#I seem to be one step removed from the fandom these days which is??? confusing???

[lou-struck]

Made With Love Part 2

OM Brothers & Datables x reader pt.2 

Featuring Special parts with Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 Here

~ As the Room erupts in chaotic, love-drunk chatter. Luke tries desperately to figure out what is going on, meanwhile you finally show up to the party late and confused.

WC: 6.7k

Warnings: Love Potion based personality changes, obsessive behaviors, feelings of self doubt, possible accidental drowning attempt, mention of suggestive behavior, lots of teasing, kissing, touching, etc. 

a/n: Wow! This is turning into a much longer project than I thought It was going to be. I love how this is developing and I hope you guys are interested too. If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters comment below!

"Look at this one Satan." Lucifer giggles happily, kicking his feet on the sofa. The screen of his DDD is illuminated with a picture of you as the Avatar of Pride leans up against his younger brother and brings the image closer to his blush-covered cheeks. 

Satan's eyes are as large as saucers as he takes in the picture. "This is the bestest picture ever." he gasps in entranced delight, not a single thought in his head other than you. 

"That's what ya said about the last twenty pictures." Mammon laughs from the other side of him. "But I get it. Mc is soooo amazing. I could look at their cute face all day long."

Luke watches as the three brothers swipe to the next picture in Lucifer's album and sigh lovingly. 

Asmodeus shyly creeps up behind his brothers, his eyes brimming with curiosity. Strange spell or not, cute photos of you have always been his kryptonite. Mammon notices his presence and gives his brother a smile. "Cmmere Asmo, don't be shy; there's more than enough pictures of Mc to go around."

How generous…

But when the Avatar of Lust gets closer to take an eager glimpse at the picture, he gasps and takes a flustered step back. His face turns beet red, and smoke looks like it's about to come out from his ears when he sees the (fairly tame) photo of swimsuit-clad you.

"T-that is so inappropriate." he cries, covering his eyes and running away with an off-balanced stumble as if he was the one who took you shopping for the suit, sat back and watched you try on outfit after outfit, and insisted on rubbing sunscreen all over you once you made it to the beach. 

Asmo runs away from his other brothers. But they don't seem to notice. They just continue gushing about how cute you are.

 Aside from those troublemakers, Luke scans the room to see how everyone else is acting under the effects of the spell or whatever it was that found its way into the sugar cookies.

From a lonely window-side chair, Beel looks out the window like he is a little puppy. His face, a deep pout as he waits for your arrival. He looks too distressed to even look at the overflowing table of food.

Belphie is energetically pacing about the room, too excited to see you to even think about being tired. 

Speaking of tired, Barbatos sluggishly leans against the door mumbling to himself about how opening the handle is just too much work for him right now. 

Levi and Simeon begin arguing loudly in the center of the room. They are standing chest to chest, staring each other down with dark, possessive expressions.

"Don't get me wrong, Simeon, I may have admired your work in the past, but now the only fandom I want to be a part of is Mc's." Levi's hand comes to rest on the Angel's shoulder in a condescending manner. 

There is a darkness to Simeon that is quite unnerving as he removes Levi's hand. His face is a cruel mask of disgust. "Why would anyone want to spend time with someone like you?" Instead of flinching or looking away in shame, Levi stares the Angel down as if daring him to say more, which Simeon obliges. "Especially Mc. How about you be a good little demon and leave us be?"

"Don't make me laugh you freaking Normie. Why would Mc want to spend time with you?"

Luke pales as Diavolo steps up to join the argument. 

"No one will be spending time with Mc today," he says in an authoritarian tone. "The poor thing will be exhausted when they arrive, so I personally will be tending to them."

Both the Angel and the Avatar of Envy grow quiet, glancing between one another and the Prince before boisterously laughing in his face. 

"What's so funny?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. The Hearts in his pupils looking remarkably out of place on his regal features. "Do you not think me capable of caring for Mc?"

"Ahh yes, the Prince born with a silver spoon in his mouth is the most qualified to care for a human." The sarcasm in Simeon's voice chills the room as everyone's conversations come to a halt.  

The Demon's nostrils flare, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "Believe me, Simeon, I am more than capable of caring for them."

"Shall we prove it?" Simeon coo's, his voice laced with condescension. "How about each of us go our separate ways to spend time with Mc. Once they have had their share of each of us, we can ask them who they enjoyed their time with the most today."

"It's obviously going to be me." Levi declares as the others gather around. 

"Why can't we jus’ share em?" Mammon wonders aloud. "Mc is so amazing they can spend time with all of us."

Luke spots Asmo taking a worried step backward. "A-alone? W-with Mc?" he stutters. "I- don't know if I am ready for that. I gotta go and get ready." 

"Hey, he's getting a head start on us. I won't lose." Belpheghor calls as he rushes from the room after his brother.

It's a madhouse as the rest of them push past each other to claim their spot for a date with you. But as Solomon tries to creep off, he is stopped by the little Angel who grabs his cape. "Not you, Solomon. If you know what is going on with everyone, you have to tell me," he says exasperatedly. 

"Oh, Mc is going to hate meeee." Solomon cries as the others disappear behind the doors. 

Luke shudders as he uncomfortably feels how clammy the human's skin is. Judging by the deep blush on his cheeks and how clumsily he stumbles behind the little Angel, he is clearly under the same spell as the rest of them. 

"Solomon, what is going on?" He questions the teary-eyed Sorcerer in the most authoritative tone he can manage. He even tries to invoke the same confident, commanding tone that Lucifer uses to control the room by crossing his arms and trying his best to look displeased.

But in all reality, he just looks confused. And that pout only makes him look constipated as Solomon keeps rambling on and on about how you will never love him because he ruined yet another Valentine's Day for you. He is so fixated on you, it's like Luke is not even there.

Luke takes a deep breath in and clenches his little fists into tight balls of tension. He knows he needs to relax so he can fix the problem in front of him and save the day.

Save your day…

"Solomon!" he yells, tugging the Sorcerer's dark blue cape for attention. "Why is everyone acting so strange? They are more obsessed with Mc than usual and are acting differently."

 Solomon's heart-shaped pupils dilate as if hearing someone say your name is a drug to him. But he is coherent enough to answer Luke's question. "D-did you use one of the bowls in my lab?" he asks softly; he nervously fiddles with his fingers, never actually looking Luke in the eye. 

"Yeah, I saw my light blue one on the counter, and it looked clean, so I used it."

Solomon's eyes go wide in alarm as they flicker to the doors of the banquet hall. "The Potion," he breathes, stepping back against the wall and sliding it down in embarrassment. Luke flinches briefly, that impact sounded painful but Solomon doesn't seem to notice it at all. He tucks his knees to his chest in an almost childlike fashion. 

If he hadn't seen him eat the cookies, Luke would not believe that the trembling, flustered man in front of him is the infamous Human Sorcerer Solomon the Wise. "I-I did it again…" his voice comes out muffled from his arms. "I ruined Valentine's Day."

Despair courses through Luke's veins like glacier water. "What do you mean? What Potion?"

Solomon gulps and looks up from his spot on the ground. 

"A few weeks ago, I was out at a used book store with Satan and Mc…." The mere mention of your name is enough for the Sorcerer's blush to intensify, and he begins to lose focus. 

"Hey, Keep going…" Luke encourages urgently. "What did you find at the bookstore?"

Solomon blinks down at Luke as if he had just noticed his presence. "Oh yes, the bookstore. I just went the other day with Satan and…"

"WHAT DID YOU BUY?" he interrupts before the Sorcerer can say your name and get lost in the effects of whatever was in that frosting.

"It was an old recipe guide for making love potions." He answers. "One of the recipes in particular stuck out to me. When consumed, it amplifies feelings of affection for the person they love most along with a few interesting side effects."

A deep shudder runs down Luke's spine. He accidentally gave all his friends a love potion. He looks at Solomon's ruddy cheeks and hazy eyes. Are these some of the side effects. If he is going to learn anything else about the potion, he better ask his last question before the human runs off to prepare his own alone time with you.

"What kind of side effects?

~

A dry, cold wind slices across your face as you run towards the castle gates. Luke's DDD lies securely in your hand as you try to think of the best way to word your apology for being late to the party. 

You are already wondering how Lucifer will scold you for your tardiness. Just imagining that handsome smirk on his prideful lips makes you feel a mixture of both anticipation and annoyance swishing around your gut.

But all in all, you are ecstatic. You get to spend the day with all of your favorite people, eating sweets, playing games, and enjoying what Valentine's Day has to offer.

There's a spring in your step as you make it to the first of the stone stairs of the palace. But before you can move any further, you watch as Luke runs from the Castle towards you.

"Wait, don't go in there." He says frantically, waving his arms 

"Why?" you ask. "don't tell me I missed the party already."

The color drains from the Angel's face, somethings wrong. "it's not… I'm so sorry Mc. I ruined everything."

Your reassuring smile is quick as you place a hand on the Angel's shoulder to calm him down. "Whatever it is you think you did, I'm sure it's not that bad. Luke, do you want to tell me what happened?"

He looks at you and takes a deep breath. "When I was making the cookies, I used a bowl from Solomon's lab that contained some kind of love potion. Right when I set the tray down at the party, it was like everyone was drawn to them. They ate them, and now they just won't stop talking about you, and they're acting strange."

You blink in surprise; out of all the things to come out of Luke's mouth, you were not expecting this. But honestly, after living in the Devildom for a little bit you have developed a wonderful attitude for dealing with these unexpected situations.

"Strange how?" You ask curiosity and worry evident in your voice.

"They are acting completely different. It's like their love for you has changed their personalities. Lucifer is all giggly, Barbatos is super tired, and Simeon… Well, let's just say he's not being that nice."

"Oh dear," you breathe. Luke was just starting to get used to things down here. This love potion fiasco must really be traumatizing the poor guy. "Is there a cure?"

"I-I think so." Luke furrows his brow. "I was trying to get some details from Solomon before he started acting love-drunk like the rest of them. And he said he got it from a book. Before I could ask him anything else, he ran off. Apparently, they all wanted to claim a spot in the Castle to spend some time with you."

You nod thoughtfully, the wheels in your head turning as you formulate a plan. With everyone scattered about the Castle, you will definitely have to check on each guy individually, but other than that, at least you know that they aren't going to be actively arguing with each other, "If we can find that book, I bet there is a page of antidotes we can make. You head back to Purgatory Hall and I'll go inside and make sure everyone stays where they are. If we play along with what they want right now, it will be easier."

He looks concerned, "are you sure you should go in there by yourself?" For all his worrying, you know he has a point; if everyone is acting unpredictable, you will have to be on your guard. They may still love you, but even on their best days, these guys can be a bit possessive. 

Reassuringly, you give the Angel your best smile and send him on his way. "There is nothing to worry about. You go find the book, and I'll make sure that everyone here is okay." 

He nods bravely, "I'll go right away. But if you need any help, call me; I want to make sure they don't try anything crazy."

He rushes off, and you take a deep breath. The moon casts a long shadow on your figure as you climb the steps. You hate to admit it, but you are actually more amused with this situation than worried. You know in your heart that this situation will be resolved.

Curiously, you wonder how the potion seems to be affecting each one of your loved ones.

Maybe all these themed chaotic events that have taken place in the Devildom have messed with your head a little bit, but nevertheless, you find yourself smiling to yourself.

This could be fun. 

Lucifer ~

The Castle has never felt more empty. The dark halls are eerily quiet, and the grand, empty chambers echo the sounds of your light footsteps in every direction. You recall Diavolo saying that since the Valentine's Day celebration was planned to be an intimate affair for you, he had sent the entirety of his staff home to enjoy the holiday with their loved ones. 

You thought that was really admirable, but now you wish that at least one of the little D's was around to help you find your way. There are easily a thousand rooms in this place, and you have 11 cursed individuals to find.

You pass the empty banquet room where the party should've been held; something about the full table of food unsettles you. If Beel isn't crouched over the charcuterie table, stuffing cubes of otherworldly cheese into his mouth like a chipmunk, this love potion thing may be pretty darn serious.

Throughout the quietness, a light sound reaches your ears. It may be horror movie logic, but you follow the sound down the hallway until you reach a stone room with a stained glass ceiling. In the center of the room lies a beautiful indoor fountain. The crystal clear water flows enchantingly into the carefully carved basin. The steady ambiance is soothing, it invites you closer so you may admire the mosaic of jewels embedded into the column.

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap around your waist. The warm embrace makes you jump and let out a yelp of fear as you try to wiggle yourself out. 

Just as you wind up your elbow to drive it into your attacker's ribcage, you hear a happy chuckle against your ear that makes you freeze your attack. "You're here cutie, I knew you would find me."

"Lucifer?" you breathe. "Is that you?"

"Yea~, I just missed you so much." gone is his usual serious tone. Now, his voice sounds giddy with excitement, and you feel at ease. Your shoulders slump as the Avatar of Pride nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. 

Although you are safe, his hold on you is like a vice. There is hardly any space between the two of you as you turn around to get a good look at him. When you two are chest to chest, he lifts his head. Beautiful strands of his dark hair fall in front of his eyes in a messy but not entirely unbecoming way. 

His cheeks are flushed a baby pink color as you take in his simple, lovestruck smile. It looks so unserious you want to burst out laughing. But the thing that really sticks out to you is the strange heart shape his pupils have taken. The black hearts against his deep crimson eyes is captivating to behold.

"You're so cute," he whispers loudly, even though it's just the two of you in the room together. You don't miss the way he seems to sway unsteadily in front of you in an almost tipsy manner. 

So this is what Luke meant by 'Love Drunk.'

"So are you." you smile; usually, this kind of compliment is not one that he would typically accept, but thanks to this sweet and very touchy disposition brought on by the love potion, he just giggles and holds you tighter. "How about we try and find some of the others so we can have our party?"

"No," he states abruptly; the look of hurt on his face tugs at your heartstrings, and you almost want to apologize to him. He looks down at you with glassy eyes that are brimming with tears. This unusual sight reminds you of your current mission. 

When he notices the worry on your face, the tears begin to cascade down his cheeks and become one with the fountain. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmurs with a small voice. "I just love you so much. Why do you want to find the others? Stay with me. Please?"

Lucifer's lack of pride is astonishing. He clings to your arm as if you are about to turn into smoke and vanish into thin air. 

What if we held hands while we looked?" you offer the Demon. His eyes light up at the prospect, but you know you'll need to offer a bit more than that if you are going to be able to leave this room to look for the others. 

"We can hold hands in here," he whines toying with your fingers as if they are the most fascinating things in the world. He smoothes the pad of his thumb over the glossy coat of nail polish Asmodeus painted last night and looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

"What about a kiss then?" you ask

That love-drunk smile returns to light up his features once more at the prospect once more. "A kiss?"

"Yes," you say. "If we can leave this room to find the others, then you can have all the kisses you want."

The offer is tempting and you see the contemplation in his eyes. If he says yes, he'll get what his heart has been calling for, but then he won't get as much attention from you. He can hardly remember what the others are doing right now. All he can think of is you, you, you.

He nods excitedly. "Please, please kiss me Mc. I'll do whatever you want."

You smile victoriously as he cups your face. There is so much love in his gaze as he meets your eyes. "Beautiful," he whispers before leaning in close to you. 

Your eyes shut as his warm breath fans your face. Potion or no potion, he kisses you like he always does, heartfelt and tenderly. His lips are soft against yours as he steals away that pesky breath of yours.

You find your head in the clouds, not wanting to pull away from this for even a moment. 

But surprisingly, he pulls away first. Your eyes shoot open as you see him run a hand through his hair. His eyes blink tiredly as they look at you with round pupils.

"Mc? What just happened?" he asks, "I remember being at the party and then…" He pales and looks at you with concern.

"Apparently, there was a potion accidentally mixed into the sugar cookies," you say. "Are you feeling alright?"

He nods. "I'm fine now; I believe that when we kissed, the true affection we felt for each other was enough to break this enchantment." his cheeks flush, and he averts his eyes from yours, "It felt like I was dreaming; I apologize for my actions today, I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable at all."

You gently take his hand and offer up a smile, "So, you dream of me often?" your teasing brings a little smirk to his lips, and he knows there is nothing to forgive,

"Quite often, my dear." he gently kisses the crown of your head. "Although I wasn't acting like myself, I truly meant it when I said I never want to leave your side. I've prepared a special outing for us next week as a gift for you. I know we all agreed to spend today with you together, but I am still a Demon, and I must have my own time with you without distractions." 

"That sounds wonderful." you smile, hugging him tightly. You notice the sudden fatigue that clings to him, possibly a side effect of the potion. "How about you head back to the banquet hall and rest. Now that we know how to undo the spell, I can find the others, and we can get this party back on track.

He looks a bit disappointed but he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "I suppose that's for the best, My Dear." He leans in close and murmurs into the shell of your ear, "But if you ever tell anyone of the details regarding my behavior under the effect of this potion, I promise you it will not go unpunished."

Mammon~

With one down and ten to go, you search the Castle once more. Your footsteps sound much quieter as you walk along the luxurious carpet that lines the long hallway. The knowledge of how to undo the effects of the potion is soothing, but this unintentional little game of hide and seek is certainly not helping speed this whole thing along.

Another worrying possibility is that simply kissing everyone may not work. Is it possible that the spell on Lucifer was broken due to something else entirely?

Your worry clouds your judgment as you wander past the heavy double doors of the palace treasury. For the first time in all of your visits here, you notice a lack of guards outside the doors. The treasury is completely unprotected. If it were any other day, you just know you would find Mammon poking around, trying to break into the vault using some cheap-looking skeleton key he got on Akuzon.

If Lucifer's clingy behavior was any indication of what was yet to come, the crown jewels of the Devildom would be the last thing on the Avatar of Greed's mind at the moment.

You pass the vault and begin to meander your way past the wall of portraits. You remember Barbatos explaining to you a while back that the individuals in these portraits are crucial to the Devildom's history and are up here as a way of honoring them. 

You pass Ancient Kings and Queens of old, their names carefully embedded on golden placards, written in languages that no longer are spoken. Painted eyes seemingly track your every move. They only stop when you stop in your tracks. Near the end of the lowly lit hallway, you think you see someone sitting on the carpet. As you creep closer, you see that it is Mammon. He is staring up at the wall with complete fascination.

"Mammon?" you call gently. His head snaps in your direction as soon as the soft sound of your voice reaches his ears. His eyes widen when he sees you, and those big, heart-shaped pupils stare back at you.

"Mc, it's really you." he smiles, getting slowly to his feet. His lack of coordination is evident as he walks over to you with small, shy steps. "I knew ya wouldn't forget about me."

"I could never forget about you, Mammon." Your smile lights up the dark hallway and beckons him closer. You brace yourself for an inhumanly strong bear hug, but it never comes. Mammon stops just a foot away from you and stares at you with eyes full of pure devotion. You feel a bit shy under his spotlight as he takes in every inch of your being.

"You're perfect, aren't ya?" he murmurs in a dreamy tone, his knees buckling in front of you. "Ya look like you were carved outta marble or somethin."

Mammon has never been one to be so generous with unprompted compliments before now; the potion must have something to do with all of these flowery words. You try to fight the flustered heat blossoming beneath your skin with a teasing remark. "That means a lot coming from The Great Mammon."

The use of his self-given nickname usually would make the Demon puff out his chest with pride, but now, he just seems to shrink meekly. "I'm not that Great," he says softly. "But you, you are Greater than Great. They should call ya the…uhhh…" 

He tries to think, but clearly, the love potion is scrambling his thoughts. "Whatever it is, yer it." He glances to the side and looks off at one of the pictures on the wall again.

"I was ready to stare at this all day long," he says, his blue eyes shining in admiration. "But now, with ya in front of me, I think the real thing is way better."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" you question, finally noticing what it was that has been entertaining the Demon for however long. Instead of seeing an oil painting of some long-dead member of the Devildom nobility, it's a simple Polaroid photo of you tacked to the wall. 

Peering closer, you recall spotting this photo tucked securely in Mammon's wallet. At the time, you had teased him about it and watched in amusement as he grew flustered, stammering through some half-hearted excuse as to why it was with him. It was flattering to know that he likes to keep a piece of you close to him, but now, you just feel that it looks so out of place next to these large paintings. A sharp feeling of shame and unworthiness plucks at your heartstrings, and you look away from it and back at the swaying Demon.

"What is that little thing doing up there?" you joke, looking between the elegant frames and your pixelated, kinda blurry face. "One of these things is not like the other."

Mammon looks at you with a confused expression on his face. "I put yer picture up here so then everyone will know just how special ya are. Yer Special Mc, and everyone in the Devildom deserves to see yer cute face."

It's a flattering notion, but the Love Potion has clearly made him overestimate the perception of your importance in the Devildom. 

"That is very sweet of you to say Mammon," you smile at him as you reach out to take the picture. "But I think this hallway was just meant for art."

Your fingers just graze the corner of the photograph before Mammon steps between you and the wall. He grabs your wrist with a firm intensity and you feel an unnatural warmth to his skin. Is this another side effect of the potion?

"No, it should stay." His tone is firm as his eyes scan your face. "Yer the best, better than all these clowns up on the wall." His eyes flicker to a portrait of a cat-like demon, and he scoffs. "Who even is this guy?"

You try to remember why his face looks so familiar. "Oh, I know this one." You explain proudly, recalling your Devildom History Class. "He was a botanist who made a fertilizer that promotes plant growth under the moonlight. He got the Devildom through a huge food shortage a couple thousand years ago and saved a lot of Demons."

Mammon gives you a huge smile. "See! That's why yer so amazing. So pretty, smart, cool, and ya always know how to make my heart do that thing where it keeps me up at night just thinking about that cute smile of yers." he grins, looking at you with his previous, unserious, lovey-dovey look in his eyes. You know he believes every word.

"Fine then," you say, your heart feeling full from his shower of compliments. "How about I get to take the photo with me if I give you a kiss?"

He nods instantly. "Kissin' ya would be the best." he sighs dreamily. "Ya just got these really soft lips that always taste like honey or somethin else that's really sweet."

There is a flash of that signature green in his eyes as he gently cups your face and leans in for the kiss slowly, as if he is trying to savor this brief moment. 

When your lips touch, the unnatural warmth to his skin seems to fade away. As Mammon seems to wake from the spell, he takes a reluctant step away from you in confusion.

"W-wha. Mc?" he blinks, furrowing his brows, trying to piece together the events from the last hour. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Those damn cookies," he growls, clenching his fists into balls at his side. "Just wait. When I get my hands on that Chihuahua, I swear I'll.." he stops mid-sentence, and his eyes go wide in shock. "I didn't say anythin weird or mushy, did I?"

"Ummm, like what?" you ask, feigning innocence. "You didn't say anything weird."

He laughs, throwing his head back. "Course I didn't. I'm the Great Mammon after all."

"You sure are," you say back, wrapping your arms around your First Demon. 

"What's that for?" He asks, hugging you back. 

"No reason." you hum, "Lucifer is in the Banquet Hall; you should head back and find him."

"Don't tell me. Ya gotta go and find the others?" he sighs, looking disappointed. 

"Seems like it." you shrug.

"Fine, but ya gotta promise me somethin'. Be careful; some of those guys are actin' all weird." he warms, reluctantly stepping out of your embrace. It's then he notices the photo of you on the wall. He looks confused and subconsciously feels around for his wallet. 

"How'd that get up there?" he murmurs, carefully removing it from the wall. But instead of tucking it back into the leather sleeve of his designer wallet, he decides to put it up higher on the wall, out of your reach.

"Aren't you gonna put it back in your wallet?" you ask

He shakes his head, "Nah, let's keep it up. Ya deserve a spot up there among the greats."

Leviathan~

After skillfully pointing Mammon back towards the banquet hall on the pathway that avoids the palace treasury, you find yourself alone once again…

Your shadow follows behind you like a cowardly companion, doing little to help with the feeling of isolation and paranoia that prickles down your spine. 

Taking another step forward, you step on something small and let out a small gasp as you flinch backward. The thing you stepped on has a human shape and your heart sinks to your stomach.

Was one of the strange side effects of the potion shrinking?

Did you just kill someone?

You take your DDD out of your pocket and shine your flashlight on the floor, praying to whoever is listening that you didn't crush any of your loved ones with the sole of the designer shoes Asmodeus bought for you.

Immediately, you feel relief as the light hits the object you stepped on. It's not a tiny demon, Angel, or Sorcerer. Instead, the minuscule, solid-plastic, smiling face of Rui Chan stares back at you. 

Without a doubt, this little phone charm belongs to LEviathan. It's twin swings from your device from a daintily braided string, but hers looks frayed, like it was ripped off and she was discarded.  

"You poor thing," you say softly, crouching down to pick up the fallen character. "I promise I'll get you all fixed up in no time."

You slip the figurine into your pocket and continue onwards. Levi must be around here somewhere, but where?

Beneath the cracks of one of the doors, you notice light spilling out. Slowly, you open the door to reveal one of the Castle's many indoor pools. The water ripples, and a head of purple hair breaks through the surface.

Levi has discarded his shirt and gracefully swims around in just his dark pants. Swimming in denim may not be super comfortable, but since he is an aquatic demon, he must be used to this kind of thing. 

When he sees you, he stops what he's doing and just stares at you with a blank expression. Unlike the others you have seen so far, there is no sign of a blush on his cheeks, but he seems different somehow.

Is it his posture?

"What are you doing in there?" you ask, calling out to the Demon. He seems to shake himself out of his daze and hunches over in embarrassment. 

"T-the others wanted to have dates with you." he stammers. "But no one is as strong in the water as me, so I claimed the pool. None of those Normies could take you away from me now.

So far, Levi isn't acting as strange as the others, but you are still cautious. "That is very smart of you, Levi," you say. "But I am not dressed for swimming, so maybe we could do something else together."

His eyes rake up and down your body, eying your attire. "Oh, you're right." he mutters, "I bet you think I'm just a stupid otaku who needs to touch grass."

"You know I don't think that," you say, briefly wondering why he dosent seem to be embarrassed as he usually is. He swims over to the edge of the pool and stares up at you expectantly. "I-i can't get out of the water on my own. Will you help me up?"

He holds out his hand for you to take, and you reach for it like it's second nature. It's only when he has a firm grip on your hand that his features shift, and he smirks devilishly, dropping his shy and unconfident act. "Oh, Mc, I just knew you would come to me."

He pulls you effortlessly over the pool's edge, and you squeal, hitting the water with a loud splash. Water fills your mouth as you thrash about, trying to breach the surface.

Levi's arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you to the surface. As you cough up water and try to catch your breath, he looks at you with those heart-shaped pupils. 

"There you go Mc," he purrs seductively. His fingers swipe away damp strands of hair out of your face. "Now I can see you clearly."

"Levi, what did you do that for?" you cough blindly, reaching for the pool's edge. But his grip around your waist is firm. You aren't going anywhere.

There is a weight in your back pocket that makes your heart sink. "Oh shoot." you take your DDD out of your pocket and raise it above the water. The screen flickers once, then twice, before going completely black. 

It's ruined…

So much for telling Luke you found the cure…

Levi's eyes flare with jealousy as he gives your side a gentle squeeze. "Hey now, put that thing away. You're with me, so you won't be needing any of those distractions. 

This side of Levi is bold, smooth, and a bit aggressive.

You would be lying if you said you didn't think this boldness was kinda hot. 

Gingerly, he takes your waterlogged device out of your hand and starts to place it on the edge of the pool behind him, but when he sees your little Rui chan charm swaying back and forth, he stops, narrowing his eyes at the collectible. "Why do you still have that junky thing?

Your gut starts to feel uneasy. Levi really did rip off that limited edition charm you guys got at the meet and greet.

Just as he starts trying to unravel the little braided cord, you come up with a plan. 

Turning on your natural charm, you let out a little giggle and loop your arms around his chest, successfully grabbing his full attention. "Noooo, come on. It's just too cute. I like keeping it with me since you got it for me."

He chuckles and nips at your ear. "This piece of plastic is nowhere near as cute as you Mc, but if that's really what you want, then I guess it can stay." With the DDD and the phone charm safely out of the water, you feel relieved. 

"Thank you, Levi." you coo, tracking his predatory gaze as it drops to your lips. He wastes no time pressing him to yours with confidence. 

The butterflies in your stomach take flight as your eyes flutter shut. Seconds later, you notice that his initial ferocity fades, and he lets himself go.

His eyes are wide open now, and he looks absolutely terrified. 

Mc, why are we swimming?" he gasps, looking down at your kiss-swollen lips. "What did I do?"

"It's okay Levi," you say comfortingly. And you mean it, this was because of the potion. "You were under a spell and didn't know what you were doing."

"But I still did it." he cries. "Brb, I gotta go become one with the pool now." 

He starts to lower himself into the water once more, but you pull him up so he cannot sulk at the bottom of the pool for the rest of his day. "Hey, come on. Let's get out of here and dry off the best we can.

He looks down at your soaked clothing and hair. His face flushes redder and redder until he looks like he is about to faint. Wasting no time, you start to lead him out of the water for his own safety. 

"I am so so so sorry." he apologizes again. "I know you will never want to see me ever again. All I am is a gross Otaku shut-in who tried to act like some kind of Dating Sim protagonist and failed miserably."

You take a fluffy white towel from one of the tables and gently pat his purple hair dry. "I still want to see you silly."

He shyly meets your gaze and gives you a wobbly smile. But then he sees his DDD resting on the table next to him. "Wait. Where is Rui-Chan?"

He scans the room frantically, and his breathing quickens. 

Before he has a full-blown panic attack, you take the charm out of your pocket and drop it into his open palm. "Shhhh, it's okay. The string broke, but it's an easy fix. How about you go back to the banquet hall and try to put it back together."

He looks at you like you have just hung all the stars in the sky. "You're an angel, Mc. That's my Henry, I always knew I could count on you."

He starts to head back toward the Banquet Hall, the sound of wet denim swishing back and forth, following him as he goes.

Alone again, you look down at your pool-soaked clothing and roll your eyes at the inconvenience. "Okay. Three down, eight to go."

Tagging: @nutmeg030 @im-in-love-with-fairytales @snowthatareblack @stressed-cryptid @miracl3d @that-1-simp @the-panda-queen @melpomenelurks @romaissa @randomdutchgirl @skei2p @downinbedrock @yuuvis32 @exrellian @cuddlybelphie @yeet-skeet-nifty-neat @thorn--bush @commets-space @enchantedforest-network

[drades-lair]

reschedule

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Strella

Striker hated the frozen wasteland that Stella's brother decided to settle his palace on. Being from Wrath the pale imp was a warm weather hellion to begin with unfortunately on occasion he needed to meet face to face with Stella meaning he was forced to traverse this vacant landscape. Grousing irritably Striker brought Bombproof to a halt at the last step of the palaces front stairs which led to the massive double blue ornate doors. Dismounting Striker trudged to the doors where he knocked hard on them triggering the doors to slowly creak open. A pair of white sled dog looking hellhounds gestured for Striker to enter which he did, pulling down his bandana from over his snout while shrugging the snow from the poncho he was wearing.

Glancing around Striker released an irritated sigh when he was met by a silent empty foyer. Rolling his eyes the pale imp removed his poncho, hanging it on the coat rack by the door before proceeding into the palace. Besides the front guards the palace was eerily empty causing Striker’s footfalls to echo through the halls as he moved deeper, occasionally calling out ‘ma’am’. Admittedly the imp was more then just a little miffed in having to search out Stella, assuming this was another game she was playing, one the imp was in no mood to play. Striker found his way to Stella’s bedroom although that may seem unusual, she had a personal office in there that on occasion they’d meet in to do business like today’s however on those days Stella would meet him at the main doors of the palace then lead him here. Knocking on the ornate light blue door Striker waited for a response, snarling with a rattle when none came, patience at an end for this ridiculous game Striker checked the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open Striker slinked inside revealing the room was mostly dark except for a couple candle holders with lit candles in them However the dim lighting didn’t hinder Striker’s keen eyes from seeing a form he assumed was Stella laying in the four-poster bed under the covers. Striker felt his irritation grow after all how dare this rich bitch have the gall to call him to this hell forsaken wasteland of cold and snow only to be still asleep when he arrived? As someone who was incredibly professional…at least for an assassin, Striker took offense at the blatant disrespect Stella presented to him. Not making a sound Striker strode over to the large bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Stella’s form thinking about how to approach this when he jerked in surprise as the blankets began to shake slightly. Furrowing one eyebrow he focused harder on the lump of blankets picking up on a subtle tiny sound coming from it indicating that Stella was awake.

“Seriously! This some sorta fuckin’ game!” Striker growled, lip curling angrily.

Stella jumped nearly a foot in the air with a shriek, flipping over with the blankets clutched to her chest. Striker’s expression changed instantly to confusion as even in the dim light of the room he could see the tears coating Stella’s face and the dark bruise on the one side.

“Y-You…why are you…shit, we had an appointment,” Stella stammered when a look of realization crossed her features.

“That’s…right…are Ya alright, ma’am?” Striker confirmed before looking Stella over causing her to recoil slightly. Based on what little he could see beneath the blanket Stella was wearing a pink silk robe instead of her normal outfit which was odd because if he had to guess she’d been in it all day.

“I-I’m fine…I’ll…I’m sorry…I forgot,” Stella stammered out taking Striker off guard, both eyebrows raising as his eyes grew wide.

“What did Ya just say?” Striker asked in surprise.

“I’m sorry for having you come all the way out here for nothing…I’m…not in the mood for a meeting…” Stella repeated, trying to hide her face with both the blanket as well as the darkness of the room.

“Uh-huh…that have anythin’ ta do wit that bruise on Yer face?” Striker inquired lowering one brow as he moved both hands to his hips.

“T-That is none of you’re concern…I’ll pay you for the inconvenience and contact you later to reschedule,” Stella assured Striker, still refusing to make eye contact with the imp. The two stayed still for a few minutes until Striker released a deep sigh, head dipping with his eyes closed for a moment before moving to drop the small pack he’d had on his back. Taking a knee Striker shuffled through the pack while Stella turned to look on in curious confusion when Striker stood back up, holding a hard sided case in dark gray which he set on the bedside table.

“Ya got a bathroom around here?” Striker inquired.

“Um…yes, over there,” Stella confusedly answered, gesturing towards the washroom across the room on the left.

Striker didn’t say anything else simply heading towards the washroom where the sound of water running resounded for a few moments followed by Striker emerging with a cloth in hand. Stella continued to watch with a confused disbelieving look upon her features as Striker climbed onto the bed, taking Stella off guard when he moved closer. Uncertain how to react Stella froze in place when Striker gently grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger to guide her face slightly to the side promptly providing him access to the bruise. Striker gently pressed the cool cloth to the bruised area of Stella’s cheek causing her to wince with a small whimper.

“I could use a little light,” Striker stated.

“Alright…” Stella trailed off still a little confused by this entire situation. Waving a hand Stella lit up a couple candle labara around the room allowing light to illuminate just how badly bruised her cheek was.

“Here hold this on there,” Striker stated, pulling one of Stella’s hands up to press to the cold cloth.

Striker hopped from the bed to open the case he’d placed on the bedside table revealing various medical objects within. Striker pulled out a small bottle with some sort of white substance inside it, returning to his spot on the bed next to Stella. Prompting Stella to remove the cloth Striker popped open the bottle allowing him to scoop out a white cream that he applied to the injury.

“Why are you doing this?” Stella quietly asked finally voicing her confusion.

“If I tell Ya will Ya tell me who did this to Ya?” Striker retorted.

“Don’t you already know?” Stella shot back.

“I have a good guess,” Striker once again retorted with a small smirk upon his features.

Stella returned the small smirk before returning them to silence, Striker finished tending the bruise on Stella’s cheek then leapt off the bed to put away his medical bag, but he left the bottle of cream on the bedside table.

“Ya want me ta stay?” Striker inquired.

“No, I’ll make sure to reschedule our meeting in a day or so,” Stella responded just as quietly getting what appeared to be a light blush across her face.

“Very well, goodnight, ma’am,” Striker stated, slinging his bag over his back again then exiting the bedroom to retrieve his poncho from the front foyer to leave the palace.

[dextixer]

RWBY is not overhated, the weird conflation of criticism with hate and the "The show just did not fit critics expectations" argument in the fandom

Duo to a few reasons i could not really access Reddit for the last 3 days, but there have been many threads i really wanted to participate in or make responses to. One of the threads that caught my eye was this(Link removed because Tumblr seems to hide posts with links).

I would recommend people to familiarize themselves with the thread and its comments if they have not already.

Anyways, what i noticed, both from the OP and a few other comments is a very   uncharitable opinions and logic that have existed in the fandom for a long time, and crop up from time to time. Things like criticisms that are disagreed upon being conflated with hate, criticism being dismised because its subjective and because "it just did not meet your expectations"  and of course the prevailing opinion that RWBY is somehow uniquelly "overhated".

I would like to offer push-back to these opinions and narratives personally, since i could not have done so before.

Expectations

Most people understand that criticism is an incredibly subjective and opinion based field of interest. Many things influence how a work can or will be criticized and whether or not those criticisms are thought to be "valid" or not. Ones personal life experiences, media consumed and things like personal philosophy and political leanings can influence the criticisms they have on a work. And while people and groups of people sometimes agree and form based on shared criticisms, more often than not there can be MANY such groups with criticism that differs and is even contradictory to one another.

What often confuses me is this idea that criticism can be dismissed because "Well, you just dont like the direction that the show took" or "The show just didnt meet your expectations". Well, these are true statements. But that is what confuses me about their usage. Because in the comments of the thread i am responding to people use these arguments to dismiss criticism.

When these statements about expectations are the CORE of how criticism is formed. Let us say i order a chocolate cake, i EXPECT a chocolate cake, and if i get a vanilla cake my expectations are not meant, and thus i can criticize the making of the cake. Expectations not being met is the core of forming criticism, it is the FIRST step on a road of making criticism, so to use it to dismiss criticism just feels silly.

Now, of course, with shows like RWBY, we the audience do not order anything. We do not pay money so that something would be made specifically for us. We engage with an existing work and then depending on how it goes, what it implies, theories on what the future can bring, we form expectations of the show, and then when they are not met or they are met, we express our opinions.

That is completely normal. That is the core of subjectivity. To make fun of that just feels like a complete and utter misunderstanding of subjectivity as a concept, of consumption of products in general.

Almost all, if not all criticism is subjective.

But that subjectivity should not be used to dismiss criticism.

If i believe that RWBY could be better, or could have been better. That is an expectation. And if the show does not meet my expectation i can criticize it on various aspects of it that in my opinion werent done well.

As a note, you can replace the whole "expectation" word with "headcanon" in most of this section, because sometimes the statement takes the form of "people are mad their headcanons did not come true" which is basically the same dismissive statement as with expectations.

Criticism is not hate

Hate, hate, hate, hate. Its a pretty strong word, is it not? A word that carries a LOT of meaning in general. It can be applied to certain parts of RWBY communities, certainly. For example, people who do not even watch the new volumes and still shit-talk RWBY. People who make statements such as "I just want to see this show burn" and the like. I mean, that is obvious hate or spite, one cannot deny that. And of course, such people find their way into critic communities.

First of all, they are not critics. A person who HOPES that the show fails is very much not a critic in my eyes any more. At the same time, the only way to get rid of such people is for the community to tell them to piss off. But enough about that...

What i am trying to say is that people who hate the show, can be very clearly seen, they do not try to hide their intentions. And yet, it is very often that one can notice how criticism can often be conflated with hate. The OP of the thread i posted certainly did so at the start. The title of the thread is about hate, and yet, in the thread itself they are talking about criticisms, poor and maybe without details criticisms, but criticisms nonetheless.

And the OP is not unique in that manner. I myself have recently been accused of hating the show, because i am not writing positive threads about it, that we critics "hide" our hate behind criticisms. That could not be further from the truth.

Criticism is simply how we choose to engage with the community and spread our ideas and opinions, that is all. It is no different from me writing a review of a game on Steam or anything of the sort. We live in a world of information, and with it, us and our opinions can be noticed. We can discuss upon them and the like. Criticism is no lesser way to interact in the community than saying how great RWBY is.

Criticism often takes a good amount of time. To form, to be formulated into a coherent argument that people can understand. People put in effort into doing so. Even if you might disagree with a criticism, it doesn't mean that it is hateful.

If you think the show is amazing? Great for you. That does not mean that the other person has to think so. Even if you think that their criticism is wrong. It does not make it hate. Or "lies" as some people even refer them to. Its all opinion.

"Ironwood was writen well" and "Ironwood was writen badly", both of these are true at the same time... For different people... And while people can disagree and argue upon these statements, these are all just opinions.

RWBY is NOT overhated

It is often that i browse r/RWBY subreddit and various other RWBY communities and notice something strange. There is almost, if not a culture, then at least a sentiment of victimhood in parts of the fandom. Both on the part of the show, but also, personal.

Many people in the fandom seem to believe that RWBY as a show is somehow uniquely hated, that the criticisms it receives are too much, that people care too much and the like. It seems to be paired with beliefs that other communities don't have such often talked about criticisms.

And that is... Well... Wrong. RWBY as a show does not receive more or less criticism than any other serialized work. The MHA fandom is very critical of the show. The SAO fandom is critical of their show. I can take almost any Anime with a sizeable fanbase and find MANY critics or critical threads of the show. It is all part of the natural cycle of fanbases, no work is perfect.

And yet this perception persists. Arguably, because parts of the fandom want it to persist. I have mentioned it many times but most criticism of the show has gone into different communities. It is rare for it to appear what are considered to be "fandom spaces", it can be avoided very easily in most moderated sites. Some argue that RWBY is "overhated" because of how the Youtube algorithm offers up videos of RWBY being bad.

But i think thats a poor point to make. The reason why those videos exist is because RWBY is a niche work. When bigger creators noticed it and made their videos. Those videos are not going to leave, because they make a video and forget about RWBY in general. Most biggest videos were made 1-2 years ago if not more. It does not mean that RWBY is hated on youtube or the like. Its just that there is no video to replace them. And why should we care what outsiders care of RWBY? Those videos are popular not because people care about RWBY. People just like seeing criticism, even of works they have not consumed.

People do not hate or overhate RWBY. They are either mostly fans of it. Or dont care about it. Its just that simple.

RWBY community created its own boogeyman

What i think many people in the RWBY community dont realize, is that parts of the fandom have created their own boogeyman. The so called "hatedom". This is very much related to the whole "victimhood" thing i talked about and how people perceive RWBY as being overhated.

It eventually resulted in people being labeled as HTDM. And it did not take much to be labeled as such. And people then truly believed that the HTDM is a "thing", that its a huge community out to destroy RWBY. When in reality, most people assigned that label were just critics.

This even comes to personal stuff too. So many people, way too many people in the RWBY community have seemingly tied parts of themselves to RWBY. I cant even tell you how many times i have seen people take my arguments as personal insults.

People have taken me saying "You are wrong" as outright personal attacks. Disagreeing with their opinions or offering my own personal criticism as something that was "meant" to stop them from watching the show.

Most of it is self-made.

What is HTDM? Who belongs to it? Nobody knows. Because its such a shapeless and formless concept. Its just a label to demonize people, whose existance is then used for parts of the community to claim that RWBY is hated. Because of a label that the community itself created for "undesireables".

Ending Word

Anyways, that is all i have got to say for now. I know that some people might get tired of me speaking more about the community and the fandom rather than the show, but i cannot help myself when i see certain arguments being presented in the fandom. Especially since i have an opportunity to push-back or correct some, in my opinion, erroneous opinions.

Though i do have to say, if anyone wishes to suggest me a topic that they would like to see me talk about, that i have not recently talked about, such requests would be very much appreciated for my hyperactive and unfocused brain.

Opinions, disagreements and anything else of the sort are of course welcome, as always.

[finrays]

So my Fan Speculation Engine might be dead in the water after the everything-explained-no-threads ending of Forbidden West...

But fortunately my AU Machine is NOT.

Here's one I've been discussing with the Spookmeister...

What do rich motherfuckers love better than anything else?

Flaunting how damn rich they are.

And how do you do that in a place where everything is taken care of by robots or automated, etc?

By proving that you still command humans.

Plus, you have a lot of uncertainty involved in the exploration and colonization of another planet, not to mention immortality treatments and gene therapies and stuff... human test subjects might be beneficial. Computer modeling is all well and good, but you wanna test that stuff before you use it on your fully important self, right?

And with everything in freefall and the world believing you're all dead, well... no one is gonna notice if you swipe a handful of Enduring Victory participants/wandering civilians off the surface before you skip town. Or crack a Zero Dawn facility open like an egg and take your pick of the minds inside. Or invade a private bunker and snatch its inhabitants. It's the Faro Plague! Shit happens. Too bad, so sad... what a tragic end for all those poor fucks.

Spooky and I call these unfortunate hypotheticals "Indentured Zeniths;" they've been "rescued," and to "pay off the debt" of being saved from Death-By-Faro-Plague, they're expected to serve. And it's both for the reasons discussed above, and also because "Look at me, we've got all these robots to tend to our every need, and I STILL can afford to have "hired help" that I can boss around, I am clearly superior to YOU."

By the time Nemesis destroys the colony, their numbers have dwindled; faulty immortality treatments, the harsh environment of any planets that might be hanging around in the freakin' binary star system that is Sirius, etc... what you wind up with is a grittier bunch of Zeniths, battered and broken, not quite the immortal, shiny bunch that the others are (I'm referring to them as the Zenith Prime faction just because that word seems to crop up again and again in Horizon.) The more defiant of them may have been forced to comply via implant technology. Heck, maybe all of them are.

One thing is for certain; by the time the Zeniths arrive on Earth, they've been subjected to these implants to the last surviving one of them, and are completely bent to Gerard's will.

And they become a combination optional boss battle/collectable for Aloy to find out in the wilds, as they're dispatched to ancient sites to guard or recover data and/or artifacts. Because they're wearing the old, cast-off tech of the Zenith Prime faction (and, I imagine, a lot more tatterdemalion and shabby-looking,) their shields and weapons are more in line with the Rebel Champions and the Shield-Weaver; with sustained damage, Aloy can break through them and attack, and they'll hit back with well-made, but not Erik-level weapons charged with elemental energy, usually plasma, but anything goes. Their armaments would be more in line with, again, the Rebel Champions... think more along the lines of the beskar spear from the Mandalorian rather than the gun-arrow things that the Prime faction uses.  

Defeating one of them snaps their implant, and frees them from their forced servitude; these guys are not hostile to the inhabitants of Earth like the Zenith Prime are, and will generally flee the scene after a fight. While they won't cause trouble for Aloy in the future, I haven't decided what the ultimate outcome of managing to find and free them all would be... some kind of reward, maybe, that they gather and leave for her to find as a thank you for helping them get away?

They certainly don't know anything about the collapse of the colony, or about Nemesis... that would be too much info handed over. They're just grateful to be back under their own power, and to be back on Earth, to boot.

Anyway. I think we needed more Zenith presence in between their appearances. This is one of the ways you could do it!

[rax-writes]

More

Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes:  Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan​ did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two

[fandom-imagines]

Little Miss Favourite

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Teacher!Snape X Legal!Granger!Reader 

Warnings: Teacher x student relationship x)

Words: 2.5k 

It would be a lie to say that the Granger sisters weren’t incredibly smart, anyone could see it. Whilst Hermione, the younger sibling, was exceptionally talented with spells, Y/N was talented in the art of potion making; not that she wasn’t talented at other things also.

Due to her consistently high scores in potions, Y/N had caught the attention of her favourite teacher: Severus Snape, despite his annoyance towards the younger Granger. Whilst he found Hermione insufferable, Y/N was more than tolerable in his honest opinion; not that he would ever admit that to anyone, maybe not even himself.

Perhaps it was her confident personality, her boldness or her smarts, Severus would never know. Of course, it wasn’t only him that had his attention focused on her, many people did. Those people included Hermione’s friends. Y/N knew this, how could she not? The way Harry did his best to show off whilst Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron got all embarrassed, it was obvious; at least to her. Even though her personalist screamed confident, she wasn’t mean like other people at Hogwarts, not often at least.  

“Morning Professor,” her words were sweet as she greeted the dark-haired man, early as always.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Snapes tone was kinder than usual, but without it being clear. To anyone else, it would seem normal.

“Got a date for the Yule Ball yet, sir?” Whilst her question was genuine and not flirtatious, Severus couldn’t help but wish it was.

“Why would I bother with something as childish as having a date?”

“I shall take that as a no,”

He could hear the stool she usually seated at drag out from beneath the desk before she seated herself on top of it.

“What about you Miss Granger?” Y/N, who had forgotten what she had previously asked him, was confused at his question. “Surely someone like you must have a date,”

A sight blush ran up her cheeks at his words, eyes wide.

“No sir,” she giggled. “Not interested in anyone that’s asked me.”

Her words caught his attention, eyes glancing towards her for a split second before returning to the work he was marking. It was Harry Potters; he could almost roll his eyes.

“Why is that?”

“Immature men that feel like I should go with them because they’re popular? No thank you, give me a mature and unentitled man any day,”

For the second time in five minutes her words caught his attention, suddenly distracted by what she had said rather than being distracted by Potter’s work.

“I see,”

It wasn’t long until the rest of her class began to pile into the dungeon, taking their usual seats as Fred and George came to sit beside her at their typical desk.

“Morning, Y/N/N,” the greeted in perfect synergy, almost as though it had been rehearsed but she knew better than to expect that and simply laughed.

“We heard something,” Fred began.

“Potter is wanting to ask you to be his date to the Yule Ball.” George finished, the twins laughing at Y/N’s shocked face.

“Please say you’re joking,” she pleaded, desperately hoping that it wasn’t true. “He’s so much younger than me!”

“Oh and Hermione is going with Krum,”

“This day just gets worse and worse,”

“Weasleys, detention.” A harsh voice interrupted their conversation as to be expected.

“But sir!” They groaned, once again in unison. “She was talking too!”

“Not as much as you two.”

*

The great hall was quiet, everyone there working on their essays, everyone being the fourth years. Fortunately for her, Y/N was allowed to sit and work alongside the younger students having been given permission by Professor Snape himself.

“Hey Y/N,” Harry’s quiet voice pulled her attention away from the parchment in front of her. “I was just wondering-“ His words were soon cut off by a hand shoving his head into his own parchment.

“Silence,”

“Yes, Professor Snape.”

An amused smirk covered Y/N’s lips as she turned her own attention back to the work in front of her that was soon to be finished.

“Later guys,” she shot the trio one last smile as she walked towards Snape, handing him her essay with a small smile, one he almost wished to return.

“I’m sure this will be as excellent as always, Granger.”

“I sure hope so, sir.”

With one final nod, Severus dismissed her.

*

Music blasted throughout the hall as the Tri-wizard champions begun to dance with their partners. Y/N and her own date, who ended up being George due to both forgetting about the dance until the night before, stood laughing at Ron’s dress robes.

“He looks like our great aunt,” George chuckled, his words making Y/N snort in amusement.

“Poor kid. He looks so embarrassed,” she giggled.

“Well, looks like its our turn to dance. Care to join me, Granger?” George grinned, offering him her hand which she gladly took.

“After you, but can you even dance?”

“Nope,”

“Good, me neither.”

Their dance was horrendous, and they were both glad when the music ended, the pair running off the dance floor in laughter, hands still together.

“That was- “George began, only to have his sentence finished by his dance partner.

“Dreadful?”

“Yeah,”

Their fit of laughter was cut short by another voice joining the conversation. “Nice dancing guys!”

“Shut up, Fred!” This time it was Y/N and George’s turn to speak in unison, something that triggered a smirk to grow on Fred’s lips.

“Alright, alright, calm down you two,”

*

“I almost feel bad for him,” Fred chuckled, catching George and Y/N’s attention as they followed his gaze.

“I would but he gave us detention and not her, talk about favouritism!”

An idea popped into Y/N’s head, as she removed herself from the twins’ arms.

“Where are you going, Y/N/N?” Fred asked. “Wait are you-“

“I feel bad for him, okay!”

The twins burst into laughter as they realised her plan.

“I bet you my entire allowance that she can’t get him to dance,” Fred whispered as they watched Y/N walking towards Snape.

“You’re on,”

*

“Evening, Professor,” Y/N greeted, desperately trying her best to not show her nervousness.

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” He returned her greeting, turning his attention fully to her. “Shouldn’t you be with your date?”

“George? No, we both forgot we needed dates, so we went together. He’ll cope on his own,” The girl giggled, glancing back at said man to see both twins smirking at her. “You look lonely, want to dance?”

“Do I look like the sort of person to dance?”

“Do I?” She joked, enjoying the small smirk that pulled up at his lips. “It’ll be one dance and then I’ll let you go back to enjoying your own company. It’s a teacher and student dance anyway!”

*

“No way…” Fred gasped, watching as Snape and Y/N headed to the dancefloor.

“I knew she could do it! You now owe me your entire allowance,”

“Shit,”

*

“See it wasn’t too bad, was it, Professor?” Y/N giggled, aware of the fact that everyone had been staring at her dancing with Snape.

“You stepped on my foot at least three times,”

“I said I don’t dance!”

She celebrated a silent victory as Snape shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“This is true,”

“Welp, I’ll leave you to enjoy your own company again!” The older Granger grinned, giving him one final nod as she headed by to the twins who were still in shock.

“Shut your mouth, Fred. You’ll catch flies,” Y/N smirked, placing her hand on Fred’s chin to shut up mouth that had been open since she managed to convince Snape to dance.

“Did you bewitch him or something?! How on earth did you manage to get him to dance?” George asked in shock.

“Night guys, thanks for the fun time.” She winked, downing the rest of her drink that she had left before leaving the hall to head to bed.

*

“Miss Granger, you’re late,” Snapes’ words ran throughout the dungeon.

It was strange, how he knew it was her before he had even turned around to face her.

“Sorry Professor, I had a detention.”

“Well now you have another, stay after class.”  

*

“Good luck, Snapes detentions are horrible,” George chuckled, giving Y/N a reassuring pat on the back.

“Yeah, we would know, Miss Favourite,” Fred chimed in with his typical teasing tone.

“Thanks, that makes me feel better. I’ll see you guys later,”

“Good luck.”

The second everyone had left the classroom, Snapes attention was on her.

“So why did you get a detention?” His words were questioning, not malicious. It was almost as though he was genuinely curious.

“I got in a duel,” Y/N shook her head with a slight laugh. “Malfoy was being, well Malfoy. So, yeah.”

A grin covered her lips as Snape shook his head in slight amusement; it was cute in a way.

“Next time don’t get caught, it makes my classes a lot easier,”

“Got ya, Professor,”

“Good, you may leave,”

*

“That was quick, did he have to leave?” Fred, who had been waiting outside for about two minutes, asked.

“Little miss favourite,” were her only words as she shot Fred a wink, just like she had done at the ball a few weeks ago.

“I swear he has a crush on you or something,”

“Yeah, imagine. Professor Severus Snape developing a crush on a student, nice one George. Why are you two even here?”

The twins, who had been caught red-handed, shared an amused look, quickly rushing into action by grasping Y/N’s arms, tugging her along.

“We need someone to test our latest concoction!” They spoke in unison.

“No, no way! Merlin knows what you’ve put in that!”

“Either you help us, or we’ll tell everyone about your little crush on the potions professor,”

“Fine.”

*

“Fred and George Weasley, you come here this instance!” Y/N’s voice shrieked, her words echoing throughout the entire Gryffindor common room.

“Run!” Was all she heard, followed by laughter and footsteps leaving through the portrait.

Y/N rushed after them, hell bent on causing as much annoyance to them as they had to her.

“I will kill you!”

“That’s not very nice now, is it? You love us really,” George teased her once more before darting away.

“George Weasley I am faster than you and you know it!”

It wasn’t a lie, Y/N had been, and always will be, faster than him. No matter how many pranks they had to run away from, the twins would never be able to outrun her.

“What have you done to my hair?!” Y/N demanded to know the second she caught both boys by the collar of their robes. “Please say this comes out, I don’t want my hair to be yellow and green forever, I hate it!”

“Well you see, Y/N/N,” Fred chuckled with a hint of nervousness. “We don’t know, you’re our first consumer!”

“Fred, I am begging you, I look like a lollipop.”

“I’m sure you taste as sweet as one too, Y/N,” a Slytherin by-passer commented, clearly having heard the entire conversation.

“Shut th-“

“Detention and ten points from Slytherin,”

Fred, George and Y/N shared a terrified look as Professor Snape stood behind the trio.

“Trying a new style are we, Granger? It is quite bold,” despite the blunt words, there was an almost undetectable teasing tone laced in his words.

“Not willingly, Professor,”

“Then why did you do it?”

“They blackmailed me!”

“With what?”

The twins smirked at each other, as though they were sent on a mission to ruin her day.

“She has a crush, Professor,” George smirked at the, now multi-coloured haired, girl.

“George Weasley!” In a swift movement, Y/N rushed towards the ginger, only to be stopped by a hand holding her robe. “Professor let me go!”

“Isn’t she cute, Fred?”

“Adorable, George,”

“I hate you both.” Y/N, who had accepted her fate of being held my Snape (which didn’t seem too bad in all honesty), sighed.

“You love us really,”

“You wish, Fredrick.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“If you three have quite finished,” Snape interrupted their quarrel. “I think I know how to remove that colour from your hair, Miss Granger. Follow me.” There was no room for debate as the potions master turned and rushed towards his classroom.

“I’ll kill you,” Y/N mouthed before rushing after him.

*

“Sit,” Snape said, lightly kicking a stool out towards Y/N before walking towards a cupboard that, she assumed, had potions or at least ingredients for them.

“Are you sure this will work, Professor? I really don’t want anyone else to see me like this,”

“You mean you don’t want your crush to see you like this?” He said with a raised eyebrow.

“He already has,” her words were a mere murmur, but it was one Severus had heard.

“The Slytherin?” Snape asked whilst he grabbed a weird looking liquid. “Here drink.”

“Merlin, no. I don’t even know who that was. This tastes disgusting,”

“Do you want the colour gone or not?”

“Sorry,”

Snape let out a small sigh, his arms crossing by habit.

“Potter, perhaps?”

“Are we playing guess the crush or something?”

“Well, we have time. This needs a second dose in around thirty minutes,”

Now it was Y/N’s turn to sigh.

“It’s probably not a good idea to play this game with me,” she joked. “I’m quite competitive,”

“You would have done well in Slytherin,”

“I doubt it,”

“Under me you would have done brilliantly. You are doing brilliantly already.”

A bright red blush ran up Y/N’s cheeks at his use of words.

“You should be careful what you say, Professor. Someone might interpret your words wrong,”

“That someone being you?”

“Perhaps,”

“I see.”

An awkward silence filled the air, something that was uncommon between the pair.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit straight-forward,”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be,”

Whilst his reply was short, the words caught her attention, her head spinning to face him.

“Don’t be?”

“I said what I said.” Came his simple response.

“I don’t understand,”

“Maybe little miss favourite should do some thinking,”

“Oh…” She whispered. “Oh! Here I am thinking I’m just a teacher’s pet,”

He smiled slightly. “Not quite, Miss Granger,”

Footsteps echoed throughout the dungeon as he walked towards Y/N, his fingers lightly pushing against her chin to bring her to face him, her cheeks as red as flames.

“So, I’m your little miss favourite?”

“Clearly,”

[cuddlepilefics]

Hug me again, I don't feel good

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompt: Fever @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Stray Kids members always tended to drown their maknae in affection and although he always pretended to hate it, Jeongin secretly liked it. As long as the didn’t undermine his independence that is. Him pretending to hate their hugs, led to the members toning it down a bit, only going full out when they were in a teasing mood and felt like going on their youngest’s nerves. Today they had had to get up early, having a packed schedule ahead of them and not having slept much, the mood ranged from sleepy to grumpy. Jeongin certainly fell into the latter category. He wasn’t usually moody when he was tired but when he was woken up this morning, he felt more exhausted than he had when going to bed the previous night. As soon as they were in the car, he leaned his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder, dozing off again. Considering it was a rather long drive, most of them were trying to get a few more moments of shut eye. Their day would start with a photo shoot, followed by an interview and an afternoon of dance practice. To say Jeongin wasn’t looking forward to it would have been an understatement. He didn’t mind the photo shoot, which was comparably the least tiring activity of the day. The interview wasn’t too bad either but he really dreaded their dance practice, feeling too tired to move. Maybe he’d just need to wake up properly and he’d feel more energized over the course of the day.

While they took turns getting their make-up done, the group slowly started to come to life more. Chan had had his second coffee of the day, making the mistake of getting Felix one too, who was now going through a variety of fortnite dances and hyping Jisung up. The rapper didn’t even need coffee to go crazy, merely someone else he was sharing a braincell with. Together the two tried their hardest to get a reaction from Changbin by annoying him but the older kept a straight face, simply ignoring the pair. At some point, even Chan joined them. Minho and Hyunjin had originally started planning their dance practice but had soon gone over to teasing each other, which escalated to Minho threatening his dongsaeng. Seungmin and Jeongin really seemed like the most normal ones in the group. On other days, Jeongin might have joined his hyungs, having fun and fooling around but today he just couldn’t seem to shake his sleepy haze. Maybe he should get himself a coffee too, since it seemed to have worked wonders on Chan and Felix. Unfortunately, the photo shoot started before Jeongin had the chance to get coffee but the boy pushed the thought away. Busying himself would certainly do the trick too.

The photo shoot didn’t go as well as Jeongin would have liked. Usually, he had no issues with the bright lights surrounding him but they sure made the temperature on set toasty. The maknae was sweating much more than he was used to during photo shoots, even having to get his make-up retouched multiple times. This wasn’t like him and it was humiliating. The staff already clicking their tongues at the boy constantly needing his make-up fixed. Aside from the humiliation, Jeongin felt plainly disgusting with his clothes sticking to him. As his mood was dwindling, his discomfort became more apparent to himself and to the photographer, who kept reminding him to smile authentically. How could he smile authentically right now? He was sore from exercising the previous day, he was burning in his skin, his clothes stuck to him and pretty much everyone on set was annoyed with him. No, smiling seemed like the least thing he wanted to do right now, yet Jeongin always smiled. Maybe not as convincingly as usual but he smiled.

The more time passed, the more the hectic surroundings were getting to him. He was pretty much melting in the thick clothes and was slowly developing a headache, with how bright everything was. The flashing lights were worse though, leaving him feeling disoriented as he tried to follow the instructions given to him as fast as possible in hopes of getting things over with. Sweat was beading his forehead but instead of sending him to get his make up retouched once again, the photographer decided to take a few last pictures, which he’d edit later on, before releasing the boy back to the waiting area. A few of the members still needed to get their individual shots taken, so it was rather quiet back there. Jeongin debated removing his make-up completely but he didn’t want to bother anyone to put another full make-up on him for their interview later. This wasn’t his first photo shoot, so why had he been struggling so badly? In a matter of minutes, the smile he had plastered on, faltered and a single tear trailed down his cheek. Then another. Pursing his lips, Jeongin tried his hardest to calm down and hold the tears back. He didn’t want to mess up his make-up even more. The harder he tried though, the harder it got to keep it together. Yet he only allowed himself tiny, quiet sniffles after already being a burden to so many people so early in the day. He just wanted to be professional.

His efforts were in vain though, when Chan entered the waiting area after finishing his shots. He knew his dongsaeng well enough and calmly went over hugging the younger. “What’s up?”, the leader hummed, taking a step back when Jeongin tensed in his arms. The maknae was already sweating and he didn’t want to be touched, feeling as disgusting as he felt at the moment. “Frustrated”, Jeongin muttered, avoiding eye contact with his hyung, “was holding everyone back with how often I needed to get my make-up fixed.” – “It’s alright. Don’t worry, everyone who’s stood under those floodlights will understand. It does get toasty there sometimes”, Chan assured. He knew he’d probably feel the same if he was in Jeongin’s position, so he made a mental note to make sure the boy wouldn’t get teased for it. The maknae had already accepted that crying had ruined his make-up beyond what could be fixed and accepted the make-up wipe his hyung handed him. Still sniffling quietly, he scrubbed at his face to get it all off. He already contemplated what to tell the staff, who’d need to reapply everything for their interview earlier. At some point, he had managed to pull himself together but still looked a bit gloomy, besides, his face had taken a flushed pink shade, probably from how roughly he had rubbed it. Handing him a bottle of water, Chan sighed: “You feeling better now?” Jeongin shrugged. Did he? He was still just as hot as he had been previously and his head still hurt, through he wasn’t as disoriented. It was nice and quiet now, there were less people and it was less bright, so he had probably just gotten overwhelmed earlier. “I think today’s just not really my day”, he pouted, “I feel like I still haven’t managed to wake myself up and my head hurts from all the chaos.” – “Should we go and get you some coffee? Might at least help for the interview”, Chan offered, “Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit.”

Chan took his dongsaeng to a coffee shop nearby. They could have gotten coffee somewhere closer but he wanted to give the younger some space from their work environment. Jeongin however shuddered the moment he stepped foot outside the building. It wasn’t cold outside but the temperature change messed with his body. The maknae didn’t even notice how he started to walk progressively closer to Chan till the older wrapped an arm around his shoulders, asking: “Are you cold?” Jeongin shook his head but was betrayed by another shiver running down his spine. ‘That’s odd’, Chan noted but decided not to point it out. Instead, he just let the younger stay as close as he wanted. That proved to be of great help when Jeongin stumbled, tripping himself and only being saved the fall by the leader’s arms around his middle. “S-Sorry”, he laughed shakily, already tearing up again. “No, it’s okay”, Chan assured, moving away when the younger regained his balance. That resulted in a whine from Jeongin, who moved along, leaning against the Aussie. “Innie, what’s going on?”, the leader frowned worriedly, confused by the maknae’s behavior. Realizing his actions, Jeongin straightened up and mumbled: “Dizzy.” Why couldn’t the other hug him again? It was exactly what he needed right now, with how upset and cold he felt.

From that moment on, Chan kept a very close eye on Jeongin. He really didn’t seem to be himself today. After they had gotten coffee and returned to the venue, the youngest had gotten comfortable against Felix’ side, who absentmindedly ran a hand up and down the younger’s back. Felix noticed how damp and sticky Jeongin’s shirt still was and offered him to get changed into a fresh one. “No, don’t want to take it off. I’m cold”, the maknae protested, catching most of the members’ attention. Shaking his head, Felix sighed: “Yeah, no wonder you are cold. Your shirt is wet. You’ll feel warmer in a dry one.” – “Hyung, can I have your hoodie?”, Jeongin pouted, giving Hyunjin puppy eyes, who was quick to give it to him. By now, all of them had caught on to their youngest acting weird but could they blame him? They had slept so little, none of them could possibly be in their right mind. At least Jeongin seemed satisfied, pulling the long sleeves of the dancer’s hoodie over his palms. Knowing they’d have the interview next, they all filed into the van.

As soon as they were settled, Jeongin cuddled into Minho’s side, the dancer sitting next to him taken a back. It wasn’t usually Jeongin initiating the skinship but that didn’t mean he minded it. Smiling softly, Minho played with the maknae’s hair and studied the younger’s face. His closed eyes seemed a bit puffy, brows furrowed while sweat beaded his forehead and a small droplet dripped down his temple. Not knowing whether the boy was awake, Minho didn’t dare ask Chan if anything had happened while they were gone. Instead he just decided to let the boy rest on him. Looking up, he met eyes with Jisung, who seemed to think the same. Something wasn’t right. When they arrived, Minho went ahead to talk to Chan, leaving a sleepy Jeongin in his seat. Jisung had stayed behind to wait for the younger, linking their arms but still lagging behind. “Is everything okay, Innie? You seem off”, the rapper asked quietly. At this point, the maknae didn’t feel like keeping up appearances anymore and hesitantly admitted: “I kinda feel off.” – “Are you sick? You know we could let you sit out if you’re sick”, Jisung frowned but his dongsaeng was quick to shake his head, muttering: “I don’t think I am. Probably just slept too little and don’t feel like myself.” The older nodded thoughtfully as he guided Jeongin to get his make-up done again.

Jeongin was the only one needing his make-up done, which gave the rest of the group some time to talk. “He isn’t usually that clingy and he just admitted to feeling off”, Jisung informed and Chan nodded, sighing: “He was really emotional earlier and after almost falling over, he said he was dizzy.” – “Don’t you think he might just be tired? He does tend to get more affectionate when he’s tired”, Hyunjin mused looking at Jisung who had talked to their youngest mere minutes before. Nodding, Jisung pointed out: “He doesn’t think he’s sick and told me he slept to little but I need, who hasn’t? Yet he is the only one that out of it.” – “He seemed to be in pain when we drove here”, Minho disagreed, looking at Chan worriedly. The leader shook his head and sighed: “Let’s just wait, I’m sure Innie would talk to us if something was badly wrong.” Not feeling satisfied with that, Seungmin slipped out of the room, to check on his only dongsaeng privately. He quietly stood in the doorway, watching the younger doze off in the chair. “Do you feel alright, Jeongin-ah? Your face feels really warm”, their make-up noona asked, carefully applying a thick layer of concealer under his eyes to cover the lack of sleep. Jeongin smiled a bit and hummed: “I think the bright lights at the photo shoot heated my skin up a bit. I’m okay.” Seungmin however was only more convinced that the younger was not. Especially now that somebody else was sensing something off as well.

When his make-up was done, the make-up noona glanced at Seungmin and smiled before leaving the two boys alone to talk. “Hey”, Seungmin hummed, sitting down next to Jeongin, “How do you really feel? Something’s not right.” That was enough to bring the younger to tears again and he chewed on his lip, desperately trying to not ruin his make-up again. “H-hyung, I -I don’t know”, he breathed. He cursed himself, why did he have to be so emotional today? When he didn’t elaborate further, Seungmin got up and pulled Jeongin into a hug. He too noticed the heat radiating off the maknae and gently brushed his hand against the boy’s forehead, calmly asking: “Can you describe what you feel? Maybe we can make sense of it.” Jeongin nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “I-I just feel really out of it, like I still haven’t woken up since this morning although I’ve been up for hours and even had coffee with Channie-hyung. My head hurts since the photo shoot and I keep sweating although I’m not hot at all anymore. I’m pretty cold actually”, he admitted with shaky hands, “For some reason I don’t feel really steady on my feet and kinda dizzy and I’m really sore from exercising yesterday. Could – could you hug me again? I don’t feel good.” Seungmin complied instantly, hugging the younger tightly and whispering: “I think you’re sick, Innie. To me it feels like you’re sporting quite a fever, which would explain why you feel the way you feel.” – “I can’t – I can’t be sick. My stomach feels perfectly fine, so it couldn’t be a stomach bug but my nose and throat are perfectly fine too, so it couldn’t be a cold either. None of this makes sense, why does nothing make sense?”, Jeongin whimpered, getting worked up again. “Shh, some bugs come only with a fever but that doesn’t make you any less sick. Does that make sense?”, Seungmin soothed, running his hand up and down the younger’s back. Sniffling quietly, the maknae nodded. Unwrapping himself from his dongsaeng, Seungmin smiled: “Alright, let’s go to the others and see what we’ll do about it, yeah?”

He pulled Jeongin to his feet too but the boy stumbled as soon as he was upright, crashing into Seungmin’s chest. Luckily, the older was quick to react and tightened his arms around the maknae, holding him steady while they waited for the dizzy spell to pass. Then they walked back to the room where the rest of the group was waiting. “Hyung, Innie’s sick and running a fever”, Seungmin announced as they walked up to Chan. Pressing the backs of his fingers against Jeongin’s forehead, the leader frowned: “You’re burning. Why didn’t you say anything?” – “I-I …” – “Hyung, we pieced it all together just now. He wasn’t aware”, Seungmin explained, reassuringly holding the younger’s hand. Jeongin nodded, face crumpling as Chan pulled him into a hug. “Do you want to wait here for us to finish the interview?” – “N-no, I can do it. They don’t have many questions for me anyway”, the youngest insisted. Minho joined them, agreeing: “We can cover for him, he just has to sit and look pretty. It’d be more frustrating to be dragged here for nothing. Afterwards we’ll take you home, yeah Innie?” – “No, I want to go with you”, Jeongin whined, always hating to be alone when he was feeling poorly. “We’ll see about that, let’s just get this interview over with”, Chan settled, seeing that it was their time to go on stage.

It went quite well with Jeongin just sitting there in silence. When they walked off the stage though, the maknae broke down, the tears he had held back, now spilling over. Felix was quick to pull him to a quiet corner of the room, cooing: “What’s wrong?” – “Do-Don’t know”, the younger choked out, his voice cracking pitifully. “Just really emotional, huh?”, Jisung hummed, running his hand through Jeongin’s hair. He had followed them worriedly, only getting more worried when the maknae desperately tried to pull himself together but failed. Watching him struggle like this really broke their hearts. Holding his dongsaeng tight, Felix whispered lowly: “You can cry, Innie. Don’t suppress and bottle it up. If you feel like crying, that’s alright, we don’t judge.” The younger nodded, hiding his face against the dancer’s shoulder. Giving them some privacy, Jisung went to get changed. When he was done, Hyunjin had already taken a bunch of make-up wipes and traded places with Felix, so the Aussie could get changed too. “Come on, let’s get your make-up off, so you can sleep. I bet you’re tired”, Hyunjin hummed, gently removing his dongsaeng’s make-up. He did his best to make the younger boy comfortable and couldn’t help but coo at how adorable Jeongin looked in his hoodie.

They got back into the car, where Jeongin settled against Seungmin, shivering slightly. Chan carefully hung his jacket around his youngest dongsaeng’s shoulders and smiled when the boy’s eyes closed. With how exhausted Jeongin was, it came as a surprise to none when the calm movement of the car lulled him to sleep. Not having the heart to wake him, Chan ended up carrying the maknae up to their dorm and to his bed. Minho soon followed them with a bottle of water and fever-reducers, which he placed on Jeongin’s nightstand, along with a note to take them later, when he woke up. When the two oldest members were satisfied their dongaseng was settled, they left the room and got ready for dance practice. Jisung plugged the maknae’s phone in to charge before leaving his roommate to get some rest. While Minho and Hyunjin discussed their dance practice, Felix grabbed a few plushies and took them to Jeongin’s room, so he wouldn’t feel too lonely while they were gone. They were almost ready to leave, originally scheduled to head straight to the company building from the venue of their interview, so they were running a little late. Changbin decided to make one last trip to the bathroom, running a washcloth under cold water and taking it to the maknae’s room. When he gently brushed Jeongin’s hair out of his face, the boy’s eyes fluttered open, disorientedly blinking up at the rapper. “Shh, go back to sleep”, he shushed, carefully spreading the cold compress on his dongsaeng’s burning forehead. He didn’t want to mention the medicine because that would’ve probably woken the younger up completely and they had agreed to let him sleep at all costs. Jeongin would find the medicine when he woke up. Hoping he’d sleep through most of their dance practice, so he wouldn’t feel lonely, Changbin promised: “We’ll be back before you know it.” Then he snuck out of the room and joined the others, eager to get their practice over with and back to the dorm as soon as possible.

[liquid-luck-00]

Connections 11

Chapter 11

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 3: Warmth

this is based on @thepeacetea  daminette soulmate au

Ao3 *** Masterlist *** First *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Once they were comfortably settled into their hotel and penny caught up on the magical kids’ front did Jagged start the conversation.

"So, want to tell me why we came to Mexico besides the warm weather?"

"Apparently there is a hidden gift for the next ladybug and black cat." Damian explained calmly.

"Magical scavenger hunt!" Mari exclaimed excitedly.

"So where do we start?" Jagged seemed as eager as Mari to solve this.

Tikki now moved to sit on Mari's shoulder. "Micazoyolin and Ocelome tended to split their time between the Aztec and Mayan empires for ceremonies and since most of the Aztec temples and locations were destroyed, I would start with Mayan areas as we are in the Yucatán peninsula. Try starting with the pyramid at Chichen Itza."

"Good idea Tikki," Penny stepped in, "but how do we explore without being questioned?"

"If I recall correctly Hawkman is an archeologist and may be able to help." Damian supplied on his phone, most likely contacting Bruce to ask Hawkman.

"Okay so while we wait for an answer what should we do first?" Jagged asked but looked like he was about to jump on the walls. Mari looked just as ready to follow his lead without hesitation.

"Why don’t we all take some time to relax in the resort and catch the dinner show of Joyã by Cirque Soleil?" Penny supplied in an attempt to save the room.

"Okay!" Mari answered.

"That is acceptable," was Damian's response.

With that the two ran out to the beach practically outside of their villa.

It didn't take long to hear back from him, so two days later they took a day tour of the pyramid and stayed to wait after nightfall, but they didn't wait long.

"Hello, Batman said to meet a group..." Hawkman began.

"They know," Damian cut him off. "We require your expertise."

"Have you ever heard of the gems of the Ladybug and Black Cat?" Mari asked.

"Yes, I have, a long time ago in ancient Egypt. I met one, a weilder of the ladybug." he hummed in thought. "You, little one, remind me of her."

"That would be because I'm the ladybug of this generation." she smiled.

They had begun to walk towards the Pyramid. "So why call upon me?"

"The kids were left something by the previous holders, and we were hoping to have someone with experience to help." Jagged sounded like an actual adult, but his grin, and bouncing gave away his excitement.

They were a few steps from the top of the Pyramid. "Then it would be my honor to aid you."

"So, what are we looking for?" Damian asked Tikki who was now flitting around the temple area.

"I don't know. They must have done this after giving up the jewels."

It looked like she wanted to add more but the ground began to glow red forming a complicated, but vaguely familiar symbol. The center then opened up revealing a shoot.

On 3.

3

The two ran and jumped into the slide barely registering their names called by Jagged and Penny. A rustle at feathers told them Hawkman managed to come after them. Seeing as the magical hole in the ground, ceiling, has now closed. Tikki joined them a few moments later with a huff.

"I told your Dad and Penny to go back to the resort and get some rest. And that you will make sure they get back safely." the small goddess then dove into a lecture of how reckless and dangerous that was and so on.

"So, where are we?" Mari asked once Tikki landed on her head.

"This Pyramid was built upon two others. I am assuming this is the second. It maybe that what your looking for maybe in either the first or even underneath it."

Now that they knew what to expect they checked the two top floors of each and dropped through the second and inner temples.

"Hello. Seeing as you have reached this far, means you are true souls of the Ladybug and Black Cat." Ocelome spoke, appearing before them.

"It's good to see you again Ocelome, Micazoyolin." Damian nodded.

"It is nice little cub." she removed her headdress and put it on him.

"Oh, you are adorable, Tikki it’s been far too long." Micazoyolin also placed his headdress on Mari, once Tikki noticed what he was doing. "Follow us."

They led the trio to a cave that opened into a cenote, a large sinkhole filled with exposed fresh water, a magical bridge of light across the cenote to the far wall. Which opened to reveal a tome and two ovals of obsidian laced with gold. Marinette was reaching to one of the stones when Micazoyolin stopped her.

"The stones will amplify your magical and physical abilities. They will also extend your lives, longer than the Miraculous already would. Those are our gifts to you, should you accept them." He explained.

What do you think?

You are bearable enough to spend longer with.

She rolled her eyes at him, together they reached out and each touched one. Mari's gained a red sheen while Damian's gained a green one. The stones flew up and swirled around the two before settling just above their shoulder blades on the center of their backs. Ocelome then handed Marinette the tome.

"Be warned when the last page is turned then closed the book shall return here. As will the stones when you finally rest." Micazoyolin added. "to await the next pair to find them."

"What if we want to come back to see you again, we have to go through the pyramids again?" Mari asked the two older holders.

"No little bug you can always find us here. This island is hidden not far from the Playa de Carmen." Micazoyolin comforted the small girl.

"How did we come so far it didn’t feel that long of a walk?" Damian brought up.

"Magic can make even the longest journeys short." Ocelome responded.

"Is that how you could split your time between the two empires?" Damian jumped in again a muffled yawn laced his words.

"That is correct cub. The same goes to you, Hawkman, if you ever want your questions answered we would not mind you coming to visit." Ocelome offered.

"It would be rude of me to not take you up on your offer. Now I think it is time to get these two in bed, it has been a long night it seems." Hawkman accepted the offer, taking a child in each arm and taking to the sky.

Both Damian and Marinette were leaning on one another against Hawkman exhausted, as the time ticks close to four in the morning, the headdresses they were still wearing protected them from the breeze as Hawkman flew them back to the villa via Tikki’s instructions.

The rest of their stay was spent in the warmth of the sun and questions of the stones and the tome. But above all the warmth that radiated from their stones comforted them as there was a minor tug towards the other, connecting them further.

***

Okay so to clear up any impending confusion, true holders for the miraculous are perfect souls for a particular miraculous. This does not mean the Ladybug and Black Cat are soulmates just because Mari and Damian are. The twins, Micazoyolin and Ocelome, are that Fraternal Twins, but their souls are connected to the Miraculous. But they weren’t each other’s soulmates

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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[hen-of-letters]

@spnprideweek day one: flags

This little ficlet for #spnprideweek is brought to you by my big, non-binary bisexual love for this beautiful fandom, and my desire to fix that moment in 'Baby' when Cas indulges Dean by saying "werepire", but Dean doesn't hear him and Cas doesn't know. It ended up getting a bit long, so there's more under the cut or over on AO3. Thanks!

Dean's at Pride, and feeling a rising level of discomfort.

It's not the fact that he's wearing eyeliner in public for the first time in his forty-two years. Hell, he'd been wanting to do that ever since he was a kid, dreaming of being a rock star. The covers of music magazines in gas station racks had been windows on a world free from the brutally narrow definition of what his Dad meant when he told him to "be a man". Gradually, though, he'd learned what is gloriously apparent today under the hot June sun: that there are as many ways of being a man as there are men.

It's not because the sleeveless white t-shirt he's wearing is somewhat snug. (The heat had made him shed his pink, purple and blue plaid shirt - the one he'd worn today because Claire always called it his 'bi flannel' - and tie it around his waist.) He and Cas are both wearing a little of their contentment on their waistlines these days, and he believes Cas when he says that he adores his body because he means it when he says the same to Cas.

It's not the big, heart-shaped sticker slapped on his chest, which is striped in the colours of the bisexual pride flag in a way that's much less subtle than the flannel. Dean's always known that he wasn't only into chicks, but putting a name to it is new. Dean's had jobs and Dean's had roles, but having an identity had always seemed like a luxury well beyond Dean's means. Now he's not constantly running for his life, though, he has the breathing room to figure himself out. And he's good with this part of himself. More than good.

It's not the two flags that are padding the pockets of his jeans. One, he'd bought for Cas: it's striped in pale pink, pale blue and white. Earlier, he'd gone with Cas when he'd met up with some friends he'd met online (having managed to get past all the cats this time). The ex-angel had found that discussing their experiences of being trans had helped him feel happy in the body that had become his own. Dean could only feel immense gratitude for the way Cas' face had lit up afterwards when he'd talked about how he was creating himself, becoming himself, and embracing the human condition of change.

Dean hopes that the gift of the trans pride flag will show Cas that Dean understands and loves him, and the same is true for the other flag, which he'd picked up for Jack. It's yellow, white, purple and black. Dean had had to do a little research when Jack had used the term non-binary - it's amazing how the world can move on while you're living in an underground bunker. He'd kept on researching, too, after he'd learned the basics. Maybe he was still figuring himself out. Maybe there was more to discover about himself, and wasn't that fantastic?

Jack is wandering around somewhere with Claire and Kaia. Jody and Donna are here, too, with Alex and Patience. Adam and Michael have probably partied their way through fifty international pride parades by now, but they should be meeting up with everyone else later. Sam and Eileen are not far away. Eileen was the one who's slapped the bi pride sticker on Dean's chest - with unnecessary force, if you asked Dean. She'd grinned at him, showed off the identical sticker on her own chest, and said, with a suitably cheesy wink, "we need to stick together". He remembered the moment he'd nervously asked her the sign for 'bisexual', and when she'd shown him - the letter signs for 'b' and 'i' - she'd added, "me too," and Dean had scooped her up into a crushing hug.His love for his family is endless, and them all being here is definitely not why he's uncomfortable.

And it's not the body glitter freckling his cheeks and his shoulders with gold, although his feelings might change by the time he tries to remove it tonight. He'd been gilded with it when he'd been dancing up a storm with a group of drag queens. They'd admired his eyeliner - a deep brown shot through with gold along his upper lashes - but winked and said it was "a little subtle for Pride". As soon as Dean had seen the tube of glitter, he'd yelled "hell yes!" and even managed to hold still long enough to be coated in the stuff before moving his body to the beat again. Although he's sure his feet will be aching later, so far his favourite cowboy boots are not the source of his discomfort.

It's not the bright pink feather boa, either, which he'd acquired from the same source as the glitter, when he'd been sent off with a kiss to the cheek and the words "be bold, honey!" He'd expected the boa to tickle or irritate, but for some bizarre reason the sensation of feathers around his shoulders and the back of his neck feels incredibly comforting and reassuring. He feels warm and safe and oh. Oh.

As that particular realisation sweeps over him, Dean tightens his hold on Cas. He's standing behind him with his right hand on Cas' hip, and his left arm is up over his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. His hand is splayed out, at once putting his silver wedding band on display and somehow attempting to conceal Cas from the eyes of his many admirers (and, well, good luck with that. Cas is incredibly beefy these days).

Which brings us to the source of Dean's discomfort; to the thing that's deepening the furrow in his brow and the dimples beside his pursed lips: namely, the sheer number of guys hitting on Cas.

It's not like Dean can blame them. Cas' muscular frame is wrapped in black jeans and a tight black t-shirt bearing the Led Zeppelin 1975 tour logo. The short sleeves show off the floral tattoos trailing down his left arm. Cas is wearing a rainbow-coloured enamel belt buckle and, because he's determined to be the death of Dean, black cowboy boots. Before they'd left, Dean hadn't been able to resist grabbing a black kohl pencil and smudging a little along Cas' upper and lower lashes. And, okay, maybe Cas' wide-eyed bewilderment every time he's flirted with is vaguely amusing. But when Dean is right here? Not cool.

Right on cue, here's another one. From over his husband's shoulder, Dean levels his very best glare at the guy. It's a look that can stop a demon dead in its tracks. A vampire would tremble. A werewolf would wet itself. But one young gay guy with a few drinks in him? Totally unaffected. Like the others, he's all smiles and understanding when Cas politely, if awkwardly, waves him away. (Literally. With a final dorky little wave goodbye.)

Dean realises that he's moved his right arm around Cas' waist, so now Dean is wrapped around Cas like some kind of koala/octopus hybrid. An octoala? A koctopus? Definitely koctopus. Heh.

Dean snorts at the thought, which is somewhat unfortunate, given that his face is right next to Cas' ear. Cas flinches and turns his head around to fix him in a squinty glare.

"Koctopus?" Dean says, apologetically.

Cas narrows his eyes further and tilts his head to the side.

"Um, the way I was wrapped around you. I was like a cross between a koala and an octopus."

Dean nudges Cas. "So what does that make me? C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Cas just tilts his head a bit further to the side, either in confusion or outright despair. Dean has untangled himself from Cas and stepped back, and looks down at the ground, suddenly self-conscious.

Dean feels Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then it smooths over his back, finding the back of his neck underneath the boa. Whatever his shape, Cas' touch has the exact same effect on Dean. He looks up into the impossibly blue eyes of his husband.

"You're a very glittery," Cas begins, softly, "and very beautiful," one corner of his mouth lifts, and then he purses his lips together, trying to hold back the smile, "koctopus."

The corners of his eyes are crinkled. He's not amused by the joke, Dean knows, just absurdly pleased to be saying something he knows will make Dean happy. Of course Dean knows that Cas loves him, knows the whole cosmic-realm-crossing magnitude of it, but in little moments like this, he's floored by it. Dean can't help his sudden exhale or the massive grin that breaks across his face. He wraps his husband up in hug that they hold for a good long moment, before Dean leans back to kiss Cas.

No one had ever explained to Dean how difficult it is to kiss someone when you can't stop smiling. He'd never had that problem before Cas, but now it's practically a daily occurrence. It's a menace because kissing Cas is one of Dean's favourite pastimes. Now, they trade little pecks between wide, toothy grins, until passion takes over and the kisses become heavier.

It takes someone wolf-whistling for them to part, and then they're back to grinning and staring into each others' eyes, until Dean spots something on Cas' face. And something else. And something else. In fact, there's something all over Cas, and that something is gold glitter. It's on his face, his hands, his Zeppelin shirt, and even in his hair. Dean runs his fingers through the unruly curls - Cas has been wearing his hair longer lately - in an attempt to shake it out, but only deposits more glitter into Cas' locks.

"Oops," Dean says, "I kinda glitter bombed you there. It's all over your shirt, too. Sorry, Sunshine."

He doesn't sound terribly sorry.

"This is your shirt, Dean."

"Aw, man."

He does sound a little sorry now, but his future laundry woes are forgotten when Cas presses another kiss to his pouting lips. They're forgotten again when something across the crowd catches Dean's eye.

"Oooh," Dean exclaims as he drags Cas towards the stall he's spotted.

It's selling cowboy hats in every configuration of colour imaginable, and Dean is practically jumping on the spot excitement. Cas looks his husband up and down, slowly.

"You think your outfit's lacking accessories?" he deadpans.

"Yup," is Dean's gleeful reply, "and so's yours."

Cas' groan is lost to the noise of the crowd and the beat of the music, so no-one will ever know if it was one of protest or defeat. He does, in fact, end up wearing a black cowboy hat with a rainbow band, so if it was protest then it was highly ineffective. Dean's has a pink crown, purple band and blue brim, and he's carrying another black one with a band in the non-binary flag colours for Jack. Cas admits that Jack's going to love it.

"Damn, this is awesome," Dean says as they head back to meet up with the rest of their family.

Walking hand in hand with Cas, Dean's thoughts wander. Dean could kick his younger self for every time he'd called someone gay or a girl as a way of saying they were weak. Because all he can see in the people around him is strength. He grins again, giddy with the atmosphere of defiant joy. All around him is everything he'd spent his life fighting to protect: freedom, family, and love. Holding his husband's hand a little tighter, he's grateful that in the end he gets to have both: freedom and peace.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Goldie

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (Future Fic)

Pairing(s): JotaKak

Summary: “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?”

“Well, I didn’t actually expect it to happen,” Jotaro pointed out. He carefully removes his hands from Kakyoin’s midsection and hesitates a moment before moving away entirely. He makes his way over to the aquarium and winces.

Notes: Vent fic after losing one of our dogs this weekend. Fic features minor animal death, so please be careful.

-

“Goldie isn’t moving!” Jolyne announces from the doorway of the kitchen while Kakyoin is busy brewing coffee. It’s early, too early for Kakyoin to be awake, and certainly too early for Jolyne to be having a crisis, but Kakyoin nods as he allows himself to be dragged along. Surely Goldie is merely sleeping. Too still for an energetic child like Jolyne. Only he sees it the moment he rounds the corner. Where Goldie is indeed unmoving. Worse, Goldie is on his back, floating rather than swimming.

“Oh,” Kakyoin breathes before he can stop himself, and Jolyne must see it in his eyes because she breaks into a loud sob that strikes Kakyoin to the core, where panic is already building. In all the time he’s spent desperately consuming books on parenting--an attempt on his part to catch up on missed time--none of those books had ever once mentioned how to deal with a child’s first death. Much less one that surrounds their beloved pet fish.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne all but wails, and Kakyoin can’t exactly argue with that, though he wishes he could think of something to say.

“Jolyne--” He starts, and it’s a very strong start if he does say so himself. His voice is relatively steady, and he gets her attention focused on him rather than on the upside down fish. But then he falters at seeing her eyes filled with tears and tracks already down her cheeks. There’s a thickness in his own throat now. One that makes swallowing difficult, but he does his best to clear his throat, so he can make another attempt. “Goldie might be asleep. We just--” He cuts himself off with a near howl as her little foot stomps no less than three of his toes.

“He’s dead!” Jolyne shouts it this time. More anger now than overwhelming grief, though her eyes shine in the reflection of the aquarium’s light.

Kakyoin opens his mouth to say something, but she’s really got the unfortunate aim of her father. What would be nothing to anyone else is a shot of pain up frayed nerves, and it travels from the tips of his toes to the base of his spine so quickly that it nearly drops him to his knees. He tries again to speak, but she’s gone in a blink. Off around the corner and disappearing passed the doorway of her bedroom before he can form a single word. Jotaro’s sliding to a halt outside of their bedroom door at the same time, apparently jolted awake after all the ruckus.

“What the fuck?” Jotaro asks, making his way to Kakyoin quickly. He rests one hand on his stomach, for Kakyoin to lean into, and the other on the small of his back, ready to catch his husband should his knees buckle entirely.

“Goldie,” Kakyoin says, waving a hand vaguely toward the offending animal.

Jotaro looks confused at first, but he’s perceptive enough to at least look in the aquarium’s direction when he hears the name of Jolyne’s beloved pet fish. “Oh shit,” he breathes, and oh shit, indeed, Kakyoin thinks. “I was going to replace him if that ever happened. Shit.”

“You-- what?” Kakyoin demands, breathless still and utterly in disbelief.

“Well, I didn’t actually expect it to happen,” Jotaro pointed out. He carefully removes his hands from Kakyoin’s midsection and hesitates a moment before moving away entirely. He makes his way over to the aquarium and winces. “He’s not that old. I wonder-- anyway. I was just going to replace him. She’s too young to deal with this shit.”

“You can’t just lie to her about death,” or maybe he can. Kakyoin’s the step-parent here, and, again, none of the books said anything about how to deal with a definitely dead fish (even the Marine Biologist agrees with his initial assessment, which means there’s no getting out of this.)

“She’s six, Nori,” Jotaro scrubs a hand over his face. Then both. His fingers rake through his hair after that, and he pulls at the ends. All of it is an attempt to clear the last of sleep from his mind and allow his brain to think past the fog. None of it works.

“I know,” Kakyoin sighs. He doesn’t like this either. He remembers his own childhood and growing up relatively sheltered from at least that one aspect of the brutality that is life. “What do we do now?”

“I have no idea,” Jotaro admits after a moment, and that makes Kakyoin slump. Both in defeat and in relief. At least he isn’t alone in this. There’s no chapter he skipped over or paragraph that he skimmed. Neither one of them knows what to do, and suddenly that’s worse than the idea that Kakyoin’s gone and fucked all of this up on his own. If neither one of them knows what to do, then they’re both screwed.

“We should talk to her?” Kakyoin offers, more questioning than suggesting.

Jotaro nods after a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Did she--”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kakyoin says quickly, waving a hand in Jotaro’s direction and dismissing the question before it can be asked. Jolyne’s upset. Overwhelmed and struggling to process her grief. It doesn’t totally excuse the behavior, but Kakyoin doesn’t think she meant to actually stomp on him so much as whatever happened to be in her way. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the malicious alternative.

“Still,” Jotaro says after a moment, like he isn’t sure that he should be getting onto her, despite his own words. “I guess we should address the fish thing first.”

“Fish thing first,” Kakyoin agrees.

Jotaro makes his way to Jolyne’s bedroom. The door’s wide open, and there’s a distinctly child-shaped pile in the middle of the bed, hidden under a mountain of blankets and pillows. The effort would be more effective if not for the obvious trembling and the equally distinct sobs. His heart aches in his chest, and he sincerely regrets letting Kakyoin get up before him. If he had only caught sight of the damned fish before Jolyne…

“JoJo,” Jotaro calls in a soft voice. It’s enough for her to stop moving, but not enough for her to poke her head out. If anything, it’s almost like she’s trying even harder to hide from him, despite clearly being spotted. “Jo, we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Jolyne says immediately. She scoots sideways, closer to the wall and further from Jotaro, but the man is quick to grab her before she makes contact with her skull. She lets out a startled yelp and instantly pops her head out from under the blankets on instinct. It all but breaks Jotaro’s heart to see the tears and snot smeared across her face, and her hair is somehow more of a mess than it usually is in the morning.

“It’s okay,” Jotaro starts before pausing and rethinking his words, “Well, it’s not, but we’ll talk about that later, alright? You’re already forgiven.” He won’t let that hang over her head. Not when she’s already in her own little hell. Struggling to deal with the loss of her favorite fish. Jolyne loves all the fish in the aquarium. Has given them all names, but Goldie is--was--her’s. Picked by her hand and bought with her own money.

Carefully, Jotaro pulls his daughter into his lap. He fixes the blankets so that they remain bundled around her. She’s like Noriaki in that she likes the constricting sensation of something being wrapped around her. Something about the weight of it seems to soothe their nerves. Jotaro’s never been one to question it. With Noriaki, it just makes sense. What with his Stand. For Jolyne, he figures it’s related to her age.

“I know this is a lot for you to deal with right now,” Jotaro says, barely refraining from wincing at his own words. He sounds too impersonal, but she’s quiet against him, aside from the sniffling and hiccups, which means she’s at least listening.

The rest of the conversation goes about as well as he expects. There’s a lot more tears and snot--most of which ends up on his nightshirt. Then there’s the questions. Plentiful as per usual with his daughter, but also painful in a way that he hadn’t been prepared for upon waking up. Then, of course, there’s the guilt of her taking her anger out on Noriaki. (“I really didn’t mean to,” she swears, and Jotaro reminds her that it’s her duty to explain that to Kakyoin herself.)

Overall, Jotaro thinks it’s not his worst moment as a parent. (That honor still goes to the day he explained that he and Marina would no longer be living together.)

They decide to go find Noriaki together, and they make it as far as the fish tank before Jolyne bursts into another round of tears and turns toward Jotaro with her arms raised. He doesn’t think twice about scooping her up and carrying her past the aquarium. Her head buries against his neck, and there’s a fresh wetness that makes his heart ache duly in his chest. Maybe replacing the fish would have been as much for his benefit as it would have been for her’s.

“Oh, JoJo,” Kakyoin says with a voice that sounds like he’s hurting for her as much as Jotaro.

Jolyne reaches out for him without fully letting go of Jotaro. She knows better than to put too much weight on Kakyoin, but the three stay like that for a while. With the two men pressed close and their daughter held between them.

[kal-djarin]

Memories From the Past

Fandom: Star Wars

Date Posted: February 8th, 2021

Pairing: Reader x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive themes but no actual smut, fighting? 

Request: n/a

A/N: Okay I’m actually kinda proud of this one. I really love the dynamic of Obitine so I tried to translate that into fic without stealing the entire plot, but it steal is very obviously similar. I really hope the flash back scenes and change in pov. make sense, I had some issues trying to figure out what tense I should use for them, but hopefully it’s not confusing. IM SORRY THE ENDING IS RUSHED!!! As always please let me know what you think!! 

Word Count: 4.5k 

The news of Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi’s return to Sundari caused an array of emotions throughout the Palace. The Royal Guards were more watchful than usual, still not truly able to release the years of grudges held against the Jedi Order and Satine, was glad to be reunited with her old friend, despite the impromptu meeting being over possible changes in where the planet stood in the Clone Wars; a figure dressed in Mandalorian armour attacking a Republic cruiser would bring anyone to question the supposed position of neutrality Mandalore held.

You, on the other hand, were instantly filled with dread. Years have passed from the last time you have laid eyes on Obi-Wan and still the mere mention of him causes hundreds of memories to resurface.

When Satine became Duchess of Mandalore, many people were happy, but there were still insurgents that would not accept her pacifist leadership. They would send bounty hunters to try to eliminate her and the power she held. These constant threats against her life compelled Obi-Wan and his Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn to remove her and you, her most trusted advisor, from Mandalore and live on the run for nearly a year.

You lived one day at a time, trying to focus on surviving the present and live to see what uncertainties the future held. Most people would think that living in such dubious conditions would be terrifying, but it was one of the best years of your life.

Right when you met Obi-Wan, you were instantly turned off by him, despite his handsome looks. His diplomatic kindness and reverence felt impersonal and fake instead of charming and he was far too arrogant for your liking. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, was someone you befriended very quickly. His empathetic and wise nature instantly connected the two of you and he became almost like a father-figure. He was constantly giving you advice and was the only reason you tolerated Obi-Wan in the beginning.

Obi-Wan instantly felt this disfavor towards him, bringing out his sarcasm and frequent jabs, making him even more unbearable. The two of you spent weeks either trying to see who could irritate the other more or just completely ignoring each other, to both Qui Gon and Satine’s dismay. Qui-Gon always tried convincing you that you and Obi-Wan would make a great pair if the two of you would just stop being so stubborn, but his advice fell onto deaf ears.

Your hostility towards each other did die however, when you were being chased by venom-mites on a cliff on Draboon. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fought them off as you and Satine escaped to the ship. Satine ran onto the boarding ramp and just as you were about to join her, you tripped over a divot in the ground, the momentum of it almost completely hurtling you off the side of the cliff, had you not grabbed a hold of the ledge.

All you can remember was the absolute terror that coursed through your veins and Satine’s horrified scream. Your body was hung over what seemed to be a bottomless pit and the only thing anchoring it were your hands; hands that were rather weak from a life devoid of physical exertion and that were slipping as each second passed.

You struggled, trying to find a way to climb up to solid land, but soon realized all the effort was fruitless. Obi-Wan, startled by Satine’s cries for help, turned around and saw your rather unfortunate situation. His eyes widened and he quickly turned from his Master and ran towards where you hung. When he was close enough, he slid to his knees and stretched his arm out to you.

“(Y/N), Take my hand!”

You wanted to, you really did, but the fear of falling to transfer your grip from the ground to his hand was too debilitating.

“Obi-Wan, I can’t, I’ll fall!” You managed to choke out

“You have to trust me!” His voice was loud, but still held its usual steadiness. His eyes however gave away his true emotions. They were frantically searching your own trying to convince you to lay your life in his hands. You could practically feel his terror radiating off of him.

Realizing you were out of options, you slowly released your grip and reached out to grasp his outstretched hand. Your fingers barely grazed his own and you knew it was too late. Gravity met you full force, and you felt yourself scream as your body began to plummet.

Then, all of a sudden, a warm cradling feeling caught you, interrupting your imminent death. You felt yourself rise over the cliff and saw Obi-Wan’s concentrated face and twitching hand. When you were about a foot above the ground, you dropped into Obi-Wan’s arms, and let out a sob of relief. Your body was racked with tears, still trying to process what just happened, and Obi-Wan just held you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, seeking comfort for your near death, and leaned against Obi-Wan’s own shaking body.

That day was the start of a new relationship for the two of you. You began to confide in each other more and felt the trust between the two of you grow as time passed. Obi-Wan dropped his guard of fake diplomacy and began to act more like himself. Of course, he still had his sarcastic humor, but it was more endearing now and his kindness felt genuine.

Soon, your relationship became more than just finding comfort in each other. When one of you couldn’t sleep, you and Obi-Wan would just sit together and talk until you became tired or if it was time to get up. Being around him was effortless and there was an understanding the two of you had that was rare to find. Of course, there was still tension between the two of you but it was different, less hostile.

If your relationship with him had ended there, innocent and full of what-ifs, you would have been just as excited as Satine was to see him. You wouldn’t currently be standing in the throne room, shaking with anxiety, waiting for him to step through the doors.

Just as you begin to contemplate completely ditching Obi-Wan’s arrival, the doors are opened and you hear the Prime Minister talking to him.

You look down and try to not draw attention to yourself, which is impossible considering Satine insisted you walk in beside her. Satine knew you and Obi-Wan were close, but you never told just how far your relationship with him went, so she didn’t see anything with the reunion. She sits down at the throne and you stand next to her. They greet each other briefly and the sound of Obi-Wan being so close to you again gives you the courage to finally meet his gaze.

He looks absolutely radiant, somehow looking more attractive than you remembered. His hair is a bit longer and a perfectly trimmed bear adorns his handsome face. You can’t help but stare, trying to take in the view you have been deprived of for almost 15 years.

“After all these years, you're even more beautiful than ever,” He says towards Satine, but still keeps his eyes locked on you.

You break the intense eye contact and try to not let his smooth words affect you. He doesn’t falter at your discreet rejection and continues the diplomatic conversation between him and Satine. She invites him on a walk through the city, and to your dismay, she gestures for you to join them. You walk just behind Satine, allowing the two of them to lead the way. Air speeders whistle by around you and people walk around the city, going about their day, unbothered by the Duchess and Jedi moving around them. You hear Satine talk about the current predicament Mandalore has found itself in with the Death Watch and you know you should be paying attention and adding into the conversation for sake of not seeming rude, but can’t help but carefully watch Obi-Wan’s side profile as he walks.

It’s perfect just like the rest of him and triggers yet another memory in your mind: you and his first kiss. It was a couple months after the incident on Draboon, and the four of you were forced to spend the night in a cave because of a rather wild storm. You sat on the cold floor near the fire Qui-Gon made, unable to rest, just watching the rain hit the mouth of the cave for hours. Unlike you, Satine used her time wisely, quickly finding much needed sleep. Qui-Gon had been meditating earlier, but now seemed to be resting as well, facing the inside of the cave. Obi-Wan sat cross-legged, reading a book about, if you remembered from his earlier explanation correctly, the method of Jar’Kai, farthest from the fire.

It wasn’t long before he noticed your restless form and decided to sit down next to you, close enough for your shoulders to touch.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, nudging your shoulder with his own.

Usually this kind of touch wouldn’t have caused you any issues, but more recently, you began to take note of every physical contact the two of you made. Obi-Wan was rather reserved, so knowing he so frequently chose to make contact with you gave you conflicting feelings. You turned and looked at him and suddenly felt rather sad.

“Don’t you wish we could be more carefree, like other people our age?”

He looked taken aback from your sudden question, but soon began to contemplate, fingers coming up to gently grasp his chin. After a moment, he looked back at you and shook his head.

“I never truly have thought about it. Why?” He questions further.

You knew why. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, Obi-Wan has found a special place in your heart. Months of confiding and building trust with one another let you get to know his true personality, making it impossible not to feel so much for him. But, although you were just teenagers, the both of you had responsibilities and expectations of you. He was a Jedi and you had to stay focused on helping Satine rebuild Mandalore after the raging civil war.

So instead of answering his question, you decided to satiate the need to feel reckless by standing up and walking out into the rain. The feel of the cold drops on your skin should have annoyed you, but instead it made you feel alive; it helped numb the feelings you so badly wish you didn’t have.

“What are you doing!” Obi-Wan yelled, looking alarmed at your sudden uncharacteristic decision.

“I’m living!!” You replied, soaking in the feeling of the rain and quickly running back and grabbing his hands with your dripping ones.

“Come on, Obi Wan, join me” You urged. His eyes are wide in shock but, nonetheless, takes off his outer robes and walks out into the rain.

His trust to join you with no question made you feel even more giddy and you dragged him into the middle of the valley that the cave sat in. You grabbed his hands and began to dance, if you could even call it that. Obi-Wan, as comfortable as he was with you, immediately stiffened up, since he was never truly taught how to dance. This setback, however, caused little pause in your actions and you just spun with him around in a circle.

The drumming of the rain did little to drown out your laugh whenever Obi-Wan would stumble, to his dismay, but he too began to chuckle at the unskilled dancing going on. You gazed up at him and just from the look on his face you knew your feelings for him were going nowhere. His hair laid flat on his head, soaked, and his face was covered in water and he looked breathtaking. He  made you feel safe and trusted and maybe that was the reason you decided to risk it all.

You grabbed his face between your hands and pressed your lips to his. It was short-lived, with him quickly pulling away with his eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

You instantly were filled with regret, embarrassed from the rejection, and went to run back into the cave to hide from your mistake. You felt selfish, trying to act on feelings that completely disrespected everything Obi-Wan lived for. Right when you pulled away from his arms, Obi-Wan quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back in.

His hands went up to cradle your face and he kissed you. It was overwhelming how much emotion he was channeling through it. The kiss was needy and hard but his hands were gentle, one of them coming up to tangle itself in your soaked hair. You could tell he was inexperienced, his form being a tad messy, but the passion put into it made up for any mistakes.

You feel a hand rest on your shoulder and are instantly pulled out of the memory. You see Satine looking at you, worry written all over her face.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” She asks, her eyes searching your face.

You go to answer her and shut down any of her worries about you, but catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan and lose the words. His face looks almost distraught and you know he must have seen what you were thinking of. You force yourself to look away from him and respond to Satine.

“Yes, sorry I must have zoned out.” You apologize, hoping she buys your white lie. “As a matter of fact is it alright if I return to the Palace, I think I need a little rest”

She still looks worried, but quickly approves of your request and turns back to walk with Obi-Wan, who still seems bothered by your memory, but remains cordial and attentive.

You turn and go back to the Palace, a single guard flanking your side. When you return, you do exactly what you told Satine, you lie on your bed and rest, or at least try to.

***

When Obi-Wan sensed the memory you were thinking of, he was no longer able to focus on the important matter at hand. Even after the bombing on Mandalore after you left and him nearly being crushed to death on Concordia, he found himself thinking about it. He remembers that day so clearly; the first time he truly gave into his temptations.

He had worked so hard to stay in the Jedi Order- nobody wanted him as a Padawan. He was always not enough and it was only by fate that Qui-Gon decided to take him under his wing. He knew better than anyone that the title of Jedi was invaluable and there you were making him question everything he ever knew. He knew Jedi weren’t supposed to form attachments or express their emotions, so why did he keep indulging himself with your presence.

The moment you kissed him, Obi-Wan’s instinct was to run. He was powerless against the attachment he had to you, so he knew the best way to stop it was to completely remove himself from the situation. He had every intention of doing so when he pulled away the first time, but then his other instincts kicked in. He felt the feel of your hands on his face, the closeness of your body, and realized there was no way he could let this go, at least not now.

Days after the kiss, Obi-Wan was filled with disgust at himself. He hated that he let himself indulge. He hated how he completely disregarded everything he was ever taught. He hated the fact that he loved every second of it, and what he hated most of all is that he began to wonder how it would feel to kiss your neck, skin, and other very un Jedi-like places.

Because of this, the months of progress the two of you made in your relationship were completely erased. He knew it was unfair to you, but he had to uphold the morals of a Jedi, and being around you made that goal impossible. He reverted back to the arrogant and guarded Padawan and pushed you away every time you tried to fix things.

But his efforts were fruitless. You knew Obi-Wan and were not able to let go of his sudden change in personality.

His Master also noticed the sudden change in relationship and decided to take matters in his own hands. He decided to send the two of you off on a mission to retrieve some sort of plant and herb. The two of you walked through the woods, The entire trip, Obi-Wan ignored every attempt of yours to engage in conversation and didn’t even truly acknowledge your presence. You finally decided to confront him, to his dismay.

“Was it truly that horrifying to kiss me, Obi-Wan”

“What?” He said, trying to keep the act up.

“Was it so bad to the point of ignoring me,” You pushed, getting angrier by the minute.

“I hardly see how that is relevant to the current task at han-” He began to deflect but was cut off by you grabbing his shoulder and whipping him around. Angry tears began to form in your eyes and at the site, Obi-Wan felt his facade crack.

“You don’t get to decide to drop me when things get hard, Obi-Wan” You spat, emphasizing your words by jabbing your finger on his chest.

Obi-Wan tried. He tried so hard to stay away from you. But the look of anger and heartbreak on your face made him, give into your spell, once again. He grabbed your hand and looked into your eyes.

He knew he was going to hate himself after, like last time, but the temporary pleasure it brought was impossible to resist, so he kissed you.

The kiss was hard and full of anger: anger at you, at himself, at the Jedi Order, and at the world for making you his weakness. You instantly reacted bringing your hand around to run through his short auburn hair and pulling your body as close as possible.

Obi-Wan deepened the kiss, letting his tongue explore the inners of your mouth, inciting a moan from your lips. Obi-Wan felt himself flush from the obscene sound and couldn’t help but feel bolder from the thought of bringing you pleasure. He started to kiss along your jawline and down your neck, his brain becoming muddled from the pleasure of it all.

You had begun to take off his robes and that was when he came to his senses. He knew he had to stop this, it was completely un Jedi-like and uncivilized, especially out in the open. His thoughts were immediately shut down however when you slid your hand down his chest. He decided to burn every single pleasure and feeling into memory and worry later. Your hand began to venture between his legs and that was the second time Obi-Wan gave into temptation.

You were all he could think about while fighting on Concordia, and he knew this was why Jedi don’t form attachments. Just the memory of your relationship caused his judgement to be clouded. He couldn’t imagine how he would have been if you were there during the fight with Death Watch: constantly worried, focused on an individual rather than the greater good.

He was relieved to get on to the Coronet and away from the memory of his failures as a Jedi, but that relief was short-lived when he saw you boarding the ship alongside Satine.

***

Satine, as strong-willed as ever, insisted on you going to Coruscant with her. She didn’t want you to be alone on Mandalore, vulnerable to the rapidly more aggressive Death Watch attacks. Once aboard the ship, you settle into your temporary room and head down to meet back up with the Duchess, who was currently discussing her position of neutrality with other senators down the hall.

As you walk towards the meeting, you run into a young, handsome man and Obi-Wan. You immediately freeze, not prepared for the sudden direct interaction and just stare at him. “O-Obi-Wan” You stutter out, not knowing how to fully go about this.

Obi-Wan looks equally as startled, but recovers quickly and introduces you to the younger man.

“(Y/N), this is Anakin Skywalker, my Padawan and Anakin this is Adviser (L/N).”

You tear your eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and quickly greet Anakin with a nod and small smile. Wordlessly, you walk through the door and head to Satine’s side, not before hearing the Padawan say, “On a first name basis, huh, Master?” and a small grunt following a hitting noise.

The meeting was full of high tensions, many, including Obi-Wan, disagreeing with Mandalore’s neutrality. It was always an issue when brought up, and even you saw the issues with it. The idea of staying neutral and not interfering in a war is noble but is much harder in execution and can cause more turmoil in the long run.  

As soon as the meeting is dismissed, you file out of the room, trying to avoid any more confrontation. You head to the room where you are supposed to have dinner and find Satine waiting for you.

Obi-Wan enters the room, walking with other leaders. All you had to do was get to Coruscant. Once there you can get out of here and not have to think about Obi-Wan Kenobi ever again. You zone out for most of the meal, not noticing the nervous atmosphere starting to settle over everyone or the warning Obi-Wan gives about a situation going on below decks.

You are suddenly pulled out of your own head, when you hear him yell to the guards about securing the lifts. You see the blue light of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and Satine quickly stands up from the table, bringing you with her.

A horrifying crunching sound is heard and the doors to the lift begins to wrench open, revealing a giant spider droid. It easily knocks down the guards and clambers onto the table, quickly approaching the group of senators. Obi-Wan goes into action and severs the spider droid's legs and lands a fatal lightsaber wound to its head.

The people around you breathe a sigh of relief but soon find out that it's far from over. Miniature spider droids begin to pop out of the body of the larger one and spread out to box the group of you in. Senators begin freaking out, but you and Satine know better. Years of dealing with the pushback of the people have forced you to learn how to defend yourself. Not to mention, the year spent with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan required you to spend quite a bit of time learning to fight. You and Satine immediately pull out your deactivators and get to work killing the droids.

Obi-Wan joins the fight with his lightsaber and the two of you fall into the instinctual rhythm from all those years ago. Back to back, slowly turning, ensuring the other doesn’t get too overwhelmed by the enemy. As much as you hate being reminded of your once very close relationship, it's easier to connect to him through the ease of physical touch. You can predict his movements and fighting techniques, making it much easier to interact than dialogue. Once all, except one, of the droids are eliminated, Obi-Wan turns towards you and seems as if he has something to say but quickly stops himself and walks away to check on the others. The adrenaline coursing through your veins from the fight keeps you on edge however, even after you return to your seat.

It stays with you, even when Anakin returns to inform Obi-Wan that there is a seperatist among you. The surviving spider droid is walked around the table, a test to see who it won’t attack. When Obi-Wan reaches Tal Merrik, a sudden change in the droid's hostile behavior proves him to be a traitor.

You watch in horror as Tal grabs Satine and holds a blaster to her head. The adrenaline from the previous fight serves you well because, even before Obi-Wan has time to react to the sudden change in severity of the situation, a fallen guard’s blaster, set to stun, is in your hand and has already raised and fired at the Senator. He quickly falls, releasing Satine.

You release a shaky breath and everyone, including Obi-Wan, stares in shock at your quick save.

“T-thank you,” Satine says, obviously shaken from almost being held hostage.

You nod in acknowledgment and watch as Tal Merrik is put into custody.

For obvious reasons, all the senators decide to retire to their rooms for the rest of the night.

Exhausted emotionally and physically, you do the same and head to your room after making sure Satine arrived at hers safely. You are about to relax into your bed when you hear a knock at the door. You open it to find Obi-Wan standing there, looking rather uncomfortable. “What do you want, Obi-Wan,” you sigh, tired of hiding from your past.

“I thought that we could talk”

“You are the last person to want to talk about feelings, Obi” You say turning around and heading back into the room, silently allowing him access to your space.

He walks in and closes the door behind him and leans against the wall opposite of you.

“I thought it would be a benefit to the both of us if we just talk”

“What do you want me to say Obi-Wan?” You raise your voice, tired of his roundabout way of talking.

“Do you want me to say I’m in love with you? But you already knew that didn’t you, all those years ago, and you still left” you accuse spitefully, not believing that you could somehow still have feelings for such an emotionally constipated man.

His face contorts into one of regret and grief at the mention of his abandoning you, but you still don’t let up.

“I think it’s better if you just go, Obi Wan. It’s what you do best.” You spit out, turning around to face away from him.

You hear him push off the wall and begin to move, but instead of leaving like you told him to, he walks up to you. You sense his presence against your back and he is so close you can feel his breath gently hitting the back of your neck. He stands there and lightly touches your hand with his own, breathing you in, again resorting to physical touch when his words fail. You bask in the closeness of him, giving into the way you missed his touch.

After a few moments, you hear him sigh and pull away from you.

“Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order”

With that confession, he slowly leaves and shuts the door, leaving you more confused and heartbroken than ever.

[suganovakawa]

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader , slight hajime iwaizumi x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , car accident , recovery from amnesia

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐗𝐈𝐕

enough is enough; it’s time to give hajime an ultimatum.

word count : 1.3k

saudade masterlist .

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀"you've been silent ever since we got here." your eyes lazily met hajime's, which were strained with concern and confusion. "c'mon, if i'm paying, then you gotta at least tell me what's on your mind." he solidified his statement by reaching out to place his hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it within his palm. you enjoyed the warmth he radiated, though you remained silent and simply kept your hand there without reaction.

⠀you felt lost, more lost than ever before. more questions began to pile and stack up higher and higher, and not even a slimmer of an answer had shown itself yet. an endless labyrinth of mystery, that became worse with every turn you took. you were frustrated with yourself. you were frustrated with iwaizumi. you were frustrated with oikawa. you were frustrated with the world.

⠀"y/n." he said it more firmly this time, now getting impatient with your silence. "stop staring into space, i'm right here. you know you can tell me what's going on in your mind. i'll do my best to help or assist you in anyway i can."

⠀that was a lie, you knew it was, and he knew it was. you almost laughed. he'd tell you jackshit. he only wanted to help if it would make him look better in your eyes. why? did you hate him before everything happen? is he trying to make amends? is that why he refuses to tell you anything that would trigger any memories to clear up? what was he achieving by keeping your own life a secret? he had every answer you wanted, and wouldn't tell you anything from it.

⠀to make matters worse for yourself, now, you couldn't trust oikawa. there was something there. you felt it. your body, your nerves, your heart felt different. the atmosphere around the injured third year became different. your subconscious remembered something your brain hadn't picked up on yet. your body reacted on its own whenever tooru came into sight, your instincts telling you to flee, to get out of there as quickly as possible. you only had your instincts to trust at this point; instincts, and a gut feeling. even then, your gut feeling seemed to enjoy remain dormant.

⠀"it's nothing, hajime. i just didn't get enough sleep last night." you snapped at him lightly, your frustration building up as you sat back, removing your hand from his hold. "i'll be fine. thanks for taking me out today. i almost thought you'd forget."

⠀"never." his smile was almost arrogant, crossing his arms and sitting back in his own chair. "like i said, it's my treat. i wouldn't go back on my word."

⠀"right..." you were bored of him at this point. he was just fishing and hoping that you would praise him for his selfless actions. "it's friday, right? i've got nothing to do this weekend." you were partially talking to yourself, your thoughts still focused on finding ways to get your memories back. you had no leads, or clues; that wouldn't stop you from trying, though.

⠀"want to do something this weekend?" he shrugged. "not sunday, though. i'm a bit busy then. but saturday i'm free. i'll take you somewhere for the day. again, my treat."

⠀"you need to let me pay one of these days. i'm not entirely broke." you huffed and shook your head, before shrugging lightly to his suggestion. "i guess so. i've got nothing to do, either. i might sleep early tonight, though. i need it." that was a lie. you just wanted to get away from him for the rest of the day so you could do stuff on your own.

⠀"that's a good idea. sleep is important. you need your rest."

⠀you yawned to solidify the thought. "my thoughts exactly."

⠀"i'll text you tomorrow about it. for now, i'll just walk you home." you nodded, and in no time, the two of you walked out and as promised, he made sure to walk you all the way up to your front step. "here we are. i'll see you tomorrow, y/n."

⠀you took a chance. as he turned around to walk away, you grabbed his wrist, almost desperately, and pulled him back to turn him around. he was silent, but his eyes were fixated entirely on yours. you used this chance to look into his irises, to see any possible sign of him hiding something, anything from you. his eyes were completely unreadable. there was nothing there, but so many things all at once. like he had everything but nothing at his disposal. "please, hajime." you begged quietly, your lips quivering. "please, i just want to know something from before the accident. i want to remember. i want to recall. nothing has come back to me." he tried to pull away but you only grasped onto him tighter. "just one thing, hajime. that's all i ask for. tell me at least one thing if you can't tell me everything. stop hiding my life from me, please. i want to know what happened."

⠀he was considering it. you could see it as he moved his gaze away from you, now unable to maintain eye contact. he had stopped fighting your hand and stood there, almost defeated. you squeezed his hand one more time, as if to encourage him to say something.

⠀nevertheless, it failed. you wanted to cry as he quickly pulled his hand away from your grip, his jaw clenching as he seemed to be fighting something internally. "if you haven't remembered anything, it must be for a reason, then. maybe your conscience is trying to protect you from the pain your past self faced. you shouldn't fight it."

⠀"don't you get it?" you raised your voice at him, now just angry. "i don't care, hajime. i don't give a single shit. i don't care if it hurts me. i don't care how bad it was before the accident. i don't care if i killed someone before the accident, or committed any kind of crime. i don't give a shit. i just want to know! don't you understand? you have everything i want to remember, and you just dangle it in front of my face and mock me with it every single day. you have me wrapped around your finger and all i can do is pretend i'm doing fine."

⠀you pushed him away by the chest as he tried to step near you. "don't. don't hug me, don't touch me. i'm tired of you only painting yourself as my hero and knight in shining armor. you're keeping me in the dark, and i'm tired of it. i just want to remember, hajime." you pointed at him. "wouldn't you want to remember everything if you lost all of your memories?"

⠀he was speechless, but you were already done with today. you left the question rhetorical as you lowered your finger and turned around, opening the door hastily.

⠀"i'll think about it."

⠀you heard his voice, quiet and faint, like a whisper. "it's a lot to unpack, and i don't want to stress you out with it. but if you go out with me tomorrow, i... i'll think about telling you."

⠀"that's not how this is going to work." you snapped right back, your grip tightening around the doorknob. "if you aren't going to tell me, i'm not going with you anywhere tomorrow. the moment i find out you won't, i'm going home, and you aren't going to follow me. i hope i've made myself clear."

⠀you slammed the door in his face and watched him walk away from the window. once he was out of your line of vision, you took a deep breath. you did what had to be done. now, the decision was now in iwa's hands. it was an ultimatum. either he would come forward with the truth, or he could kiss your day, and friendship with him, goodbye. you were sick of it, this was your boiling point.

⠀you really hoped hajime would see your side.

a/n : i’ve got nothing. we’ll see what decisions are made in the next chapter :>

taglist ( closed ) — @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan @crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-alot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @cirtruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee @froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam @0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixca @chickenrest @tycrackculture @ynjimenez @karaseijoh @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddlesslut @crypto-s @keigosbitch@readeretal @shittykawaa @donghyuckster @adriloen @ella-solei @emiyummy @kukiisan@catyuyuyuu @sillykittt @dolan-mendes @kiritokunuwu @the-third-wall @yammerss @todohawki

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

Fictober Day 3

Prompt number: 3

Fandom: AFK Arena (mobile game)

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Major character death, major character undeath, angst, hurt not comfort

Prompt: “I’ve waited for this.”

 The words echoed around the large stone chamber, deep beneath a long-forgotten, forsaken necropolis: “I’ve waited for this”. Baden sat firmly on Thane’s chest, straddling his torso and pinning his sword and arm to the frigid floor with his knee. Thane’s face was white, his teeth clenched and his jaw taut, vaguely shaking, though from anger or cold he was unsure. 

 Grinding his knee down onto Thane’s wrist and huffing at the grimace of pain that flashed across his face, Baden gazed down at his jagged spear, his head cocked slightly to the side. After several seconds of apparent deliberation, he tossed the spear into the dark of the cave, into the darkness. Both men heard it clink against a shadowed wall and roll to a stop; though, Thane couldn’t see it, pinned as he was, and Baden kept his dead-eyed green gaze fixed on Thane’s face.

 With one hand now free, Baden reached up and behind his head, his fingers briefly fiddling with a clasp, before removing his hand, his mask-muzzle coming away in his hand. Baden stared at it for a second, before meeting Thane’s eyes again, his expression making Thane’s blood run cold.

Using Baden’s face, the lich forced Baden’s lips into a cruel smirk. It looked unnatural and demented, coupled with Baden’s still emotionless eyes. If Thane concentrated on the air just behind Baden’s head out of the corner of his eye, Thane could almost make out the lich’s outline, sickly green and grey, looming behind Baden with the same awful smile affixed to his face. 

Focusing back on Baden’s face, Thane’s heart picked up; a sudden change from the slow, icy throbbing that had been present moments before. Baden’s face was filled with anguish, his brow furrowed and his mouth open, as if ready to speak. 

As if on cue, Baden’s mouth slammed shut, making Thane wince instinctively in sympathy. Baden’s face regained it’s horrible smile, this time spread even wider.

“He really likes you, this one. Yes, he spends all of his days pacing inside his head, trying to find his way out,” the lich ground out. Baden’s voice sounded strange, his tongue unused to such mockery and cruelty— especially at Thane’s expense. “Your poor boyfriend, still believing he will get back to you, someday, somehow. It’s sweet, really, how devoted he is to you. Did he ever tell you? How much he loves you, how he had planned to propose after you were both discharged? How, at night, in his tent, he would imagine you there, laid out next to him, just close enough to-”

“Shut up. Get out of him, leave him out of this. This has nothing to do with him.” Thane’s voice shook with anger, the life he and Baden could have had— still could have— flashing in front of his eyes. His heart ached in his chest, the weight of hope and pain and love so heavy a burden it hurt like something physical. 

“Oh, but it does, little soldier. Our lovely Baden tried to escape me, desperately tried to escape my hold on him, to find you and warn you of what I had planned.” The disgust was evident in the lich’s/Baden’s voice, his lip curling in distaste at the sentiment. “While this may not be how I had planned to get rid of you, the little thorn in my side that you are,” the lich said, accenting his words by pressing Baden’s hooked dagger, which had served as his hand since his death, into Thane’s neck. The lich/Baden applied just enough pressure to release a dribble of blood from just under Thane’s chin, but Thane met the lich’s/Baden’s eyes and held his gaze, refusing to tip his head back to escape from the point of the blade. 

“Oh yes, I’ve waited for this. With you gone, his spirit will finally be broken, and he will be mine to control, body and mind. He is remarkably resilient; no matter how many times I tortured him and flayed his skin from his bones until his eyes went dark, he still refused to submit. So committed to his mate. Endearing, really.” The lich used Baden’s hand to run his fingers across Thane’s cheek. This time, Thane did move away; Baden’s skin was cold and dry, and Thane’s skin tingled in mixed disgust and desire where Baden/the lich had touched him.

“I will give you a moment to say goodbye. Use it wisely, it will be the last you spend together while both of your minds are your own.” With that, Baden’s face became lax, the lich seemingly having withdrawn into a recess of Baden’s mind. 

Baden blinked his eyes several times, his mouth twitching minutely as he came back to himself. Shaking his head like a dog, he looked down at himself. At the sight of Thane, still pinned by Baden’s bodyweight, his eyes widened and he gasped. 

For a moment, the pair looked at each other, breathing heavily. Thane closed his eyes, breathing deeply, before opening them again and meeting Baden’s. Though they were still the same sickly green they had been minutes before, they now held such an air of kindness and sorrow, so much so that Thane felt tears prickling behind his eyes.

Baden shifted his leg to free Thane’s hand before reaching down with his own and grabbing Thane’s, interlocking their fingers and squeezing gently. Bringing their fingers to his lips, Baden pressed a cold kiss to Thane’s knuckles, gazing down at him in open adoration. Despite himself, Thane’s face began to color; Baden had died while they were still in the army, still in the service of the Rayne family. Such casual affection and intimacy had never been allowed between the two of them, both too dedicated to their duties.

“Hello, Thane. It’s been...so long. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him here, with us, I was trying to-”

“Don’t worry, I know what you meant to do. I’ve missed you, more than anything. But right now, we’ve got to think about how we’re going to get out of here; I haven’t the faintest idea how I got here, I wasn’t in my right mind while I was finding my way.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry. I know the way, I’ll show you. Just give me a moment, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your face without...it’s been so long.” Baden’s smile faltered for a moment, his words becoming clipped and rough, before leaning down to rest his forehead against Thane’s, both of their eyes shining with unshed tears and their mouths forming into trembling, tentative smiles.

Leaning down, Baden came closer to Thane’s face, his lips pressed together and his hand gently squeezing Thane’s three times. Thane sighed softly, closing his eyes as Baden moved to kiss him. When the kiss didn’t come, Thane opened his eyes, brow creased in confusion and concern. 

Smiling back down at Thane was the lich, once again wearing Baden’s face. The smile was too wide and too cruel, eyes once again a dull olive color when, moments before, they had been wonderfully alive. The lich chuckled, raising their still interlocked hands off the ground and tilting his head.

“Such sentiment. So sweet. You didn’t really think I would let you both go, did you; I did tell you to say goodbye, after all,” the lich chuckled, face unchanged as Thane tried in vain to wrench his hand from the iron grip the lich/Baden had on his hand. “Ah ah ah, little swordsman, there is no getting away.”

“He really thought he was going to kiss you, didn’t he? I assure you, he had every intent of doing it, I just couldn’t let him be so tainted like that. The emotions he had as he leaned down, though...delicious.” The lich closed his eyes and hummed with satisfaction. “Though equally as delightful is his despair. I wish you could hear him, you know; he’s screaming your name, trying to break away from me and make his way back to you. The poor dear, he thinks he can do it. Ah well, no matter. Time to finish what I—we— came for.” 

The blade resting against Thane’s neck, warmed to the temperature of his skin and slightly sticky with his blood, rose several inches. Baden/the lich repositioned himself so his knees caged Thane’s stomach and ribs. Thane had given up trying to extricate his hand from Baden’s, though his arm was still tense, his muscles taut and ready to strike. 

“Goodbye, Thane Rayne. Perhaps I shall raise you, much the same as I did Baden; then you two can be together in undeath. Such a fitting end for the two lovebirds. Now, this will only-” In a flash, Baden’s spear arm came down and stabbed into Thane’s chest. Thane gasped, pain overwhelming all of his senses in the brief seconds before his eyes lost their light.     “NO,” screamed Baden, seeming to wrest control away from the lich for a moment. Tears sprang to his eyes, falling onto Thane’s chest and mingling with the blood already soaking through Thane’s jacket and armor. 

“Oh yes, little soldier, the little swordsman has breathed his last.” Wrenching his arm back, Baden/the lich withdrew his spear arm from Thane’s chest. The jagged edges of the spear hooked into Thane’s chest, lifting his body off the ground several inches before tearing and thumping back to the floor. Blood poured out of the wound, flowing over Baden’s knees and soaking his greaves and the cloth underneath them.

In Baden’s head, he was screaming, beating the walls of the cell he occupied in the times when the lich fully occupied his body and mind. His spear arm clashed and clanged off the stone walls, chipping and overshadowing his echoing crys. 

Outside of Baden’s mind, the lich used Baden’s mouth to smile down at Thane’s corpse. Getting to his feet, Baden/the lich brushed dust from his pauldrons, covering them in Thane’s blood. 

Stepping over Thane’s body until he stood at his head, Baden/the lich reached down and grabbed Thane’s cape, gathering the fabric in his fist. Straightening up, the lich took one last look around the chamber before turning and striding towards the darkened entrance of the room— where Baden’s spear lay, dragging Thane’s body behind him, the cape still clutched in his fist, heedless of the trail of blood that they left.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34271986

[pinkjiminssi]

So.. About That Hickey..

I think I’m still processing all of this and reminding myself I’m not dreaming 🤣 I seriously only got 3 hours of sleep last night and when I woke up the first thing I did was check twitter to be sure this “drunk bridal-style spinning hickey neck biting proudly showing off” moment actually happened!! 

.. I hate the way my brain works though. I was so happy that it took me forever to fall asleep, spent all day on cloud 9 despite being tired, .. and then my old nemesis, anxiety, stepped in. Well kind of. TBH if all of the MOTS ON:E Jikook moments we got happened with Jimin/anyone else or Jungkook/anyone else.. I would seriously be sitting here saying ��well fuck.. I believe they WERE a couple, but looking at all of this it seems they are no longer together.” So really, this just confirmed what I already knew about Jimin and Jungkook: they’re a couple. My anxiety is over.. why? Why show us this? If they can cover all of JK’s tattoos, a hickey/bite mark/whatever we’re calling it should be super easy to hide. Sure it was just rehearsal.. but it was rehearsal with cameras rolling with every intention of releasing what was being filmed as future content. It could have (and some might argue should have) been covered.

Guys... I’m confused. And concerned. ❗❗❗ TW for drama, hate, homophobia, the usual anti issues

That “official” explanation.. again.. why? I’m assuming Jimin and Jungkook were asked and allowed to explain because of the chance of it being spotted and armys freaking out, so BH (or possibly even Jikook) thought to get ahead of the speculation by just being up front about it all.. but THAT explanation? I suppose it works for covering up the army panic of “Jungkook has a girlfriend?! *insert fangirl sobbing*” .. but that’s literally all it does (and only barely if you go looking at some of the anti’s reactions to it all). Really, all it did was draw even more attention and speculation. I mean.. this is, essentially, what we were told: Jimin and Jungkook were together the night before drinking, apparently without the other members as they didn’t seem to know all of this already (and they would have if they had been there), somehow hanging out and having drinks turns into Jungkook picking Jimin up bridal style (random but some of the k-army reactions on twitter were translating through google into “princess style” and I just think that’s so cute 🥰), spinning ensues, Jimin gets dizzy and wants Jungkook to put him down, ... and so he proceeds to do the only logical thing that any of us would have done in that situation... biting Jungkook’s neck? And hard enough to leave a mark the next day?? And instead of being peeved about it (like most of us would have been if our friend bit the crap out of us), Jungkook looks happy?? proud even??? 

And they arrived together the next day and continue to be cute and playful? 

I just.. I mean.. come on. First of all.. that’s a hickey. A bite leaves teeth marks. And one would assume a wild, drunken “let me down” chomp would be something that happens suddenly and ends very quickly. I know I for sure would drop someone on their ass if they decided to take a bite out of my neck (assuming I was even picking up and spinning around with one of my friends like that to begin with.. but let’s not even get into why that was going on at this point) .. but the way this bruised? Yeah. There were no teeth involved (at least not hard enough to leave indentations) and this took more than a couple of seconds of mouth-to-neck contact to still be that visible the next day. So.. in short. Jungkook arrives with a hickey, JK decides to not cover it up (or he would have shown up with it hidden and we see him get out of the car that morning with it clearly visible), BH staff sees it and also decides to not have it covered up and actually have it explained... and the explanation is “oh yeah Jimin just bit him, you know.. no big deal hehehe isn’t that funny?” 🤯 WHAT?! Yeah.. that’s totally normal, platonic behavior between adults...

I’m not saying Jimin and Jungkook are lying btw. I have no doubt it played out more or less exactly as they said with the exception of what they’re calling the end result. Jimin and Jungkook are fine.. I mean, what were they supposed to say? They’re not going to show up saying Jimin was sucking on Jungkook’s neck the night before. We’ll probably never know why Jungkook decided to not cover it up before arriving, but it’s his body and he gets to decide. It’s BH that has me so puzzled. Other than antis and people who refuse to see what’s literally right in front of their faces when it comes to Jikook.. who were BH expecting to believe the bite thing? Just among staff and the other members, it’s a laughable but safe “oh of course *wink wink*” explanation that allows everyone to carry on like normal. But to the public who don’t know them personally, don’t know their usual behavior and patterns, and who don’t have something like a non-disclosure agreement or professional courtesy preventing them from openly speculating.. it doesn’t fly. Pretty much everyone teen and up knows what a hickey looks like (either from having gotten/given one or at least seeing one on someone else in person or online). It’s immediately obvious what it is. And even if there was some uncertainty.. that it’s on his neck (instead of other easily accessible and less sensitive/stimulating locations) and just so happens to be right near his mole as it Jimin were aiming for it? Just another “too many coincidences” thing when it comes to Jikook.

Even antis on twitter couldn’t deny what it was and, so, had to resort to the “well I do that with my sibling and my uncle’s pet raccoon all the time it’s just family things” excuse and/or the “yeah well someone ELSE in the group (or a girlfriend) gave him that and they’re just covering by saying it was Jimin.” Oh. And the same old “it’s just fan service” excuse (as if Jungkook would let someone bruise his neck for the purposes of fanservice which, again, BTS has never done or needed to do. Forever pissed off that so many in this fandom act like Jungkook is a puppet doing whatever the “evil company” tells him to do regardless of his personal feelings or boundaries. The man has tattoos covering nearly every inch of his arm despite that being looked down on in Korea. At this point he can do whatever the fuck he wants). So.. why?? Seriously, why? This all could have easily been avoided with simple makeup.

When they’re doing official content they’re all literally followed around by a flurry of staff fixing hair, dabbing sweat, touching up makeup, etc. Even though it was rehearsal, staff were everywhere in the footage that’s made its way online. If they were worried that it would be seen in the background and “taken the wrong way,” just have the staff occasionally touch up the makeup. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” But instead of doing the obvious, BH decides to: not cover it, draw attention to it by asking about it and letting them continue to talk about it, go out of their way to get a camera on it, and then include it in the final cut of the content they sent out?

BTS is literally the most popular group in the world right now and BH has become a behemoth of a company that runs like a well-oiled machine. They’re not stupid; this was not a mistake. For some reason they wanted us to see this and, one would assume based on the lack of a more believable explanation, they wanted us to come to the conclusion that we all have: Jimin gave Jungkook a hickey. You know they have teams dedicated to monitoring reactions to content on social media. You know they know the dialog surrounding Rosebowl, Black Swan MMA, the Memories 2020 “almost kiss,” etc. etc. All of this got “jikook,” “hickey” and variations of their names trending for HOURS (in multiple countries and worldwide). 

Out of curiosity, I decided to check the trends at the time of writing this. As of 3 AM CST (about 24 hours AFTER the clips started showing up online), there was still a hashtag trending related to all of this: #FREEJUNGKOOK.. and the tweets being directed toward BH are.. disturbing to say the least:

While I agree that the boys should trend more often based on their talents and music.. what’s going on right now is a homophobic 💩 show accusing BH of “scripting” interactions (rather than.. you know.. Jungkook interacting with whoever he wants however he wants.. the usual “mindless puppet JK” narrative), trying to coordinate the mass sending of angry emails, trying to get people to stop buying paid content, accusing BH of taking advantage of the members.. I mean it goes on and on. And BH know what’s going on right now. They’re seeing the reactions... the good and the extremely negative. And still they let this out. And this is all not even CONSIDERING the mountain of other moments that made the cut on MOTS ON:E. 

(side note, the above pic just oozes happiness and it’s so cute I love it!! 😭)

So.. even though I’ve said it dozens of times already... WHY? W H Y? I’m an anxious person by nature and not very trusting. I believe Jimin and Jungkook and I don’t think they’ve been lying and pretending for “fanservice” all of these years. I respect them both too much as individuals and artists to believe that they would stoop to such tactics just to generate a little more “interest” and revenue. I’m suspicious of BH. BTS doesn’t need fanservice to get attention; literally all of 2020 and 2021 so far has proven that beyond a doubt. Even if they suddenly made the decision to do fs.. why not go with the most popular ship (taekook) or at least one that isn’t so hotly debated on social media (remove Jimin, Jungkook and Tae from the equation and you still have four members to “play” with who have much less potential to have fs devolve into a toxic crap show all over the internet). Showing us this will do nothing to help BTS as a group or Jimin and Jungkook at this point. In fact.. all it can do is hurt. Hurt BH, hurt the group, and hurt the individual members, heck.. even potentially hurt other BH/HYBE groups. I’ve already seen people on twitter saying they’re “done” spending money on anything BH or BTS puts out because they’re “sick of jikook in their faces and just two of the seven hogging all of the screen time.” Whether or not that “spending freeze” actually materializes into anything noticeable remains to be seen of course.. but the threat is there and always has been. What is the motive? And why now? As much as my “hopeless romantic” heart would like to believe they’re preparing us for Jikook to be “out” .. I seriously don’t think that is ever going to happen. Certainly not now at the height of the group’s fame, with them being given Presidential honors and ambassador status, and with military service still looming over them all. And let’s not forget... Korea is NOT a safe place for a queer couple. Letting us see and know what they did through what was released has the potential to put Jimin and Jungkook (and the other members by proxy) in danger. Sure.. BTS has never been hardline rule followers and have been breaking molds and shattering norms from the start, so “officially” having an openly gay couple in the group wouldn’t be impossible.. just... highly highly improbable. Especially right now... and I’m concerned. I don’t want to sound like the creeps I posted a screenshot of above throwing blame at the company. The boys chose to renew their contracts with the for a reason so we have to trust their judgement as a group... but still, I’m worried and I’m questioning what the purpose was here. 

[whitetrashjj]

most people that don’t like kie don’t like her because she

1. gets mad at JJ when he calls her out for being rich

2. prioritizes john b constantly because whatever feelings she has towards him gave her tunnel vision

3. tried to guilt-trip pope into missing his scholarship interview despite the fact that, like he said, she wasn’t there for any of them when big john went missing

4. talks about the gold, pope’s scholarship, and things that happen to the boys because of them living in the cut as if it’s okay to just toss them aside when it’s only okay to do that for her- seeing as she doesn’t need the money, and she doesn’t need a scholarship. the only thing that makes her a pogue is that she decided to hang out with them, which is fine but she can’t act like she goes through what people on the cut do seeing as she doesn’t actually live there or go to their school. these things are only expendable for her.

5. she tried to fight pope on the boat because he rightfully called her out on her “moral high ground bullshit”

6. she gives off performative activist. she’ll talk about saving the turtles but when jj is clearly hysterical or something with his buying a hot tub using his share, she says he could have “literally given it to any charity” as if he isn’t quite literally the charity… even without seeing the bruises it’s clear that jj is in an unstable environment with someone who doesn’t care about him and can’t support him financially.

7.she doesn’t sympathize with jj until after the jj/pope/kie hot tub group hug when she sees his bruises. she just ignores whatever he says when he mentions her financial privilege and insults him in a non-friendly way. (he insults her too obviously, but since the show never goes in depth to discuss kie’s struggles as a biracial girl or pope’s struggles as a black boy, it’s not something that jj can randomly sympathize with, seeing as it’s never brought to light. if it was brought up and jj were to react like she’s being annoying for pointing it out or pointing it out to spite him, i would have major problems with jj because acknowledging whatever privilege you have is important, especially when you’re with people that don’t have that privilege/when you’re someone whose character is supposed to be the activist type. and i’m not equating racial privilege to financial privilege, i’m just mentioning it because classism is pretty much the basis of the entire show and its plot.)

anyway… this is the reason i’ve seen most jjpopes dislike kie. mentioning the “kiara sucks” anon as if that is a blanket statement of all jjpopes is strange. we aren’t some raging misogynists out to get her, but you saying that pope is a very flawed character with no examples to back it up but also getting irritated when someone says kiara sucks with no examples to back it up is ridiculous. these are examples. since this is in response to your response to that ask, i’ll also add that while your experiences as a queer person are valid, they aren’t universal (“Any queer person knows that you can’t be as forthcoming and open about our affections as straight people are.”)

i get where you’re coming from with saying a regular character might not be outward about his feelings, but jj is not a regular character. jj is a nothing-to-lose kind of character, so your reasoning for why those many displays of affection throughout the show weren’t intended to be romantic just doesn’t really add up? of course he values pope’s friendship and wouldn’t want to risk it, but it’s also evident that he’s a very good liar and could easily say he was joking or wasn’t trying to seem like any of his actions were romantic, something you can also probably understand/have experienced as a queer person. your very statement that jj is someone who flirts with anyone is counterproductive to the statement that that means he doesn’t have feelings for pope. he flirts with every girl, but he can only form a lasting bond while also doing things you’d normally do with a crush, with pope. a lot of jjpopes including myself think he’s gay, and comphet/trying to prove to yourself that you’re straight by engaging in meaningless hookups (like jj) is reason for that headcanon. i get what you’re saying for other characters, but there’s no indication of jj not having that same nothing-to-lose attitude when it comes to people he has romantic feelings for, so there would be no reason for the pull-back or hesitation that you mentioned. and since he knows pope and his connection (whether it be platonic or romantic to both of them) is so strong, he probably assumes nothing could break that bond/dynamic either way.

also no one called you anti-black or implied that you were for saying pope is a flawed character, but it would be surprising to see one that isn’t rooted in that because all of them in the past have been- this fandom is wildly colorist and homophobic (another reason representation like jjpope is so important) and it’s extremely hard to find someone that doesn’t like pope without an explanation for their dislike that isn’t rooted in racism. that’s just common sense, though.

You know, I've been looking at this ask for a long time just wondering if it's worth my time to address all of this - like I didn't realise one could send asks this big. But I'm bored and got a beer in me so fuck it let's go.

So first let's talk about the reasons you hate Kie. I'm gonna admit that I to think she is flawed, like every other obx character, she is also a victim to bad writing and under developed. But also I just do not understand how people can hate her or insists that she is a bad person, don't get me wrong sometimes you just don't vibe with a character and there is nothing wrong with that but hating them and tearing them down is a very different thing.

Now I've said this before but let me reiterate. Not liking a character or ship or preferring one over the other does not automatically make you racist, misogynistic or homophobic. But I do think it is important to take a step back and assess our motivation and perhaps internalised biases. Sometimes you will find that you reasoning is without much substance and realise that you have some things to work on, sometimes even though mentally you don't have the conscious block there is something internalised about that - I know I have been subject to that. This doesn't make you a bad person, and you don't have to force yourself to like it or anything, but just be aware and sometimes it's okay to just remove yourself for the conversation because the people who do like it aren't supporting something that is morally corrupt and it doesn't have to be the subject of discourse. People can like different stuff.

So:

1. Did you mean pulls faces when JJ calls her rich? Cause that's what she does, gets a little annoyed, pulls a face but doesn't say anything because she know he's got a point. I'm very confused about you definition of angry and perhaps be careful about perpetuating the 'angry black woman' stereotype.

Also, I think it's important to note that clearly the kooks vs pogues divide has pretty much abolished the middle class, and you are either lower class or 'rich'. The Carrera's very clearly still struggle with money and are not on the same level of kooks as the Cameron's. So yeah, I think she's justified to roll her eyes at JJ saying she's rich as fuck and doesn't need money.

2. Prioritizes John B because his dad's gone missing, he's been abandoned by his guardian, is being threatened with being taken away from his home and everything he knows and is in general spiralling? Yeah. What a fucking monster. Also, I find it hard to find a justification for Kie having canon romantic feelings from John B that isn't just born from heteronormativity - her caring about him and then getting kissed by him does not equal a love match.

3. It wasn't about missing the interview - which wasn't until the next fucking day - it was about not giving up looking for their friend who was in a really bad way. Like - you cannot say that getting a scholarship when you are 16 is more important that John B's actual life being at stake ?

The fact that she wasn't there when John B went missing wasn't relevant? Like I've talked about why I hate Pope in this scene. But like, Pope is saying 'um you can't call me out on being a bad friend now cause you were a bad friend then'. That's the point, Kie caring so much about John B is rooted in guilt cause she wasn't there, and now she's trying to be there and support him, to prove that she's a better friend now. That's she's different, because she is.

4. I would love some specific examples of her brushing this stuff off like it means nothing. Other than the boat scene which once again, justified. And once again, Kie isn't destitute at all and no she doesn't fully understand the struggles of the boys or the cut but her family is not rolling in it and spending weekends on Yachts. Like this point is such a bloody reach.

5. I don't love that she got physical with him either. But she didn't do that because she got called out. She got upset because Pope was the one person she confided in about that happened during her kook year, about how bad it was, about the fact that she was suicidal and Sarah saved her and that's why she was so drawn to that, not because she wanted to be a kook, and Pope just throws that back in her face because he's jealous that Kie cares more about John B's problems than his.

6. Well this is just a misrepresentation of what happened. She said give it to any charity because in that moment it seemed like without a reason JJ just blew that money on stupid shit. Pope thought the same thing that's why he yells at him for not using it for restitution. In that moment he just seems like he is being drunk and irresponsible, because they didn't think he would go back to Luke, Pope literally says that he wouldn't. And then note how when they see the bruises they know what happened and the tone instantly changes cause they realise what happened. And that he did try to do the right thing and got flogged because of it. And she is right in there to comfort him and reassure him. So like... yeah.

7. Please give me example for this. I don't see Kie insulting him that isn't a justified call out or playful banter that is returned and part of their push and shove dynamic. You know... just being friends.

The only times we see Kie react to JJ's home life she is concerned and sympathetic. She's the only one who's worried about JJ going home when he storms off and is instantly there to comfort him when she knows he's had interaction with Luke. I really don't know where you are getting this from.

I don't use it as a blanket statement, I know not to group shippers in as one, I know there are jiara shippers that I do not see eye to eye with for a second. The reason I bring up the 'kiara sucks' thing is because of the context it was used. We weren't talking about Kie, it wasn't relevant, it had no reason to be there or anything to back it up. It was random bitching and as you say fandom is a very racist place so yeah, it seemed like racism to me. Like you realise you are calling me ridiculous for being annoyed that someone just came to me and said Kie sucks without reason, and then this ask goes onto be annoyed that I have some issues with Pope and that more than likely racist for thinking it because you've elected to ignore my massive post outlining my stance on this.

My experiences as a queer person are not universal, no. But I do know they are very common. I'm so thankful that there are people out there who don't experience this and I hope that in the future it will be the norm. But realistically, with what we know about JJ, I think it is more than likely that would be his experience.

Look if you headcanon him as gay say the things with girls is comphet, then that's your view and I won't fight you on it. But remember that that is a headcanon. And what I have been talking about is were they intentionally setting up jjpope and are those actions indicative of romantic attraction, which if they we're they would have made a point to frame it as comp het, which they didn't, they might in the future but for now - they aren't. In terms of being a good liar, I just- like gay panic is a very strong thing. There young girls who tell everyone they don't like hugs because they actually really liked the hugs and feel like people will know that they are gay if they hug their friend, a hug. I can't see 'I'm a good liar' being enough to overcome those sorts of feelings.

The thing is while JJ has a nothing to lose attitude when it comes to his life and future the same doesn't apply to his relationships, because the Pogues are his thing to lose, his only family, the one good thing. I can't see him just saying fuck it I could risk losing Pope. So I can't agree with you there.

First of all, I was called anti-black for not liking Pope, despite the fact that I don't hate him, and just had valid reasons for thinking he is flawed, not the devil incarnate. Two, I am well aware that this fandom is racist, like all fucking fandoms, and have talked about it. And I think that fact that I don't hate Pope and laid out very clearly the reasons I don't think he's some perfect angel that does no wrong kinda shows that I'm not just random bitching because he's black. Also - I'm a fucking Kie stan. I have to deal with people hating on Kie for the same reasons they love Sarah - it's very obvious to see people motivations there.

And you are right. An interracial mlm ship would be great representation. So would an interracial ship between the hot guy that everyone loves with the black girl - because doesn't he always end up with the white self insert? But reminder that ships don't automatically have superiority because they have 'better' representation and certainly does not represent a shipper 'wokeness'. Personally I think a platonic relationship between two men that are as close and physically affectionate as JJ and Pope - especially when one is so traditionally masculine as JJ, especially if one or both of them could be queer - would be great representation for young boys struggling with toxic masculinity.

So yeah, I think your reasons for hating Kie don't have much basis in canon. I do not give if you like her or not but.. hating her and trying to prove that people shouldn't like her, that she's not good enough for JJ and coming into my ask and putting her down for no reason, still does not sit right with me.

[crispyjenkins]

Chosen-One!Obi-Wan x Jango where Jaster finds Obi-Wan after he’s lost(somehow lmfao,, idk maybe connecting ships like a connecting flight?) on his was to bandomeer and adopted by a haat’mando’ade advisor of Jasters?

(this would have been out on monday except i rewrote it twice T◡T this is by far the best version i already have a few haat mando’ade Obis so i gave this one a twist (ゝω·) thank you for the prompt, anon! i started planning this one as soon as it came in, i’m so happy to finally be able to get to it (ノ*´◡`) i hope you like it!  i am now inordinately attached to the idea of a wookiee raising obi, and wanted to do so much more with chalmun but it did not work out by rewrite three. someday, friend (๑o﹏o๑)

  When Obi-Wan meets the Mand’alor on Bandomeer, wearing his failures like funeral garb, Jaster calls him Haar Gaanla. The Chosen.

  Obi-Wan never makes it to the Agricorp outpost, he doesn’t even make it out of the spaceport; the moment he steps off the transport from the Temple, the Force all but takes over his feet, humming in happiness as it leads Obi-Wan further and further into the port, until it pulls him to a stop in front of a Nova Courier starship.

  A Mandalorian without a helmet turns around from stocking his cargo hold, and knows from one look that there’s something not quite right about Obi-Wan, that the way the opalescent Force ripples around him is not the way it surrounds others. 

  “Haar Gaanla,” the man says, as the Force whispers Mand’alor, as Obi-Wan says,

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Jaster lets him sleep in his bunk the whole way to Concord Dawn.

-

  When Obi-Wan meets the Journeyman Protector Chalmun, the Wookiee stepping out of his terracotta dugout home on a farmstead that looks like it’s drowning in blooming behot, he calls Obi-Wan Haar Gaanla. The Chosen.

  Obi-Wan smiles around his missing tooth, and calls him buir.

-

  The prophecy of The Chosen One is not specific to the Jedi, Chalmun has heard it all over the galaxy from as many peoples as he has bowcasters — which is to say, a lot. Mandalore has had their own prophecy from as far back as the Taung, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know what that means for him, somehow raised a Jedi first, but Mando’ad now.

  His first night as Chalmun’s foundling, he tells Obi-Wan the story of the Wookiee warrior that carried her people into the trees and showed them the sky, before giving them her bones to build the first treehouse. Her name, Otwiyaddirm, came to mean freedom, choice, and has a variation in all Wookiee tongues. 

  Chalmun tells him more stories like that while he teaches him how to farm and how to grow, how to care for the behot leaves that are their main income, but also the root vegetables planted at the bushes’ base. Master Tyvokka spoke Shyriiwook when Obi-Wan was in the Temple, but Obi-Wan’s crèchemaster was one of his apprentices, and she taught their whole clan Xaczik instead, partly just to piss her old master off.

  Obi-Wan knows the Force likes to mess with him, lead him to believe one thing before spinning him 540º to another answer entirely, so he knows there is very little in his life that the Force does not have a hand in; that Chalmun speaks Xaczik rather than the far more common Shyriiwook? Well, it’s not as if Obi-Wan is surprised.

  Before Jaster, Obi-Wan had only interacted with one Force user that was not a Jedi, a Zebraki woman that had come to study the architecture of the Coruscant Temple. Obi-Wan had snuck out of bed and was on the run from Master Oraruu when the Zabrak had found him and crouched in front of him — she called him Uifri with a sort of fond awe, and walked him back to the crèche with an impossibly gentle hand in his. Knight Kolar told him later that the closest word in Basic is Chosen.

  Master Plo had called him ‘a lantern in the Force’ when he first brought Obi-Wan to the temple, and the description stuck far into his initiate days. Quinlan would tease him about it, saying he ran a few degrees hotter than other humans, because to Quinlan, he was warmth more than light.

  So Obi-Wan isn’t unused to epithets and comparisons and whispered names in languages he doesn't speak, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself when his new buir starts to affectionately call him Otwiyaddirm, just as often as he calls him cub.

  It certainly confuses Jaster’s foundling the first few times the Mand’alor checks in on Obi-Wan and brings Jango along, who despite being a few years older than Obi-Wan and Haat Mando’ad to boot, can’t pronounce Obi-Wan’s Xaczik name and instead just calls him Nau’ika. Little Light. 

  Even after Jango learns Obi-Wan has a name in Basic, the nickname stays, because though his midichlorian count is lower than even Jaster’s, Jango can still see his light in the Force. Mando’a doesn’t have a word for the sorts of open-flame lanterns Master Plo had referred to, but Jaster says he thinks Nau’ika suits them just fine. 

-

  “Can you feel it?”

  Jango looks up from the stone wash basin outside by the greenhouse, where Jaster had assigned the two of them to wash tubers for thirdmeal, but he finds Obi-Wan resolutely focussed on the blue tuber he’s scrubbing. He’s rolled the sleeves of his red linen shirt up past his elbows, arms toned from working the farmstead, and Jango has half a mind to be amused by Montross’ insistence that Journeyman Protectors and their clans simply can’t compete with Supercommandos — Montross has obviously never seen the size of the sacks of behot leaves Obi-Wan and Chalmun regularly sling from the barn to their speeder.

  “Feel what?” Jango asks, while Obi-Wan works at a particularly stubborn spot of dirt with his reed scrubber. 

  Obi-Wan doesn’t answer immediately, but his expression is relaxed and thoughtful, so Jango doesn’t press, just waits quietly at his side. He had grown in leaps and bounds under Chalmun’s careful rearing, strong and smart and kind, and he looks almost nothing like the tiny Jedi imp that Jango had met six years before. 

  His hair is redder now, baked under Concord Dawn’s blue sun until it’s almost copper in the summers. Farmer-tanned skin is spattered with freckles and blemishes where he had been pale as a wampa in a snowdrift when Chalmun had first taken him in; Arla had been like that, too, and something in Jango aches.

  “Me.”

  Jango blinks, quickly returning to his own scrubbing when he realises he had been staring. “You? Oh, you mean the light thing?” Obi-Wan nods once. “Of course I can, everyone above Force-null can.”

  His relaxed expression tightens, lips pressed thin as the water in the basin moves preternaturally. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he says softly, “even the other Sensies here think I’m special.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Obi-Wan shrugs, pushing his hair out of his face with the back of his wrist; it still leaves water running down his forehead, and Jango’s brain short circuits, just a little. “I don’t know. The Jedi certainly didn’t think so.”

  “And we’re supposed to care what those shabuire think?” Jango scoffs. “They must be even better at sticking their heads in the ground than I thought, if even the children couldn’t feel you.”

  “Wouldn’t they have wanted me if they did?”

  Ah, well, perhaps Jango should have expected this.

  He can count the number of times Obi-Wan has talked about his time in the Temple on one hand, despite Jaster checking in on him every few months for the last six years. He’s said that his destiny was not with the Jedi in this iteration of the universe, that he knows the Force had not led him astray, and Jango knows he’s genuinely happy here with Chalmun and the Mando’ade, but he also understands that line of thought.

  “Would you go back to them if they asked?”

  Obi-Wan finally looks at him, wide-eyed. “What? Of course not.”

  “Then does it matter knowing what they thought back then, when you don’t care what they think now?” Jango takes the tuber from Obi-Wan’s hand and drops it in the drying basket with the rest, before pulling the stone stopper from the bottom of the basin to drain the water into a pipe that would take it to the reprocessing tank to be reused in watering the fields. “I’m Haat’ad, Nau’ika: I know droidshit about the Force and Force users, and even less about this prophecy nonsense our buire seem to think is important.” He hefts the basket onto his hip and waits for Obi-Wan to hang the scrubbers over the side of the basin to lead them back to the dugout house; he kicks open the door and holds it with his foot for Obi-Wan to duck past him. “I just know you don’t feel like anything else in the galaxy, that people will always want to take advantage of that power, and that you are far safer all the way out here than in the Core.”

  Their conversation falls off as they remove their shoes to join Jaster and Chalmun in the kitchen, and though Obi-Wan doesn’t bring it up again that night –or any time after– Jango knows he thinks about it still.

-

  When Jango’s starcruiser drops out of the sky over Concord Dawn, crashing into the behot fields and cutting a furrow of flying dirt and flowers right across the farmstead, Obi-Wan is already calling on the Force, oily-black and opalescent and warm, to drag Jango from the wreckage. Obi-Wan wraps it heavy around the both of them, as he kneels in bloody, screaming mud with Jango’s head on his shoulder, as he holds his hand heavy, warm, oil-slick against Jango’s throat until his dead pulse jumps underneath his palm. 

-

Mand’alor —  “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. Haar Gaanla — “The Chosen”, fan creation for a Mandalorian Chosen One myth behot — an herb with a citrus taste and mildly stimulating properties, most often infused into shig, a Mandalorian beverage used similarly to caf buir/e — “parent/s”, gender neutral  Haat Mando’ad/e — lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e)  Nau’ika — “Little light”, nickname for this specific Obi, which becomes new Mando’a slang for open-flame lanterns shabuir/e — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  Uifri — “Chosen”, Zabraki (found with this translator) Otwiyaddirm — name meaning “Choice”, “Freedom”, Xaczik (made by combining names with this generator; myth is my own)

*my understanding is that blue suns supporting planet life is impossible, but i raise you: rule of cool. and does concord dawn even have a blue sun in disney or legends canon? i dunno, but you can’t stop me*