#he had a crisis which i rescued him from and then like an idiot said we could still be friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deniigi · 4 years ago

Note

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

--------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

--------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

-----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

-----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

-------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

-----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

-------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

-----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room. This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

-------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

--------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

--------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

-----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

-------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

--------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

#the mandalorian #the armorer #din djarin #boba fett #dinluke #ficlet #don't mind me I just need answers #and in their absence I make them myself

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s-lily · 4 years ago

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Loki in Thor

So I decided to watch Thor's MCU movies (again), this time paying special attention to Loki's POV, and oh boy! You know, I've always had a problem with Thor (2011), aka Loki's First Existential Meltdown, but this time it was too obvious and painful to watch (especially with access to all deleted scenes).

Spoiler ahead (but you know... from the 2011 Thor movie)

Let's take just a second to acknowledge that after he's told he was adopted, Frigga is the only one who validates him. She goes >>You are my son, and I love you. Here is Asgard, it's yours until Father awakes, my King<< he was so confused at the moment, and he didn't even want to take the scepter! A very important piece in Loki's journey, so what the studio decided to do? They deleted it! They justify everyone's (mostly the Warriors Three and Lady Sif) suspicion about him being evil. Well, he's not!

Honestly, Thors' friends are a little dense. Even without the deleted scene, let's recap the events: The King is indisposed (Odin is having his beauty sleep), the firstborn unavailable (Thor's has been exiled), and the apparent Regent unwilling (Frigga is worried for Odin and wanted to stay at his side), but somehow making the second born, Loki, the acting ruler is so treacherous. He must have surely stolen the throne! (note the sarcasm here)

Ok, I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt because he didn't want to undo Odin's last order (although it's not like they need Thor back. Asgard was not in imminent danger or something. Basically, they are just unhappy that their best friend can not go out to play because he was grounded). But - insert frustration mannerisms here - Seriously? What did they expect? It's not like Odin is dead. He is going to wake up, and when he does, who will be the one in trouble because Thor is back? Ding! Ding! Ding! Exactly! Loki.

Not to mention the emotional turmoil in which Loki is at that point. He's not Odin's son, plus he's telling himself he is unworthy, a monster, a relic waiting to be used. He wants to prove him wrong, that he is worthy. He even goes to Earth and tries to lift Mjölnir, but he can't, and again he is reinforced with the idea that he is unworthy.

Now that we're are on Earth, let’s talk about why did he tell Thor that Odin is dead because of him? Surely he is evil, isn't he? Well, not really. I admit that telling Thor that was mean, but I think he is merely projecting his own feelings. Remember, Odin fell asleep meanwhile he was arguing with Loki. It's Loki's fault Odin is vulnerable, he feels guilty, but at the same time, Loki hasn't had the opportunity to overcome his existential crisis when talking to his father, and Thor is the only one who is available to work it out.

What about Frigga? You may ask. Frigga already validated him. She loves him, and he loves her. There is not more unfinished business with her. On the other hand, he has a lot of issues with Thor.

Sibling rivalry is normal, even Disney's perfect duo (Elsa and Anna) has some of it. Do you remember Anna's song about being like a little extra button? Probably not, because it's an outtake song - insert frustration mannerisms here - but look at it, and you'll know what I'm talking about. (More Than Just the Spare is the title). The point is that all the unspoken brother rivalry has multiplied it with the revelation of his true nature. Every single favor Odin had with Thor over him, no matter how minimal, now it's an open raw wound. He's envious more than ever.

Funny thing. Loki is the most sincere in this movie. In the deleted scene before the coronation, he said to Thor that sometimes he is envious, but never doubt he loves him (why delete it! it was only 3 minutes long! and the brotherly banter was great). He said to Thor in the final battle that he never wanted the throne, that's clear as crystal in the deleted scene when he is made King (again! why deleted such important 4 minutes!), and it's proved it again when he told Laufey he only showed them the way into Asgard to protect it from Thor's idiotic rule for a while longer. Please pay attention to the "a while longer" it means he has accepted Thor would be the king, he was at peace with that (even when Odin has told them both were born to be king), but he knew his brother was not ready, so he put that stunt with the Frost Giants in motion to prove himself right (he never intended to put Asgard at risk, he knew, as Odin said, it was the act of a few doomed to fail, he only wanted to ruin Coronation Day). He is sincere and confesses to his brother's friends he is the one who told the guard to go for dear daddy to stop them (which backfires because now Hogun and Sif think of him as a traitor. Just because he did the right thing to do! Even when all of them knew that going to Jötunheimr was a bad idea).

The sad thing is that Thor doesn't even know what is happening. He's on Earth having his Hero Journey until his friends find him (and gave him their version of the facts) and now his little brother suddenly turned vicious, and he doesn't know why.

Now, I want to rant about Heimdall. I understand the Warrior Three dislike for Loki (he is Thor's annoying little brother who always tags along, most likely to be the snitch, and who to Asgardian standards is not a skilled warrior because he prefers to use magic and tricks instead of brute force). However, Heimdall is supposed to be this wise man, yet he treats Loki, a Prince (don't forget about it), with disdain and disrespect. He has watched all of Loki's life. He's watched him grow. He knows he is a mischief kid, probably a little spoiled. (who would blame him? If someone messed with him, here comes big brother Thor at the rescue. If the thing turned serious, he is the second born of All-Father Odin. I would like to see somebody fight that. And hell sure, he's mommy's little boy, so he probably got away with a lot of things. Actually, that's probably what made him the Good of Mischief. Ok, I'm rambling now, back to the main issue) Heimdall knows he is clever, and honestly probably more apt for political affairs than Thor at this point, but when Loki is named king, he seems unable to show a little bit of loyalty. He's blind because Loki bypassed his all-mighty sight. Yikes! Chill out!, now he knows how everyone else feels.

Finally, the last blow. Loki said to Odin (and still refers to him as Father - I'm not crying, I'm not crying) that he could have succeeded. Wipe out all the Frost Giant, he could have eliminated all trace of his monstrous side. He said "for you" as in for you to be my only father, for you to accept me as your son, and not a relic to trade with, and what Odin said? No. (I'm well aware Odin said "No" more in like >>that's no the way, you're my son no matter what<<, and not like >>I don't accept you<< ) Loki is in a lot of emotional distress here, and he is hanging off the Bifrost's cliff, he feels rejected, he feels unworthy, so he let himself go. He drops loose from his father's scepter lets himself consume in the void of space.

And the hope of surviving wasn't on his face.

#marvel #loki meta #loki #thor #loki series #post: mine #// PS I don't include the genocide attempt on the Frost Giants as a villainous act because later on we learned in Thor Ragnarok from Hella #that Odin's morning tea was made just of that.

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happytroopers · 4 years ago

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In Another Life // Jedi! Reader x Wolffe

Uhhh, hi again. As per usual inspiration struck as I was watching tik Tok so I wrote this in one go on my bathroom floor lmao

basically: Reader is a Jedi trying to sort through some unjedi like thoughts about a certain Commander. Very dramatic, definitely needs to hold a damn hand. Jedi.exe stops working at the thought

warnings: mentions of gun/ GSW’s, blood, unrequited(?), two idiots with the combined emotional maturity of grapefruit

__________

Close your eyes... deep breath... don’t think about what could have been... open your eyes...

Upon reopening, your tired eyes examined the inky black void of space through the view port. There was a certain beauty in the simplicity of empty space that gave you some semblance of peace after such a hectic battle- the deep black velvet with pin pricks of pure starlight to interrupt the darkness, the idea of far off systems of planets teeming with mundane life as if other planets weren’t collapsing into war ravaged debris piles.

Once again you closed your eyes again to recenter yourself, another deep breath was lost to the usual dull chatter of the bridge as your lightsaber seemed to weigh down you hip more than usual.

You looked back to the stars, ignoring your own dim reflection in the transperisteel. This time you let your mind wander back to these unbothered planets, much like the one you were born on before being taken to the temple. You didn’t really remember your family- you often wondered if you had siblings, older or younger, were your parents kind, did you take after your mother or more after your father... what would you be doing if your were still with them? Perhaps you’d be in the workforce instead of a War General, maybe married to a someone who had grown up in the same town as you, would you have children?

An unwelcome flash of a well known face caused your mind to run with it. Letting your mind manifest a kind of mental holovid showing you a life you didn’t and could never have.

In this daydream you watched a version of yourself stumble through life, this version softer and more carefree without deadly weapons strapped to you or armor weighing down your light steps. Had this version of you ever even been wounded? Fought any battle? Surely this version of you hadn’t comforted dying soldiers and made tough battle calls, your eyes seemed too bright. Another figure appeared in your mind, even your physical form relaxed, Wolffe, the man you’d come to love despite your determination not to....

Even in this daydream where he was sans armor and unscarred, you’d always be able to pick him out of a crowd. He gave ‘softer-you’ a small smile before gingerly kissing their forehead. They/you relaxed into the gesture even with so many people bustling around- clearly you never had to worry about the consequences of your attachments. Normal people didn’t have to, being in love was a natural as the rivers of Naboo.

The image changed, their was a ring on your finger as your hands cupped Wolffe’s face for a sweet kiss. People who almost looked like you- family you supposed- clapped and cheered as Wolffe escorted you down the aisle. A wedding, normal people get married.

Another image, this time of a large hand rested against a bulbous stomach- your round stomach. Wolffe was smiling proudly before he kissed the top of your head. Normal people have kids.

You smiled softly at the cookie-cutter life you had come up with in a matter of minutes- an entire life planned out with a man you’d never dare tell your feelings to much less act on them. A true relationship, friends, marriage, houses, kids, jobs- no code or regulations, blaster fire or duels... Normalcy.

"What do you see out there, General?" A sudden voice shocked you out of your reverie. You jumped, startled, not used to people being able to sneak up on you. Suddenly your cheeks were red (a new phenomenon since you had met the commander of the 104th) as your eyes met one amber eye and one cybernetic eye- both trying to hide the amusement at your reaction.

"Wolffe, I thought I told you to call me (Y/N)." You tried to keep your tone even as your forced yourself to turn your gaze back to the view port. Allowing him to call you by your name was as far as your were willing to involve him in your forbidden delusions of romance.

"Sorry, si- (Y/N), I...didn’t mean to startle you." He apologized, his tone almost questioning. He truly hadn’t meant to, usually he couldn’t even if he wanted to- typically you could feel his force signature from across the cruiser. "Are you alright?"

"Just too tangled up in my thoughts." You mused, already mentally shredding the daydream as if that would also purge the relentless fluttering in your stomach, "Besides, I should be asking you that. I thought you were in the medbay being treated for a blaster wound."

That was another truth, you were under the impression that Wolffe was injured and probably arguing with whatever poor medic was ordering bedrest. And while the commander’s injury was probably the root source of your silent identity crisis, that was why you were so comfortable creating fantasies in the open space of the bridge- most of the other soldier’s actively avoided any Jedi when they had that vague, aloof face on (for fear of existential riddles and other ‘mystical drivel’ Jedi were known to hand out). Wolffe, however, never seemed to mind approaching you- even if all you had to offer was cheap wit and Jedi proverbs. If you had known he’d won the argument with the medic, you would have gone off to "mediate" in your quarters.

You allowed yourself to give him a once over, noting the bandages peeking out from under his deck officer’s uniform (you knew how much he hated that uniform, so you figured the medic confiscated his armor until he was cleared for duty). Wolffe shrugged, stiffly rotating his left shoulder as if to show you he was fine, "I’ve had worse."

You couldn’t help the half scoff, half chuckle that escaped you before you steadied your gaze back on the stars. You had seen him with worse- in the middle of battle with shrapnel wounds but still clawing his way to victory, stealthily mowing threw droids with a concussion during a rescue mission, blood dripping out a half cauterized lightsaber wound to his eye after you and Plo Koon forced Asajj off of him and he still managed to push through it to yell orders into his comms unit. Yes, of course, you’d seen him with worse, but that didn’t erase the worry you felt when you were informed that he’d been shot in the middle of that day’s battle. It didn’t erase the pain you felt in the force through your connection with him, nor did it erase the feeling of rage and vengeance that you had to push out of your mind for the rest of the fight.

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, you simply hummed in acknowledgment, contenting yourself with being near him. Even unaware of your affection, his mere presence was calming. As usual, the Commander didn’t mind your silence, giving you the same once over your gave him before mirroring your position. He stood comfortably by your side, eyes searching for whatever you were staring at as he informed you, "I was told that General Plo Koon has been cleared for active duty again, effective as soon as we arrive back to Coruscant."

You nodded calmly, you had been told this too. Your time with the 104th as their interim general was coming to a close. Three months hadn’t seemed like that long until the report had put it in perspective for you- and yet three months was all it took for you to break a lifetime of teaching on the dangers of attachments. Probably for the best that you wouldn’t be around Wolffe on the daily, you could rededicate yourself to the Jedi lifestyle (even if now you realized you had never been quite adjusted to it anyway).

"I’m sure the Wolffe pack will be happy to have him back." Was all you said on the matter. Wolffe nodded before sparing you another glance.

"They will, but they’ll miss you too." He told you. You met his gaze and almost flinched at the amount of sincerity you found there. When he said they, you could only wonder... hope that he also meant he would miss you. The two of you held the stare for longer than you should have allowed with all of the other deck officer’s mulling about- you were sure someone was probably watching and wondering what was going on between the two of you (the answer was nothing, for better or for worse, but the last thing you needed was rumors floating about). As if Wolffe was thinking along the same lines, he cleared his throat before adding on, "They like having you around; they say your not like other Jedi."

‘Other Jedi’ (and you had a few in mind) would have taken offense to that, probably reprimanded the Commander for addressing them so casually followed by a scolding about how it doesn’t matter if the men like or don’t like having them around.

You just breathed a quiet laugh, thinking to yourself, "So they think so too."

Another silence fell over the pair of you, as you both pretended not to sneak peripheral glances at each other. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep those daydreams from filling your head as you stood there. Instead of the viewport, you lowered you gaze to the floor hoping to appear as if your were deep in thought. This kept you from looking at Wolffe’s face, which was probably for the best, but now in our peripheral your eyes landed on his hand. It was relaxed by his side, long fingers idly grazing the seam of his trousers- usually, in his armor, he’d be wearing gloves but in this uniform his copper skin stood out against the gray, dim metal landscape of the bridge. In another life, you’d easily take his hand, see how it felt in yours- was his skin soft or calloused, would your fingers interlock or would your hands press together, would his hands be warm, would he seek out your touch as well? But in this life, you tore your gaze away from his hand- grateful for the long sleeves of your cloak the his your hands as they clenched into fists to ground yourself to this reality.

Before you could completely shove the idea out of your head, an invitation spilled out of your lips, "I’m going to the mess, if you’d like to join. That is, if you haven’t already eaten?"

Wolffe seemed pleasantly surprised at the offer- one you hadn’t made in a week or so after your effort to avoid him when possible (not that he knew that was the reason), "Lead the way, General."

Despite his words, Wolffe, as he always did, kept easy stride beside you. Whereas any other trooper or any Jedi that was younger than you would fall behind you, and any Jedi that outranked you would walk in front of you- he was always directly beside you. A simple gesture, though it was, seemed like a monument- and it was never something he or you asked or talked about. He just fell instep with you because it felt right for him to be there. It was nice to have someone to walk side by side through life with, even for a short time. Sometimes, you’d find yourself instinctively looking up for him even when he wasn’t around- and being sad when you didn’t find him.

"Uh, General?" You vaguely heard as you continued to chew on your lip, not even considering someone was calling to you until it was followed up with a slightly more forceful, "(Y/N)!"

You snapped out of your thoughts immediately at the sound of your name, looking instinctively to your side for Wolffe, but he wasn’t there. Your head swiveled in confusion only to find him several paces back, staring after you. Absentmindedly, you wondered why he stopped as you halted yourself waiting for him to catch up. He didn’t move, instead gesturing to the door he stopped in front of, "... The mess? Isn’t that where we were going?"

Instantly, that pesky flush crept back to your cheeks. You were so caught up in your thoughts about Wolffe the you had not only left him behind, but also forgot what you were doing. Shuffling back to him, you tried to get your voice steady, "Right, right, yes, apologies."

Wolffe watched you carefully as you avoided his gaze, carding the doors open. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t have heard the concern in his voice when he asked, "Are you sure you’re alright, gen- (Y/N)?"

You gave him a soft smile and a nod in an attempt to convince him, but he simply raised an eyebrow in return- clearly not swayed by the meager display. Any other day you would have argued with him, assuring him you were ok, but now you didn’t trust your voice not to raise several octaves.

And besides, you most definitely were not alright. Your time with the 104th was coming to a close, and you were trying to convince you slowly breaking heart that it was a good thing. ____

perhaps a pt 2?

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #wolffe

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fanimesenseiwrites · 4 years ago

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Kidnapped to Hell (pt. 18)

Hoshiko led Lucifer to the library once they got back to the house.

Lucifer opened the concealed passage to his study. "We can talk in here if you prefer."

Hoshiko nodded as they headed into the study. "It'll be more private if we're still talking by the time everyone else gets home."

"My thoughts exactly," Lucifer concurred before following Hoshiko into the study and closing the door behind him.

Hoshiko sat down in one of the wingback chairs and hummed.

Lucifer smiled slightly and sat next to Hoshiko in the other chair. "What is it?"

Hoshiko looked at him. "You know, your study is actually a special place for me."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "It is?"

Hoshiko nodded. "This is where we made our pact."

"It is indeed, we also shared our first kiss in here," Lucifer added.

"Our first time may not have been in here but we've had some pretty great sex in here too," Hoshiko reminded him with a grin.

Lucifer chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, yes we have."

Hoshiko smiled at Lucifer's grin, glad to see him more relaxed than he had appeared the past couple days.

Lucifer smiled back at Hoshiko and leaned back into his chair.

Hoshiko slipped off their shoes and pulled their feet into their chair, getting comfortable for what they expected to be a long conversation. "So..."

Lucifer perked up, recognizing that tone to indicate that Hoshiko wanted to talk. "Yes?"

Hoshiko looked at Lucifer. "Firstly, I wanted to apologize for how... hostile I've been towards you these past couple days. I've also been pretty hypocritical in regards to you and that wasn't fair of me, and I'm sorry."

Lucifer nodded. "I accept your apology. I understand now why you acted like that."

"I'm glad that you do. For as mad as I was at you, I was even more terrified that you didn't love me anymore," Hoshiko confessed.

Lucifer frowned. "Whatever would give you that idea?"

"Well, you didn't save me. And then you didn't even go down to the eight circles to get me, and then you just seemed so... distant, especially compared to your brothers."

"I'm sorry you felt that way, but I assure that everything I did was in your best interest... at least, I thought it was."

Hoshiko nodded. "Can you explain to me your perspective? Because I need to understand too."

Lucifer nodded. "Of course. I assumed that there would be time later for comforting you, I needed to do what I could to make sure you were safe first."

Hoshiko sighed. "Not that I don't appreciate that, but you could've taken a little time to come talk to me. I think that would've saved us both a headache."

"Well, why didn't you come talk to me? It's obvious that you were holding in your feelings for a while now," Lucifer asked.

Hoshiko puffed out their cheeks and looked away.

"See? It's not so easy when you're the one under the microscope," Lucifer teased.

Hoshiko sighed. "... we're more alike than we care to admit sometimes," Hoshiko's accent came out with their last sentence.

"Hm, I was wondering if that was going to rear its head," Lucifer commented on the appearance of Hoshiko's accent.

Hoshiko looked at him. "I'm so sorry," they told him sarcastically.

"I didn't mean that to be derogatory, I just know your accent tends to show face when you're upset."

"Yeah, I know you know."

"Is it so bad to know and be like each other?" Lucifer asked, sensing Hoshiko's growing annoyance.

"It is if you're not going to use that knowledge to your advantage," Hoshiko argued.

"We," Lucifer corrected.

"Excuse me?" Hoshiko asked, genuinely confused.

"We should use the knowledge that we are like each other to both of our advantages. If I am willing to admit my faults in this incident to you, then you need to do the same to me," Lucifer bargained.

Hoshiko shifted in their seat, uncomfortable with Lucifer calling them out and him being right about it.

Lucifer watched Hoshiko, waiting for them to respond.

Hoshiko sighed and looked at him. "You're right... I apologized for not treating you right, but I had a inkling of how you'd act and I used that to make things harder rather than make them easier."

Lucifer nodded. "Thank you for saying so."

Hoshiko sighed. "Yeah, yeah..."

"But why would you self-sabotage like that?"

"Why would you assume you had a nightmare about me being in danger and then worry about me anyways? But then still not do anything about it?" Hoshiko counter asked.

Lucifer opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself.

"Uh huh," was Hoshiko's only comment, obviously feeling vindicated.

Lucifer huffed. "I thought you wanted to talk in order to make things better," he reminded them.

"You would've done the same thing," Hoshiko pointed out.

Lucifer sighed.

Hoshiko sighed as well. "I'm sorry..."

"I forgive you," Lucifer replied.

Hoshiko got up and walked over to Lucifer and sat down in his lap, straddling him and taking his face into their hands. "Let's try again."

Lucifer nodded and grabbed Hoshiko's hands with either of his.

"I love you a lot, Lucifer," Hoshiko started. "I... I got really scared when you didn't come save me, especially once I knew you did get my message. I thought you didn't love me anymore, I was afraid you didn't care... and so I immediately retreated away from you, even when I so desperately wanted to be comforted by you."

Lucifer moved his hands down to Hoshiko's waist and wrapped his arms around them.

"Then Solomon told me what you had assumed and I saw your text and I got so mad," Hoshiko continued. "I thought that you were either an idiot or you had let your pride come before me. Either way, I thought it was cowardly."

Lucifer grimaced at that.

"Yeah, I know. But that was how I felt. I understand that I probably could've saved us both some heartache if I had just talked to you, but... I just couldn't. I didn't want to, I wanted you to suffer like I had suffered. Which, I know is so fucked up but..." Hoshiko sighed. "I dunno."

"Yes you do," Lucifer goaded gently.

Hoshiko half-heartedly glared at him. "Don't you go sounding like my therapist."

Lucifer chuckled. "I want to hear everything. Just keep talking."

Hoshiko nodded. "Speaking of my therapist, I know I do have a habit of looking for trouble..."

"Yes, you do," Lucifer agreed.

"Hush you," Hoshiko told Lucifer as they smacked his chest playfully.

Lucifer chuckled.

"Anyways," Hoshiko continued. "My therapist told me that she sees this a lot in people who have been abused long term. They don't know what to do if they're not dealing with a crisis, so even when they finally get to a good place they may create their own problems because they just don't know anything else... so I guess I do that sometimes. That's why I self-sabotage... and I'm working on it, but it takes more than just a couple therapy sessions to fix it."

Lucifer nodded. "I see."

Hoshiko suddenly got nervous at Lucifer's lack of words.

Lucifer pecked his lips against their's. "Thank you for telling me, and I'm proud of you for trying."

Hoshiko teared up. "Don't tell me that."

Lucifer frowned and reached up to stroke their cheek. "Why not?"

"Because I'll get all emotional if you do, I don't do well with praise," they whined.

Lucifer chuckled. "I know, but you need to get used to it."

Hoshiko huffed. "It's your turn," they reminded him, trying to change the subject.

"Right." Lucifer glanced away, wondering where he should start.

Hoshiko waited for him to start, but when they grew impatient they asked: "Why did you think me contacting you was just a nightmare?"

Lucifer sighed. He didn't look at Hoshiko as he spoke. "... It is not uncommon for me to dream of you in danger."

Hoshiko blinked. "Oh. I didn't know..."

"Yes, though I will admit that this experience was different from my typical nightmares. I suppose I just didn't really think about how different it was until it was already too late."

Hoshiko nodded.

"By the time I had learned that Diavolo and my brothers were anxious and worried as well, we contacted Solomon, and then Barbatos came to tell us where you were. I assumed he had looked into the past and saw you being abducted."

Hoshiko nodded and glanced away, feeling a little uncomfortable at the thought of that.

"And then Diavolo instructed everyone on what to do, he had Barbatos and Satan go down with him to the Eight Circles... and he asked me to stay and keep my brothers calm and prepare for you to be brought back home."

"So that's why you didn't come..." Hoshiko sighed as tears welled up in their eyes.

Lucifer frowned. "What is it?"

"I just..." Hoshiko sighed. "Some times I forget that Diavolo isn't just our friend, he's the crown prince... the future king... your boss essentially. So when he tells you do something and you just do it, I get frustrated sometimes... I feel like you chose him over me."

Lucifer immediately opened his mouth to argue, but Hoshiko cut him off.

"I know it's not that simple, I'm just telling you how I feel... I know, I just have to get over it."

Lucifer nodded and stroked Hoshiko's cheek. "Were this a less dire situation, I would have insisted to go with him... but I didn't want to delay your rescue any more."

Hoshiko nodded. "Yeah, I guess that was a good idea..."

Lucifer smiled slightly. "What else can I do to ease your mind?"

Hoshiko looked away. "So, earlier... ya know, when we were fightin' and arguin', you implied that I... when I die, I'll..." They were obviously very uncomfortable with saying it out loud.

"I shouldn't have said that, that was out of line, even if we were already heated. I'm sorry," Lucifer promptly apologized.

"That's fine, but is it true?" Hoshiko asked, suddenly concerned about their fate.

"No... at least not anymore," Lucifer assured them. "That did used to be the default when the Devildom and celestial realm were actively at war with each other. But that was one of the first things Diavolo changed when he started working to foster peace between the three realms... though I never felt the need to verify it until now."

Hoshiko nodded and glanced away.

Lucifer stroked Hoshiko's cheek.

Hoshiko leaned into his touch and looked back at him.

"I'd be lying if I said I was just a hundred percent better and okay with everything's that's happened, but I am better."

Lucifer nodded once. "That makes sense, I think I understand."

Hoshiko smiled slightly. "I'm glad, thank you."

Lucifer kissed the top of their head. "You're welcome."

Hoshiko yawned. "Okay, I think it's time for bed."

"I agree." Lucifer stood up, and carried Hoshiko.

"Oh!" Hoshiko wrapped their arms around Lucifer's neck. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Starlight," he told Hoshiko as he carried them to their room.

Hoshiko hummed quietly.

Lucifer took Hoshiko into their room and straight to their bathroom and set them on the counter.

"Why didn't you put me in bed?" Hoshiko asked with a small pout.

"You need to take off your makeup first," Lucifer insisted as he grabbed a cotton ball and the eye-makeup remover.

Hoshiko sighed. "I don't want to but you're right."

Lucifer smirked. "Yes, now close your eyes."

Hoshiko just did as they were told.

Lucifer gently and methodically removed all of Hoshiko's makeup for them.

Hoshiko looked at him and smiled when he was finished. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. If you'll take off your dress, I'll hang it up for you," Lucifer offered.

"You just want to see me naked," Hoshiko teased as they stood up off the counter.

Lucifer chuckled. "While that is always a delight, I do not intend to act on that tonight."

"Good. Because I need to sleep tonight," Hoshiko reminded him as they took off their dress and handed it to him.

"I know you do," Lucifer replied before taking the dress and going to hang it up.

Hoshiko walked into their bedroom and put on their night gown before climbing into their bed.

Lucifer walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Is there anything else I can do for you to help you sleep more comfortably?"

"Don't let any of your brothers wake me up," Hoshiko commanded.

Lucifer chuckled. "No one will disturb you, I promise."

Hoshiko nodded and got comfortable in bed.

"Alright," Lucifer started as he stood up. "I'll leave you be."

"Thanks. Good night."

"Good night, sleep well."

"I think I actually will tonight," Hoshiko told him as they snuggled further into their blanket.

Lucifer chuckled softly as he turned off the light. "Good night," he reiterated before walking out and closing the door behind him.

Hoshiko hummed quietly to themself and closed their eyes. They didn't take long to fall asleep, and for the first time in a few days they stayed asleep.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

#ahhhhhhh #it's the end #I hope y'all liked it #please let me know what you thought #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #my obey me mc #hoshiko higure #obey me fanfic #obey me angst #my work #my writing

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stargaze-issei · 4 years ago

Text

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟼; ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇʀ

-> tsukishima kei.

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; same tattoo, shared dreams, soulmates!au.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; none.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1.8k

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; fluff.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; the way i want to make a series out of everything in this challenge sigh.

↳ main masterlist

"what does it mean, tsukki?" yamaguchi asked by his side, looking with curiosity the needle leaving marks on his friend's skin.

tsukishima wanted to get a tattoo through his complete adolescence, his parents never allowed it, not until he could pay it by himself, at least. and there he was, eighteen years old, watching in amazement how one of his few dreams became true. being honest, he wasn't sure what it meant, but he had dreamed about those numbers a lot. since he was thirteen, the same number appeared not only in his dreams, but was everywhere else too, everytime he checked the hour, the number of his locker, even his volleyball shirt. of course it took him a while to figure it out, but once he saw it, he couldn't stop. it became his luck number.

"are you sure you just want that?" the artist wondered for the third time.

"yeah, it's important to me" the smile on tsukishima's face was completely different to all the others yamaguchi had seen since they knew each other.

*.✧☆ﾟ.*･｡✧*⊰⊹ฺ

"please, come see me play, you're always busy!" your friend, koganegawa, could be a pain in the ass if he wanted to. he could be one withouth wanting too. your job as an assistant teacher kept you occupied half of the day, add the hours at college and how much you had to study, to say it was hard to make room in your life was an understatement. which was why you never went to kogane's games after highschool.

"i told you i can't! i have... work"

"you don't work at nights, idiot! come see me play" he was so annoyingly persistent, that you had to accept, earning a excited hug from him.

after he left your appartment, only because you made him, you let yourself drop onto the couch, sighing. in fact, you were tired, but going to see kogane, one of your only friends, was something you could do. he was always so supportive, in his own unique way, it was the least you could do for him. you scratched your collarbone, unconciously going over your tattoo with your fingers, like checking if it was still there. somehow, that piece of inked skin gave you strengths when you felt like you were at your limit. the memory of a well known dream came to your mind, making you giggle.

*.✧☆ﾟ.*･｡✧*⊰⊹ฺ

you knew koganegawa's team was a professional team, but you never expected them to have a cheering squad, and local tv cameras and periodists focusing on them. it was your first time at the gym where they were playing, a little anxiety growing in your chest not knowing where to go. you tried calling him to help you, but all you got was a text saying he had sent somebody to your rescue.

"hi, are you kogane-kun's friend?" said a short blonde girl, touching your shoulder. she seemed really kind, making you feel more comfortable instantly.

you mumbled a positive respond, and she quickly grabbed your hand to take you to the bleachers like she knew the place by hand. she introduced herself as yachi hitoka, and said the game was about to start. she was also a friend of one of the players, but met some others, like koga, in highschool.

in the exact moment that you and yachi sat, the starting whistle blowed, starting with the power serve of a bleached haired guy.

yachi guide you through the game, explaining the basics to you, but you couldn't take your eyes off of the blond man with glasses, he looked so familiar, though you were sure it was the first time you saw him. he intrigued you, a lot. you were too shy to ask yachi for his name, hoping to catch it on through the speakers at some point, or trying to remember if kogane had said something about him. the game went on, points were made by everyone, and every single one the setter did, he looked at you, searching for a reassurance smile.

when it finished, a crushing victory from the frogs, you and your new friend went to wait for them outside of the compound, yachi felt the need to warn you before you met everyone.

"see, kyoutani can be a little... intense, some times, but he's really nice, and tsuk-"

"y/n! did you see me!? did you see my points!? we were so great!" she was interrupted by an overly excited koganegawa walking towards you, along with two ther blondes. your cheeks burned at the sight of whom you had glared so hard just minutes ago, wondering if he had noticed. his face was buried on his phone, too busy to look up, disappointing you a little.

"i saw you, dumbface, that's what i came to do" he pouted at your fake insult, proceeding to shout to kyoutani by his side how awesome you were for going to his game. you introduced yourself, one of they boys said to be kyoutani kentaro, the one of your interest didnt't even reply.

tsukishima had heard your voice many times before, but for the first time, he was awake. his eyes opened wide, a soft hum of confusion left his mout. it couldn't be you, you were just a made up person from his dreams, someone who he had never seen, less say heard talking, to recognize that fast. although it was you. those eyes, that voice, that hair, it was you. he had dreamed about you for so long, in his mind, at the beginning you were his same age, growing up as he did. you were exactly like that woman.

"...tsukki!" he came back to earth thanks to kogane, who was frenetically moving him from his shoulders trying to get his attention.

"get off" was all tsukishima answered.

"where's yamaguchi?" asked yachi. you didn't know what they were talking about, but you had witnessed the glasses boy, whom's name appears to be tsukki, go through a complete life crisis in the last minute.

"he's joining us at the restaurant" he said, starting to walk away by his own, followed by kyoutani and yachi, later by kogane pulling you from your arm to walk.

yachi and koga talked enough to fill the uncomfortable aire in the table once everybody ordered. a man named yamaguchi arrived a few minutes earlier, still in office clothes. he congratulated the guys on their victory and greeted you nicely, presenting himself as "tsukki's friend".

the minutes became hours, everyone, except you and tsukki, was drunk, even kyoutani had that red color on his cheeks because of the alcohol. yachi, who had stated that she was just a little tipsy, sober up when she saw how late it was.

"i have to work tomorrow! we all have to! oh go, i can't believe i let kogane- tsukishima, could you please take y/n home while i get these three an uber?" despite being so small, the girl seemed to be completely in charge of everything, probably because of her years as manager in highschool, you thought.

"are you sure you don't need help with them?" you asked, a bit curious about how was she going to handle two giants and a man with rabies by herself.

"don't worry, i've been doing this since highschool, i'm more worried about you arriving safe"

"i'll take her, you stay at yamaguchi's and text me when you're there" intervined tsukishima, he had been quiet most of the night, even though he couldn't look less interested in being there, he still refused to leave. sometimes, he would stare at you when you weren't paying attention, without knowing that you actually felt his look on you. the girl agreed to his proposal, kissing your cheek goodbye and giving her friend a small hug before you took your things and got out of the place, followed by the tall man.

the walk was silence after you told him you lived near enough to walk, him just nodding to your words. you didn't feel uncomfortable, though, and you wanted to believe neither did he. both of you were at a really short distance, and he didn't seem to care, but you smell of strawberry shortcake coming out of him. you giggled, thinking how funny it was that such an intimidating guy smelled like cake. tsukishima glared at you, disconcerted by your sudden laugh at no apparent reason.

"i used to go to this coffee house in highschool, they had the best strawberry cake i have ever eaten" your random fact caught tsukishima off guard, because he went to a coffee house with a really good strawberry cake since highschool too. he stayed silence, affraid to keep finding more shared details betweent the two of you. "i mean, don't think i talk about cake when- you smell like- i'm sorry" had you just made the situation hundred times worse? yes, you had.

the rest of the walk was as silent as the first half, now, tsukishima was uncomfortable, so much that you could tell, but still, he choose to stay close to you instead of making distance. despite being a autumn night, you felt hot, your multiples layers of clothing were now making you sweat. without giving it much thought, you took off your jacket and sweater, leaving at sight you tattoo in you collarbone. tsukki tried, he really did, to not look at you, stripping like it was nothing, so when he did, and saw his exact same tattoo in your body, he stopped walking. his jaw barely hit the floor, you could swear he saw a ghost.

"are you okay? d-do you...? what are you doing?" he got over his shocked, and in a light of boldness, he started to take off his coat and sweater, not only that, but lifting his shirt until you could see his nipple and ribs. it was then when you saw it too, your tatto, the exact same details, were on his skin, like it was printed of the same printer. you hadn't chose a design from an artist, you drew one on your own, wanting to be the only of its kind, yet, there you were.

like someone had opened a door in your mind, memories of lost dreams came back, you remembered from where tsukishima seemed so familiar. that damned dream you had for years, of him, who you thought was a creation from your subconscious, was now standing right in front of you, in flesh and bones. not you nor tsukishima knew how to react, maybe, fearing that the other would run away. a strange urge to cry invaded you, and for some reason, a intense desire to feel the blonde closer.

"i want to take you on a date, if that's okay with you"

"yes" you said not a second late, almost begging him to be with you from that day to your last.

"and i wanna kiss you right now" he didn't even let you answered before jumping to your lips, leaning a bit. you sighed in the middle of the kiss, relieved to feel him and his warm arms around you, your lips moving at synch.

his lips tasted like strawberry too.

⌙ 𝟐𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ��

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 4 years ago

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Me: It’s fine, I’m over Umbrella Academy, I can enjoy the show like a regular person-- Brain: Plot an au where Vanya starts her own superhero team. Me, tumblr text file already open: Fuck you.

Vanya discovers her powers after running away from home in late high school and running out of pills. She can’t get a refill since her pills were created by Reginald for only her and “hey, kid, where’d you get these mysterious drugs from? I’m calling the cops.”

She spends most of her time trying to earn money by playing the violin.

She has a panic attack in an alley bc she’s out of pills and she can’t go home and oh, god, what should she do-- That blows up the alley. When the destruction is over, there’s a person standing there--a person with no identifiable gender staring at them with wide eyes. “You’re just like me,” they gasp.

This is the first of multiple OCs in this verse, provided that I work more on it. Maybe... 5 major OCs?

This particular OC is Taylor, one of the other 43 kids born October 1st, 1989, and they are a shapeshifter from France. If you follow me, you might recall they were briefly mentioned in this short post. They can shapeshift into any person, animal, or combination therefore at the cost of an extremely high metabolism.

Taylor immediately drags Vanya off to their hotel which they are staying with another one of the 43, Mason. Mason is an Empath from England. He and Taylor met online. His power allows him to both feel and manipulate other people’s emotions. He can even affect large crowds of hundreds of people.

Taylor and Mason have been scoping out the Umbrella Academy for the past week, trying to decide whether or not to approach them with the idea of joining. Mason thinks it would be irresponsible to not volunteer to help people (having grown up on “with great power comes great responsibility”. Taylor doesn’t actually care beyond preventing Mason from getting shot, but has slowly grown to like the idea.

Vanya immediately goes, “You naive idiots, here’s a million reasons why that’s a bad idea”, thoroughly explaining her backstory to boot. And then remembers that she suddenly has powers now and oh look! Another panic attack.

Mason puts a stop to that. No blowing up hotel rooms here, thank you.

But now, Mason and Taylor are up a shit creek because the only known superhero group is run by an abusive asshole and they still want to help people. And Vanya’s like, “Hey, I was basically right next to Reginald in the Umbrella Academy’s training for my entire life, I know how to train ppl to be superheroes. I can train you guys!”

And Mason goes, “Fantastic, also we should probably figure out why your literally exploding shit despite being powerless for your entire life. bc wtf man.”

Vanya: “That is a fantastic idea, also I’m having an identity crisis.” Taylor: “That’s literally my entire life, let me help.”

But all is not well in the city of Townsville, for you see, another person saw Vanya blow up an alleyway. It was... The Conductor!!

(No, it’s not jenkins, and while I haven’t read the comics, the Conductor isn’t going to be here long enough to matter).

The Conductor has been kidnapping and brainwashing musicians into joining his Orchestra of EVIL to play his Apocalypse Suite that’s totally going to end the world, guys.

(let’s just say the Conductor is lowkey psychic. Like, he knows this song is going to be the song that ends the world, but not when it happens or who plays it)

So, he was stalking Vanya, to save her from a life of homelessness by drugging and brainwashing her when he sees her blow up the alley and thinks “oh. that’s the missing piece.”

Vanya has only been training Taylor and Mason for three days or so when she gets kidnapped by the Conductor and Taylor and Mason are like “oh shit, we should probably get her back if we want our dream to become reality, also because it’s the right thing to do.”

It takes them a while to track her down, because they’re not heroes yet, and they get captured while looking for her, because they’re not heroes yet.

By this point, Vanya’s been drugged and being forced to learn the first chair part for the Apocalypse Suite, and some memories have been knocked loose. Like bby!Allison rumoring her. The dark room in the basement. And bby!Vanya killing a nanny or two. She’s very emotionally overwhelmed right now.

But she’s resisting the Conductor, who is not having it. So he threatens to kill Mason and Taylor if she doesn’t agree to play. So she does.

And She Brings Down The Building.

Vanya manages to keep herself, Taylor, and Mason alive in the destruction, but the same cannot be said about the Conductor, probably (IDK, if I decide to continue/write this, he seems like he could be a good reoccurring villain).

Vanya is very overwhelmed at this point because All she ever wanted was to be accepted by her family, to have powers like them, so the fact that her father deliberately took them away from her is devastating. Fortunately, she managed to get most of the rage out of her system by blowing up the Conductor’s building.

Mason and Taylor drag her out of there before the police show up because they blew up a building. By the time they get back to their hotel, Vanya has decided.

“Can I... can I join your superhero team? If you guys want me?”

Of course they say yes because they’ve bonded now, but Vanya is still very iffy about being on the front lines. Like, she JUST had a guy try to brainwash her into destroying the world with her powers and it was revealed that she kept killing nannies in her childhood, she’s not in a good place involving them.

But, again, she’s been next to Reginald Hargreeves for a long time. She knows about both training and leading a superhero team. So Taylor suggests she takes the head. Or perhaps... the First Chair.

Because that’s what the Conductor made her. She was to be the first chair of his Orchestra of Evil, to lead the apocalypse. It’s only right that she takes that back. Plus, as part of their job, the first chair is a leader.

And Vanya is a leader now.

Since I don’t know if I should continue this, here’s my OCs, their powers, their hero names, and their jobs on the team.

Taylor Devereux Power: Shape-shifting Hero name: The Chimera Job: Infiltrator, Tank Note: Has the world’s biggest crush on Vanya.

Mason Gaines Power: Empath Hero name: The Aura Job: Crowd Control, Can Wipe Out Large Amounts of Enemies Note: Both Taylor and Mason named themselves after Vanya’s siblings in an act of solidarity. Was the one to suggest it, along with the group name, “The Parahumans.”

Saniyah Best Power: Technopath Hero Name: Hijack Job: Hacker, Information Gather Note: Saniyah was the next to join. Discovered them through her hacking after being kidnapped to use her powers for evil. Sent an SOS, agreed to join if they rescued her.

Luiz Rocha do Amaral Power: Elemental Breath Hero Name: Drake Job: Heavy Hitter/Lancer Note: Found them on an online forum of all places and tracked them down from there. Is working on an animated cartoon of their adventures as a superhero team. Until he started training with the Parahumans, he thought his power was Fire Breath, but in truth he can breath multiple elements.

Sang-Kyu Choi Power: Shadow Manipulation Hero Name: The Shade Job: Leader on the ground, Sniper Notes: Vanya saved his life. While Sang-Kyu didn’t originally plan to be a hero, he couldn’t not repay that debt. Somehow, he ended up leading the entire team. He and Vanya are very close, almost as close as Taylor and Vanya.

Vanya Hargreeves Power: Sound Manipulation Hero Name: The First Chair Job: Team Leader, Eyes in the Sky, Trainer Notes: She cried the first time their group celebrated their mutual birthday and she got presents since she rarely got them before. Still remembers every note of the Apocalypse Suite over a decade into the future. Misses Five Hargreeves more than anything else in the world.

If you want to be added to a possible taglist, please use the replies or my ask box and make sure you call it the “parahumans au” so I can find it fast.

#Umbrella Academy #vanya hargreeves #vanya deserved better #umbrella academy ocs #hargreeves siblings #hargreeves family #parahumans au #vanya discovers her powers early #minor fiveya

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

Note

Hi :) I... really wanna read a fanfic or two but I can't find one I vibe with xD So... do you know one that's not too long (around 100k words maybe), has hurt and comfort, smut (am I allowed to ask about that?? Ahhhh) and a happy ending? Top!lock would be a bonus but it's not necessary. And if it's a nice AU (like... any kind but no crossovers pls), it would be perfect! :D By the way, I found your blog only a few hours ago and I already feel really comfy and Idk, kinda at home here ^-^

Hi Nonny!!!

Welcome to my corner of the Tumblrsphere!!! I’m so happy you’ve found me, LOL, because I love all my followers and friends! <3

First of all, I think it’s super cute that “not too long” to you is “around 100K” LOL LOL LOL!!! <3 That said, I’d argue all my fic recs are fabulous, LOL. But again, I’m stupidly proud of the wonderful lists I’ve accumulated, because it satisfies my organization kink LOL. And yes, you’re ALWAYS allowed to ask for smut here LOL.

ANYWAY, so I’m gonna use this ask as an excuse to post up a long-overdue part two to my 50 to 100K fic list! But first, here’s some past lists for the genres you’re looking for:

FIC MASTER PAGES: PG1 || PG 2 || PG 3

Toplock (Mar 2020)

Omegaverse

Please Check PG 3 for all my AU fic lists. There’s a lot :)

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

Fandom Favourites / Popular Fics

I hope those will get you started! So now, here’s the main event!! Hope you enjoy them!

50 - 100 K WORDS Pt. 2 (Novel Length)

See also:

Fics Under 2000 w.

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 2

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 3

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 1 (Short Fics under 20K)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w. || Notting Hilll AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU || Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) – A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #long fics #50 to 100k #Anonymous #fic rec wednesday #e-rated fics

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cienie-isengardu · 4 years ago

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The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 5: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling together)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (A)>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>>

Dressrosa was the breaking point in the relationship between Zoro and Law. The previously visible distance (and maybe, distrust too) now is gone, and those two - despite Law’s unhappy face - drank together during the victory party. Through the voyage to Zou and later, during the arc, both men were more often seen around each other, usually in quite close range. Starting with chapter 802, when dangerous hail was failing on Bartolomeo’s ship. As it turned out, Bartolomeo and his crew did not have a navigator (to give proper orders to steersman, to sail avoiding danger) and all their “wisdom” came from talking over Den Den Mushi with grandma… who in during such crisis was telling them how to remove sticked to floor gum. As crazy Straw Hats are when it comes to challenging the world, they aren’t that insane to sail unprepared on the deadly sea of the New World. Even Luffy panicked, crying for Nami to save them. Zoro and Law on the other hand, seemed more irritated by Bartolomeo’s crew incompetence. Zoro guessed they will have to handle the situation themselves (did he say that to Law in specific, or general, to people around him?) while Law wondered if these guys were for real.

Law and Zoro already had their weapons ready for action, while were standing side by side. Their reaction to the crisis was visually similar, contrasting with panicked Luffy & Usopp and the laughing Robin.

Zoro showed his pragmatic side, by telling Bartolomeo to use his devil fruit power to put an indestructible barrier to protect the ship and everyone on it. Only to hear that he couldn’t do that because of grandma's superstition. With that, Roronoa’s patience for idiocy ran out and he too wondered how that crew survived for so long.

Zoro and Law were on the same page: Bartolomeo and his men were absurd.

The journey was full of dangers.

Judging by the splash of blood on the monster's head that resembles the effect of flying slash, Zoro (or maybe Law) in fact needed to take care of the situation by themselves. According to the narrator box, the journey took a week. Which means Zoro and Law were forced to deal with other people’s idiocy for a long time. Maybe that was another factor to bond over, because both don’t like to put up with the morons (at least, unless it wasn’t their own crews).

On the journey, Law showed his… playful is not the right word, more like deadpan trolling (a trait he will show from on more often). Like calling Usopp the “god”, using the title given to him by Doffy during the Battle of Dressrosa and later used by Marines on his bounty poster. Only to shut down Usopp’s happiness by reminding him in an emotionless way that now all Admirals will look out for him. What of course terrified the sniper.

Trafalgar did not pay to that any mind, explaining Luffy they must be already close to Zou. None Straw Hats (beside Usopp?) seemed to be bothered by Law’s dark sense of humor, so either they were already used to this or simply didn’t care. Though I suspect if Law picked at Chopper, Robin and Zoro reaction could be much different.

Both Zoro and Law had their own way to deal with Bartolomeo and his men. Zoro usually got irritated and told them to shut up, once they were fanboying over something too much. Like seeing Thousand Sunny (chapter 803):

Law, who wasn’t part of Straw Hats thus was treated less nicely, simply changed his request from “give something to us” to “give it to Straw Hats” which worked just fine (chapter 802).

Pirate alliance reached Zou and learned no one was on Thousand Sunny moored next to it. Usopp wanted to stay on the ship while others would search for missing crew members, but Zoro wouldn’t let him. Law was standing close to Usopp and Roronoa, instead of isolating himself like he used to do previously.

↪ Clearly, all Straw Hats, the two samurais and Law had their backpacks fully packed, ready for the next journey. Law provided as much information as he could, but he has never been on Zou himself. Since the group was heading into the unknown, it makes sense they took everything that could be useful during the trip, including spare (warm?) clothes, I guess. But since Law was a guest on Thousand Sunny and we didn’t see him taking much with himself from Punk Hazard (unless it was stored on the ship before the party, but then would Zoro be so surprised by Law joining them?) nor during escaping Dressrosa, I assume Straw Hats equipped him appropriately for the journey. On one hand, there was Kinemon who could easily provide Law clothes thanks to his devil fruit. On another, no one could know what awaited them on Zou and the group could be easily separated and once clothes made by Kinemon were taken down, they disappeared for good, so couldn’t be re-used. Which is why I wonder, if Straw Hats borrowed Law some of their own clothes. Since Zoro and Sanji were the closest to Law’s build, Law could get something from their wardrobe, just in case.

↪ Thinking more about it, what about the one week trip to Zou? The alliance ran away from Dressrosa in hurry taking no baggage with them.Of course, former colosseum fighters turned into Straw Hat Grand Fleet had time to organize everything needed on journey for their heroes and once again, Kinemon’s useful powers were at hand. But Bartolomeo made it clear, he didn’t care at all about Law, so did anyone think to bring spare clothes for him? And if yes, was that something acceptable for Law to wear?

↪ Visually interesting detail, how Zoro and Law have alternating colors. As in, Zoro’s black pants and backpack to Law’s white and white shirt to his black. This will be soon even more noticeable once they get on Zou.

To climb on a gigantic elephant's leg, with his devil fruit powers Kanjuro animated the (poorly drawn) dragon. Manga panel did not show in a clear way who and where was standing (chapter 803) yet judging by what looks like the silhouette of swords, Law and Zoro were standing far away from others but not that far from each other.

Later, Zoro’s position changed, which most likely means some time passed before Kanjuro finished his drawing. Law’s position wasn’t shown, it is hard to tell where he actually went.

The anime (episode 752) put Law much closer to Zoro (and later both around Franky) for the whole waiting to samurai finish his art:

Once the dragon was alive, the alliance rode on it to the Zou’s top, sitting in the following order: Luffy - Zoro - Usopp - Robin - Law - Franky - Kinemon - Kanjuro:

Of course, Luffy had to be the first - Zoro most likely sat after his captain to make sure the idiot will not do something stupid, like… failing asleep. Law sat in the middle between Robin and Franky. In all fairness, he and Zoro had similar posture - the crossed arms.

↪ There is in fact an actual divergence between frames, because at one Law was actually shown between Usopp (who most likely sat close to Zoro in hopes the swordsman will protect him and keep from failing) and Robin. And who knows, maybe Law intended to sit closer to the other Supernovas but Usopp & Robin claimed the seat before him?

During the climb, the samurais explained a bit their situation, mentioning their missing friend who actually happened to be ninja. All Straw Hat boys and Law immediately showed their delight (in case of Law, nerdy side that will show up from time to time from on):

Even though the word “ninja” sparked their interest, the faces of Zoro and Law showed similar expression - a frown. Visually, the Straw Hat & Heart pirates looked funny, with so contrasting mimicries. Open jaw (Luffy) - Frown (Zoro) - Open jaw (Usopp) - Frown (Law).

Out of nowhere, some animal (Mink) fell down and accidentally threw the samurais off the dragon (chapter 804). Thankfully, somehow the men did not die. All Straw Hats were happy to hear that. Law’s face was hard to read anything, but he too looked down after fallen comrades. Because samurais were friends in need of saving, Zoro ordered the dragon to start climbing down, clearly with rescue in the mind. Law didn’t protest.

Despite pain (tiresomess?), the dragon wanted to finish his mission. Seeing how the creature suffered already and with the reassurance from the samurai that they were fine, Straw Hats decided to head ahead.

After a long journey, the alliance finally got to the top. Luffy and Usopp were delighted, Franky cried, Robin and Zoro smiled. Sadly, Law’s face was not presented, but most likely his reaction, the same as Roronoa and Nico was of a “quiet” kind.

Then, the Straw Hats joy died, once the painted dragon - after so much suffering - changed back into picture. The moment was very heartbreaking for everyone… except for Zoro and Law.

That scene once again showed how similar they were to each other. As in: emotionally unaffected and harsh in their judgment. The dragon was in their opinion “just a crappy drawing” and “joke”. Even Usopp’s angry screaming how heartless they were didn’t change their opinion.

Also, nice thing to note: the minimal (or even a lack of) personal space between those two, despite not walking together a moment ago.

While everyone was crying after the brave dragon, Zoro and Law went ahead. To Usopp’s angry rebuke, the Pirate Hunter said:

“We’re in a strange, unfamiliar land. Don’t turn back. Always concentrate on what’s ahead of you.”

With what Law apparently agreed, because none of them stopped for a moment from examining the new place. They shared their observations about gate and watchtower - how dangerously unguarded the place was. What is a nice contrast to Dressrosa, where Law did not add any of his input to the Roronoa’s conclusions about Pica.

Usopp(?) even called them out “all business, no heart”, which highlights how clinically they approached the situation. No emotions, just coolness.

In contrast, Luffy climbed at the watchtower and was totally excited about the whole place. To the point of simply jumping ahead, without worrying about his friends. Usopp (who accompanied Luffy) notified Zoro about the captain's disappearance.

Zoro didn’t show worry nor surprise about their captain’s antics - instead asked if Usopp could see Sanji. Robin wondered shouldn’t they wait for the missing samurai, to which Zoro decided they would go ahead.

Now, without Luffy around, Zoro became the leader of Straw Hats. No one questioned his judgment of the situation. Nor nakama, nor Law.

Next part: Searching for Nakama

#one piece #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #zou arc #my analyze #an introverted Law hanging out with fellow introvert Zoro with so many noisy extroverted people around #a summary #nico robin #usopp #monkey d. luffy #franky #law & straw hats #straw hats pirates #law & zoro #zoro & law

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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

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WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I��ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

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Fic: Forged Through Fire (6/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Moderate blood and gore.

Edit: OK. So, I am an idiot and I got centuries and millennia confused. I am so sorry. Xerxes has been gone for around 500 years, as in canon. Not 50 years, as my stupid brain decided to write.

I’ve edited it now. I’m so sorry for any confusion.

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Forged Through Fire

Six

“Do you think I made a mistake? I don’t think I did. I think that there’s been something there for a while and I knew that Roy wasn’t going to do anything about it. Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t had two glasses of wine. Scratch that. I definitely wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t had two glasses of wine. I would have thought about doing it, but I wouldn’t have actually done it. And I don’t think it was a mistake because he definitely liked it. But then I had to go and run away and make things all awkward afterwards when I realised just what I’d done. But at least it’ll be a talking point now. I mean, we’re going to have to talk about it at some point. What do you think?”

Riza looked down at Hayate, who appeared to be listening intently, his eyes fixed on her face as he panted calmly beside her.

“Romance must be so much easier in the dog world,” she said. “Or do you have this problem too?”

Hayate did not respond, and Riza sighed, bending down from her chair to scratch behind his ears.

“Well, what’s done is done. Maybe he won’t even come in tonight. He doesn’t come by every night. Although he did say he’d see me tomorrow last night.”

Riza had noticed that Roy seemed to be coming by the shop a lot more often in recent weeks; even if he didn’t go down into the speakeasy, he would come and say hello to her and pet Hayate. It was just another point in favour of there being something there that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had been there before, and she just hadn’t fully come to terms with it being there. She’d always had some feelings towards Roy, but at the time she’d put them down to a schoolgirl crush. Reconnecting with him over the past couple of years had proved to her that it was definitely not just a crush.

Although she had not yet admitted it to anyone other than Hayate, who would never rat her out, Riza had accepted that her feelings towards Roy went as deep as love.

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the bar and turned to see who was coming out. She was surprised to find Madam Christmas there. Riza rarely ever saw her coming in and out of the place via the shop; she knew that there were other ways in and out of the bar, but she’d never pried into them.

“Evening, Riza.”

“Good evening, Madam Christmas.”

“Keeping a lookout for Roy?”

Riza nodded, remembered that Madam Christmas had been there behind the bar when she had kissed him last night and shook her head, and then nodded again sheepishly under the weight of the other woman’s look.

“Is this where you say ‘if you break his heart I’ll kill you’?”

Madam Christmas scoffed.

“It’s none of my business whether or not Roy gets his heart broken,” she said. “He’s a grown man, he should be able to handle that himself. I’m not going to be giving him any speeches on your behalf either. I leave it to you two to sort yourselves out. I did want to talk to you about Roy, though.”

“Should I be worried?”

“I don’t think so. I just want to get a clear picture in my head. I wouldn’t have survived in the business I’m in without being shrewd and without being able to read people. You’re more closed off than most, which I’ve always assumed was due to your upbringing. I’m not going to pry into that. At any rate, when you’re with Roy, you’re the happiest and the most open I’ve ever seen you.”

Riza nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am. I’ve always felt safe around Roy. Ever since I first trusted him with my back, I’ve always felt safe with him. In a way, I think that’s part of the reason why I came here. I wanted to keep him safe in the way that he’s always kept me safe.” She sighed. “Back when he was studying under my father, my father told him to keep me safe. I’ve always known that he wasn’t talking out of any kind of affection for me in that sense – he wanted Roy to keep me safe because keeping me safe would keep the array safe. Roy’s always known that too – well, he’s known it ever since he first saw the array and realised what my father really meant. But even so, Roy’s always kept me safe, in a way. He’s always been there whenever I needed him, and I want to do the same for him.”

She paused as Hayate bounced up onto her lap, looking for scratches from Madam Christmas.

“At first maybe it was out of a need to repay him for all his kindness, but I don’t think it is anymore. It’s just because I want to.”

Madam Christmas smiled, absent-mindedly patting Hayate’s head.

“That’s what I thought. Maybe if we can make Roy see that he’ll stop beating himself up.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“Roy’s a very forgiving person when it comes to everyone but himself. When it comes to you, there are a lot of things he blames himself for.”

“I know. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell him that it doesn’t matter, and I don’t see it like that.”

Madam Christmas snorted. “Boy’s as stubborn as a mule. He gets that from his father, and I don’t think the military’s helped. Still. You’ve got my blessing if you even wanted it in the first place. I’m going to have to stop collecting orphans and waifs and strays at some point. People will think I’m going soft.” She patted Hayate again. “Well, I might keep this particular waif and stray.”

Hayate just beamed at her.

“Anyway. Speak of the devil.” Madam Christmas nodded towards the shop door as she turned to go back downstairs. Roy was just outside, and he seemed to be going through something of a mental crisis on seeing his aunt talking to Riza. It took a good couple of minutes before he actually opened the door and came inside.

“Should I be worried?”

Riza shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Did she threaten to pickle you in a beer barrel if you broke my heart?”

“No, although that was my first thought when she came up too.”

“Right.” Roy came over to the counter. “So… How are you?”

He was addressing himself to Hayate rather than her, but Riza didn’t mind. Hayate certainly didn’t mind the excess of petting that he was getting this evening, lolling in her arms with his eyes closed as he received a belly rub from his favourite uncle.

“I’m ok, thank you. It’s been a slow day. How about you? Anything weird and wonderful happening in the laboratories today?”

“No, although Falman’s still knee deep in the paperwork from yesterday. Coming to think of it, though, I haven’t seen Hughes at all today.”

“Is that a cause for concern?”

“Not normally, and he usually only comes in once a week so I wouldn’t expect him in here tonight. It’s just after everything that he was saying yesterday… I think we’re all a bit on edge at the moment. There’s something definitely going on.” Roy shook himself, as if he was trying to shake all the disturbing thoughts out of his head. “Anyway… I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

Riza nodded. “Yes.”

“You kissed me.”

“Yes. I did. And you kissed me back.”

“Yes. I did.”

There was silence for a while.

“So… What happens now?” Roy asked. “Do we…”

The shrill bark of the telephone on the counter cut him off, and Riza leaned across to answer it without dislodging Hayate, her brow furrowing. It was rare for the bookshop to get phone calls, probably because it didn’t do all that much service as an actual bookshop, and half the time the calls would cut directly through to the speakeasy anyway.

“Cannon Street Second-Hand Books, how can I help?”

“Riza? Thank God it’s you, is Roy around?”

“Hughes, is that you?”

Roy looked up sharply and came around the counter, grabbing the receiver from her but letting her lean in close to listen in with him.

“Hughes, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m in the normal place; I think I might have been followed, look, I’ve found out some things that you need to know about what’s going on. I found out about Project Xerxes. I was right. I…”

Hughes trailed off, and Riza’s heart leapt to her mouth as the sounds became muffled.

“Hughes? Hughes!”

Her heart stopped altogether when she heard the gunshot down the line.

“Hughes!”

There was no response.

“Hughes! Hughes, answer me!” Roy thrust the phone back at Riza, who dropped it onto the counter and turned Hayate off her lap to jump up and grab her pistols from the top drawer. Roy didn’t bat an eyelid, running towards the back room. “Who’s in downstairs?”

“Just Armstrong and Havoc.”

He was already through the door and halfway to the cellar as Riza was loading up her ammunition, Hayate whimpering under the counter at the sudden confusion. She reached down and patted him gently.

“I’m sorry, boy. Mommy has to go and rescue your other favourite uncle. He’s got himself caught up in something way over his head.”

Hayate whined and sat down, front paws over his eyes. Riza wished she could do the same. She was just grabbing her coat as a thunder of running footsteps came up from the bar behind her and Roy raced out, followed by Armstrong, Havoc and Hohenheim bringing up the rear.

At least they all seemed to know where they were going.

Riza shoved her pistols into her coat pockets and high-tailed it after them.

“Hughes, if you die on me now I’m going to kill you.” It was the same mantra that Roy had been panting out for the past ten minutes as he sprinted through the dark streets of Central, the others hot on his heels.

No one had asked where they were going. No one had asked any questions at all. When he’d rushed down into the bar and hammered on the clinic door yelling that Hughes had been shot and they needed to do something Right The Hell Now, Armstrong and Havoc had got up and followed him without a word, and Hohenheim had left Trisha and run along with them. He was vaguely aware of Riza bringing up the rear, and whilst there was a large part of him that wished she hadn’t come out of fear of losing her as well as Hughes, the even greater part was grateful for the protection her guns would bring them should they need it.

They were nearly at the park. Roy didn’t know how long it had been since the phone had rung; he hoped that they would get there in time.

The phone box came into sight. Hughes’s legs were sticking out of it, and despite the searing stitch in his side, Roy put on an extra burst of speed, throwing himself down onto the ground beside his friend and feeling for a pulse.

“Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive.”

“Roy?” Hughes coughed wetly. “That you?”

“Yes.” He could have cried with relief. “Yes, it’s me.”

“OK, let’s see the damage.” Hohenheim had caught them up, breathless as he got down on the ground and started pulling Hughes’s blood-soaked jacket and shirt open. It had been a clean shot in his chest at point blank range; Roy’s stomach rolled at the sight of the bullet hole. It was a miracle he was still hanging on.

“Roy… I need to…”

“No talking.” Roy had never heard Hohenheim anything other than completely calm and gentle with his patients. Even in the very worst cases that had been dragged down into the clinic, he’d never seen Hohenheim as on edge as he was now.

“But…”

“You can talk when your lung isn’t collapsed and you’re not bleeding to death.” Hohenheim felt around under Hughes’ back and swore under his breath. “It ripped straight though. Roy, I need you to try and stop the bleeding, keep pressure on the wound.”

Roy pulled off his own jacket and balled it up, pressing down hard on Hughes’ chest whilst Hohenheim kept feeling around.

Hughes’ breath was starting to gasp and rattle.

“No, no, Maes, no, you’ve got to hold on, you’ve got to live happily ever after with Gracia, come on, stay with me, I’ll let you talk about her every minute of the goddamn day as long as you don’t die on me!” Roy looked over at Hohenheim. “You can fix it, right? Surely you can fix it!”

Hohenheim nodded. His expression was hard and grim, and he wiped his hair back from his face, dripping blood onto his glasses into the bargain.

“I can fix it. You might want to look away, though.”

“What?”

“Have you got a knife?”

“What?”

“Knife, Roy, I need a knife!”

“Hughes always carries one…” He reached for Hughes’ sleeve, trying not to let up on the pressure on his chest.

“Here.” Suddenly Riza was there, holding out a penknife.

“Thanks. You’ll both want to look away.”

Neither of them moved.

“I’m about to do something very disturbing and extremely illegal so if you want plausible deniability, look away now.”

Roy could only stare as Hohenheim slashed open his own palms, sparks of red alchemic lightning flashing over his hands as he plunged them down into Hughes’ chest.

The wait for anything to happen seemed to take forever, and even though Roy could hear the traffic on the street that ran alongside the park, this little area was so still and quiet it was almost eerie, just the electric crackle of alchemy sparking around Hughes’ chest and Hohenheim muttering something in a language Roy couldn’t understand. It sounded like he was praying.

At last, Hughes took a huge gasp of air, beginning to cough as Hohenheim pulled his hands out. The sparks died away, and if it wasn’t for the bright scarlet blood coating Hohenheim’s arms halfway to the elbow, there would have been no indication that Hughes had been injured at all.

Hohenheim was breathing like he’d run a marathon.

“We need to get him back to the shop,” he said. “Somewhere safe. He’ll need a few days to recover from the trauma but he’s in no danger.”

Roy just nodded dumbly, still rendered completely speechless by what he had just seen.

Havoc and Armstrong ran over to them at that point having scouted out the area and found no sign of Hughes’ assailant, and Armstrong picked up Hughes as carefully as a baby, carrying him away.

“Are you three all right?” Havoc asked, and Roy could see the concerned confusion in his face. He and Riza probably both looked like they were about to keel over with shock.

Riza nodded. “We’ll be fine.” She handed him one of her pistols and he tucked it into his waistband below his jacket. “Go with Armstrong, just in case.” She turned back to Roy and Hohenheim. “I’ll go find something to clean you two up with.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Roy looked over at Hohenheim again.

“What the hell was that?”

“I told you to look away.”

“That wasn’t alchemy.”

“It wasn’t the kind you’re used to, but it was alchemy.”

“You didn’t need a circle. You didn’t even leave a scar.”

“I told you to look away, Roy.”

The words were icy and came through gritted teeth, and Roy recognised the expression in Hohenheim’s eyes for what it was.

Fear.

Mentally, Roy used the excuse of being in shock at what had happened to Hughes and what he’d just witnessed for temporarily forgetting that not only was Hohenheim an unlicensed alchemist, he was also an undocumented immigrant from who knew where with no visa and no ID and he’d just performed tremendously powerful alchemy in the middle of a public park. There were no witnesses around other than himself and Riza, but at the same time, he could see exactly why he was scared. The combination was a one-way ticket to the firing squad without trial.

“Thank you for saving him.”

Hohenheim nodded. “It’s fine. I could do it, so I did. Just don’t any of you make a habit of this.”

Despite himself, Roy gave a snort of laughter. “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

“Hey. You two ok?” Riza was back, carrying a dripping stack of paper towels from the public restroom halfway down the block. “It’s not great, but it’s better than nothing to stop you causing alarm on the way back.”

Hohenheim grabbed some without a word, beginning to scrub the drying blood off his hands. Roy noticed that there was no sign of the wounds he’d made on himself, either, and he grabbed Riza’s knife from where it had fallen, handing it back to her.

“We’re ok,” he said. “We should probably get back. Armstrong will start panicking soon and Aunt Chris will want to know what’s going on. She’s probably not going to take kindly to having someone recuperating in her back room.”

“We need to let Gracia know what’s gone on as well, she’ll be expecting him at home.” Riza sighed. “You know, I think you were properly paranoid when you said that everyone was on edge about what was going on. What do you think he found out?”

“I have no idea. Presumably, he found out whatever Project Xerxes is.”

There was a crunching sound as Hohenheim’s glasses broke in his hands where he was cleaning the blood off them.

“Hohenheim?”

“I’m ok.”

“Your glasses say otherwise.”

He looked down at them and swore before visibly deflating and shoving them in his pocket. “I need to go.”

He got up and left them without another word, walking quickly back in the direction of the shop.

“Something’s going on there,” Riza said.

“You think? I don’t think I can handle any more revelations tonight. Come on, let’s get back before we’re next.”

Riza nodded, and she held out a hand to help Roy off the ground.

“Do you think he’s Xerxian?” she asked after a moment.

“The country died out nearly half a millennium ago, but after everything I’ve seen today, I wouldn’t put anything past anyone.” Roy paused, mulling it over in his mind. “There’s something in that. It makes sense that there would be diaspora, Xerxians living outside the country. The legends always say that the people were touched by the gold of the sun, and if the genes always breed true, then the colouring could have passed down the generations.”

They made the rest of the journey back to the shop in silence; all the lights were off, but Chris was waiting for them at the top of the steps.

“What was I saying about taking in waifs and strays?” she said to Riza pointedly before waving them down the stairs with a sigh. “Roy, what the hell have you got yourself into now?”

“I’m wondering that myself.”

“He’s awake, by the way, but Trisha gave him something for the pain and he’s rambling like no-one’s business. I’m beginning to think she’s got some magic mushrooms in that stock of hers somewhere.”

“Is anything he’s saying making any sense at all?” Roy asked.

“He’s convinced that Fuhrer Bradley is the spawn of the devil but then, that’s not exactly an uncommon sentiment in these parts.”

They reached the bar; it was empty and the chairs had been put up on the tables. Chris would have cleared it out as soon as Roy had started yelling about people being shot. She led the way through the main room to the drapes at the back, bypassing the clinic and going to a separate room.

Hughes was inside on a small cot, talking far too fast for human comprehension as Trisha and Hohenheim made sure he was comfortable. Hohenheim’s glasses were now miraculously fixed and back on his face, and having a patient to focus on seemed to have calmed him down and brought him back into the moment.

Havoc and Armstrong were just looking at each other with increasingly worried expressions.

“OK, I think you two can go home.” Roy groaned and sank down into the chair; this room ordinarily served as Chris’s office, but he had no idea where the desk had gone or where the cot had come from. “You were never here. You didn’t see anything.”

“Nice try, boss, but we’re all in this together now.” Havoc gave a wry smile. “We’ll go, but we’ll be back again tomorrow. I think you and Hughes are going to need all the help you can get with this one.”

Despite it all, Roy couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for the assistance.

Trisha eventually gave Hughes something to knock him out before he exhausted them all, and they all decamped into the bar. Riza was waiting for them; she’d been pouring the good stuff.

“I’ve called Gracia to let her know what’s happening,” she said. “And I’ll stay down here tonight to make sure Hughes is ok.” She looked over at Hohenheim and Trisha. “No offence, but I think Hohenheim probably needs his own bed tonight and you two really need to talk about what the hell just happened.”

“It’s ok, I know.” Trisha reached across and squeezed Hohenheim’s hand, and Roy knew that if there was anyone who could tell them what happened it was Trisha. He also knew that she’d take Hohenheim’s secrets to the grave if she had to.

“Well,” Riza began, summing up their situation far better than Roy ever could. “This is all kinds of terrifying. What do we do next?”

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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minheefreckles · 5 years ago

Text

Hidden Love - Taeyoung

Word count: about 2.5k

Member: Cravity’s Taeyoung

Warning(s): Idiots in love, a few curse words here and there nothing too bad

Genre: Fluff, bulletpoint scenario, slight crack

Note: This was requested by anon! Also I don’t know how entertainment companies work so there may be some errors. Reader is older than taeyoung and is female since anon requested a nuna reader. Enjoy!

Request: hi!! can i ask for a taeyoung fic where the reader is an older trainee at starship and tae has the fattest noona crush on him 🥺

Plot: In which getting locked into a closet brings you a lot closer to a certain younger trainee

- The first thing taeyoung was greeted with while entering the practice room for the first time was a big group hug, sweaty arms and shoulders embracing him from everywhere

- (he swore he could have felt someone wrap their legs around him koala-style too)

- Giggles and shouts echoed through the room and despite himself (and the numerous sweats stains the huggers left on his new, plain white shirt :)), he felt himself giggling along with these strangers that he has known for a total of 5 seconds

- A chorus of very very enthusiastic “Hi Taeyoung!”s as the group released him from their hug followed, people introducing themselves to him left and right, leaving him slightly disoriented, but like, a good kind of disoriented if that was a thing

- As each trainee introduced themselves properly to him, by what he was guessing as age order– age, years of training, name, all that jazz

- Taeyoung’s eyes finally drifted to the person at the end of the line

- You!!

- There’s a small sign with the word “leader” messily written in black Sharpie on it and he noticed the corners of it didn’t stick on your shirt anymore

- Your eyes shone brightly and warmly, a wide grin etched on your face and Taeyoung felt his heart skip a beat

- Taeyoung seeing you basically: 😳

- You took a big step towards him and extended a hand towards him

- “Hi! I’m (Y/N), leader of this practice room, and you’re watching Disney Channel. Welcome to Starship Entertainment. Let’s get along well!”

- Taeyoung’s eyes widened slightly.

- Taeyoung: “what if… what if my hand was sweaty???”

- “What if my hand sweat disgusts her????”

- To the poor boy’s shock, you retract your hand

- Taeyoung now, his eyes even wider because he thought you hated him now: “Did I make her wait too long????,,, does she hate me??? am i gonna have to leave starship now????”

- Taeyoung stop overreacting

- However, you open your arms very wide, inching closer and closer to him until your body is about 2 inches apart from his

- Taeyoung’s heart right now: THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THU-

- You hugged him in what might the warmest and most comfortable hug Taeyoung has ever received

- After a few seconds, which felt like an eternity for Taeyoung, you broke the hug and ruffled his hair

- “Let’s be good friends, kiddo :D!”, you said while unintentionally kiddo-zoning AND friend-zoning Taeyoung at the same time

- And become good friends you guys did!

- You were the one he was closest to and the most comfortable with among the female trainees

- Whenever he couldn’t execute a dance move the way he wanted to, you were there at his rescue! guiding him through it and calming him down

- Whenever his throat was feeling sore from all the practicing and singing, you were there to yeet a bottle of water at him and tell him to stay hydrated, ruffling his hair while he whines at you for always treating him like a child

- Whenever he felt sad, down and as if the whole world was against him, you were there to sit down with him, remind him that no! he’s not alone, he had you and the other trainees who cared a lot for him

- Sometimes, you guys engage in deep long talks that last hours

- They always without fail manage to cheer him up and its probably during one of these talks that he starts to crush on you

- And boy does he start crushing h a r d

- The thing he liked most about you was probably the way you were so kind and so encouraging to everybody

- Even if the teachers scolded you for spending too much time helping the others with their moves or something, you didn’t care

- You liked helping others and you had already claimed all the others as your children >:D

- Anyways, the second time where he felt himself fall even deeper for you was on a weekend night, late in the night

- All the others have opted to go out to the movies or to go sing at a karaoke since it was the weekend

- You, however, decided to stay at the practice room to touch up some dance moves you didn’t feel that good about and Taeyoung stayed because… well because of you

- After practicing for a good while with him and also lowkey just messing around, you laid down on the hard floor, your shirt soaked with sweat, Taeyoung soon following suit.

- You turn towards him to face him and Taeyoung noticed how pretty you were, even with your sweaty, wet, messy hair plastered to the sides of your face, even when your nostrils were flaring up and down because you were out of breath

- “I never noticed how pretty your lips were” you said and turned back to stare at the ceiling

- While taeyoung’s literally about to flatline because his heart is beating so quickly jssjakak

- He also turns to stare at the ceiling awkwardly because he swears to god, if he looks at you for one more second, he will literally combust

- “R-really?” - him, absolutely shook while you lay there peacefully smiling at nothing

- “Yeah :) they look very soft :)”

- Taeyoung’s literally shaking at this point

- “T-that’s cool. Your lips are pretty too?? I guess?? N-not to be creepy, i just find them really pretty, like pretty in shape, you know haha? And color too!! Your lip color is really pretty :’DD”

- He turns back towards you to see you snoring and sleeping peacefully and he just sits there for a minute blinking because

- What just happened

- …

- The poor boy is on the verge of tears because :((( was he that boring to the point where you feel asleep :(((

- The truth is you were just tired from practicing and from pulling that one nighter yesterday

- But he didnt know that so whoops

- He ended up just saying fuck it and just fell asleep next to you, his arm under his head serving as a pillow

- And oh boy y’all bet y’all got teased when the other trainees came back and found you two together

- Taeyoung with his arm around your waist even though he made sure to sleep at least 3 feet away from you last night because he wanted to respect your personal space

- Your face nuzzled into his chest

- Your legs tangled together

- S c a n d a l o u s

- Many pictures were taken on that day

- “God tier blackmail material” - kang minhee probably

- That was the day where you also started seeing taeyoung in a different light

- Maybe… just maybe he wasn’t the kid you always thought he was?

- Maybe he was… a man 😳

- There’s no way, right?? Haha you were just tripping

- … unless ?

- You start paying attention to your hair whenever you practiced with him

- No longer were the days where you liked to agressively flip your hair into his face because what if your hair smelled bad today :(?

- And wow, you really weren’t lying that night

- His lips really were pretty :0

- And how can someone look so good right after waking up at 5 am? And right after dancing for 30 minutes straight?

- And wow he really cleaned up well in a suit and tie when there was a certain formal event you guys had to attend

- You were even afraid to hug him sometimes after practice because what if you got sweat on him :((( what if your sweat disgusts him :((((

- Oh how the turn tables

- Unfortunately, taeyoung being the clueless boy he is mistakes your crush on him to being uncomfortable

- He racks his mind to think of something he did to offend you or something

- And he suddenly remembers the practice room night

- Did he make you uncomfortable that night? Maybe he should have woken you up instead of laying down with you?

- Goddammit taeyoung - him

- He now thinks you hate him whoops :)

- So now the two of you avoid each other

- You avoid him because you’re still having an existential crisis over whether you really consider him as a crush and a man or a boi™

- He avoids you because he feels guilty for sleeping next to you and thinks you think he’s creepy

- Two idiots in love :)

- And y’all bet the other trainees knows how absolutely dumb and in love the both of you are

- And that is why they formed a plan together to

- !!! lock both of you in a closet to talk out your feelings !!!

- Isn’t that just genius haha nothing’s gonna go wrong right? Of course not

- So, Minhee’s mainly the one behind this absolute evil masterpiece

- He commands tells poor Seongmin to go tell you that you need to retrieve a bucket from the closet

- While Wonjin’s the one who tells Taeyoung to go there to get a mop for “spring cleaning” even though its almost july

- And as if y’all couldn’t be dumber, you guys buy it and do exactly as they say

- You arrive first to the closet, not noticing the small footsteps behind you as Taeyoung also walks towards the closet, too enthralled by something on his phone to notice you were right before him

- As you enter the tight closet, you don’t see a bucket?

- Did you get the wrong closet?? :( you remember them specifically saying it was this one though

- You hear the closet door open once again and you yelp, surprised by the sudden creaking and suddenly finding yourself face to face with Taeyoung

- His nose was literally almost touching yours because of how small the closet was and you feel your heartbeat accelerate

- You didn’t even have the time so say hi to him before the doors suddenly closes followed by the sound of something, or rather somebody locking it.

- Now that the door was closed, there was no natural light peeking through the crack of the door like before and you both find yourselves in the dark, tight space of the closet

- You stare bewildered at Taeyoung’s direction and you were pretty sure his expression was also mirroring yours before both of you turned towards the door and banged on it

- It didn’t take long to conclude the others were behind this as the sound of giggling and hushed laughter could be heard from outside

- “YOU FUCKNUTS” - Taeyoung

- You at him swearing: 😶🤭😯😧😮😲

- “LET US OUT”

- “NOT UNTIL YOU TALK TO EACH OTHER AND STOP BEING DUMBASSES. YOU GUYS ARE IN LOVE AND ITS ANNOYING. BYE” sais someone who suspiciously sounded like Minhee

- You knew they weren’t gonna give up so you tried to find where the light switch was so you could at least see

- “Taeyoung, just give it up, do you know where the light is?”

- “IT’S NEXT TO THE DOOR” - a voice from outside

- “Thanks, I guess” you muttered, trying to stabilize yourself when you almost trip on something, which you were guessing was probably Taeyoung’s foot or something like that

- “Ouch!” Yep, that was his foot

- “Sorry, it’s really dark here, can you help me find the light switch. I can’t even remember where the door was”

- You keep palping the wall to find it when you come in contact with something else :) something that kinda feels like a hand :) like Taeyoung’s hands :) not that you memorized the feeling of his hand shape from holding his hands so many times you could recognize them anywhere anytime :) totally not :)

- You hear a “click” and the light finally comes out of a light bulb from the ceiling and you tightly close your eyes for a second to get accustomed to the sudden change

- When reopening them, you realize that you and Taeyoung found the light switch at the same time, your hand now on top of his

- You quickly retract your hand, your face feeling kinda warm, and glance at Taeyoung to find that his face, too, was very very red

- “So… um…”

- “Yep…”

- Awkward silence ensues :)

- “Look y/n i can’t take it anymore… i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable that night when i slept next to you in the practice room. I was tired and i didnt want to wake you up because you looked so peaceful. Im sorry :(“

- “Wait… what, Taeyoung, you didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Actually, since that night, I’ve just been really weird. I get weird around you, not in like a bad way. My heart feels weird, my stomach too. Like it feels like having butterflies in your stomach. All this time I thought of you as a kid, and now I might actually,,,,,, seeyoulikeaman?”

- Taeyoung: :0

- sO YOU DON’T HATE ME? Or is this your way of indirectly telling me that you hate me :(“

- “NO NO I DONT HATE YOU AT ALL WHAT MADE YOU THINK THAT”

- Haha nothing just you basically avoiding me 24/7 and not talking to me ever about anything anymore - taeyoung in his head

- “Idk. Wait, what did you say before? You might see what?”

- “Uh, well basically, uhhh…”

- “Does the mighty y/n mayhaps have a crush on me? I think I heard something like “i might see you like a man now”, huh?” Cue Taeyoung grinning like the Cheshire cat

- “Pfft, no, what do you mean, i never said that…”.........

- “Ok, yes, I admit it, I may have a small, teeny crush on you. I don’t know how it happened but it happened. And I actually like the feeling I get when I’m nervous around you. That sounds really weird, doesn’t it? And now I feel stupid because you probably don’t feel the same.”

- Taeyoung who has been crushing on you literally from the second he saw you: :0

- “I have a confession, but… I’ve liked you since the day you hugged me in that practice room my first day at Starship.”

- “WHAT?”

- “You were so kind to me and the others even when I just entered the company. You supported me through all these years and I don’t think I honestly could have picked someone else better than you to crush on. You’re literally an angel in disguise, Y/N.”

- Homeboy really just poured his entire heart and feelings to you in a closet

- “Wow. I guess we were crushing on each other this whole time and didn’t notice.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation.

- “NOW KISS” - a voice outside, again

- You and Taeyoung shared an exasperated look together.

- “Leave us alone, this is private >:(((“

- “No.”

- You know, Tae,” you put your hand on his arm, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively, “that kiss doesn’t sound like a bad idea” You were now sporting a wide grin.

- “Y/N NOT YOU TOO”

Bonus

“guys! get us out of here”

“jungmo unlock them”

“...”

“jungmo!”

“i may have forgotten the lock combination…”

“JUNGMO!”

#kim taeyoung #cravity #kpop #kpop blurbs #kpop fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #cravity taeyoung #taeyoung fluff #taeyoung scenarios #taeyoung imagines #cravity fluff #cravity scenarios #cravity imagines #request #cravity taeyoung fluff #cravity taeyoung imagines #cravity taeyoung scenarios

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