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lemonjoonah · 4 years ago

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The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?” You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.” The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry. “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head. “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose? “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside. Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a warm and earthy scent envelopes you. His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel. Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid. “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin. “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod. A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth. He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts. And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom. A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

#jungkook smut #hybrid jungkook #bts hybrid au #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts the garden thief #bts smut #jungkook x reader

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glimmerglanger · 3 years ago

Note

Glimmer, Bush League is amazing; I loved it!!! There's so much I want to ask about, but I'll stick with one - what do Ben's family think of him and Cody? Did Anakin ever get to finish his shovel talk?

bytebun asked:

i'd love to know how things go for anakin in bush league!! worried about the little guy...

why-we-fight asked:

Hi GG! If you're up for it, I'd love to see a snippet where Cody meets Qui-Gon or at least sees Anakin again. Thanks!

providing-leverage asked:

Can I request some of Ben's family for the Bush League ficlets? Especially if it's Anakin interacting with Cody's brothers. Love this universe ❤️

mostofmyfreetime asked:

If you’re still taking bush league prompts, just anything about Ben’s backstory and the way it affects his relationship with Cody

Oooooooooooof, well, Cody has to visit Ben's home, sooner or later, right? If nothing else, it helps explain some things about Ben to him...

This is set around two years after the end of the story proper, but still far before the Coda. Not the...happiest of meetings.

~~~~~~~~

Qui-Gon forgot to pick them up from the airport.

Ben blew it off like it wasn’t a big deal - not looking very surprised about it - and just headed over to the rental car station, while Cody shifted the bag over his shoulders and frowned. He knew Ben’s family knew when they were supposed to arrive; he’d been there when Ben called and told them about it.

And yet--

“They say they have something for us, it’ll just take a minute,” Ben said, when he finished talking to the lady behind the counter, looking towards Cody. The afternoon sun - weak - caught on his hair and his breath fogged up in front of his face, a few snow flurries moving around them.

“Are they going to be there when we get there?” Cody asked, and Ben--winced, a little, looking to the side.

“If not, I’ll just give you a tour while we wait,” he said, chipper, and Cody had met Anakin a few times - Anakin had briefly come to stay with Ben, the previous season, before deciding he didn’t like it, actually, and leaving again - but never Qui-Gon, and at the moment…

“Ah,” Ben said, before Cody could finish the thought. “I think she’s got the keys.”

Ben pointed out a few things through town and then they were leaving town. They’d landed in a very small airport, but still had a ways to go. Eventually, they drove past Ben’s high school, past a string of fast food restaurants and a truck stop, past a downtown area past its prime, and out into bare woods, the branches emptied for the winter.

“Here we are,” Ben said, eventually, parking the car in front of an old farmhouse with a sweeping porch. There were a few cars parked around it; off to one side there was a proper parking lot, signs advertising fresh produce.

Greenhouses spread around the area along with empty fields, waiting for the spring warmth.

The house was quiet. Dark. Ben exhaled and said, “That’s his car. I bet I know where he is, but…let’s put our stuff up, first?”

The house smelled a bit closed up, Cody noted, as they stepped inside. He thought he smelled some old pizza wafting out from the kitchen and there was a definite sense of…mess. Everywhere. Ben seemed unphased by it, though he was almost meticulously clean, turning on lights and showing Cody around.

There were pictures on the wall, here and there, mostly of people Cody didn’t recognize, though there were many with Anakin. The stairs creaked when they went up to the second level, Ben pointing out Qui-Gon’s room and Anakin’s, and pulling on the rope that pulled down the attic stairs and--

“You slept in the attic?” Cody asked, because somehow it had never come up, as Ben climbed up the ladder into the darkness.

“Yeah,” Ben said, pulling on a light overhead. It flooded the space with pale golden light. There were…boxes and things stacked everywhere. Bins with words like ‘decorations’ or ‘summer clothes’ scrawled on them in marker. “Qui-Gon needed office space, so….” He shrugged and said, “It’s cozy, right?”

And gestured to one side, close to a small, octagonal window, where he’d set up a mattress, apparently, with a little nightstand beside it and a small lamp. There was a dresser, too, and Cody felt his hands curling up by his sides--

“I closed it in one summer,” Ben went on, dropping his bag beside the mattress, reaching out to rap his knuckles against the drywall rising at a diagonal. The ceiling was too short for either of them to stand completely. “I think I did a pretty good job.”

“You did,” Cody said, tension closing around his chest.

And Ben said, “I’ll start these sheets in the laundry before we go find anyone, okay? So they’re fresh for tonight.”

The washer and dryer had their own room, Cody noted, with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. Ben seemed distracted as he got the machine going and led Cody outside again.

They went through two of the greenhouses before they found a very tall man that Cody recognized as Qui-Gon from photos. He had more gray in his hair, perhaps, than he did in the pictures, but looked otherwise the same, wearing a worn out t-shirt and an apron.

He was bent over an orchid, large hands gentle on the stem, when Ben called out a greeting.

Qui-Gon held up a hand, and Cody’s knuckles itched when Ben just stopped in place, and whispered, a moment later, “He doesn’t like to be distracted. I’m sure he’ll be done in a second. Here, look at these.”

It had been months since Ben had been home, and Cody--

Set aside the coals in his gut and looked at plants, until Qui-Gon finished and straightened and said, “Ben, what a pleasant surprise.”

Cody watched Ben’s smile waver, watched him scrub at the back of his neck and say, “I told you we were coming in today, remember?”

“Did you?” Qui-Gon said, frowning, and then shrugged his broad shoulders, wiping his hands off on his apron. “Well, you know how busy things have been. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Qui-Gon had a nice handshake. A solid grip, warm and callused, and he smiled big and broad at Cody, and Cody--

Smiled tightly back.

Qui-Gon decided they should all go eat - he had no food in the house, he said - and they ended up taking separate cars to some place in town. “Anakin’s favorite,” Ben told him, while explaining where they were going.

Cody reached out and took Ben’s free hand over the center console, squeezed, and said, working to keep his tone even, “But Anakin isn’t eating with us.”

Ben shrugged, turning on his blinker, “He’ll be home later. We’ll pick him up something to-go.”

Cody looked through the windshield at the rapidly falling night - days were so short in the winter - and said, “But where do you want to go?” Because Ben hadn’t been home in more than nine months and yet they were--

“This is fine,” Ben said, pulling into the parking lot and shutting off the engine. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Of course,” Cody said, ignoring the coldness in his chest. It wasn’t directed at Ben, anyway.

Dinner was fine. Qui-Gon spent most of it talking about the plans he had to expand his operation and increasing his options for winter produce the following year. He asked, a bit, about Cody; where he was playing, how his team had done during the season, if he ever thought about doing something else.

Ben was quiet, most of the meal.

Cody wanted to wrap an arm around him, more and more, but they were very much in public and he very much could not, so he just banked the urge away, holding onto it after they finally left, finally went home.

Ben went to put the to-go meal they’d gotten in the fridge and groaned when he opened it. It looked packed full of things, most of them wilted or turning into something else. He just…sighed, and started pulling things out as Qui-Gon went to the living room.

Cody looked between them, prickling over his shoulders, and followed Qui-Gon, after a moment. He said, when the man grabbed a newspaper, “Aren’t we going to help with the cleanup?”

“Hm?” Qui-Gon murmured, looking up at him, eyes so warm and friendly, “oh, no, he likes doing that.”

Cody stared at him for a moment, grip tightening on the door frame, and then turned, and walked back to the kitchen. Ben already had a trash can pulled over. He was just…taking things out and dumping them and Cody opened his mouth to suggest they go get a hotel in town because fuck all of this, when a car roared up outside, engine loud and hungry.

“There’s Anakin now,” Qui-Gon called from the other room.

Anakin had gotten even taller since last time Cody saw him, though he was still inches shorter than Qui-Gon. He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair hung down around his jaw. He smelled like the cold and sweat, grinning wildly when he walked through the door.

He pulled Ben into a huge hug, at least, before shifting to the side and saying, “Here, old man, I told you I’d win it,” and grabbing one of Qui-Gon’s hands to press down--

A wad of money.

“Won what?” Ben asked, standing there, looking between the two of them, a twist of tension cutting through the room. And then, before they could answer, he went on, tone getting tight, “Are you racing again? Qui-Gon, did you gamble on one of his races--”

“Calm down,” Anakin said, with a roll of his eyes, “It’s--”

“It’s dangerous,” Ben snapped, “we talked about this--”

“You worry too much,” Qui-Gon told him, looking through the money he’d been handed. “Anakin is incredibly gifted and--”

“You’re letting a sixteen year old--”

“I’m not a little kid!” Anakin cut in, as Cody edged another step closer to Ben. “And you’re not my mom, Jesus, why can’t you just be proud of me?” Ben made a soft, hurt sound, so quiet Cody thought he was probably the only one to hear it.

“You know he’s an exceptional driver, Ben,” Qui-Gon said, “he’s never lost, and it makes him happy. You should be happy for him.”

“Happy-- What’s going to happen next time the police stop him?” Ben asked, and Qui-Gon waved a hand.

“The universe provides, Ben, if you’d just relax, you’d see that.”

Ben stared at him for a long moment, and then Anakin said, “It doesn’t matter. Let him be jealous--”

“I’m not--”

“--like always. I’ve got some friends coming over. We’re going to get a fire going out back. You’re welcome to come hang out, Cody.”

And he turned and marched off into the kitchen. A moment later, the rear door opened and shut. Cody ground his back teeth together, because he was a guest in this house and-- “I do wish you’d make an effort to get along,” Qui-Gon said, shaking his head, Cody’s fingers curling up against his palm. “And I think you owe him an apology.”

And then he walked away, too, and--

“I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” Ben said, very quiet. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

And he seemed surprised, when he reached his attic room, sat on the mattress, and looked up to find Cody a step away. “What are you doing?” he asked, blinking a few times rapidly, clearing his throat.

“Checking on you,” Cody told him, and crouched down beside the mattress.

Ben curved half his mouth up. “I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand a little. “Just tired. Jetlag. You should go have fun.”

“Hanging out with sixteen year olds isn’t my idea of fun,” Cody said, and Ben snorted, flopping down onto his back and curling on the bare mattress; they hadn’t put the sheets in the dryer yet.

“More fun than I’m going to be if you stick around here,” he said.

“I’m where I want to be.” Cody eased onto the mattress alongside him, putting a hand on his stomach, feeling the tension in his body.

Ben said nothing for a beat, and then rolled towards him, brushing fingertips over Cody’s cheek and back into his hair, murmuring, “Well, I’m sure I can do something for you. Make sure your night is entertaining, then, just--”

“Stop,” Cody rasped, feeling suddenly gutted. Ben had gotten so much better about not just--doing things because he wanted, but-- He caught Ben’s hands when he flinched, trying to find the right words to say and not knowing if he’d succeeded as he blurted, “You don’t have to--do anything, Ben. I just want to be here.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to,” he repeated, and Ben winced, again, tugging until Cody let go of him, until he could sit up and turn away, looking at the wall, his shoulders curving in and-- “Let’s go get a hotel,” Cody went on, the idea that hadn’t left his head since the kitchen. “Or--we passed that bed and breakfast. We could stay there.”

He watched some of the tension fall out of Ben’s shoulders, and didn’t like the tone of Ben’s voice when he asked, “Is that what you want?”

A part of him wanted to remind Ben that it shouldn’t matter what he wanted, at least not--as the be all and end all of this conversation, but he didn’t like the way Ben was holding himself, and he didn’t like being in this house and--

He could talk to Ben about the worries in his gut in the morning, when they were further away from all of this. “Yes,” he said, and Ben’s shoulders eased more, even as he nodded.

“Okay,” Ben said, glancing over at him, “we’ll do that, then.”

Qui-Gon seemed distracted when they made their goodbyes, Cody keeping a hand on Ben’s back until they were out of the door and over to the car. There was a bonfire, burning out past the greenhouses, laughter and shouting coming from that direction.

Ben stared at it for a moment and then shook his head, climbing into the passenger’s side of the car.

And they left.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #bush league snippets #bush league #ben has noise in his head too #after all

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spc4eva · 4 years ago

Text

Star-Burned: Chapter Two

Ngl, reader is well endowed in the breast department. hate me. trust me, reader is gonna complain about it later about her back hurting.

Paz fluff is probably my favorite thing to write. This fic is undoing me. Goddammit.

Word Count: 8,626

Rating: M (+18) oral sex m!receiving

Masterlist

Cross Posted on AO3

Paz barely understood what was happening when he'd crash landed, falling out of hyperspace and being thrown around the hull of his ship like a tin can before crash landing. It was miraculous he'd survived with just broken ribs. An even bigger miracle that he'd been found.

You were a pretty young lady with more hair than should be humanly possible, a ray of sunshine, and so hilariously goofy that Paz was smiling beneath his helmet half the time as you trotted in with meals for him, eying him beneath your mop of hair --- which you often tried to manage in a ponytail, though ringlets would fall free and cascade into your face smattered with a constellation of freckles. That's why he named you Tranyc -- Mando'a for sunny or quite literally translating to 'star-burned', because you were the ray of sunshine on his day while he was stuck in bed healing. You were good company, easy to talk to, never berated him despite how much of a burden he was. Took him less than a day to realize you were on your own, running the entire moisture farm on nothing but cultivated crops and several cups of caf a day. And despite how often you fumble over words, you were smart.

There wasn't much to do and the highlights of Paz's day consisted of you spending time with him. You had piled all your holobooks near him, given him the remote for the television, and anything else you thought he might like while you wandered off to go make repairs and tend to your livelihood. You must've been tired. The farm was a fulltime job on its own and now you had to look after him. Paz felt guilty, because you'd not complained once, not asked him for credits or when he might be leaving. You were cautiously curious, but not impolite with your questions. Not many people would have chanced bringing a Mandalorian into their home, let alone a young woman on her own. That was what was different about you and maybe it had to do with Paz's sheer luck of landing on a relatively backwater planet where people weren't in fear of their lives constantly.

Paz had lucked out.

He hated feeling weak, being unable to walk on his own, but you were blissfully patient and kind, cracking jokes and making silly faces, telling him how he'd be good as new to start back up on hunting -- or whatever it was that Mandalorians did. And while he was eager to not have his ribs feel as if they'd been kicked in by a bantha, he was also ruing the countdown for when he'd have to return to his ship and leave you behind. Despite it being a few scant weeks, Paz liked you. Not just because you were pretty, but he found your demeanor relaxing. So when he managed to get to his feet to go to the kitchen and he saw your hair sticking out on the couch, he trotted over without an afterthought to check on you.

He hadn't been expecting to see your coveralls crumpled on the floor and your beet red facing eying him in horror. Originally, he'd believed you were hurt from when he'd fallen on you. After all, you were a small thing. Despite being lean from working the farm you were dwarfed by him. And when the blanket had fallen over... Paz's mind began turning, the gears clicking into place, the disbelief that the pretty ray of sunshine had been caught in the midst of masturbating. To the thought of him.

Until that point you'd been hospitable and courteous, it was the last thing he expected and dangling deliciously in front of him like a forbidden fruit. He more than owed you at this point. He owed you his life and getting you off wasn't really repayment. In fact, Paz had enjoyed it, thinking the situation was more self indulgent than selfless. You became putty in his hands, passing out from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. That brought a smile to his face -- well, there had already been a smile -- but it was bigger now.

He didn't mind cleaning you up and putting you into some more comfortable clothing, tucking you into the large bed that had obviously been yours. He had found discarded hair elastics under the pillows and a few socks that had been lost to the depths of the sheets. You had taken care of him, he could manage picking up your tiny form and putting you to bed. You didn't come around until morning when Paz was up in the fresher, still testing his weight on his aching chest.

"You can walk now," you popped your head through the open door, stating the obvious, but it made him smile that you weren't half as doleful as he'd thought you'd be after yesterday. "Um... I can make breakfast real quick and then there's something I wanna show you if you're up to it."

"If I'm up to it?" Paz rumbled, he still couldn't wear his armor, the weight would be too much of a burden. "How are you feeling?"

Your face brightened with blush immediately, matching the hue of your flaming locks at the sheer mention. "G-good, th-thank you."

The moment he'd put you to bed, he'd staggered off to the fresher to relieve himself and the throbbing erection he had from going through his ministrations. Not that you needed to know that he had been wanting more. Yesterday hadn't been about him. The last few weeks you had doted your attention on him.

"Good."

You darted away, back in your usual attire which consisted of mechanic coveralls, boots, and a tightfitting short sleeve shirt in russet. Your arms were bared from the bicep down and you wore a pair of beat up leather gloves, hair cinched at the base of your neck with a straining scrunchie that fought desperately to contain all the curls which rebelled at being held against the back of your slightly too large overalls.

Truthfully, you were very nervous over what had happened yesterday and even more distressed that you had slept away the entire freaking day. The hardworking farmer in you was berating you with every step, unbelievable, you slept the entire day until breakfast. Now, when drifters had stayed and you had slept with them, you had woken up and prepared breakfast without an afterthought. There was no guilt, no twisting of nerves in your tummy, because you knew that what had happened was a simple arrangement of two lonely people breaking up the cobwebs. What happened with the Mandalorian should have felt the same, but it didn't. Only one man had stayed a few days and engaged in multiple trysts and by the end, he'd been asking you to leave behind the moisture farm to go adventuring with him. While that was a very... juicy prospect, you couldn't think about leaving behind the canyons you'd known your entire life. You loved it here, even if it was solitude and silence.

From the views up on the plateau where your farm was located, a bird's eye view of the spanning clay walls, billowing in waves of amber, brown, and orange. Your favorite days were the overcast ones where the clouds would sweep low and fringe the mountaintops with mist. That was during the wet season when the lowest parts of the canyons would fill with turquoise water from the rain. The only freestanding water you'd ever gotten the luxury of seeing and it was still a trip on your speeder bike since you lived pretty high up on the plateaus. Wasn't that time of year though, it was still the dry season and so you had to keep regular maintenance on the farm to suck every bit of moisture up.

You kept mostly grains on the farm, but had a few animals to include tip-yips which produced eggs. Otherwise, any greenery you had was produced in your greenhouse, utilizing misty puffs of water to keep it nice and humid inside. Without it, you certainly wouldn't have been getting enough nutrients to live out this remote. You would stock up on seed every six months and grow leafy greens, root vegetables, had a few berry bushes, and rhubarbs. They were genetically modified to have additional benefits, keeping you going and healthy. You loved checking in on them, standing in your little bubble of green, imagining other planets that looked just like it but instead of being in a little capsule -- the entire planet was green. That was hard to fathom, giving the landscape you'd grown up on, but so were oceans and you knew they existed.

Jumbles followed you out to the coop, drooling all over the dirt as you scolded him for getting too close. His head drooped and he stayed behind while you picked out some fresh eggs and threw fodder out for the tip-yips. You knew if you didn't keep the birds carefully locked up, Jumbles would gobble them all up. "Calm down. I'll give you some eggs you beast," you chided as you stopped in the green house to pick a few vegetables and fruit before going back inside. You'd never wanted more aside from companionship and to not be alone. You loved your farm so much and all the work you had put into it. You loved this dry, arid planet and the raw beauty you got to witness. But you weren't perfectly content.

You were lonely.

Paz was waiting in the kitchen at the table, which was funny, considering he couldn't actually eat with you. Humming to yourself, you put a pot of caf on and then frowned at 6PO, who wandered around aimlessly. "6PO please make yourself useful. Go sweep out the greenhouse if you can't decide on what to do," you sigh, the droid looking as confused as ever, before creaking out the front door.

"Where did you get that droid?" Paz asked curiously as you set a skillet on the stove and began heating it up.

"Found it," you shrug. "Wasn't in one piece, so I scavenged parts and put it all back together again. Some of the neural harnessing was missing, so the droid will never be complete unless I replace it entirely."

"You mean you reprogrammed it?" he actually sounded sort of impressed.

You rolled your shoulders again. "Yeah, suppose so. Wasn't too hard. Lots of trial and error... and caf." And time. During the wet season you had more time on your hands and so typically that's when you'd spend it on projects.

"How'd you learn how to do that? Droids are complicated pieces of tech."

"My dad taught me. He was an engineer, could run this whole place without even trying. Always knew how to fix everything," you gave a sad chuckle at the thought of your parents. You missed them so much. Maybe if they hadn't passed you wouldn't be half as lonely and feeling as if there was something missing in your life. "Studied on... Coruscant, I think? Before the war broke out. Round 20BBY he came out here with my mom and I because they wanted to avoid the fighting."

"And he taught you everything he knew," Paz assumed.

"Oh, well, I mean, probably not everything. He probably would have found a way to fix 6PO completely."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

The corner of your mouth quirked involuntarily and you stared down at the pan as you began sautéing the cut up tubulars. "We get a wet season here every standard year. The canyons are vast, mostly stone, and not porous. My mother was sick, so they had to make a visit to the city which is a 2 day trip on bike. Usually, we don't leave during the wet season. Too dangerous. But mom's condition wasn't improving and so my father decided the risk was worth it.

"In order to get to the city, you have to go through the canyons. This time of year, no big deal, but during the wet season? Can start raining without warning and when it does, the crevasses act as funnels, diverting water to the lowest point, which... you're catching my drift, right?" You glance up, not particularly fond of explaining how nature worked around here, especially when it had taken your parents from you.

"Flash floods?"

"Mm," you began cracking the eggs. "Can't outrun a flash flood. Not on a speeder bike. They drowned. So-" you drew in a sharp breath. You had rationalized this several times over. Never really talked about it, but it didn't make you cry anymore. This planet had been good to you. Better than most people could hope for when they settled on a farm. You knew that you were lucky because of that and you couldn't resent the planet even if it took your parents from you. "The Jawas found them a little while after that. They know us, we trade with them -- I still do -- and they brought my parents back for me. Despite what people say about them, they didn't ask me for payment."

"I'm sorry... was that six years ago?"

"Mhm," you confirmed, wiping your hands off and picking up a few eggs, cracking them over your massiff's eagerly waiting mouth. "Not your fault. Might be safe from raiders and looters, but it's a harsh unforgiving landscape. Sometimes you get too comfortable and forget about that. My dad knew the risks when he took my mother. They lived a good life, just wish they didn't have to go that way." You wish you hadn't been left alone.

"Where's the closest neighbor aside from the Jawas?"

"Hundreds of miles," now you were plating the food and grabbing mugs for the caf. "The canyons are the best place to set up moisture farms. The deserts soak up all the water from the wet seasons, but due to the stone around here, it's a lot easier for moisture to be trapped in the vaporators. However, they're remote and a lot of the plateaus are too dangerous to set up on because the foundation of stone is likely to crumble. Only about three farms in all of the canyons and this is one of them. We're the highest producers of water on the planet, especially during the wet season. 'Bout the only time I see starships since the city will come and pick it up."

You slapped Jumbles on the nose as he leaned over the counter toward one of the freshly assembled breakfasts, causing him to whine. "Oh shut it you baby," you hadn't even hit him that hard, just a little boop on the nose and he was pretending you'd wailed into him. "Drama queen."

You brought Paz's food over for him and went to grab your own. "I can go outside. A few things I can start on before we head out."

"Sit down and eat first," he invited, which confused you, because how were the both of you going to eat with the whole helmet situation. "If you sit at the counter with your back to me, it'll be fine."

Oh, well that went against what he said about only removing his helmet when he was alone. But... that also meant he trusted you. How many opportunities did you have to remove his helmet? The first day you probably could have if you weren't terrified of being shot. Until you'd gotten to know Paz better, he had been the big scary Mandalorian and not the patient and easygoing one you knew now. "Are you certain? I mean, it's not a big deal. I eat on the go all the time," you object kindly, not wishing for him to feel obligated to have you in your own kitchen.

"Sit," he insisted.

"Well, I mean-" you grabbed a chair, mostly talking to yourself when you muttered those words and pulled it up to the counter. Jumbles was drooling on your leg, looking at you as if you hung the stars, which admittedly -- was quite cute except for the fact that you knew he just wanted your leftovers.

"Where'd you get a massiff?" There was a click and a hiss, the helmet disengaging and being set on the table. You tried not to think about how easy it would be to turn around and finally get a look at him, focusing on your cup of caf instead.

"Kind of just... found him," you reveal, thinking about the day you'd stood toe to toe with the beast, your arms full of scrap metal, wondering if you were going to have to use the bacta shot after getting munched on by the creature. "Thought he was gonna try and eat me."

"It's wild?" Paz's voice was different, unmodulated. There was still the same warmth you were used to, but the lack of the radio static and translation from human to droid made your skin hot, little lances of static playing down your spine as the deep bass in its full glory.

"Uuuuh," you almost forget that you're eating, your egg falling off the fork and onto your lap. Jumbles gobbles it up before you even think about grabbing it. "Jee-uh-yeah. Started feeding him scraps, probably shouldn't have done that, and then he kinda just started listening to me. I read that on Tatooine Tusken Raiders keep them as hounds, so I thought that maybe they're just partial to bonding with sentient beings."

Honestly, you'd always been good with animals. An uncanny, unnatural, totally unexplainable ability you'd possessed since you were a kid and ran into a wild dewback and nearly pissed yourself. Instead of swallowing you whole, the dewback had palmed your hand and then trotted off. The canyons were host to a plethora of fauna, many of which were quite dangerous. Having Jumbles had actually saved your skin more often than not, as the canine was keen on keeping his source of food around.

"When they're raised from pups they are," Paz informed you.

"Oooh. Well, I found Jumbles when he was an adult," you gave the dope a fond pat on the head. He leaned into your gloved grasp and harrumphed contentedly. "Maybe he was already trained and got lost." Yeah, that sounded more logical than your weird animal whispering abilities. "He's been good. If not for him, I don't think I would have found you. He's the one who led me over to your starship." And that's when you realized something. "H-hey, Jumbles is living and your helmet-"

"I'm not worried about a massiff seeing me," Paz chuckled. "I'm not going to shoot your dog."

"I-I didn't say you were," you stammer, heart fluttering a little bit as you gripped one of the massiff's spines to comfort yourself. He could very easily shoot your dog. Did he want to shoot your dog? You didn’t think so, but you weren’t keen on losing him. "Just you said no living thing and then you'd only take your helmet off alone..."

"No living sentient thing," he corrected, his silverware clattering before the helmet clicked back into place. A tiny wave of disappointment washed off you, almost as if you were expecting to get a little more time with his raw unfiltered voice. "Thank you for breakfast. Good as always."

You blushed slightly at the compliment. It was just simple food, hearty enough to keep you going throughout the day. Standing up, you nearly whirled into the Mandalorian's chest as you went to retrieve his things for him. Catching yourself before you did, you offered an apologetic smile before frisking the plate from him and placing it in the sink for later. It was a sonic sink, you were very careful about how water was used. Only for food and growing plants.

Out by the front door you grabbed your outing belt, which had your blaster and a set of tools that you'd been using. Picking up the sack beside it, laden with a few canteens, ration bars, and holobooks you glanced back at Paz. He still didn't have his armor on, but he did adorn his belt with a vibro-blade and pistol. "C'mon," you told him, offering a small wave before striding out the front door and into the crisp, sunny morning.

Drinking in a deep breath of dry air, you gave a dizzying and pleased smile before beginning to talk. "Now, I told you that I borrowed your speeder bike to get us back up here. There was a bit of damage to it since it took a beating during the crash. Most superficial, which I managed to get the dings out of the metal and replace the exhausts which were nearly crushed. Probably needs a new paint job, but I didn't have any paint laying around," you explained, bringing him over to the bike. You'd doted a bit of time on it, because you knew bikes and it was easy for you to fix. Plus it was nicer than the one you had on the farm, so you'd been using it to go back and forth between the ranch and his starship.

Paz's helmet was craned down as he gave the bike a one over and your original pride began to fizzle out with each beat of silence. Finally, "You did a really good job. It... didn't take up too much of your time, did it?"

"Hm? Oh no, not at all. Bikes are easy, fixed plenty of bikes in much worse condition than this," you gave it a fond pat, relief flooding you that he wasn't upset that you'd fiddled with it. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you," you climbed on. "Hop on!"

Paz chuckled at your overexuberance, the way the bike looked much too big for someone of your stature. Afterall, it was his bike and so he'd gotten one that would fit his physique. Your arms were stretched upward to meet the accelerators and it was quite comical from the dopey, excited smile on your face to the way your legs barely reached the stirrups. He sat on behind you, edging up comfortably so that his thighs framed you.

"Might wanna hang on," you warned mischievously.

"What, this isn't going to be a leisurely ride?"

"The canyons look much the same when boxed in. Trust me, just hang on," you told him, feeling your cheeks roll was heated pleasure as strong arms encircled you and his pelvis pressed tighter to your backside. Oh, that felt really good, almost enough that you could lean back into his strong embrace and relax as you started this ride. But... No. You chased away the devious thoughts and tried not to fixate on the sturdy Mandalorian behind you as you revved the engine. It purred like a loth-cat, humming deliciously before you kicked off and started whistling down the hill and into the chasm that led into the canyons.

He wasn't expecting how quickly the two of you rocketed off. Arms tensing around you to prevent himself from sliding right off as gravity snared him, he let out a breathy laugh. "You weren't kidding."

"Tried to warn you," you laughed at him, shouting over the din of the motors that echoed against the canyon walls. Bowing your head ever so much, you went up another gear and stuck the wide turn. He grabbed on again, his chest now flush to your back as you dared to accelerate again.

"Where-" his voice was breathless in your ear. "Where did you learn how to drive like this?"

"Mom," you grin. "Dad was the engineer. Mom was the podracer."

"Kriff!" he cursed as you hooked the bike, reversed the thrusters, and then sputtered a sharp turn that should not have been possible except for the trick maneuver. During down time and on your long journeys to the city, you'd picked up a thing or two from your mother. Speeder bikes were easy compared to podracers, she'd tell you. Small, streamline, and capable of quite a few tricks if you understood the inertia, gravity, and capabilities of the machine you were on. Passing the signs out for the Jawas, you curved the halt, brakes slamming as the sideways turn kicked up clay sand and dust. He was still clinging to you even after you'd stopped.

"Did I frighten the big Mandalorian?" you teased, his vice grip finally relenting after taking a moment to realize that you stopped.

Paz's muscles were vibrating from the adrenaline filling him from helmet to boot from the ride. The last thing he'd been expecting from you, the little farmhand mechanic, were daring turns and hiking the bike up to full speed without as much of an ounce of panic as you tried to take a 90 degree turn. Even Paz wasn't as gutsy with a bike to attempt what you had done, but you'd stuck the turn gloriously and were laughing at him now. He hadn't realized that he could like you more, but you were filled with pleasant little surprises.

"Can you podrace too?" he countered as he let you go and you hopped down, springy, unaffected and brimming with joy. Your hair was scattered a bit, a few curls puffing loose from your scrunchie.

"Never tried, but can't be too difficult," you reply. Not arrogance or mock confidence, just... the comprehension of someone who knew a lot about machines and how they worked. "Now, come take a look. Gotta talk to you about somethings-" you padded away, leaving Paz to dismount and trail after you.

The ship still had a hole in the hull, landing gear squashed, but the supply crates had been moved back inside. For something that had crash landed, Paz was astonished how intact it appeared. The reason for his confusion was soon explained as you brought him inside and he saw that wires had been soldered off and repairs had been made.

"So, I've been heading out here when I can to make sure the thing didn't leak its fuel lines everywhere," you started, gesturing to the neatly arranged containers. "Now, I'm not a starship mechanic, but I have a few old holobooks and the manual that was laying around in here. I read up on them and was able to figure out that the fuel line was cut -- managed to fix that -- and the engines were running at 10% capacity after debris got sucked in. That's how the thing didn't explode on impact, the thrusters were still working enough that it padded your landing.

"Landing gear is shot. I don't have any lifts strong enough to hoist the ship up or the proper caliber of steel to fix the hull. I got the engines to bout 50%, so theoretically that should get you to the spaceport on the other side of the planet. Gonna be crunchy, don't know what's hiding underneath here. So you've got a few options -- try your best to get to the spaceport and the pay for repairs there, you can try to get off planet, though next planet over is Tatooine and you'd pay an arm and a leg for shoddy repairs, or we can try trading with the Jawas. They've got their sandcrawler which might have the capability of picking your ship up, but won't be cheap. Even with my connections they're gonna want something good."

Paz was flabbergasted and at a loss for words as he looked at the work you'd done on top of the farm, on top of taking care of him, and how candid you were about what solutions he had going forward. "How did you have the time to do all this?" he asked.

"Hm?" you were looking over at a few wires that needed to be routed properly. "Uh, lots and lots of caf."

No wonder you had passed out for over 16 hours yesterday. Additionally, you'd read dry holobooks on starships and for what? To help him? At this point he knew that you weren't expecting anything out of it. He'd not been to a lot of backwater planets, but he was beginning to realize that people like you were more common in these quiet remote locations, just happy to be helping. Why that nearly broke him right there, he couldn't say, but he was absolutely moved by your selfless compassion that you didn't even really acknowledge, because it was all so natural to you. A little gem in the canyons, hiding up on your plateau farming water.

"What do I owe you? Repairs like this cost a lot... you've saved me a lot of credits, Tranyc."

You were a little distracted, admittedly, your eyes finding the problems you hadn't remedied yet. "Owe me?" you repeated before finally looking back toward the visor. "You're my guest. Don't worry about it. Consider it a little bit of desert hospitality. There's still some work I need to do, haven't gotten round to it, but I figured you'd want to see your ship."

He didn't owe anything. How didn't he owe anything? Paz was shell shocked as you turned away, removing a set of pliers from your tool belt as you started working on the frayed wires that were getting on your nerves. People always wanted something, no matter how minute or simple it was and yet... You were fiddling along, pleased as a womp rat in sand you continued to chug along as if he weren't even there. And you'd learned how to do this in weeks? Taught yourself how to do it? Your parents had to have been smart and if your father studied at university on Coruscant -- you might've been modest about it, but that meant he'd imparted the same years of study into you while you grew up.

He knew how to make baseline repairs, how to weld, and keep the ship from falling apart. What you were doing -- he had no idea how to do. Truthfully, the gunship needed a lot of work before it was going to be good enough to leave the planet and you were correct -- parts were needed. Sitting on a storage crate, he placed his helmet in his palm and rubbed his aching ribs, trying to think of which path would be the best option. Going to the spaceport meant that he'd leave you behind. He also didn't know how much repairs were going to cost on this planet. Flying to Tatooine was just a bad decision all around, who knew if the ship could handle it. Then trading with Jawas... It would keep him around you for a bit longer and you knew the Jawas. He was bound to have something that they wanted aboard the Kote. He could also use a talented mechanic, but somehow doubted that you'd be willing to part with your farm.

The way you'd talked about your home, you were very proud of it and you loved the landscape. But still... all alone... he didn't like the thought of that. Even if this planet was relatively safe, what if the Jawas found your body in the canyon ravines?

He had been lost to his thoughts as you worked, the ship heating up in the midday sun. You'd flipped down the straps of your coveralls to work and that's when he noticed. A thin sheen of sweat decorated your arms, a few curls sticking to your face as you hunched over the controls for his cryo chamber. But that wasn't what attracted his attention. No, it was the swell of your breasts beneath the fitted shirt you wore, the perky mounds that were well sized for your slender form. The fabric left little to the imagination, mostly because you weren't wearing a bra. Why would you? You lived on your own and bras were awful, constricting things that made you even clammier on hot days. Plus they were stupidly expensive.

The coveralls usually kept them hidden, but with the thick panel of fabric cast down, Paz was staring. He'd been distracted by your lower half yesterday, but not his fixation was on the top. How could you look so good in just a tight fitting shirt that didn't betray any cleavage? He estimated that each would be more than a handful for him, the nipples pressing through the fabric and you didn't notice, completely unaware of the lack of decorum because you were a farmer and those sort of things probably didn't pop into your mind. Which was why he felt a tiny bit ashamed watching you, eying you from the protective mask of his helmet. Would you want him to touch you again? You had told him that you'd been getting off to him, but perhaps that was in the moment when he'd caught you.

Neither of you had broached the subject this morning, but nor were you being incredibly demure or shy. You were just being normal.

"Wanna toss me a canteen from in there?" you asked, pointing to the bag you'd dumped by the hole in the hull.

Paz tore his eyes away, glancing down, retrieving the requested item. Tossing it to you, you caught it and upcapped it, taking a few generous gulps and spilling some on yourself. He gritted his teeth as you wiped your mouth, the soft plush lips having been locked around the rim, the water seeping into your shirt. Your shirt. Dank farrik. Now he was staring again, hopelessly pressing his palms together as he tried to keep it together. Stars, he wanted more of you than just the bit of pleasure he'd brought yesterday, but it wasn't his place to take it. You'd already gone above and beyond in assisting him and so he couldn't just ask you to sleep with him, no matter how much he wanted it. That felt... wrong. Like a dirty, awful thing to request after he'd come to like you -- only utilizing you for your body in the end and not the company he'd grown fond of.

"Did you think about what you're gonna do?" you ask him, drawing his visor back up to you.

"The Jawas--" his voice was kinda hoarse, which made you tilt your head. "Might have something on here that they'd like."

A smile unfurled on your face, because secretly you'd been praying that he'd choose that option. Just stealing more time with the Mandalorian, despite the fact that he was stranded. You didn't want him to leave, but it was going to happen eventually, just like it did with everyone else who came here. Everyone left. Everyone but you and the animals. You were pretty sure you were gonna cry like a baby when the Mandalorian finally departed. "I can send 'em a transmission tonight. Probably will take them the better part of a day to get here, but they'll come."

"Thank you again," Paz insisted, but you brushed it off with a silly and overly dramatic hand wave.

"There's gotta be some kindness in this galaxy. 'Else it'd be a sad, miserable, hopeless place," you counter, springing back to your feet, dusting your gloves off animatedly. "Let's finish up in here and then head back. Got some work I have to do on the farm too."

Sonic showers weren't the best, but they were all that you knew. Aside from when the rain would billet down during the wet seasons, you didn't know what an actual water shower felt like. Either way, you needed to get the sweat and grime off of you by the end of each day, so you trotted out with your pajamas on and into the Mandalorian. You'd already contacted the Jawas and were getting ready to tuck in for the night when he caught you. "Oof, sorry... I-I didn't hurt your ribs did I?" Your eyes flitted to where his injury was immediately.

"I'm fine," he assured you, large hands butterflied against your sides where he'd caught you from doing too much damage by trolloping right into his chest. Big. His hands were big. So large that they covered your ribs entirely when gripping your sides. They lingered, the skin beneath growing hot and beginning to tingle. Then he removed them, as if he were worried about overstaying his welcome.

Your skin sighed where he released and you glanced up chewing your lip. "Um..." uncertain -- you didn't know where this was going, but why the hell not. What did you have to lose? He was stuck here until his ship was going to be fixed. "Yesterday--"

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have done that," Paz interrupted, launching your heart up into your throat.

"Wha-no, I liked it," you assured him, feeling courageous enough to take his hands in yours. Maker, you looked like a child, holding those large calloused palms in yours. "I... wouldn't mind more. I-i-if that's what you want, of course," you sputtered, cheeks sweltering and ears about to rocket off from the intense embarrassment you felt in suggesting such a thing. It'd been easier before. You could see the faces of your guests, gauge what they were thinking, see the lust in their eyes that you could give right back. They'd never stayed this long, never gotten to know you this well, and... you didn't want to make him uncomfortable because you felt a little horny with him around. But Maker, how was that not possible? He was an absolute unit, pure muscle, easy conversation, and had a voice that shattered your resolve like an earthquake.

"Would I want more?" he repeated slowly and your stomach sunk into the abyss, blood draining from your face. The leap of faith had been in vain and instead of swan diving into water, you'd hit stone. And then suddenly his hands were on your chest, driving the air from your in uncontrolled gasps as he squeezed. "Maker--" he cursed, vocoder breaking up as you almost melted on the spot. "So... you're so mesh'la. Had my eyes on you all day while you were working. You're such... a distraction."

He wasn't rough, despite holding onto your breasts, moving carefully over the fabric as he caressed you. In the past, your chest had been a fixation of other lovers because you were well endowed and you were accustomed to rough squeezing to the point where it was painful. It was almost as if most men just wanted to push them until they popped or just liked the pillowy sensation of squeezing and didn't care much for how it felt for you. They were bloody sensitive and you didn't appreciate them being manhandled -- except for right now, right now was good. Better than good in fact.

"Distraction? I'm the one doing all the work," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he palmed you and rubbed circles over your breasts, the nipples stiffening beneath the fabric and dimpling it. "While you just... just sit there."

"I'm still hurt," he didn't sound very convincing, maybe that wasn't the point.

"Too hurt to be doing anything too... arduous," you pointed out, humming as he gave another gentle squeeze. "Last night did you-- I sort of just--" passed out. Say it. You passed out and left him there with an erection. That couldn't have been too pleasant. To top it off with a cherry, he'd put you to bed with clothes on.

"I took care of things, mesh'la. You left me with some... good visuals," his thumb was circling your nipple, still separated by your shirt, the careful flicking making you shudder. Your entire body was reacting, legs weak and the same radiating heat vibrating between your thighs.

"Bu-ut it couldn't have been that great. N-not like..." you fell off, head lolling slightly as his hands flipped the hem of your shirt and began cruising the plane of your tummy, scratching its way to your breast. A hot palm met skin, a low moan echoing as he grasped you firmly, but not too hard.

"Stars, you're so soft," he murmured, pushing the shirt up -- higher and higher until your breasts were revealed to the air. "Maker, look at you."

The praise made your thighs clench together. They didn't usually talk. Not as much as Paz was, which was somewhat ironic considering he had a helmet on and was a mysterious Mandalorian and yet he filled your ears up as he roamed you. No, it was all typically rushed, frenzied, and to sate both parties. Honestly, the sate part was just the rutting, having to take your own hands to your clit while your past lovers plowed into you. There was no copious foreplay aside from a little making out and breast squeezing and while they'd called you pretty, it never really felt the same as the way as Paz's voice. The way in which he was breathy, as if he couldn't believe his eyes, and that you'd been put on the planet delicately by the Maker himself. It made your heart rush, galloping forward, and it made you want him more.

"Le-let me," you found your hands, having been savoring his exploring before brushing the hem of his trousers. You had felt him, sort of, yesterday but you didn't actually know what was beneath the belt. From how tall and broad he was, you had an assumption of what was there. "Y-you're still hurt, s-so..." pitifully tinny, your voice was sliding away as you offered to give him something in exchange for what he'd done for you.

"Mesh'la... I-you have already done so much-" he protested.

"But yesterday--" you were whining now, hand coasting down more until you cupped his groin, feeling his length twitch. He was already hard. You weren't even undressed and he was already rock solid. "It'll feel better this way."

"Is... is that what you want?"

You nod, waiting for permission.

He couldn't say no. Not while your palm was between his legs and you were staring up at him with big, round, imploring eyes. In fact, he didn't think he could possibly deny you anything, removing his hands, the shirt falling back down over your spectacular chest. "I-Yes," he confirmed, drawing a shaking breath which made his ribs ache.

You undid the belt buckle, hands scrambling slightly from nerves before undoing the buttons. Coming down on your knees didn't really work, there was still too much of a height difference, forcing you to half-crouch as your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his boxes and untucked his manhood. Now it was your turn to be wordless. You had expected it, but expecting and witnessing were two very different things. He was massive, just the sight of him making your core twitch painfully, imagining trying to accommodate him, doubting that he'd even be able to fully sheath himself in you without pushing into your tummy. If he could even get in.

Ok, so when you had offered to do this you thought he would fit in your mouth. Doubt welled in your stomach and he must have noticed as you stared down his cock, brushing a hand over your loose hair. "You don't have to-" he soothed. But the challenge spurned you on, undaunted and a little over zealous to be honest.

"You'll tell me... what you like?" you had just flattened your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, licking like a kitten, lathing him before you'd attempt to take more.

His thighs shook and he gave a terse nod.

You weren't extremely experienced in this field. Just enough that you knew now not to bite someone. But this wasn't just 'someone'. You liked Paz a lot and wanted it to feel good for him. To chase away the pain in his chest and to show how much you appreciated what he'd done for you. Guys liked blowjobs, didn't they? That's why they were requested so much, you just assumed that he'd like it all the same, and honestly you wanted to become more intimate with his cock after feeling it pressed beneath your leg.

You ran your tongue along his shaft, trailing back around before leaving saliva. Your hand smoothed the wetness over him, pumping a few times over his length to help lubricate him. Then you made your first attempt, tongue over your lips as you pushed his girth into the damp chasm of your mouth. He groaned, fingers tightening in your hair, which gave you the courage to take him deeper. The head of his cock met the resistance of the back of your throat and you gagged, eyes watering and jaw aching. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax your throat-" he managed gently through tight breaths.

Easier said than done, forgetting to breathe, your throat clenching, you were forced to pull away for a moment.

Spittle trailed down your plush lips, cheeks flushed wildly as you considered your next approach. You were a sight for sore eyes, Paz's own glued to you as you gasped for air. You'd bitten off more than you could chew, but he admired your undaunted commitment as you sank back onto him and closed your eyes, clutching onto his leg for balance. This time, you were able to take his guidance better, breathing through your nose before easing your throat. Your mouth was small, tight, and damp. With the accommodation of the back of your throat, Paz's hips bucked and a strangled moan crackled through the modulator.

"G-good. Fuck -- so good, mesh'la," he praised, beginning to move in tandem with you, fucking deeply into your throat. Your face was hot and wet, tears leaking out from your eyes at the sensation of your throat being stretched. The noises were wet and sloppy, punctuated by sharp hums as you tried to do well, to do what he wanted, to keep going -- but Maker, it hurt. Your attention was fixated completely on pleasing him, forgetting entirely about your own climbing heat, just trying not to clench your throat or forget to breathe through your nose. Then you dared it, reaching up and grabbing his balls, massaging them in your palm gently as he pushed into you. "Ahh- oh, fuck-- I'm going to cum. Do you want me to--"

You managed the smallest nod, squeezing him tighter as his thrusts rocked you, shattering almost all your resolve as you gagged. Ropes of cum splattered in the back of your throat, your lips suctioning to him as he stuttered to a halt, palm on the back of your head. His skin was like velvet on your tongue, slightly salty, but smooth and soft. Lavishing the last drops from his cock like precious water from the desert. In fact, it was more precious than water, more rare.

"Mesh'la... ohh," he keened softly, his hand spreading over your hair, petting you, brushing the curls from your face - which was wet with spilled tears, saliva, and a little cum. Releasing him from your sweet mouth, he brushed the white droplets from the corner of your lips, which you sucked off after it being offered. "W-what did I do?"

You tilted your head in confusion.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

You tried to talk, but your voice crackled in the back of your throat, so hoarse and quiet that you simply shut your mouth and blinked. Oh fuck. Had he broken your vocal chords? Panic began to seize you and you clutched his leg and offered a very broken, "UhhhmmMm."

He bent down, cupping your face, holding it between his palms as he took a good look at you. "I was a little too rough, wasn't I?"

"S'okay," fuck that hurt. Hurt to talk. Least you still had a voice.

"What do you want? Do you want me to--" His helmet was so close, almost brushing your nose as he looked at you. For a brief moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his eyes. What color were they? Brown? Green? Hazel? Maybe blue?

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. That had literally taken everything out of you and you just wanted a cold glass of water and to curl up in bed. "Water. Sleep?..." you had to swallow again, struggling to get the words out. "W-with you?"

"Just... that?"

Oh no, had you chosen wrong? Did he really want to play with you? Honestly, you were good. Just making him finish had been enough for you. Your legs and throat ached, it had been a long day. You offered a dejected nod. No one ever really cuddled with you and you assumed that he'd be warm, comfortable, and feel like a blanket of protection. You wanted to feel that, even if only just once. Having sex wasn't as important as this to you. Sure, sex with him would probably be amazing, but you didn't want to overexert him because you were being greedy. Despite getting it infrequently, you'd never gotten a good cuddle. Not since you were a little girl and curled up in your parents' arms.

"Ok, ok, mesh'la," he agreed, smoothing your hair again before pushing his helmet to your brow. The gesture lit your cheeks up and felt... strangely intimate. Cool beskar kissing your sweating skin, chasing away the sweltering blush and just a thin layer between you and the Mandalorian. It felt like a kiss, but it wasn't. So gentle and tender that you let it linger and closed your eyes. "C'mon, it's been a long day," he muttered, gripping you beneath your elbow and guiding you to your feet. Your bed was just a few paces away and you were already dressed for it.

Who would have thought that a Mandalorian could be this... kind? From all the stories you'd heard, you had half-expected him to be a broody tin can that barely offered you the time of day. But there was a man underneath, a man who had desires, who had feelings, and who could be delicate. He wasn't all blasterfire, beskar, and war -- he was still a man.

He put you into bed, leaving the room for a moment to get a glass of water. You smiled at his return, accepting the offered water, and gulping it down. Your throat ailed and your jaw was already beginning to groan in protest. But the water helped. Putting it down on the nightstand, the Mandalorian removed his boots and climbed into bed with you, just trousers and an undershirt. Offering an open arm, his impressive bicep being revealed from beneath the short sleeve of his shirt.

You snuggled forward, heart pounding solidly in your ears as you tucked into his side. Maker, you loved this, the way his arm coiled around you, planting against the small of your back before tugging you in tightly. It wasn't as if you didn't feel safe in your home, you always did, but this was different. You trembled slightly because you'd yearned for this proximity, not just a rush of passion, but what came after and the security of him. From the strength of his muscles, to heat of his skin to yours, and the smell of him so close. This is what had been missing. The last piece to the puzzle that was home, the rut in your belly and soul curling pleasantly as you melted into him. Please never end. But you knew morning would come and one day he'd have to leave like everyone else. And you knew that day would be soul shattering. Because once again, you'd be alone.

#paz vizla x you #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #paz vizsla smut #smut with plot #smut with feelings #star-burned

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hardygalwrites · 3 years ago

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Rembrandt (Whumptober 2021)

No. 12: It’ll Be Fun, They Said | Torture

No. 13: That’s Gonna Leave a Mark | Cauterisation

No. 19: Just a Scratch | Stabbing

@whumptober-archive

Based on the character I made for the game Outer Worlds, and vaguely inspired by the setting of Outer Worlds, but otherwise unrelated to Outer Worlds.

im so tired

Feat. space cowboys, a Firefly reference, and a story that kinda got away from me whoops

WARNING: torture and a small gunfight

—

The Gardener was looking just a little grumpier than usual. Any other time, Rembrandt might have asked about it. But his long awaited payment was just within reach, and Rembrandt didn’t want to risk delaying it.

“You’ve done a good job,” the Gardener said sourly. “Almost too good, I’d say.”

Rembrandt shrugged, smiling. “What can I say? I really want those goods.”

“Ya deliver more raw materials than I asked for, and ya aren’t even askin’ for further payment...”

“Like I said, I just really want those goods. Think of the surplus materials as a sorry for barging onto your property the other day.”

“I see...” The Gardener placed a small box on her desk and slowly pushed it towards Rembrandt. “Here’s your payment.”

“Thank you...!” Rembrandt snatched up the box and opened it eagerly. A pair of fresh strawberries sat nestled inside. “This looks perfect...! I can hardly believe you managed to grow this all the way out here.”

“I’ve got a knack for squeezin’ what I want outta somethin’. That includes alien soil.”

Very ominous, but Rembrandt had learned to take such comments in stride. Being a glorified errand boy (as his cousin called it) had brought him into contact with far stranger people than the Gardener.

“Well, it’s impressive,” Rembrandt said, raising the box in lieu of raising a glass. “It’s no wonder you’ve managed to build a small empire just from those greenhouses.”

“Yeah, well, formin’ that empire required more outta me than a stubborn green thumb.” The Gardener stood up from her seat.

The sound of footsteps had Rembrandt turning in his own seat to see two of the Gardener’s guards now flanking him. Rembrandt’s heartbeat started to pick up, instinct and experience urging him to run away, but he maintained a calm facade. Still, his gun felt heavy in its holster as Rembrandt tucked the box into his jacket and turned to face the Gardener again.

“Is there something wrong, ma’am?” he asked.

The Gardener raised an eyebrow. “So you’re sharp enough t’ realise somethin’s wrong but not sharp enough t’ know what’s wrong.”

“That’s why I asked, ma’am.”

“My people noticed somethin’ interestin’ after ya left the other day,” the Gardener said as she stepped out from behind her desk. “All our restricted areas, all our safes, all our lockboxes, they had all been mysteriously unlocked and left open.”

Rembrandt felt his heart drop. He hoped he still managed to look neutral as the Gardener stood over him and met his gaze.

“Rembrandt.”

His name came out of the Gardener’s mouth sounding absurdly close to the way his mother used to say it whenever she was mad or disappointed.

“Did ya break into my business?” the Gardener asked, the light question in stark contrast with her harsh gaze.

Rembrandt had never been confident in lying. He could maintain facades, he could boast confidence where he had none, but bold-faced lying...?

Rembrandt broke eye contact with the Gardener first.

“Rembrandt.”

“Yes, I did,” he admitted bluntly.

“What refreshin’ honesty,” the Gardener exclaimed, sounding the closest to smiling Rembrandt had ever heard her. “We have ya on security footage, but it’s nice t’ hear accountability.”

“I’m sorry,” Rembrandt mumbled. “I really shouldn’t have done that, especially after you agreed to hire me.”

As if an apology would really be enough to satiate a glorified gardener with a shady produce empire, but Rembrandt could hope.

“I’m sure you’re sorry,” the Gardener said. “Most people are when they get caught.”

Rembrandt grimaced.

“Did ya steal anythin’ from me, Rembrandt?” the Gardener asked.

“No–”

SLAP.

Rembrandt barely had time to really register the slap, barely had time to even react to it, before the two flanking guards grabbed him by the arms and pinned him back against his seat.

“I– I didn’t!” Rembrandt protested, shaking the stars from his eyes. “I know how it looks, but I swear I didn’t steal anything!”

The Gardener was stepping out from behind her desk again, and this time she had a pair of scissor shears in one hand. It was not the shears itself that made Rembrandt pale, though, but rather the tell-tale glow of plasma shining along the edges of each blade.

“Never seen garden shears like that before,” Rembrandt commented tightly. “Wouldn’t the plasma burn the plants?”

“This isn’t for the plants.” The Gardener slowly opened the shears. “I had this made specifically for situations like this.”

Rembrandt laughed, the sound coming out simultaneously disbelieving and genuinely amused. “Props for sticking to your theme– Oh, shit...”

The Gardener pushed aside Rembrandt’s jacket with the shears and pressed both blade tips up against the soft flesh just to the left of Rembrandt’s stomach. Rembrandt could already feel the plasma beginning to burn pinpricks through his shirt.

“Did ya steal from me, Rembrandt?” the Gardener asked again.

“Listen to me...” Rembrandt almost leant forward, but the blades against his stomach and the guards holding his arms put a stop to that. Instead, he looked the Gardener dead in the eyes, speaking as emphatically and genuinely as possible. “Yes, I did break into all your safes and everything, but I swear, I didn’t steal anyth–”

The shears stabbed through the fabric of Rembrandt’s shirt and into his side. The hiss of burning flesh was immediately drowned out by Rembrandt screaming. Both blades stopped less than an inch into his flesh, but Rembrandt could feel every centimeter, every millimeter of the burning intrusion.

“Ya went into all the trouble t’ break in!” the Gardener shouted. “Don’t take me for an idiot, freelancer!”

“I’m not... ma’am,” Rembrandt ground out in between clenched teeth and frantic breaths. “You... You said you have security footage, right? Just check, I didn’t–”

The shears pressed further into Rembrandt’s side, cracking the already scorched flesh with its widening blades. Rembrandt thrashed, another scream evolving into a full on shriek as his struggles only made the shears jostle slightly in his wounds. As if the smell of burning flesh wasn’t enough to make him want to vomit, the sensation of the plasma actively burning and cauterising his muscle tissue actually made Rembrandt retch.

“Why would ya break in if not t’ steal from me?” the Gardener snapped, voice carrying easily over Rembrandt’s high pitched panting. “Aren’t ya supposed t’ be a sharp one?”

“It’s... a bad habit,” Rembrandt admitted. “I break into... lot’sa... B- But I don’t... I mean, I’m just a scavenger... Bit of a fine line, but I never steal–”

Another thrust of the shears had Rembrandt choking on his own screams before the Gardener all but yanked her tortuous tool out from Rembrandt’s side. As he gasped and heaved, Rembrandt allowed his head to drop forward. He could see the parallel stab wounds through the charred holes in his shirt, still sizzling as the residual plasma heat sealed them shut.

So at least he didn’t have to worry about bleeding to death. It occured to Rembrandt that that was probably the point.

“Listen, Rembrandt.”

The now closed shears tapped the underside of Rembrandt’s chin, bringing his head back up with a hiss of pain.

“You’re not a bad kid, for a freelancer,” the Gardener said, gesturing towards Rembrandt with the shears. “I like a good work ethic, and anyone who manages t’ piss off the big guys in the capital enough t’ end up on a wanted poster is gonna earn my respect. All I’m askin’ for is a bit more honesty and then we can work on resettin’ our workin’ relationship.”

Rembrandt swallowed, trying to ease his stinging throat. “Well, that’s very flattering, ma’am. Really. But if honesty is really what you want, I can only tell you the same thing. I didn’t steal anything from you.”

The Gardener scowled and gestured at one of the guards. Rembrandt bit back a yelp with grit teeth as the guard to his right seized his wrist and forced his hand on top of the Gardener’s desk.

“I’ve heard, among other things, that you’re a quick draw and a skilled marksman.” The Gardener snapped open her shears. “Judgin’ by the fact that ya carry your firearm on your right side, I’m guessin’ that’s where your gun hand is too.”

Rembrandt attempted to jerk his hand out from the guard’s grasp, but he may as well have been a rabbit in the jaws of a bear.

“You’re a young and upcomin’ freelancer with a lotta promise, Rembrandt,” the Gardener continued, fixing Rembrandt with a severe stare. “Don’t make me handicap ya over somethin’ so petty.”

“If it’s so petty, then why’re you pushing?” Rembrandt retorted, hiding rising panic behind a small snarl.

“Respect, of course.”

“Of course.”

The guard forced Rembrandt’s fingers out from the tight fist he had curled them into, and Rembrandt cried out as the Gardener locked the shears around his ring finger.

“This one’s a warnin’,” the Gardener hissed. “The next one t’ go will be your trigger finger. Next, your thumb. After that I’ll move on t’ your next hand, and if ya still insist on bein’ dishonest, then I’ll take your eyes. That’ll be your last chance before I decide t’ turn ya into an example. I won’t kill ya, but by god you’ll wish I did.

“So...” The Gardener tightened the shears around Rembrandt’s ring finger, drawing out another cry. “Did ya steal from me, Rembrandt?”

His breathing was sharp and frantic, enough to make his head spin. Every instinct inside him was screaming at him to fight or fly or shut down completely. But Rembrandt still managed to glare up at the Gardener, teeth grit and nostrils flaring.

His voice shook ever so slightly as he hissed back, “You might as well start now, ma’am, ‘cause I’ve already told you the God’s honest truth. I don’t know what it’ll take for me to finally break and say what you want me to say, but it can’t be worse than whatever the big guys in the capital have in store once they manage to get their hands on me.”

The Gardener’s brow furrowed. A shadow of doubt passed over her stony eyes. Rembrandt’s heart leapt.

Please, please, please...

SLAM.

Rembrandt jumped, the Gardener looked up sharply, the guard to Rembrandt’s left released Rembrandt to draw a rifle, and the guard gripping Rembrandt’s wrist pulled out a pistol.

“Let go of my idiot cousin,” a gloriously familiar voice intoned.

Relief flooded Rembrandt’s nerves, in time with his instincts screaming at him to act now!

Rembrandt obliged.

He drew his pistol with his now released left hand, grabbing it from the holster attached to his right hip, and fired two plasma rounds - one into the forearm of the guard holding his wrist, and the other into the Gardener’s shoulder. The BANG of a hard ammunition rifle blasted through the room, but Rembrandt didn’t stop to think about that. Wrist now free and the most immediate threat withdrawing with a cry of pain, Rembrandt scrambled out of his seat and rushed to where Cake - his second-in-command, best friend, and cousin - stood in the now kicked down doorway, the barrel of her rifle smoking. Rembrandt collapsed halfway across the room.

The whole escape had only taken place within about three seconds. Not bad, if he did say so himself, disregarding the fact that he was now on the ground, retching as the wounds in his side reintroduced their agonising presence.

“Stay down!” Rembrandt heard Cake snap. “One wrong move and the next bullet goes between your eyes!”

“What’s the damage, Captain?” a new but equally familiar voice asked.

Rembrandt looked up to see the medic of his crew attempting to steady him.

“I’m fine,” Rembrandt gasped out with a tight smile. “I just got stabbed.”

“Oh, is that all?” the medic said wryly as she helped Rembrandt to his feet. “Good news, Commander, he’s only been stabbed.”

“I’ll do a lot worse to him when we get back to the ship,” Cake muttered in response.

Her threat came out less annoyed and more concerned, but Rembrandt still let out a nervous chuckle. He would have to face his cousin’s wrath later, though. Switching his pistol over to his dominant hand, Rembrandt turned on unsteady legs to face the Gardener and her guards.

The guard he had shot was off to the side, grunting in pain, forearm red and blistering. The other guard was on the ground, crying out, leg bleeding. The Gardener herself was leaning against the wall, her shears discarded and one hand clutching at her still sizzling shoulder. She let out a guttural groan, face twisted in pain and anger.

“Ms. the Gardener...”

The Gardener met Rembrandt’s gaze with one sharp enough to slice him in half.

“Ya better get this over with,” she all but spat. “The rest of my people will be arrivin’ soon, and then your crew’s efforts will amount t’ nothin’.”

“With pleasure.” Cake stepped forward, raising her gun.

Both guards, despite their injuries, attempted to do the same.

“No! No, no...!” Rembrandt raised his arm to stop Cake, agitatedly switching his attention between her and the guards. “No one’s killing anyone right now!”

Cake shot him a withering side-eye. “Rembrandt...”

“We’ve already got them cornered–!”

“And who’s responsible for that?”

“–we don’t need to shoot them when they’ve already lost, that’s just unnecessary!”

“If ya don’t kill me now, freelancer...” the Gardener growled, pushing herself upright off the wall. “I swear t’ god I’ll make good on every. Single. Threat. And when I’m finished with ya, I’ll take that one million credit reward outta your husk.”

“She makes a good case for her death,” the medic commented.

Alarms started blaring throughout the building.

“Dammit! We don’t have time for this!” Cake grabbed Rembrandt’s shoulder and nearly pulled him off his feet as she yanked him back. “Let’s go!”

Rembrandt nodded towards the Gardener. “Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am.”

Five seconds later, the three of them were sprinting down the cacophonous hallway, acutely aware of every shout and every robotic whine. Every step sent fresh stabs of agony through Rembrandt’s side, like the universe’s worst side stitch. It was all Rembrandt could do not to collapse again as he struggled to keep up with his two crew members.

“You are so damn lucky I hate waiting outside, kid!” Cake shouted.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you two,” Rembrandt responded breathlessly.

“Five minutes alone and you managed to make an enemy out of one of the most powerful underground traders in this sector,” the medic said. “I’m almost impressed, Captain.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. But at least I still got Cake’s birthday present, so it’s not all bad.”

“Oh my god,” Cake groaned. “That’s why you insisted on taking a job from this woman?!”

“It has nothing to do with the current situation, I promise.”

Rembrandt’s wounds flared and he stumbled, only barely managing to keep his footing as he groaned. “Dammit...”

The medic wrapped a steadying hand around Rembrandt’s arm. “Doesn’t look like getting stabbed is treating you too well, Captain.”

He had just been stabbed through with a pair of plasma shears, nearly had his finger cut off, was now an even more wanted man than he had been ten minutes ago, and that was on top of everything that had been happening since Rembrandt had woken up in this ruthless world, with only his cousin to act as any sort of tie to the life he had lived before.

Rembrandt shook his head with a tight but reassuring smile. “Honestly, it could be worse.”

He saw Cake glance at him.

“Let’s just focus on getting back to the ship.”

#whumptober2021 #original writing #original fiction #original character #sci fi #space opera #space cowboy #space cowgirl #space western #whump #suspense #angst #torture #HardyGal writes original content #HardyGal writes stuff

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karasuno-chaos · 4 years ago

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In His Orbit (Nishinoya x Reader)

On a lovely day in Nice, France, you reflect on the past few months and the many reasons you love your boyfriend.

I came sooo close to putting Noya in a flower crown for this. Maybe next time.😆 -Giz

Word Count: 1,974

The market was busy, though it was still early in the morning. Vendors were rearranging pallets into shoppable displays, piling produce into cascades of color, already calling to each other and the few early shoppers who, like you, were wandering between the stalls. You loved the energy here. Even though they had a long day ahead, everyone was buzzing with caffeine and adrenaline.

A year ago, you never would have guessed that you’d be in Nice, France at the famous Cours Saleya market. You’d always thought you weren’t impulsive enough to travel the world with nothing but adventure to guide you. It sounded unpredictable and impossible. But you’d fallen in love with a wanderer whose thirst for excitement had pulled you across the world, and you’d never been happier.

You purchased a small container of raspberries and ate a few while you wandered between the stalls. The fruit season would be ending soon, but the berries were still deliciously tart. You took note of certain goods to come back for later before ducking out of the market to a side street. You’d noticed a little cafe during your first passage through the stalls, and you were craving some caffeine.

A few minutes later you returned to the market balancing two drinks and the raspberries. You could already tell there were more people, even though the crowds were nowhere near what they would be during peak hours that afternoon. The Cours Saleya was rather touristy, but in many ways, you were a tourist yourself. You’d been helping on a flower farm just west of the city for only two weeks, so much of the city was new. You were excited to explore this corner of the world.

You managed to make it to the other end of the market without dropping anything. You loved this part of the Cours Saleya. While the food vendors were enticing, the truly unique magic of the market was the flower sellers. The buckets and bundles of colorful blooms brought the charm of country fields into the city. Their simple beauty was something you had come to view as quintessentially French, and the dazzling variety of colors and aromas meant there was always more to see.

You headed to the stall with the rustic orange buckets. A kaleidoscope of blooms burst from the displays, barely contained by the careful arrangements of the vendors. They’d almost finished setting up, so you didn’t feel too guilty for ditching them to scope out the market. You’d put in your time to help as customers came, assembling bouquets and refilling the displays as needed. Even though you barely knew any French, the languages of commerce and flowers were easy enough to translate.

“Y/N’s back!” one of the men at the stall announced. Rin and his wife Chizuru had moved to France five years ago after falling in love with the French way of life. Both had grown up in Hyogo on farms, so buying up a flower farm outside of Nice had been a natural transition for them. You’d met last month in Spain while they were on vacation and you and your boyfriend were working at a futbol stadium. You’d hit it off right away, and when they’d invited you to their farm, you’d readily accepted.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, we’re pretty much set. Nishinoya’s just grabbing the last of the daisies.”

As if summoned by his name, your boyfriend appeared carrying a bucket bursting with daisies. He set it down in line with the other flowers as though it weighed nothing, though you knew firsthand how heavy the buckets were when full. He adjusted the blooms a bit so they looked welcoming to customers, stepping back to cast a critical eye over the display as a whole before giving a satisfied nod. Only then did he turn his attention away and notice that you were back.

“Find anything good?” he asked, face breaking into a smile like sunshine.

“I’ve got coffee and raspberries.” You handed him the drink you’d ordered for him, and he took it along with a handful of berries.

“Thanks babe.” He kissed your cheek in appreciation before popping a raspberry into his mouth.

“The stall looks really good. I think we might be the only vendor with so many lilies left.”

“The greenhouses were worth the investment,” Chizuru agreed, arriving with the cash box and little folding table that you’d keep out of reach of customers, “though the crop this year has been great in general.”

“All right!” Nishinoya cheered. “We’re going to sell a ton of flowers today!”

You smiled as your boyfriend got psyched up. His energy was infectious, and his dedication to the task at hand never ceased to inspire you. It was just one of the many things you loved about him.

You barely had time to finish your coffee before a steady stream of customers was keeping all of you busy. Many simply admired the blooms as they passed, but you knew that quite a few would come back later after perusing the rest of the market. After all, why come to the Cours Saleya if not for the flowers?

The weather was nice, and the crowd steadily grew as you headed towards the afternoon. You were grateful for the caffeine and reinforcements as other farmhands arrived around ten o’clock. It was exciting to be consistently busy, and you felt part of a team even though you’d just started working with these people. It was a privilege to be a vendor at this famous market, and you were proud to see the culmination of your work in the fields as you bundled bouquets and trimmed stems for shoppers.

You also loved working with your boyfriend and watching him rise to the challenge. You’d always admired his work ethic. When he was committed, he couldn’t be satisfied with doing things halfway. He constantly challenged himself. Sometimes you wondered if he ever got tired of the hustle, but he was always looking toward the next adventure.

You’d been surprised when he’d asked you to travel with him after graduation. You’d started dating halfway through your third year at Karasuno, and while you had no doubts about your feelings for each other, you hadn’t considered tagging along on his world tour when it was still pretty early in your relationship. You should have expected that he’d already worked you into his future plans. After all, he never did things halfway, and that included giving his heart to you.

These past few months had been some of the best of your life. You’d discovered so much about the world, about Nishinoya, and about yourself. Not knowing what you’d be doing next month could be challenging, but you were learning that not having everything planned out could be exciting, too. Liberating, even. And your boyfriend kept it fun. You were really glad you’d decided to join him on his travels.

“Here.” You offered him a chilled water bottle as you sat in the back of the transport truck a few blocks from the market. He gave you a sandwich in exchange, the bread fresh and the meat sliced as you’d watched by one of the vendors in the market. Everything seemed to taste better when you knew the people making it cared about the quality of the ingredients.

You savored the first few bites of your lunch in silence. You’d been busy nonstop nearly all morning, and you welcomed the chance to sit down for a bit. The weather had warmed as the sun arced through the sky, but it remained comfortably mild. It really was a lovely day to be outside surrounded by flowers.

“I think we might sell out again,” Nishinoya observed, crumpling the paper wrapping of his sandwich into a ball. The rate at which he ate never ceased to amaze you. “That’ll be two weekends in a row!”

“No doubt it’s due to your charming salesmanship,” you mused with a grin.

He laughed appreciatively. He attracted people like the sun pulled on the planets, and his easy-going straightforwardness meant he got along with almost everyone. Even if your compliment had been partially in jest, you wouldn’t be surprised if his bright smile and enthusiasm were drawing people to the stall.

“I think it’s the flowers,” he deflected, picking up a bloom that had fallen out of a bucket. “Rin and Chizuru’s farm is amazing.”

“Thinking of buying up a French flower farm yourself?”

He laughed again, and you thought that you could listen to that sound forever and never get tired of it.

“No way, it’s way too complicated. I’d have to remember when to plant and harvest and water and fertilize, and then there’s all of the budgeting and hiring and way too much planning. I can’t keep track of all of that! You could probably do it, Y/N. If you wanted to, I’d be your best farmhand ever.”

He tucked the flower behind your ear, and you couldn’t help the light blush that dusted your cheeks. You knew Nishinoya meant what he said. He never spoke without conviction in his words. If you really wanted to buy a farm and settle down, he’d support you and help you. He really would be the best farmhand ever. But you wondered if he’d really be happy, being tied to one place when there was still a whole world to explore. Would he tire of perfecting flower patches and grow to resent your choice? Could he ever settle and be content in one place?

He was looking at you intently, smile undimmed, and you decided that you didn’t want him to settle. Certainly not for yourself. Someday perhaps you would tire of the travel and adventure, and then you would broach the subject of finding something more permanent. You weren’t ready to ask that of him yet. He was still blazing across the sky, and you were pulled along in his wake. For now, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That sounds like too much for me, too. Besides, there’s still a lot to see, right?”

“Right! We’re going to conquer the world together.”

“Let’s just focus on conquering the market today,” you chuckled, standing in the truck bed to grab a few buckets of flowers. You’d need to refill the displays when you got back.

Your boyfriend surprised you by leaping into the truck bed and nearly tackling you from behind with a hug. You laughed as he gave you a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For coming with me.”

He said it like it was the simplest thing, his focus already turning to the buckets of flowers. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You’d follow him wherever he wanted to go. You just couldn’t stay away. Your universe wasn’t complete without its sun.

“Hey.”

He turned, and you surprised him by capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Yuu.”

“I love you, too,” he promised with softened eyes and a look of devotion he saved only for you, and for a moment, you thought you knew how the moon felt when she was set aglow with the sun’s reflection. You kissed him once more before hopping out of the truck and hefting a bucket of flowers in your arms.

“Come on, let’s go charm some shoppers so we can sell out and get the rest of the afternoon off.”

“What, did you have plans for today?”

“Nothing particular, but we haven’t done much sightseeing since we got here. I figured we could wander around a bit and find something fun to do.”

“Sounds good to me!” he agreed, and you knew that whatever you ended up doing, he would make it an adventure for both of you.

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

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But I Like One Piece (20)

They all turn to stare at him.

“Dear? How do you know that?” Okaa-san says.

Otou-san shakes his head and sits down heavily on the stairs. “The manufacturer for those weapons is in Yukigakure. Just like the incriminating ryo left at the scene of that theft.”

Oh.

Oh sweet Merry.

She mutters, “Shika said—when we were talking about the theft, he said it had to be an inside job, because an outsider couldn’t know anything. But if they were like me—if they’d read the comic based on Konoha in their past life, they would know. They’d know almost everything even if they never set foot here.”

She swallows, throat suddenly dry. “If it was plot-relevant, then they’d know more about what was valuable and how it was defended than people who’d lived here their whole lives. They’d even know the weaknesses of the ninja sent after them, if those ninja were major characters.”

Otou-san nods. “And if he or she needed to finance the manufacture of those weapons, what could be easier than to steal something from here and sell it to another hidden village?”

She sits down heavily on the stairs.

Her heart’s pounding too fast. The side of her head is throbbing in time with the beat.

“Well.” Okaa-san coughs. “That’s mildly terrifying.”

She lets out a humorless chuckle at the understatement.

Horror wars with elation in her brain. Elation at the knowledge that she isn’t alone here.

Horror at the idea of someone knowing everything about this place and deciding to use that knowledge for their own gain. If robbing Konoha wasn’t low for them, would they stoop to manipulating Naruto, Sakura, Uchiha? To hurting them to get their way, change a narrative they don’t like?

“But Iruka-sensei said Yukigakure gave us those guns for less money than they gave them to other villages.” Naruto says suddenly. “Maybe that’s the not-Mayu’s way of making it up to us?”

“You think villains who would commit such an unyouthful action would be capable of feeling guilt?” Lee says doubtfully. “Shouldn’t we tell Gai-sensei about this?”

“We can.” Otou-san sighs. “But I’m not sure how helpful it would be. Nara-san said Yamanaka-san knew about the Yuki connection between both the theft and these “guns”. For all we know, the price reduction could be a concession negotiated between the Hokage and the thief, and we just have a morsel of knowledge about that deal which would endanger Mayu more than it would help the village.”

She fidgets, tracing the scar on her lower lip.

Lee’s brows are furrowed, his mouth pulled down in a frown.

Okaa-san reaches out and smooths a hand over his hair. “Why don’t we get Ichiraku’s and sleep on it? I think Sanji would agree we’ll all make better decisions with some ramen in our bellies.”

Naruto springs to his feet. “Yeah! Ramen’ll fix everything, believe it! C’mon, I’m hungry, let’s go, let’s go!”

It doesn’t quite fix everything, she reflects later as she descales and fillets the pike for the offerings tomorrow. There’s still another reincarnated person who robbed the village, had her father take the fall for their crime, and is now mass-producing the very weapon that killed her past self, which they can do next to nothing about.

But ramen smoothed out the crease in Lee’s brow when they all agreed it was better to tell Gai-sensei than not. It lightened the mood and made everything this day had thrown at them seem a little less important in light of the celebrations planned for tomorrow.

Their small garden is now even smaller thanks to the a large wooden structure that sits next to the back fence.

It’s a bit like a cross between a shed and a greenhouse, if it only had three walls and no doors or windows. The roof is curved and the walls are sturdy, to protect the shrines inside from the elements.

There’s a length of thick white rope fastened with red twine inside the front gable, which is meant to ensure that the shrines are protected from malicious spirits.

Each one of the shrines has a small building that is sealed automatically once the shrine has been assembled, keeping a small object for the deity to inhabit safely locked away from prying eyes. There’s a small recess before this structure, for offerings to be placed, and a little column that puts them above the eye level of a kneeling person.

They’d debated setting aside a space for the shrines in the living room inside the house, to ensure they could be protected and cared for. But she kept getting impulses of outside, of wind and rain, freedom, that eventually they decided it was better than keeping them cooped up inside.

Plus this way, Luffy can’t raid the fridge as easily.

She’s already found certain small cuts of cooked meat have gone missing. If he’s anything like the manga, then she’s not giving him the chance to clean out the entire fridge.

They’ve been working on constructing it and the shrines on weekends and in the mornings during training. According to Gai-sensei, it’s excellent practice for C-rank missions.

Now all that’s left is to paint the structure and the ten shrines housed within.

Working out what to set out as offerings for tomorrow had been a challenge and a half.

For the most part, the Strawhats can be grouped into small sections of what they will and won’t eat.

Nami and Chopper are fruit lovers. Sanji, Zoro, Brook and Usopp are partial to seafood. Luffy, Franky, and Robin are happy with beef and other land-based meats.

However, Zoro, Sanji and Brook like varieties of seafood that are difficult to get in Konoha— octopus, lobster and prawns are expensive and hard to find, while sea king meat just doesn’t exist here. At least Zoro is happy enough with a traditional plate-2-bowls meal with rice.

Robin prefers sandwiches, and she’s not quite sure if the burgers Franky loves fit into that criteria. Chopper can’t stand spicy or bitter foods, but Zoro and Robin dislike sweets.

She’s just thankful that Luffy, Nami Usopp, and Merry are so easy to feed. Pike’s one of the few fish that Konoha doesn’t need to import, so it and tangerines relatively inexpensive.

There’s no chance of combining all their preferences into one dish. Her head hurts just imagining the clash of flavors.

So she had to somehow come up with a way of creating a meal that would (hopefully) make each of the pirates she idolizes happy.

No pressure.

Chouji ended up being her savior in this respect.

And maybe Uchiha did as well, but only a teeny tiny bit.

She’d been brainstorming different versions of meals she could try making that would satisfy everyone, but kept coming up short.

The added tension from Sakura’s friendly-again-but-still-not-quite-sitting-back-at-their-table thing at this time wasn’t exactly helping her think either.

“I’ve got cola, coffee, tea, heck even sake, but still no idea on what to pair any of them with.” She complained, tapping her pencil against the list in front of her.

Chouji had leaned over, a thoughtful look on his face. “Why not make them lunchboxes? That way you can make lots of things in smaller amounts and personalize each lunchbox for each of them.”

“Hm. That is a good idea.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Only downside is working out when I can cook what and how much time the preparation of each portion is going so everything in the bentos is relatively fresh for when it’s offered... how much d’you think eleven more lunchboxes would cost?”

She’d just begun sketching out lines for a tentative timetable when Uchiha complained, “Why do you think you’ve gotta do everything on your own?”

She looked up, a little offended. “I’m not praying for help with this, are you mad? That’d be like asking someone to bake their own birthday cake.”

“What Sasuke means,” Chouji intervened. “Is that we could always split the work three-ways between us, and bring it to your house on the day?”

She blinked. “You...you guys would help me like that?”

Chouji smiled, then made a squeak of surprise when she lunged over the table to hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“I have lunchboxes to spare.” Uchiha drawled. “Plus someone’s got to make sure you don’t mess up.”

She had then let Chouji go so she could boot Uchiha in the shin.

As a result of this arrangement, when she wakes up on The Day, all she has to worry about is preparing the pasta for Sanji, Nami and Usopp’s lunchboxes after training with Gai-sensei.

She’s almost worried that her timining be a little delayed because Gai-sensei grabs her in a bone-creaking hug when she arrives at training and spends about three minutes weeping over how youthful she is.

He then makes them run fifty times around the village balancing the paint pots they’ll be using later to ensure that the paint is agitated enough “so its most YOUTHFUL colors will shine through!!”

They nearly lose the purple when Naruto fumbles slightly over a root.

She bolts down her food at breakfast.

She puts on more rice again in preparation for the sesame onigiri, and pulls out a pot to fill with water that’s set to boil and a pan to gently heat some oil on the stove.

She smashes a clove of garlic and drops it in when the oil has begun to smoke gently, deseeding and dicing up some chilis and tossing them in as well for flavor.

She can’t help her grin when the heady spicy-savory scent fills the air, finely chopping capers and anchovies to toss in once she’s fished out the smashed garlic.

The scent mellows somewhat when the diced pike hits the pan as well, and she pushes it around until the fish is almost-but-not-quite cooked through.

Then in with a generous glug of wine and the heat is turned down to a gentle simmer to let the alcohol cook off.

Just in time for the rice to have cooked and cooled enough to begin mixing with yellow and black sesame seeds and begin forming into ten onigiri.

They don’t have any fillings other than the sesame, because they’re designed to take the edge off the stronger flavors of the pasta (her) and the takoyaki (Chouji), as well as serve as a substitute for a sesame topped bun accompanying the hamburger steaks (Uchiha).

The others begin to arrive at around ten.

Sakura and the Harunos arrive first alongside Ino and her dad.

She shouts a hello as Naruto and Lee lead Ino and Sakura through the kitchen to the back garden, nails orange with peeled tangerine.

Ino darts forward and steals two slices, chortling in response to her indignant “Oi!” and passing one to Sakura, who grins as she nibbles on their way out.

Yamanaka-san is totally at home chatting with Gai-sensei and Otou-san, but he snickers when Nara-san immediately gravitates towards him when he arrives. Shikamaru gives her a nod as he follows the adults outside and she puts the pasta on to boil.

She’s set aside two extra tangerines for when Shino and his father arrive. After all, she, Chouji and Uchiha are making enough to feed eleven deities and many many people, so shouldn’t their insects also be able to eat as well?

Shino’s dad stares at her inscrutably when she explains her reasoning, before accepting the fruit with a nod and a “thank you” barely audible over a loud buzzing.

Shino shifts from one foot to the other during this exchange before gently tugging his father’s sleeve. It occurs to her as she drains the pot-full pasta and adds the sauce alongside a cup of boiling water to emulsify everything that this might be the closest she’s ever seen him to being embarrassed.

Chouji and his dad arrive as she’s sprinkling in some parsley as a finishing touch.

They’re both carrying huge containers full of takoyaki and cooked spring greens, and she spares a small moment to be envious of all the amazing things Chouji’s family can afford to do.

Then she launches Chouji another hug to thank him for all his help once he’s set his cargo down.

He squeaks like he did last time and Akimichi-san laughs loudly, for some reason.

Iruka-sensei and Uchiha arrive with eleven lunchboxes, two dogs, Kiba and his mum, and Hinata in tow.

Uchiha keeps sneaking what appear to be morsels of meat to Akamaru and Kuromaru.

There’s also a pale-eyed frowning boy who Iruka-sensei introduces as Hyuuga Neji, Hinata’s cousin who’d been sent along to act as her chaperone.

The boy sniffs disdainfully when they greet him and goes to stand in a corner of the garden near Mebuki, completely ignoring Lee when he waves to him.

She doesn’t think she likes Hinata’s cousin very much.

The lunchboxes Uchiha brought are black lacquer decorated with gold and red tomoe, much fancier than anything she’d been expecting.

When questioned, he just shrugs and says, “It’s just old stuff from New Year’s. It’s just taking up space at home, so it’s better off here.”

She knows better than to say anything like “sorry”, so she just pats his shoulder and says “No, that compartment’s too small for the onigiri, put it in this one.”

“That’s way too big, it looks tiny in that one.” Uchiha snaps, but with a bit less bite than usual.

Iruka-sensei looks mildly overwhelmed by all the people in the back garden. Okaa-san comes along, hands him a drink, pats his shoulder and says “They’re in my house,” in a sympathetic tone.

Iruka-sensei gives her a pitying look and knocks the sake back in one go.

Adults here can be weird.

Finally they’ve finished serving and she calls out “Food’s up!”

The adults come in to help take the larger platters of food outside, a huge plate of pasta, several smaller hamburger steaks in the style of what they’d call “sliders” in her world, and mound upon mound of takoyaki and spring greens and tangerines.

There’s a clamor outside as people begin getting their portions.

She, Chouji and Uchiha are each balancing either three or four lunchboxes per person as they take them outside.

Sakura is helping Kiba paint a pattern of cherry blossoms across Chopper’s already vibrantly pink shrine. Evidence of her handiwork on Robin’s shrine is clear is the decoration of swirling petals and the streaks of matching purple paint all over her forehead.

Ino and Naruto obviously have had a battle over the orange judging by the splashes on their hands and clothing. On the plus side Nami and Luffy’s shrines are looking particularly colorful.

Shikamaru and Hinata are splotched with green, light blue and black-and-white. Lee is smudged with brown, cyan and white paint and beaming proudly.

Shino has yellow paint on the end of his nose and is looking at the detailed illustrations of insects on the sides with pride.

The only shrines that aren’t quite done are Sanji’s, which has a blue overcoat but no decoration, and Zoro’s which doesn’t have half its roof painted yet.

“We were waiting,” Naruto says, holding out two buckets of green paint and blue respectively, “For you guys to add your bits.”

She beams at him.

Of course, Uchiha has to ruin it by immediately grabbing the green.

“What?” He says, offloading his three lunchboxes onto Kiba. “I’ll give it back once I’m finished with it.”

Ino rolls her eyes and shoulders her paintbrush, adding another orange splotch to her outfit. “Ugh. I’ll help Mayu-chan, it’s better to get it done quickly. Let’s go before the food gets cold.”

Orange, red, and yellow fish on the blue background are much more vibrant and eye-catching than green, though Uchiha does “help” by flicking the paintbrush at her while she’s distracted.

In thanks, she smears yellow on the back of his neck.

After the extra decorations are finished, Lee, Sakura and Kiba redistribute the lunchboxes to make their offerings.

The only problem is there’s eleven of them and ten lunchboxes.

“You all go ahead.” She steps back. “I’ll do the next bit.”

Each one of them place the pirate lunchboxes down in front of the shrines and step back.

For some reason, she feels like traditional prayers and chants appropriated from the sage guy won’t really be all that welcoming to them.

But then, what? What could help them feel at home at these shrines, so far from the sea?

Her gaze falls on Brook’s shrine.

Oh.

Oh, well it’s obvious when it’s put like that, isn’t it?

She just hopes she remembers the words correctly. She doesn’t want to butcher them on accident.

“Yohohoho, yohohoho~ Yohohoho, yohohoho~”

Her voice sounds frail and quiet, and she can feel everyone’s eyes on her. Still, she stumbles through the last two refrains of yohohoho’s to the first verse.

“Binksu no sake wo, todokei ni yuku yo, umikaze, kimakase, namimakase~ Shio no mukou de, yuhi wo sawagu, sora nya, wao kaku tori no uta~”

Naruto joins in on the next verse, singing along slightly out of tune and mixing up some of the words.

His cheeks look as flushed as hers feel, and it’s hard not to giggle when they catch each other’s eyes. Somehow they both manage to keep singing.

Gai-sensei and Lee boisterously shout DON alongside them as they join as well, Gai-sensei’s voice strong and sure, while Lee’s volume makes up for any deficiencies in wording. She almost can’t hear Okaa-san’s melodious voice and Otou-san’s decidedly tone-deaf one join in on the second set of Yohohoho’s over their noise.

Sakura and Ino’s voices are both high-pitched, but they carry the tune well enough. So does Kiba, though he’s pitching up to a falsetto for some reason. Hinata’s voice is soft, but she’s genuinely singing, unlike Shikamaru and Sasuke who’re mumbling through all the bits apart from the yohohoho’s. Shino is monotone if precise and enthusiastic, while Chouji has a surprising set of pipes on him.

Akamaru is just howling to the beat. And with that accompaniment, how could anyone stop themselves from singing along?

It feels like more people than could possibly fit into their house and garden are bellowing Bink’s Sake together by the time they’ve reached the third set of Yohohoho’s.

It can’t exactly be called “harmonious”. Everyone’s a little out of tune, a little off beat.

But the mixing of all the voices of her family and friends feels so right, it makes her voice stronger, lets her sing louder.

She opens her eyes and nearly chokes on the next note.

Hovering in front of the brightly painted shrines, slightly faded but gaining color and substance with every passing moment, They stand.

Merry appears in all her glory, as if in mid- sail. Brook is playing his violin, a foot tapping to the beat. Franky is winding up for his SUPA pose, grinning broadly. Robin is resting a hand on Chopper’s hat. Chopper himself is peeking at them the wrong way round from Robin’s leg.

Sanji’s tapping out his cigarette with a grin and giving a small salute. Usopp is waving to them, like a captain would to his 8,000 followers. Nami’s blowing a kiss as if to adoring fans.

Zoro...is climbing over the garden fence and jogging to take his place in front his shrine next to the others. Nami shoots him a Look while Luffy laughs at him, sitting in mid air and clapping his feet together.

The Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates then turns to her and gives her a wide grin.

She blinks away tears as he and his crew fade away with the last notes of the song.

The food in the lunchboxes is gone.

The food on Naruto’s plate is also gone.

In fact, all the food in the immediate vicinity appears to be gone.

It’s just that Naruto looks down at his plate and yells in indignation first.

She lets out a wet laugh. “Darn it Luffy.”

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balkanradfem · 5 years ago

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Okay so here I am, poor and determined to figure out how to survive on food I can grow on my own, with the resources I have. That would be: a spot in community garden, seeds I've gathered by collecting and sharing, anything I can forage, and determination (no gardening experience tho). I realized right away that for a survival you need to have a stash of grains, legumes and potatoes (or similar). Since I don't have garden space to grow large scale grains or legumes, I had to source them from the store, for now. Oil as well, as I didn't get edible sunflowers yet.

But then, for everything else, would a garden be enough? The answer is yes, if you're filled with crazy defiance to buying stuff.

I found that as long as I have grain and oil at my disposal, I can easily go thru summer eating from garden. Last summer I was drowning in tomatoes, peppers and green beans, I had much more than I could eat so I canned a lot of salsa, dried plenty of basil, made some tomato sauce. I got enough garlic for entire year, plenty of herbs to eat and dry, I even attempted to sun-dry tomatoes and failed, but I know how to do it for this year. I froze a lot of green beans and some berries. I had also foraged for, and conserved a lot of fruit! Had a stash of walnuts as well.

I had trouble growing carrots, and my few potatoes got eaten by pests, so I was really missing them that year. I also couldn't figure out how to grow cabbage and cabbage savoy correctly, these crops did badly. Swiss chard and peas got destroyed in road construction. (Which I will never forgive.)

So autumn comes, and tomatoes all die, but peppers are thriving all the way until December. I'm still getting some green beans so I am doing just fine. I re-plant cabbage, cabbage savoy, and broccoli. This time they do better. I also plant lots of onions, garlic, celery, parsley, onion greens. I got a stash of potatoes and lots of swiss chard from friends so I am having a good time. And it's time to harvest all the winter squash I've been growing so now my basement is filled with food.

(Note that I'm still buying beans, rice, split peas, chickpeas, soy, oats and flour, I wasn't trying to survive without protein, only refused to buy vegetables.)

So the winter is here and I'm slightly worried because the garden doesn't seem to produce much, onions and cabbages mostly stopped growing, only thing that's doing well are my two broccoli plants! And those broccoli plants were amazing. I was able to harvest broccoli from them from December all the way to March. I was surprised with every visit that the broccoli just grew new florets and they're all tasty. Hell, I'm still eating it now in May because their seeds grow in little edible pods! And they take a bit of effort to harvest but taste awesome stir fried. Broccoli is a winter friend! (I left enough pods on the plants to still be able to get seeds. They grew thousands of them.)

I found out lots of people were able to grow cabbage, lettuce and other cold-hardy crops by making little greenhouses, just with some sticks and a cover. Keeping them little protected from cold and frost will enable them to grow. I was not yet up to trying that before seeing just what happens if you leave them as it is. Will go for covers next year.

So with the power of broccoli and my food stash, I actually bought next to no vegetables during winter. I think I got some onions and carrots once. Butternut and hokkaido squashes were eaten by March and delicious. Eating salsa was beyond satisfying and eating all the preserved fruit made me feel super fancy. Nothing got spoiled, which was incredible because I'm a first-time cannner.

Spring brought me onion greens and I love them so much I'm satisfied just having them. I can't make myself like lettuce no matter what. Cursed green. I start taking celery, accidental carrots and parsley home and make soups. I can't wait for peas. Strawberries are first to give me fruit. Foraging brings me nettle and dandelion greens and I finally get some calcium into my system.

I get some extra garden space and plant extra potatoes, green beans, squash and even summer melon. I will have zucchini and ground cherry and kale this year. I was trying to get okra but my seeds never arrived in mail. I'm also planting leek, and finally got swiss chard to grow.

I feel greatly optimistic about being self-sustainable with food! The first year was a little rough and I did lose weight when I didn't want to lose any, I was sometimes struggling to make meals because of ptsd, and during crisis my nutrition was awful. But overall, it was great. I got to know how sweet baby peas taste! I got to taste home-grown food all year and eat fresh from the garden. I learned so many recipes, and created lots. If I had soil to grow some corn, wheat, beans, chickpeas, soy, oats and potatoes, I would be all set. Having soil, is in fact, priceless. Soil and seeds. All we need to live.

I still need to figure out how to make salt, sugar and oil, or make replacements for them. I don't think I would need a big amount of them if I had lots of legumes and vegetables, but salt and sugar are necessary for conserving. I found many videos about processing wheat at home and they seem doable! I could have flour for sure. How are oat flakes made tho? I did not find that out.

I don't know if it's just bc I'm out of touch but there wasn't many foods I missed at all. I missed chocolate, but I did have cacao powder and made lots of sweets. I missed bananas but could definitely live without them. I can't think of any other food I lacked. Joy of defying capitalism is greater than joy of having bananas.

When I build a cob house, I'll have tomatoes growing under every window so I can just reach out and grab them for a snack. Strawberries will be covering every bit of available soil. I'll have sunflowers growing in circles, creating shade for me to nap in. I'll lie in the grass and watch tomatoes grow. All as it should be.

#growing food #food security #separatism planning #surviving on garden food #gardening #eating habits #food stash #long post

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jeanjauthor · 4 years ago

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Hello, hope you’re having a good day. I was wondering for you lovely expertise. I’d like to write more of ladies in my little book, since it’s highly undervalued in books, and want each regions to have their own distinctive style. Also all the gossip happens whilst they’re embroidering. It’s historical based and but it’s quite a mesh of different cultures at different times yet the foods pretty European mediveal and south Asian based it’s not nearly sexist. Have you got any style ideas or types?

I’ll presume you mean it’s a non-Earth setting that’s pre-industrial medieval in its tech level, with influences from South Asia and Europe.

If it’s pre-industrial, then they won’t have instantaneous communication with far-flung places...but you can still have them living within, say, walking distance of each other. How? Well, if it involves a whole bunch of different styles and regions and foods, etc, you will want some sort of crossroads city for your characters to live in. Examples of highly multicultural cities include Rome, Constantinople, Mumbai, Hangzhou, places like that.

Port cities are great for this because sailing can be faster than land-based travel (boats with sails don’t get tired so long as the wind keeps blowing more or less steadily), but land-locked crossroads are doable, too--cities along the Silk Road, for instance, would see a flux of travelers seasonally, and some would bring their families, or fall in love, settle down, and stay. You definitely will want to consider a couple of things though, and trade with other regions is merely the first of them.

European medieval...well, everything...was influenced by its climate. The foods that could be grown, the architecture needed to survive the hotter Mediterranean areas or the very cold taiga (subarctic forests) of Scandinavia, and everything in between. They developed many methods of preserving foods to keep it from going rotten, but a lot of it relied on smoking, drying, salting, and even freezing (icehouses were a thing in some regions even before it became industrialized). Clothing styles are definitely designed more for surviving the cold and staying warm than in keeping cool, and to keep their clothing warm even when wet (yay wool).

South India (except in the more mountainous areas) tend to be very hot and vacillates between hot and dry and very very wet (yay monsoon season). Food preservation did include salting, dehydrating, smoking, but very little freezing, and the flavoring profiles were completely different, as (unlike herbs) a lot of spice plants actually require a hot climate to grow. (People trying to grow peppers in Alaska are still having a hard time despite decades of careful cultivation, breeding, and selecting for cold-weather hardiness.) South Asian clothing styles are designed to keep the wearer cool and comfortable, and to dry quickly when it rains (yay sari fashion, the one garment that has been in continuous use / popularity for over 5,000 years).

So you’re going to have to decide what kind of region this city is located in, and what kind of weather and/or seasons it experiences. From there, you can figure out what kinds of architecture they’ll have, the size of the windows, whether they’re covered all year round (glass, oiled parchment, sheets of horn, etc), or only partial, or narrow pierced openings to keep the air flowing while keeping out hot sunlight, etc.

From that, you can also interpret what kinds of clothing people will be wearing. If cultural identity is strong, some groups will cling more to their saris and chamsas, while others will wear their hose and their houppelandes, or their Norse apron dresses, their great kilts, whatever. (Archer hoodies, aka mantles, will be popular across a wide range of eras; they’re great for keeping head, shoulders, and a bit of the chest dry in the rain, and you can turn them into those fancy cockscomb hats if you know how--ask me if interested!)

Once you have climate, architecture, clothing established, figure out which foods will be locally available, which will be imported, from how far away, and whether or not any special equipment is needed for growing said food--if glass is a locally produced commodity, with sand reserves and limestone for flux (lowering the temperature) and plenty of wood or coal for burning in the furnaces, it is possible that a colder climate has glazed greenhouses in which to grow the plants that need hot conditions to produce spices, for example. Or it’s just that all the colder climate foods are grown on the north-facing slopes of nearby hills, and there are irrigation canals everywhere to keep everything watered.

(If it’s a world with magic, do consider the ecology of how the magic is generated, used, spent, where it goes when it’s used up, how difficult it is to use, what system is required to access it (inner energies of a mage, special runes or material components, the blessing of a deity or patron entity, etc).)

If it’s not going to be nearly as sexist (thank youuuu!! *gives you a basket of hugs, prepackaged in biodegradable shrinkwrapped, magically enchanted in stasis so they’re a fresh-from-the-dryer snuggly warm blanket kind of hug*), then you’ll want to decide what legal protections females (and/or any nonbinary folks) have. What positions they can hold, how much of their personal belongings and/or income they can retain or control, what they’re legally allowed to inherit, and what say they have in who they marry or what job they take up, what apprenticeships they can hold, etc.

You don’t have to shove it in people’s faces, but you can definitely weave it throughout the story--Guildmistresses of various craft positions, noblewomen in leadership roles, royalty inherits based either on the firstborn, period, or on whoever is deemed the most competent--this can be an interesting plot point for a disaffected male “heir” who was set aside in favor of his more competent sister, etc--and in other ways. You can also have women warriors being taken seriously, whether they’re town guards or kingdom soldiers, and women sailors being treated as equal to the men, without the superstition of “a woman on a ship will curse it!!!1!” which was the medieval version of “ewww, girl cooties!” I guess... (idek *eyerolls at medieval/age of exploration men*)

Your plot will also have a lot to tell you about the world these people live in. If they’re embroiderers who gossip a lot, are they living in a town where their embroidery is sought out by merchants from near and far? How valued by their society is it? Are they plotting while embroidering to change certain laws, social situations, etc, because “nobody would suspect embroiderers of favoring the disposed Crown Prince over his sister, since surely the sister will buy all their wares? (except she doesn’t; the crown princess expects them to provide it for free, how dare!!)”

I have no idea what your plot might be, but it can give you directions and ideas if you think about it. The most important thing to remember in all of this is that all these things interweave together. Sometimes this will cause problems (side plots!--zomg we’re all out of purple thread and the crown princess will kill us for not having any purple dye!!) and sometimes this will create solutions (sending secret messages to the prince’s supporters via embroidery!!), etc, etc.

Hope that helps at least somewhat!

#RewritingForFeminism

#MultipleCulturesInOnePlace

#answers

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

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Desperation - chapter 5

12: “So… apparently we’re in lockdown.”

Prompt list here

[AO3]

Once Gold had gone to bed, Belle cleaned up in the kitchen, washing the cups and saucers (and her hands) and wiping down all the surfaces and furniture with disinfectant. She knew she was taking a chance by staying with the Golds, but if she was careful, perhaps she would be alright. There was only silence from the bedrooms, and she hoped that Bae and Gold were getting the rest they needed.

A quick check of the fridge found it well-stocked with milk, eggs, cheese and fresh vegetables. They certainly wouldn’t starve. She made another pot of tea, and put the pie that Ruby had given her in the fridge, and the packet of cookies in the bread box. Perhaps Bae could be persuaded to have some later.

The door of the kitchen led out onto a rear porch, and Belle carried her tea out to sit on the wooden bench overlooking the garden. It was a cold day, but sunny, and she was warm enough bundled up in her coat. The house sat on the farthest edge of town, bordered by woods at the rear. Reddish trunks of pine stood like sentinels around the perimeter, their branches covered with shining coats of dark green needles. The garden itself contained rows of vegetables, kale and beets and carrots thriving now that the snows had passed, a small greenhouse in the sunniest spot containing trays of seedlings. There were rows of bamboo canes tied together in pyramids, no doubt awaiting beans and peas, and squares of damp, dark earth that had been cleared for planting, She imagined she now had an explanation for the jars of homemade produce in the kitchen. The thought made her smile, even as she wondered how Gold managed to make time to rest.

She drank her tea, leaning back on the bench and listening to cheerful birdsong from the trees. Storybrooke seemed a pleasant town, from the short time she had spent there, and its inhabitants friendly and helpful, for the most part. She decided that she had made the right choice to move there. Pandemic or no pandemic.

The sound of a car engine made her look around curiously, and she picked up her cup and walked down from the porch, around the side of the house. A police cruiser had pulled up outside, and for a moment her heart was in her throat, thinking it was bad news. A young blonde woman got out, nodding to Belle and smiling briefly to lift her grim expression.

“Hey, don’t look so scared, I’m not here to arrest anyone,” she said, walking up to the fence. “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Sheriff Swan. Emma Swan.”

“Uh - Belle French,” said Belle, still hovering near the front porch. “I’m the new librarian.”

Emma looked interested at that.

“Oh yeah?” she said. “My kid’s been going on at me for weeks, ever since we heard about the library opening up again. I keep telling him he’ll have to wait to check out books.”

“Well, as soon as I can open up, I’ll let you know,” said Belle, with a smile.

“Great! Trying to entertain a ten-year-old’s pretty much a full-time job now school’s out.” Emma frowned slightly as she looked up at the house. “I thought I heard you were taking the apartment above the library.”

“Oh, this isn’t my house,” said Belle hastily. “I just came over to help out a - a friend.”

“Ah.” Emma winced. “Well, you might want to get home while you can. I’m doing a house-to-house, letting everyone know about the lockdown.”

“There’s definitely a lockdown, then?” said Belle anxiously, and she nodded.

“Yep. Starting eight this evening. The Mayor did a radio broadcast earlier, and it’ll be repeated every half-hour, but for anyone that didn’t hear it, I’m doing the rounds.”

Belle took a step closer.

“What - what does that mean?” she asked. “What’s being locked down?”

“Whole town,” said Emma. “Everyone in Storybrooke is being told to stay in their homes. Only people allowed out are hospital workers, police, and a handful of people who’ve already had the virus and have been issued with permits to make essential deliveries.”

“For how long?”

“Next three weeks, to start with,” said Emma. “Theory is, it’ll stop the virus spreading, let the doctors treat those that already have it, wipe the thing out. That’s the theory, anyway. It’ll only work if everyone plays their part, so if you need to get home, I’d go now.”

Belle chewed her lip.

“But - but they’re both sick,” she said. “Father and son. They won’t be able to care for each other.”

Emma looked troubled.

“Look, I can ask at the hospital to see if there’s any space, but I doubt it,” she said. “They’re overwhelmed right now. That’s the reason for the lockdown.”

Belle took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Then I’ll stay here, and wait it out with them,” she said. “I can take care of them.”

“In that case, I’ll add your name to the list at this address,” said Emma, and reached inside the car to pull out a clipboard. “Belle French, right? I’ll put you down as staying with the Golds. That way they’ll know to deliver extra groceries.”

“Who’s delivering groceries?”

“If we want people to obey the lockdown, we need to make sure they eat,” explained Emma. “The Mayor’s organised a distribution centre at the docks. Small team of people with the all-clear will be making up boxes of groceries for every household, to be delivered twice per week. That way all the damn hoarding stops, there’s enough to go around, and people stay off the streets.”

“Right.”

“You’ll get your first delivery Friday,” added Emma. “Remember: after eight tonight, the lockdown begins. I see anyone out after that, it’s a big-ass fine, got it?”

“Got it,” said Belle hurriedly, and Emma smiled again.

“Well, good luck,” she said. “You tell Mr Gold and his son to get well soon, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Sheriff.”

Emma nodded to her, and set off to the next house. Belle went back around to the rear of the house, climbing the steps to the porch and heading back inside. She poured herself another cup of tea and drank it seated at the table, thinking. A glance at the kitchen clock showed that it was approaching five. Lockdown in three hours.

She looked around sharply at the sound of coughing from upstairs, and put down her cup, climbing the stairs and keeping her ears pricked. The coughing sound came again, from Bae’s bedroom, and she opened the door to peer in.

“Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Bae glanced around, taking shallow, rapid breaths.

“Not great,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Where’s Papa?”

“He’s sleeping,” said Belle, slipping into the room. “I think he’s exhausted.”

Bae nodded, and coughed again, face pushed into the crook of his arm. Belle spied a thermometer on the nightstand.

“Let’s take your temperature,” she suggested. “Did you drink all your honey and lemon?”

“Yeah. Is there any more?”

“I can make you some. Let’s check that fever first.”

Bae stuck the thermometer in his mouth obediently, lying back against the pillows. Belle waited, hovering in the doorway until it beeped, and he took it out, squinting at the digital screen.

“One hundred,” he said.

“Still a little higher than normal, then,” she said. “I think the medication must have helped, but we’ll check again in an hour or so. You get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bae wriggled back down in the covers, watching her with dark eyes that seemed a little brighter than they had been. Belle smiled again.

“I’ll get you your honey and lemon,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She closed the door, pausing on the landing as she looked around. There were two doors to the left of her, and she turned the handle of the furthest one cautiously, opening it as quietly as she could. A bathroom, with a corner shower and bath. The door next to it was a linen closet, with piles of neatly-folded towels and bed sheets. Which made the door on the other side of the landing Gold’s bedroom. She tiptoed closer, pausing outside to listen, but there was nothing but silence. Belle hoped that he was sleeping. At least there was no sound of coughing.

She went back down the stairs, pausing halfway down as she realised something. Two bedrooms. Two beds. Oh. Bugger.

Hesitating, she glanced back up, thinking. Well, I can’t leave them alone. I’ll have to sleep on the couch. Nodding to herself, she reached the foot of the stairs and turned right instead of left, opening the door that led to the lounge. She paused in the doorway, looking around curiously. There was an old couch and a squashy armchair, both stacked with red cushions. A wooden coffee table was atop a rag rug, and a TV on a stand was against the opposite wall. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, and in the other half of the room behind the couch was a box of toys and, of all things, a loom and spinning wheel. Belle’s mouth fell open at that, and she walked closer, eyes roaming over the objects. A skein of yarn was taking shape on the wheel, and the loom held a thin section of woollen cloth, a deep cobalt blue with what looked like the beginnings of an edging pattern in a paler shade. Well. This man is just full of surprises.

Having satisfied herself that there was a couch, and that it looked comfortable enough, Belle closed the door, heading back to the kitchen. She made up the hot honey and lemon for Bae, and after a moment’s hesitation made another cup for Gold, stirring them well and gazing out over the garden. The sun was heading towards the horizon, casting a warm glow over the rows of vegetables, and she glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. I’ll see if they want some dinner.

She carried the cups upstairs, careful not to spill. Bae smiled at her when she gave him his, and she crept along the landing to Gold’s bedroom. Hesitating, she knocked quietly on the door, hoping that if he was asleep, she wouldn’t disturb him.

“Come in.”

Gold sounded tired, but she opened the door, peering in. He was in bed, sitting up with his elbows on his raised knees and running a hand through his hair. He wore a T-shirt, which clung to his chest and arms. His muscles were small and wiry, and she suspected he was strong for his size. He sent her a tired smile.

“Hey,” she said, setting the cup down on his nightstand and stepping back. “I was making one for Bae, so I figured I’d make one for you.”

“Thank you. That was kind.”

He picked up the cup, breathing in the fragrant steam.

“How’s Bae?”

“He still has a fever, but only a mild one. I’ll check it again after dinner.”

“I’m not sure if he’ll eat anything,” said Gold. “Hasn’t had much of an appetite these past few days.”

“Maybe Granny’s apple pie will change that,” she suggested, and he smiled.

“Maybe so. There should be some ice cream in the freezer. Not exactly a balanced meal, but as long as he eats something, I’m happy.”

“I’ll see if he wants some.” She put her head to the side. “What about you?”

He wrinkled his nose much as Bae had done, and sighed.

“I suppose I should eat something,” he said. “Keep my strength up, and all that. There are meals in the freezer. All home-cooked and labelled. Anything will do.”

“Okay.”

He took a sip of his drink. Belle bounced on her toes, and he glanced up at her.

“Are you alright?”

“The Sheriff stopped by,” she said. “So… apparently we’re in lockdown.”

“Lockdown?”

Belle nodded.

“Three weeks. Starting at eight. On pain of—in her words—a big-ass fine.”

“Oh.” Gold ran a hand over his face. “Well. I knew it was serious. That’ll hit some people hard.”

“The Mayor has ordered a small group to make up and distribute grocery parcels,” she said. “First one gets here Friday.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” He took another drink, and set down his cup. “Thanks for everything you’ve done, Belle. You should go before the lockdown starts.”

“What? No, I’m going to stay!” she protested. “You’re sick, you can’t care for Bae and yourself alone!”

“And if you stay here with us, you’ll get sick too.”

“Not if I’m careful,” she said, and gestured between them. “See? Social distancing. And I’ve been washing my hands every five seconds, it feels like. I can do this.”

He shook his head, but it seemed more surprise than denial. A tiny, tired smile was curving the corners of his mouth.

“I’m afraid there’s only one bed,” he said. “If you give me an hour or so to pull myself together, I can remake this and take the couch. At least you’ll have somewhere comfortable to sleep.”

“I’m taking the couch,” she said firmly. “You stay there until you’re better, got it?”

She fixed him with a stare, and after a moment Gold sighed and nodded.

“Okay, I don’t have the energy to argue,” he said. “But when all this is over, Belle, I’m gonna try to make it up to you. Don’t know how yet, but I’ll try.”

#sprite's pandemic promptathon #rumbelle fic #fic: desperation #my fic #rumbelle

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junie-bugg · 5 years ago

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Prospects and Propriety - Chapter One

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

“We’re very similar, you and I.” He turns the leaf over in his palm one last time and then presses it into my hand. His fingertips are warm where the leaf is brittle.

We are, aren’t we? Me, a girl forced to marry by the rules and expectations of society and him, a boy whose freewill was stolen away before he could even walk. We’re both prisoners. Destined to fates we did not choose ourselves. Now I see what was so funny to him.

The two of us: we are absolutely tragic.

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Author’s Note:

This is a story inspired by my love of Everlark and Jane Austen’s novels. I am in no way an expert on the Regency period and I include fashions/details that are not historically accurate.

The setting is an alternate England-like Panem.

The plot is my own (Gale is not Mr. Darcy people, don’t get it twisted) but does borrow aesthetics and ideas directly from Jane Austen and Suzanne Collins.

The cast of characters is a mix of canon Hunger Games and original characters I’ve created.

I plan on including links to music and ambiance videos I used while writing so feel free to explore those! I typically play nature sounds and music together on my laptop so sorry if you're reading on a phone!

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cc9ofwF-e4

(If you want to listen to this on Spotify it's called 'The Secret Life of Daydreams' from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.)

Word Count: 1,727

Chapter One

I run my hands through the tall grasses at my waist. It’s the perfect morning. The crisp air doesn’t quite hold that harsh bite of winter that will soon sweep the countryside in blizzards and ice. Emerald leaves hint at the coming autumn with the slightest tint of yellow along their stems. The sun shines bright through branches and I watch the forest come alive with squirrels and chipmunks that scurry through the thick brush. The dirt path I followed to get here grazes the edge of the woods, but I’ve abandoned it to traipse through the wild-flower dotted hillsides instead.

From this high up, I can see everything. The village of Whitley lies to the west. I can just make out the rooftops of the squat brick buildings off the main square. By this time the merchants will have opened their shops for business. The rest of the countryside is peppered with grand estates and bountiful farmland. Rivers gleam like veins of silver and dirt roads are wreathed in the dust kicked up by horse-drawn carriages. I wish I could stay and sit here all day. I would drink in the sun and drown in the low hum of insects, though Haymitch has warned me of the nasty gossip that follows a lady with a tan and a set of freckles.

A lady. I almost snort. Apparently, that’s what I am. Or what I need to be if anyone is ever going to ask for my hand in marriage. The thought ruins the good mood my morning stroll had put me in. I throw myself down among the tall grasses and begin plucking mindlessly at their stems.

Haymitch Abernathy, the legal guardian of me and my sister, has never been one to force us into doing things we dislike. I’m allowed to ride my horse alone, hunt with a bow and arrow, and take off into the woods whenever I please, like some woodland nymph from one of my father’s old stories. If it wasn’t for Prim and my greenhouse back at home I would probably live out here. Until it got cold of course. I’m allowed more freedom than any other young girl in the county, I’m sure. But not even Haymitch can protect me from matrimony.

My sister is excited for me. I imagine she’s fantasized about her wedding since she knew what a wedding was. To her, marriage is a romantic fairytale. A strong, handsome man of large fortune will sweep her off her feet and give her an estate to run and small, cherub-faced children to care for. To me, marriage sounds like a death sentence. They say if I’m lucky, I’ll marry for love as well as for fortune, but I never want to love someone as much as my mother loved my father. Because when he died, in a way, so did she. The only person I know that I truly love is Prim.

Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, was never the outdoorsy type like me. She’s fair, with golden blonde hair that hangs in ringlets past her slight shoulders, and a face as fresh and as pure as a spring dewdrop. She spends her days drawing, flower arranging, and studying languages with my old tutor Mrs. Winthrop.

“She’ll be a highly accomplished woman by the time I’m done with her. Mark my words, this young girl is special,” Mrs. Winthrop had said to Haymitch mere days after first starting Prim’s lessons. She had been my tutor for years and had never said anything nearly as flattering about me. Sullen Katniss Everdeen must have been a lost cause in her eyes.

I’m four years older than Prim who’s a mere twelve. We share the same parents, though we look almost nothing alike. Where she received the fair skin, blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes of our mother, I received the olive-toned, straight black, and storm grey palette of our father.

I sit up suddenly, aware that I left home hours ago and it must be getting time for my lessons. I dread heading back to that stuffy room where I’m required to sit straight and learn to be “lady-like” under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Effie Trinket, my new tutor. Manners are of the utmost importance to her, seeing as she makes her living off of teaching them. She considers being late an unforgivable sin.

With this in mind, I take my time gathering wild-flowers. There are so many at my feet, their delicate white and yellow petals peeking up amongst the grasses. I deftly craft two flower chains. One for me, which I place on the crown of my head, and one for Prim clutched in my hands. I notice some dirt under my nails and smile, wondering what Effie will say when I arrive late and grimy.

She purses her lips and crosses her arms as I enter the room. “Where were you?” She demands in that high pitched voice of hers.

“Out,” I shrug. I hadn’t seen Prim on my way in so I’m still clutching her flower crown. I offer it to Effie instead. “Flowers?” She squints at my offering, probably checking for bugs, before gingerly taking it and placing it down on a side table.

“Katniss, I need you to take today’s lesson seriously.” Her clipped tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I always do-” I start, but Effie cuts me off.

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. I know you don’t care for etiquette. I know that to you a spoon is just a spoon, even when that spoon is a soup spoon and should only be used for soup!”

Again with the soup spoon thing, it was one time. But she’s right. I find learning manners and etiquette a waste of time. I’ve only been out in society for a short while. I barely attend balls seeing as I’m sixteen and prefer to stay at home anyway. I look up and realize that Effie is still talking at me.

“Are you even listening? Mrs. Winthrop was right, you are hopeless.” She sighs and wipes non-existent dust off of her shimmery lilac skirts. “It is imperative that you start paying attention and make some kind of progress in these lessons. Mr. Gale Hawthorne has recently taken possession of Templeton and is traveling here, as we speak, to take up residence indefinitely. Do you know what this could mean for you?” Suddenly, her annoyance melts away and is replaced by a teary, almost hopeful expression. The way this woman’s emotions swing back and forth between happy and exasperated hurts my head. She comes to clasp my face between her palms. “Mr. Hawthorne earns ten thousand a year, Katniss. Ten thousand!”

I have in fact heard of the Hawthornes. Maybe those lessons have had more of an impact on me than I thought. I was forced to spend months poring over books filled with the names and family trees of wealthy, well-known families that I had either already been acquainted with or might be acquainted with in the future. A healthy knowledge of people, especially rich people, will get you far in life. At least that’s what Effie says.

Gale Hawthorne is the eldest son of the wealthy businessman Ezra Hawthorne. I forget exactly how Mr. Hawthorne first made his fortune but the word mine sticks around in my head. What his mine produced, I’m not sure. Precious gems? Gold? Coal? All I know is the Hawthornes are incredibly wealthy, and Gale being the eldest son inherited when his father died. He is in possession of everything from the family fortune to a legion of servants to the many extravagant houses in Town. Now it seems he’s grown tired with the city and has decided to try his hand at country living. Good, I think. A wealthy man who’s used to the high society of the Capitol won’t last long out here. He’ll be out of my hair before the month’s up. Effie must not realize this since she’s still staring happily into my face.

“And?” I ask.

“Well, he’ll fall in love with you and ask for your hand in marriage!” She beams as if this is obvious. “If you play your cards right of course. For instance, he won’t find you very agreeable if all you do is scowl at him like you do me-” I jerk out of her grasp.

Of course. Marriage. It’s one of the only things Effie has talked about the entire time I’ve been her pupil.

“Yes, Mr. Abernathy warned me that'd you'd be. . .avoidant. But don’t you see? That’s the reason I’m here. To teach you how to win a husband! It’s an art you know.” She sighs, probably seeing the panicked look on my face, and slips back into a tone of tired annoyance. “You’ll have to marry someone, Katniss. Might as well marry knowing you’ll spend the rest of your life in the lap of luxury.”

She’s right, of course. There’s no way for women to make their own living. I can’t go to university to study business or law, I can’t run my own shop, I can’t inherit Haymitch’s estate or fortune. When he dies the money goes to some estranged cousin on his father’s side. I am a woman, therefore, I am destined to either marry or die poor and unprotected. And Prim…

If I don’t marry, then Prim can’t marry. One of the rules of proper Panem society is that a younger sibling cannot marry unless the eldest has, meaning I must be happily settled before my younger sister can even entertain the idea of love. If I don’t get married and Haymitch goes and does something stupid like die, there will be nothing I can do. For either of us. We’d be turned out of the house and left to beg for scraps. And I will not let that happen to Prim. Not again.

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat and spend the rest of the afternoon paying careful attention to Effie. She’s trying to teach me to communicate with men via body language, long gazes, and the fluttering of lashes.

This is the only way to save Prim, and with each horrible flutter I produce and each disappointed sigh from Effie, I feel my chances slipping away.

#everlark #thg #thg fanfic #everlark fluff #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #gale hawthorne #haymitch abernathy #finnick odair #pride and prejudice #jane austen au #regency #everlarkfic #The Hunger Games

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