Daiyu.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After Din piloted the ship into a long term docking spot he told you that he was going out to pay for it. He put extra emphasis on the fact that you and the kid were to stay inside the ship until he came back. You guess he did want the two of you wondering out to find him alone. Maybe this place was even worse than Coruscant. You guess it had to be if it was the planet your brother now called home.

You expected to feel the anxiety you felt earlier, maybe anger, maybe even sadness, but all you feel is numb. As you wait with the child downstairs in the hull, all you feel is numbness. You just stare blankly at the ramp waiting for it to open and reveal Din. A tugging sensation at your band grounds you.

“Baby, I told you I’m-”

His hand is over your scar now. Perhaps he feels the voidness in your heart. Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him. You don’t know if you’re crying because you don’t feel anything or because not feeling anything is worse than feeling something. He is patient with you as you shed your tears of confusion. You’re still crying when Din comes back aboard the ship to collect the two of you. He rushes over to you and holds onto the sides of your arms.

“Cyar’ika, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m s-sorry I don’t really know why I’m crying.”

Just like the child, he is quiet while you pull yourself together. He doesn’t rush you or try to say anything. There isn’t anything he can say. You center yourself using his and the baby’s touch on your body. Slowly you catch your breath and the tears stop flowing. You let out a tired laugh as the well runs dry and your whimpering is no longer echoing throughout the hull.

“Thank you guys. I don’t think my mind and my body are on the same page today.”

“You don’t have to apologize. This is a lot. You don’t have to come if-”

“No,” you cut him off quicker than you intended. “I’m coming. I told you in the beginning I was coming. I’m going to see this through and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

He nods slowly. He is clearly still apprehensive about your current state, but he knows how much this means to you.

“Plus, you don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I guess you’re right.” He admits.

You wipe the rest of your tears away, with his help, and look down at the youngling still latched to your band.

“We are gonna get him. He won’t be able to hurt me anymore.”

“D-does he know?”

Still staring down at the baby you answer him. “I think so. He used to help me fall back asleep when you would go on hunts and my dreams would get particularly bad. I can’t explain it, but I think he was able to see what I was seeing,” you look up at Din. “Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all. I’m pretty sure I saw him do it once when I came back during the night.” He brings his hand up to affectionately pat the kids head. “Thanks for taking care of our girl while I was gone.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words. Our girl. You were their girl. Nothing in the universe would change that. Nothing in the universe could change that.

After the baby got safely tucked away in Din’s satchel, all three of you headed into the belly of the beast. The sights and sounds of the city around you were both wildly overwhelming and strangely beautiful. The streets are packed with species you have neither heard of nor seen before in your life. The languages they speak flow in one of your ears and out the other. Some of them mill about the streets like you and Din and others man stalls selling anything and everything under the sun. They beckon to you in foreign tongues to come try their food or buy their clothes or look at their trinkets. With each new voice, Din squeezes your hand harder and pulls you closer.

Through the sea of people you are still able to look at the buildings around you. Each one more massive than the last. Some have lights shining from the inside and others look hollow and bare. Wires are strung up above you. They attach to random buildings and unknown poles. The pattern they create looks like a mangled spider's web; weaving over and under each other with no rhyme or reason. A lot of the buildings play host to a superfluity of signs. The vernacular on them is unknown to you. Their colors are bright and colorful. You see pink, green, yellow, blue, and red. The further down the street you look, the more signs you see. Beacons of hope in an endless ocean of pandemonium.

Unfortunately, not even the pretty lights can hide the city’s stench. There is no other word for its smell other than rotten. There is no breeze flowing so the air around you is thick and stale. As you keep your eyes peeled for your dreaded destination you see the reason why Alden made his way here. Spice and other various drug sales happen out in the open without a care in the world. Most of the dealers seem to be young. You feel your stomach clenches whenever the smell of spice wafts past your nose. You want to be angry at them. They are giving life altering drugs to people without what seems to be a second thought. But part of you feels pity. They wouldn’t be pelting drugs if there was another way for them to make money. You know that the only reason they are in business is because people want what they are selling. A vicious, ugly, bloody cycle.

Din hasn’t let go of your hand since you exited The Razor Crest. You didn’t want him to either. One wrong step and you could face the potential threat of being swept away into the hoards of people. He is keeping one hand intertwined with yours and one hand securely over the opening of his satchel. The two of you stop every few stalls so he can attempt to ask the vendors if they know the location of a building with a Vulptice as its mascot. So far he has only been met with a language barrier or people downright telling him to fuck off if he doesn’t want to buy anything. Guilt blossoms in your chest and grows with every dead end he meets. He is doing so much for you and you’re just standing there.

Din is attempting to speak with a vendor when you notice a woman, maybe five years younger than you, pull out a small bag. A white emblem of the head of a Vulptice is on it. She seems to be negotiating with the man in front of her intensely. After some back and forth, that you are too far away to hear, he nods and hands over some credits. He quickly snatches the bag from her, shoves it in his pocket, and disappears into the crowd.

“No luck here either.” His tone is light when he speaks to you, but you can sense the underlying tension in it.

“Din, I think I may have found someone that knows where the lab is. Come on.”

He starts to say something, but you are already bullying your way through the crowd and don’t hear him. You keep your hand firmly wrapped around his and drag him along with you. You can hear disgruntled shouts as people connect with the beskar protected man behind you. He makes no attempt at an apology as he continues to follow you on your rampage. You finally clear the crowd and see her leaning against the corner of a building. Her dark jeans are shredded and her frame is hidden underneath a black coat. You think you can make out a yellow tank top underneath her crossed arms. Her hair, the roots give away its original brown color, is blonde with streaky green highlights.

“Hey! Can I ask you a question?”

She whips her head around and her eyes look as if they are going to pop out of their sockets when she gets a look at the man trailing you. She shoves the credits she was inspecting into her coat pocket and tries to make a run for it. Din steps out from behind you and grabs her arm before she can make it a few inches. He pulls her into the alley next to the building she was leaning on and you cautiously follow.

“What the fuck is this man? Did someone seriously put a bounty on my head?”

“No! No!” You shake your hands frantically in front of you. “I really just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Where I’m from, people who ask questions are usually empire spies. I’ll be damned if I talk to you. Let me go!”

“Please, I promise he will let you go if you just tell me where you got that bag. The one with the Vulptice on it? I’m looking for someone that works there.”

“Over my dead body.”

Din yanks her back into the building's wall. “That can be arranged.”

“Mando, no,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “She’s our only lead since we have gotten here. What’s your name?”

She looks back and forth between you and Din with an expression you can’t quite pin down. It looks like a mix of confusion, fear, and anger. You understand her feelings. Honestly you would probably be feeling the same if you got jumped by the most out of place looking people on the planet.

“Ember.”

“Okay Ember, I’m looking for my brother and I know he is working at the spice lab that supplied you. All we need to know is how to get there and you can go. I promise. I just really need to find him.”

“Well if your brother ended up on a shit-hole planet like Daiyu, it looks like he doesn’t want to be found.” She laughs.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?,” you snap. “It doesn’t matter what he wants anymore. I just need to find him to settle a score. I’m the only thing standing in the way of you getting your arm snapped in half. So it’s in your best interest to tell me what you know.”

“Damn alright. Maybe I have seen him around the lab. What does he look like?”

You pull in a shaky breath before you begin to describe Alden. You tell her his hair and eye color. You use Din to estimate his height. Even going as far as to describe a small scar above his right eye that he got from getting bucked off a Nerf after trying to ride it. Ember is quiet as you ramble on about distinguishing characteristics about your brother.

“Oh and his name is Alden.”

“I don’t know anything about an ‘Alden’, but it sounds like you're talking about Ree-gin.”

“Ree-gin?”

“He started working here a few years ago. He said he was bouncing around between some of the other labs in the city. I couldn’t tell you where he was born. He always got weird whenever anyone brought it up. He never mentioned a sister though. He said he was an only child and left it at that.”

“I bet he never mentioned that he killed our parents and then tried to kill me either.”

“No way…”

You just shrug at her dumbfoundedness. Din decides that he’s done waiting around and steps in.

“So the lab, where is it?”

“You aren’t going to tell them it was me that gave it up right- OW! - okay I’ll tell you!”

He relosens his grip on Ember's arm and allows her to give directions.

“Keep going down the main street and take a left when you get to the fork in the road. It’s going to be the last building on your right. It has a white sign with a Vulptice’s head on it. The same one from my bags. Can you release my fucking arm now, please?”

You nod at Din and he lets her go. The three of you stand there awkwardly as she massages where he held her. You mumble a small ‘thanks’ as she walks past the two of you. Before she slips back into the crowd she turns to face you again.

“If he's not inside he's probably out in the alley behind the lab. He likes to smoke out there on his breaks.”

Then she disappears as if she was never there.

“So,” you turn yourself back to face Din. “You were really going to kill her for me if she didn’t tell us where Alden was?”

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.”

“If I wasn’t so nervous right now I would say that was actually a little romantic.”

He closes the gap between the two of you in a short stride. You rest your head on the cool beskar of his chest plate as his arms wrap around you. The buzzing of the people behind you seem to fade out the longer you stay in his embrace. The chill on his armor slowly starts to diffuse throughout your body.

“Why is this so hard? We literally have the location. The location you spent hours asking random market people for. I didn’t even know you could speak Hutt or Jawa or even Tusken Raider sign language. Why am I struggling so much when we are so close?”

“No one said this was going to be easy, Cyar’ika. This isn’t a bounty that you have no connection with. It’s your brother whether you like it or not. Facing your past head on isn’t an easy feat.”

“I know it isn’t,” you pull back and look up at him through his visor. “But I just thought that after all he put me through that I would have enough anger to fuel me.”

“You made it more than halfway across the galaxy to him. You left Eadu, found me, let me drag you to terrible planets, went back to Eadu, faced Thuban, and now you are here. You did that.”

“Well you helped me.”

“That may be so, but you started this all on your own.”

“Thank you for saying that,” you get on your tiptoes and whisper close to him. “Din.”

“A fire fueled by anger is one that is destined to burn you out. I just don’t want that to happen to you.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The farther down the main street the two of you walk, the more apparent the change in inhabitants becomes. While the people that populated the market were less than safe looking, the individuals now looked beyond help. Din keeps you close, just like before, as you look for the fork in the road. You keep telling yourself that you’re safe with him. That he would never let anything happen to you or the child. That if he doesn’t seem nervous, then you shouldn’t be. You steal glances up at him after every few buildings you pass. He looks just like he did back at the cantina on Tatooine. Constantly in a state of scanning the surrounding areas.

The once hopeful and colorful signs that lit the marketplace were now a rarity. Yes, the signs were still there, but their glow wasn’t. They were as neglected and disheveled looking as the beings that walked the streets. An external reflection of your hope fizzling out with each step you took. One step closer to Alden, one step farther from humanity. As someone who grew up in a place where fresh air and open land was commonplace, you wonder how these people live in these conditions. Sure the planet wasn’t in a constant state of torrential downpour, but at least you could breathe without second hand smoke ripping your lungs apart. You find yourself envious of Din. He probably has some sneaky little air purifier in that helmet he wears.

“There it is.”

Din points up head to where the single road you are walking on splits into three. He guides you through the foot traffic to the left most one. You do your best to keep your eyes out for the white sign Ember mentioned before, but all you see is bodies. Hopefully it becomes more sparse as you make your way down to the lab.

“Hey, Tin Man, how's the baby?”

“I can feel his snores vibrating the bag. He’s safe.”

“Maker, I don’t know how he can sleep through all of this noise.”

A few street lamps provide ambient light for the two of you. You can almost feel the shadows dancing across your face. Is there something wrong with you? Why does it feel like you are getting cold feet after coming all this way? Din was right in saying that it wouldn’t be easy, but now you wish you didn’t even know. Your body feels like it's splitting down the middle. Half of you wants to treat him exactly the way he treated you and your family years ago, but the other half just wants to run to the safety of Din’s covers. Now you’re even more confused than you were before you left The Crest. You weren’t feeling anything at all and now you can’t seem to stop feeling things. You don’t know which one you prefer. Could you even come back from doing something like this? Killing your brother? Is that really who you are now?

Finally you see it. It’s almost a holy glow in all this darkness. A beaming white Vulptice’s head encased in a circle. You look up at your companion to see that he had noticed it too. He gently compresses your hand in his as you walk closer to it. The building isn’t anything special. Frankly, you probably couldn’t tell it apart from any of the others if given the opportunity. The only difference you can seem to find is that the windows on it aren’t boarded up. The rest of the building is made from a dingy gray metal. The smell coming from within it is so strong you almost double over. Din stops when you do and silently lets you catch your breath before you begin walking again. Both of you stop a few yards away from the front door.

“How do you want to play this?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. This is your hunt in a way. I want you to feel in control of everything we do.”

“Then let’s start out by checking the alley like Ember said. I don’t know how many people are inside so I don’t really know what we, mainly you, are in for if we go in there.”

“6.”

“What?”

“There are 6 people inside.”

“How the fuck can you-”

“My helmet, Cyar’ika,” he laughs softly and you can feel it replacing the anxiety in your veins. “It has the ability to see heat. So I’m able to see that there are 6 heat signatures walking around inside.”

“Let’s still start with the alley and then we’ll deal with the people inside if we have too.”

He nods firmly and you walk hand in hand around the building. The street is littered with the butts of cigarettes and small empty spice bags. When you round the corner you can smell the fresh aroma of a cigarette being burnt. Leaning against the back door is a man in all black. The flood light atop the door is too dim to make out a clean picture of him, but you can feel it in your bones. After ten years you are finally in the presence of the person that stole everything from you. Someone that protected you and then left you afraid that he was lurking in every dark crevice. He brings his vice to his lips and takes a slow drag. The end burns a fiery hole in the night.

“Alden?”

He blows out a thick plume of smoke and faces you.

“Who wants to know?”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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