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djarins-cyare · 4 months

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Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

@pigeonmama @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an @titlee78

I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

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peoniesnro · 2 months

Text

In Another Universe.

#1. Park Jimin

Synopsis - When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin's girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre - parallel universe (duh)/ kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT (will be here in future chapters)/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff

Warnings - nothing for this chapter except language. However bear in mind that this is going to be INFIDELITY. CHEATING.

Word count - 9k

Chapter Index

…................................................................................................

You wake up startled. Eyes shoot open. Gasping. It’s definitely thunder that woke you up. You can still hear the fading grumbling of the sky. You shut your eyes tightly again, hating the whole world for disrupting the deep slumber you were finally having after lying awake for so long, crying. It’s pouring outside. The whole world is about to wash away, and you couldn’t be happier. Especially, after you humiliated your own pathetic self twice in one day. You want the world to fade away.

You groan into your pillow. Shit! You just want to sleep. Sleep your misery away. Never wake up. So, the world will never see you, and you won’t have to fear facing the world again. Honestly, nothing that happened was your fault. Life is always hard; nobody gets what they want all the damn time. The thing is, that you managed to confess to your long-time crush (or came close to doing so) -a scary thing to do itself - which went awfully wrong. Being rejected is fine. But hearing him say that he has feelings for your best friend, even before you properly poured your heart out, is not. Chan- your boss friend, your almost- year long crush, the man you looked up to- has feelings for Key, your best friend. Your damn fucking best friend. Another groan. Poor pillow.

You have felt like dying from many different feelings at that moment. Humiliation. Embarrassment. Hurt. And finally depression. You were so stupid that you didn’t even manage to pretend to be happy, manage a smile, or hide the hurt that flashed across your face. Chan looked like you slapped him when you gaped at him with a somber look on your face. Asked you if you were okay, and you stormed away. Like the damn fool you are. It’s your own stupid decisions that made your misery worse. You were hurt alright. Hurt enough that you found the one person you should stay away from. Lee Seung, the campus fuck boy, a junior in that. Key would kill you if she ever knew that you were friendly with the moron. You don’t even want to think what will happen after she hears when you say that you texted him first after crying for an hour straight. Asked if he wanted to hangout. Said yes when he bluntly and rudely asked if you wanted to get fucked. The best part? He never fucking showed up.

Oh! If only you could rip your hair out. Maybe you should eat rat poison. Nope. No way. But this is beyond humiliating. How are you ever going to show your face at lectures? At work? How are you ever going to look at Chan or Lee Seung?

You need to shut your brain up and go back to sleep. It’s not good that you’re wallowing in your misery in the middle of the night, thinking about suicide. You take a deep breath and start counting to 100. A method you taught yourself. The perfect way to keep the brain quiet. It takes some time but eventually, it works and makes your brain quiet so you can breathe peacefully. Can hear the pitter patter of raindrops against the windows.

You are at number 65, and you’ll be in dreamland in a minute.

66, 67, 68, 69…. There is a tickle behind your neck. Damn, it ruined the flow, but you bring your hand up to scratch your neck anyway.

70, 71…. There is a sound of a soft sigh behind you. Then your neck tickles again. You can feel a soft movement, like someone scooted closer to you. 72, 73…. Wait? 74.. What? Your entire body freezes while your hand is still stretched behind your neck. Eyes shoot open again, and the drowsiness disappears instantly. A shiver runs through your spine and your throat goes dry like it’s full of sand, heart picking up speed like you ran a marathon. Is there someone… Someone there? Behind you?

You live alone in your studio apartment. Key didn’t come to your place last night, nor did anyone else. Nobody, including Key, has extra keys for your place for security purposes, which means there is no way in hell someone is sleeping next to you. The thought doesn’t do any good for your slowly-starting-to-panic-mind, however. If anything, that makes your heart stop beating entirely. It can’t be, though. You’re just being paranoid, like the times when you watch a horror film alone. There is no one here and all you have to do is turn around and reassure yourself. You take another deep breath, willing your mind to calm down, chuckling to yourself for being an idiot.

You were just about to do that. Turn around and release the breath you’re holding, when a soft murmur reaches your left ear, before a hand snakes around your waist. The entire world stopped for a minute while your poor brain processes what is happening. When it does, however, the last pieces of composure you were holding on to disappear in a blink of an eye. Your brain goes to high alert mode, and a scream leaves your mouth before you could hold it in or think about it. How you managed to get on your feet that fast will forever remain a mystery. You nearly stumbled backward and bruised your ass at the intensity of your movements. Everything you did, however, are wrong moves in your end. You should have woken up silently, left the apartment, and run for your life. Knocked on your neighbor’s door and asked for help.

But no! you didn’t do anything but pathetically scream. You scream so loud that you were certain you woke up everyone within miles. You scream so loud that you make the intruder lose their shit and sit back on the bed. You make that person scream too. You watch the event unfold In front of your blurry eyes, legs buckling, heart pounding in your ears, and feeling like you’re about to pass out. It was all a dark mess where you could only see a silhouette of someone who is stumbling around. Only for minute, though. It all come to life when a table lamp flicker on. And you close your eyes for a split second before opening them again, taking everything into your sight.

A man.

A fuckin man, struggling to get out of the bed.

A man, shirtless and blonde.

A man whom you have never seen before.

A man who is finally on his feet and rounding the bed towards you.

You didn’t know it is possible to be more sacred, more panicked. But you somehow do. Your legs almost give out before you frantically start to look around for a weapon. You grab the first thing your hands- not your eyes- land on, without even realizing it is a stupid table lamp. Even if you did realize, you wouldn’t have cared. You clutch it tightly as you point it toward the man who has made it to your side already, glaring at him. For starters, you don’t want to appear frightened and vulnerable, but strong and intimidating, so he will think you could actually kill him if you wanted. That’s what made you gulp harshly to sooth your parched throat before words leave through your gritted teeth. Tone menacing.

“Do not fucking move!” Thank God, that your voice didn’t quiver. Thank God, you sounded like a murderess. And it works. The man stops dead in his tracks, eyes going slightly wide, confused and hands immediately going up in the air. Still, you make sure he hears you one more time.

“Move a finger and I’ll crush your fucking head. I swear to God, I’ll kill you” The threats must be ridiculous considering you’re holding a damn table lamp. That must be what makes him take a cautious step forward, hands still raised in surrender. You took a step back when he took a one forward. “DON’T” you practically shout when he stops again.

“OKAY. Okay. FUCK okay… I’m not moving” he shouts back. For the first time. Before he composes himself, looking visibly confused. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I’m not moving. So, calm down Liya” he mumbles when your eyes dart on to his. You are sure you hear concern in his voice. Hell, he even looks like he is worried and concerned. It all could be a part of a plan, though, and the part where he referred to a name slips your mind. Too nervous. Too scared. His voice is nothing but a white noise. He takes another breath. “Calm down, okay? It’s okay” his voice is too calm now, like honey, soothing. And you almost listen to him and lower your guard before he takes another step forward, making you freak out again and take a step back pathetically, despite your threatening words. It’s getting hard to hide the tremble of your body and voice.

“Stay the fuck where you are” you point the table lamp towards him closer, so ready to strike. He stops again; brows furrowed as he looks at you like you are the most insane person he has ever seen. “Hey! Hey... baby listen. I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to calm down”. Another step forward as he speaks. Another step backward now your ass is slightly grazing on something.

What? Baby?

Did he just call you baby? You’re confused. Utterly. There is however, no time to dwell on that when he takes another step, and your ass is now pressed against something. “Who the fuck are you? Why are you in my apartment?” you raise your stupid makeshift weapon higher. He drops his hand down, making them fall limp beside him. “I’m doing what?” his eyes dart around the room swiftly before they stop on your trembling figure, his brows furrowing even more. “What do you mean your apartment Liya? You fucking had a nightmare or something? What do you mean by who the fuck I am” he chuckles humorlessly as he questions. His question, nevertheless, falls on deaf ears. You are already frantically scanning the place following his earlier movements. Grasping everything around you.

The queen-size bed. The bedside drawer on the other side of the bed. The drawer behind you, which your ass is pressed against. The flickering table lamp. A writing table on your right. A full-length mirror on the left side of the room. Finally, the table lamp in your hand and the whole room itself. It screams one thing: lavish. The room is bigger than your entire dusty and rusty studio apartment. And you’re definitely not in your apartment. The lamp falls down onto the floor with a loud clank, the bulb shattering across the floor. It makes the man take a step back, cursing under his breath as you grip the drawer behind you tightly. You feel like you can’t breathe, and your head is spinning uncontrollably. You need to sit down.

“Where am I? What do you want? Oh god, am I kidnapped?” everything blurts out through your breathless mouth. It’s like you’re talking to yourself rather than to him. You can’t come up with a possible reason for him to do this. As far as you know, your parents are middle-class, innocent people who can’t even afford to send their both children to university. That’s how your older sister got married when she was barely 20. They, for a fact, can't pay a ransom to save your ass.

“What? Kidnap? What the actual fuck are you talking about baby? You are literally fucking standing on your own bedroom and…. Kidnapped?” This time he actually makes it towards you. In three long swift steps. You scream, but he is already In front of you, not caring about his feet are getting wounded on the shattered glass. You’re sure he is a psychopath now. That must be why he is calling you baby and saying this is your bedroom. Maybe he is a delusional stalker, or even a serial killer and you can no longer find the courage to act like a bad bitch. You are pathetically screaming and crying when you find your voice again.

“Let me go please. Let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I haven’t seen your face” You close your eyes shut, wailing. Panicking. Breathing gets harder and harder with every passing second.

“Holy shit Liya. What’s happening? Why are you acting like this?” His voice sounds like he is panicked as well. You feel his hands slightly touch your arms, so you immediately flinch away.

“No… NO…” you scream again. “Don’t touch me… Don’t fucking touch me.” There is no place you can go. You are trapped between him and the drawer, with the bed on your left. All you can do is flee to your right. He will catch you though. Definitely. So, you scream and scream until his voice booms through the room, his hands grip your shoulders so tightly that it hurts.

“Calm the FUCK down woman” he shakes you by your shoulders. “Calm down” It’s a demand, and you stop your wailing and screaming abruptly. Pathetic. He bores into your glossy eyes, taking in your helpless state. Wet cheeks and snot running down your nose. You don’t want to die this way. You take back wanting to eat rat poison. You want to live to see the sun rise tomorrow. Fuck Chan. Fuck Les seung. You’re trembling badly but you will try one more time. “Please” you hate how weak you sound. “Please” you are crying again. “Please let me go” your knees are giving up and he is the one who holding you up.

His voice is calm when he speaks again, a note of hurt in his voice, as if you’re hurting him. “God, baby. Hey, look at me. What’s wrong Liya? What happened” His voice cracks. You reluctantly comply. Steal a glance at him. He looks like he’s on the verge of crying. Once again, the name has slipped your mind. There’s nothing you want more than to survive right now. So you start pleading again. “Just please let me go…” You can’t give two shits about his distress look. You want to survive. Live. Struggle through your damned life. “Please…I won’t tell anyone. Just want to live; please let me go” You have never felt this scared before. Never have cried this hard you feel like your throat is about to rip. You struggle against his tight grip on your shoulders, squirming helplessly. He, however, surprisingly takes the hint, letting you go immediately and placing his hands on his hips. Head turning towards heaven, seeking solace or clarity. A frustrated groan escapes from his throat before he turns his head back to you.

“Okay… okay, fine, where do you wanna go?” His voice is shaky when he asks that question, seemingly at a loss. You, on the other hand, are already walking past him, head heavy and sight still blurry, ignoring the sharp pain you feel on your right foot. Probably step on a piece of shattered glass. Even in your distressed mind, that question sounds ridiculous. Like hell you would tell him that. You were making it toward where you thought the bedroom door was, when his hand reaches out to you from behind, yanking you back by your upper arm, turning you around. A surprised and frightened yelp escapes your mouth as your mind start ringing alarms once again, making you thrash in his grip. Frantically, like a deer caught in a trap. He let you go immediately however. Once again. Surprising.

“Sorry. Sorry” He mutters breathlessly. “Sorry, I won’t touch you, but you can’t just walk outside. It’s fucking storming outside” He raises his hands, palms out. Just to let you know he is harmless. Not going to harm you anyway. But you’re not sure you believe that. “You can’t just walk out in the middle of the night when it’s fucking storming... and wearing……” His voice trailed off as he takes the sight of you, again looking confused. You follow his gaze. Oh shit! You’re wearing the skimpiest pajamas you own. Powder pink set with shortest shorts that your ass cheeks are practically out, and a matching tank top. Silk and lacy edges. Your hands instinctively goes to cover your breasts. You are not wearing a bra and he could probably see your nipples peeking through. It’s a little bit chilly here. Least of your concerns. Can’t believe you put effort for fucker who never showed up.

“Shit. No. There is no fucking way you would go outside like that” he finds his voice again. “Get dress first, if you really wanna leave..” Hesitates. Breathes. “That is.” He takes a step back, letting you know he is not going to do anything. Still, you have no intention of lingering in this place for one more minute, let alone changing your clothes. It’s really astonishing, you think, how he willingly let his victim go. What kind of criminal would do that? He is the weirdest person you’ve ever met. And you’ve met a lot.

Simply put, you don’t care. You don’t want to wait here until he changes his mind again. Hence, your violent head shake and abrupt departure through the bedroom door that you yanked open. You break into a sprint immediately, not waiting to take anything into your sight. Spot a short staircase which you descend within a heartbeat and almost make it to the door that look like the main one when you are yanked back again. Your back colliding against a hard, cold, and a bare chest. A gasp leaves your mouth.

“Wait” He pleads. “Fuck baby. Please wait” He begs. “Take a coat at least. Please? A coat.” He sounds like crying. Your eyes widen. Your poor brain is having a hard time processing what on earth is happening. Why does he sounds so concerned? Like he knows you? He is delusional. And you have no time to analyze the best theories about a criminal mind. It’s better to take that coat and disappear while you can.

This time you found yourself nodding your head instead of shaking. And even waiting patiently until he grabs a coat from the coat rack near the door. Take a one long look at his distressed face when he shows it into your hand. That’s only when you truly see him. His captivating eyes, worry etch on them. Are little bit glossy. Jet black brows which are furrowed deeply. Sharp jawline looking intimidating since he is clenching his jaw tightly. A petite and perfectly proportionate nose. On top of everything, the plumpest lips you’ve ever seen, where the bottom one is turning red under his sharp teeth. You take on his entire figure. His bare chest and a tattoo scrawl along his ribs. Can’t read the wordings though since it’s too dark. For a one thing, he looks beautiful, certainly doesn’t look like a creepy seral killer. But then, no serial killer nor psychopath will tatoo ‘I’m a criminal’ on their face. So, you take the coat and turn around, leaving the that place hopefully once and for all.

…………………………………………………......................................

You fucked up. Royally so. You absolutely have no idea where you are going. You are soaking wet, drenched from head to toe. The coat is the only thing that keeps you from freezing to death. None of these streets are familiar. You are definitely lost in a strange street, in the middle of the night, in a torrential downpour, with no source of light except for the occasional flashes of lightning, and nowhere to go. You had turned left when you first left the fancy apartment building and had walk despite the freezing droplets of water that embrace you. You walked, walked, and walked until you came to a T-intersection. Took a deep breath while you hesitate about the direction you should turn before, you decided on the right side. That’s how you find yourself in this seemingly abandoned road where each streetlamp has gone out.

You were cursing the government for poor maintenance while wrapping the coat around you tightly and halfway through that road when you hear something else. That is not water droplets kissing the earth nor the grumbling of the sky. Your poor heart stops again. The first thought that occurs on your mind is that, him who was your captivator (or not) is following you. But when you turn around, oh how you wish it were really him. It isn’t him. Not at all but another man who is obviously drunk and reach to you faster than a thunder. You have no idea for how long you might’ve been followed.

What have you done in your previous life to find yourself running away from a possible threat only to encounter another? This situation, however, is entirely different. You have no table lamp to protect yourself and the man doesn’t give you enough time to prepare before he lunges at you. You nearly fall backward when he approaches you so fast. Fortunately end up hitting a wall behind you. You scream, you obviously do. So loud your mouth tastes like blood. Eyes closing tight as a reflex. Covers your face with your hands for protection that might not do anything at all. Really expects the blow you will receive on your face or body when it never came. You open your eyes right at the time to see the scumbag was pushed on to his back onto the drenched concrete by a mysterious man on top of him. You hear the bone- cracking sound when the mystery man’s fist, whose face you can’t see properly lands on that scumbags’ jaw. You take that as your sign to act. Start to walk backward. Away from the threat. Trembling. Eyes still lingering on the two men grappling in the drenched pavement, trying to figure out who your hero is. That’s when the universe decided to help you unnecessarily; the sky splits up with a thunder, lighting your dark world. Allowing you to recognize the hero who saved your ass. A one long look gave you enough for your recognition. The same jet-black brows, scrunched up. The same jaw line clenched hard. Furious look on his face. Seething. It’s the same man you accused to be a psychopath. It’s him. Your captivator.

You take a shaky breath. Don’t know whether to be happy or not. To run away or stay. Your legs, however, feel like they’re rooted to the concrete. Your body makes the decision for you. So you stay, horrified at the scene in front of you. Have no idea how many times his hand landed on that pathetic-excuse-for-a-man’s face. All you know is that your- captivator turned out to be your life saver- looks murderous. His hands crack the other man’s jaw, nose, and cheekbone over and over again. Scumbag deserves it. He deserves to have his face turned into pulp. But then, he would die and when that happens, you’ll be a firsthand witness. Gosh you don’t want that. You have enough problems as it is. Besides, it’s way too cruel to let your savior go to jail, saving your poor ass. Your sight is blurry as you reach the man. It feel like a dream when you snake your hand around his shoulders.

“That’s enough” your voice is hoarse. “Enough… you’ll fucking kill him” you are trying your best to drag him away. First, he doesn’t give a two shit about your pleading. Then he stops his assault to turns toward your shaking figure.

“Don’t kill him”

A pair of hands circle around you, engulfing you in a warm hug.

“It’s okay baby.. It’s okay.”

…………………………………………………....................................

You’re back to where you started. Sitting on a fancy couch, trembling violently, wrapped up in a blanket, still soaking wet, and taking in the lavish interior of this apartment. While you were running away, you didn’t notice any of these luxuries. A high-end TV, might be more expensive than your parents’ home. A book rack that holds a treasure. Floor to ceiling windows. A majestic coffee table which must be custom made. And this couch is the comfiest thing you have parked your butt on. He, whoever he is, is definitely rich, and you, a broken second year college student, don’t belong here. Your trail of thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You snap your head just in time to catch him approaching you, a steaming mug in his hand. He holds out the mug toward you, asking silently for you to take it. So, you do and are definitely happy to see hot coffee in it.

On your way back to his fancy home, you didn’t really talk. It was a silent walk through the raging storm. He hasn’t asked you anything but has given you this blanket in the moment you were inside again. Hence, your surprise when he sits next to you, carefully evaluating your each and every action. You carefully scoot away. Put enough distance between you. Look at him through your peripherals while sniffing on your hot coffee. It doesn’t smell suspicious. He chuckles softly at your actions. Doesn’t say anything. So you take a cautious sip. Wait for anything to happen. Nothing. Then another and another while sitting next to him. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Less scared. But still distrustful.

You don’t know why you followed him back here. Looked like you have no any other options to be fair. So, here you are, trying desperately to keep your distance. To stay prepared for a any kind of attack.

Still, you can’t help but curiously watch his expressions. Now that there is enough lighting, you can see him properly, even in your peripherals. You were absolutely correct when you thought he had the plumpest lips. Earlier you had thought he was beautiful, now though, under the amber light that creates a golden hue on his skin, you think he is breathtaking. Even when he is scowling. Worrying into his bottom lip. Even then, he looks strangely handsome. Fucking ethereal. Has one of his ears pierced. Mesmerizing. You need to get your brain checked. He is the one who breaks that deafening silence in the end.

“Umm… are... are you okay?” He sounds so cautious, like you’re a savage wolf who needs to be handled carefully. Makes sense though. You avert your gaze from your hot coffee to him. Of course, you’re not okay. You went through hell within an hour. How stupid can a question be? True, he appeared before things got worse but you really thought today was the day you die. He clears his throat as he changes his question, making you wonder if he could read mind. “I... I mean… not in that way. I know you are not okay but...” a sigh. “Are you back? Like… gosh okay...” he is struggling obviously. You can’t be of any help however, since you have no idea what he is getting at. “Are you like…” he starts again. “Are you back Liya? Baby I don’t know what happened, but you are back right?” he turns to face you properly and you gape at his face. Confused. Utterly confused. And then it hits you.

Liya?

He called you Liya? He has called you Liya all this time.

If you think about it, he certainly called you Liya from the first moment. You were panicked and devastated that it slipped your mind. Oh, how foolish. You open and close your mouth like a stupid fish before finding your words. Throat still hoarse due to all the screaming. “Who?” you mumble while still gaping at his face which gets clouded by a devastated and frustrated expression at your question. “I… I’m not sure what’s happening here but I don’t know who Liya is.” You shake your head slightly when he chuckles humorlessly. Dropping his head on to his palms. “You know what? This isn’t fucking funny anymore Liya” he looks back at you before he got to his feet glaring at you.

Who the fuck is Liya?

He is clearly annoyed. Not angry, but annoyed, and that puts you on the edge. Why the hell is he getting annoyed? You scowl at him as he start pacing around. You hate it. “You are fucking making me worried. I mean, what the hell is going on? Are you doing this because you’re mad at me? Still?” He speaks while he paces, suddenly stops to face you. “No. Here’s an idea. Let’s go and get you checked up and..” The loud thud of your coffee cup landing on that opulent coffee table is what interrupts his talk.

You get to your feet as well before you speak. “Oh, you need to stop right their mister.” You probably need a doctor right now but not for the reason he thinks you need one. And you’re trying to be polite. First, because he saved you. Second, because you don’t want to make him angry. “I really have no idea what you are talking about. Listen, I don’t know you or a Liya for the heavens sake and I am really grateful you saved me, but I should go…” Well, you’re not in a position to storm away after what happened. You need to add teeny tiny adjustments to your phrase. “I mean not alone again, but can I use your phone?” “Please” you add that just in case. He blinks at you. Dumbfounded. Takes two steps toward you.

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”

“No, because you sound more ridiculous than I am.” He makes it hard to stay polite. Nothing makes any sense. He is the one who needs a checkup.

“You are saying you don’t know who you are, and you say I sound ridiculous?”

“Oh, I fucking know who I am. It’s you who is in a misunderstanding here.” Finally, your restraint snaps. You didn’t mean to sound harsh toward your guardian angel who is getting on your nerves again. You readjust your sentence. Less harsh. More polite. Don’t like the way he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Listen, I really am sorry for causing trouble, but only if you could let me use your phone to call someone, I’ll be out of your hair within the next half an hour.” You take a deep breath before you speak again while he just looks at your face warily. Oh how fast things turned out to this. You no longer think he is the danger. Even ask him for his phone. You’re very stupid.

“I really don’t know why you keep calling me Liya, but I’ve never heard of this person. So, please?” You let the breath you took earlier go. He faces heavenward again. Rubs his face tightly so that you worry for a moment he might rip his skin off. Looks at you again. “Gosh, I’m the one who needs help. I need to talk to someone.” He is breathing heavily. “Okay fine. Since you so badly want to talk to someone so that you can go home… Okay, fine, let’s call someone. Wait” he turns around leaving you alone for no more than a minute when he is back in front of you. Holding out a mobile. Looking smug for some reason. You take it anyway and press the power button, revealing the lock screen.

You were about to ask for the password when your eyes land on the wallpaper on the lock screen. It took you a minute to really grasp what you are seeing. And then your eyes go wide, so do your mouth as you look back at him. He looks curious but victorious in a way. “So.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “You don’t recognize the lady in that photo?” It is a hard question in your mind as you look back at the picture. Feeling like the world is fading away slowly.

Do you recognize the lady…?

Holy shit! This might be a nightmare at this rate. You do recognize this lady. You do. Not because you’ve seen her but because it’s you. It’s you. It really is you, with this man in front of you. His hands hugging you tightly from the back. Both smiling goofily. It’s you and him except it’s not you. How can it be you? You are shaking your head mindlessly, his voice reaching your ears from a distance while making no sense. You feel like you missed out on a part of your life. Feel like you just woken up from a coma. Strange part? You can remember your heartbreak and Chan, your humiliation and Lee Seung, like it was yesterday. Your head is spinning again. You feel dizzy so you plop back on the couch. How can you not remember him? Do you even know him? Did you really miss out on your life? Have you really lost your mind?

“What’s the date today?” That question sounds ridiculous even in your ears. But you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been sleeping for years and lost your memory on the journey. He looks taken aback for a minute. “Huh?... I mean 16th” he answers cautiously again.

“Which month?”

“November. Why are you asking strange questions now?”

Oh! It was the 15th of November when you got rejected. You’ll never forget that. Then how? This doesn’t make any sense. “What year?” He doesn’t answer the question but plops next to you. “Liya?”

“For fucks sake! What year is this?” You are back to screaming. You’re going to lose your speaking abilities.

“2023 Jesus.” He yells.

Your head is spinning really badly. This can’t be happening. The dates match up. You are sure you went to sleep somewhere around 11 p.m. on 15th November 2023. It’s 4 am now so it’s 16th today, so you for sure haven’t missed on your life. How on earth then is there a picture of you grinning widely into a camera with a man whom you’ve never seen before. There is only one possibility, which is that this lady is not you. Of course, she is not you. You can remember your name perfectly, your life, parents, friends, and everything in it. You laugh at your own thoughts. Funny, how you thought this woman was really you even for a minute. This is just a huge misunderstanding. She looks exactly like you. But weird things happen. This man here has mistaken you for someone else. You turn to look at him again, a sympathetic look in your eyes. Sigh heavily in relief.

“Hey, I know this is weird, but this is really not me…” you are interrupted even before you properly start speaking. “Oh, c’mon Liya… What more proof you need?” He rests his head on the head rest of the couch. Groans. “Let's really go and see a doc?” Looks at you with his head turned slightly. It’s your turn to sigh wearily. “No, I’m not sick. At least not mentally. You have to believe me when I say I’m not her.” You point at the phone. “Yeah? Then who the fuck are you?” He is raising his voice at you. Makes you irritated. He has no right to be annoyed at you. Has no right to talk to you like that. It’s really his fault he thinks you’re someone else and probably took you here.

So, you shout your full name at him. “That’s who I am. A second-year college student who has no damn idea how I ended up in your apartment.” Watch him flinch at your raised voice.

He takes a moment at this. “Who?” He questions again. Head raised back and looking at you thoroughly annoyed, mad, and frustrated. “You heard me the first time. I am not Liya. Not this person who you think I am.” He makes you frustrated. This is not your fault after all. “Fine, then what happened to Liya?” He covers his mouth with both of his palms. He clearly doesn’t believe you. Just trying to prove his point. “How the fuck would I know?” You throw your hands in the air. Can’t believe you are kind of arguing with him. Aren’t scared of him that much anymore. He scoffs. Shakes his head. Get to his feet. Starts that annoying pacing again. “Prove” says after a while. You look at him with furrowed brows for a second.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re not her”

Oh… How are you supposed to do that? In all honesty, you don’t want to do that. But it’s clear, he won’t let you go until he is certain, you’re not the person he thinks you are. You think through this for a couple minutes until something pops into your smart but stupid brain. Look at him smartly. “Fine. So, this Liya is your girlfriend? Or wife? I don’t know but you must know her body like the back of your hand?” You can’t help the unsure feeling you get. “Or… not?” You look at him doubtfully. He looks offended. Like he wants to hit you but eventually settled on to a scoff. Pokes the inside of his cheek while giving you a look of disbelief. Waits for you to continue but when you don’t, answers your question. “Of fucking course, I know... Please carry-on” Waves his hand at you. You nod with understanding. “Good I mean a lot of people...” He is giving you a stern look. Fair. What are you actually talking about? “Yeah, of course, never mind. What I’m trying to say is…” You’re interrupted again.

“You’re not asking me to find your g-spot, or something are you?” He looks really serious while your jaw drops to the floor. “What the FUCK! No. Fuck no. I have a damn scar you little...”

“Where?” He is already in front of you. You hesitate for a moment before pushing the blanket up, revealing your bare thighs. Parting your legs to show your scar on your right inner thigh. A result of a stupid decision made by an innocent child. The man drops into his knees immediately, making you flinch slightly. Got his face close to your thigh with wide eyes, inspecting your scar. Oh no. This is another stupid decision made by a brainless adult. You can feel his breath on your inner thigh. It makes your thigh twitch; makes you want to yank from his hair to push him away. He is doing something innocent though. You feel less and less innocent at the act. Thank fucking god you bit your lip so hard that the stupid sound never left your mouth when his fingers grazes your scar. You close your legs shut, however. Nearly crushed his head on the act. Seriously? You feel that safe around this man now? Even your heart is beating a little fast. You maybe need a doctor. He is right.

He looks up at you before he stands up, seemingly unaware of what he did. It’s unacceptable that he touched you. You never gave your consent. Asshole.

He never really touched you.

“What if you got it like last week or something and hid it from me?” It takes you a moment to realize he is speaking again. “It is obviously so old dude… I got it when I was a kid. No fresh scar looks like that” You argue back immediately. You really feel torn between irritated and affected by this man. You are satisfied with your answer, however. He, on the other hand, is very unsatisfied. “Fuck this doesn’t make any sense. You see. If you’re not Liya? Then how did you end up here? Next to me on my bed and what the hell happened to real Liya?” He finally appears to be accepting that he is mistaken. Still, maybe it’s the tone he is using or his annoyed expression, whatever, that is. It makes you think he is accusing you. Or maybe you’re annoyed that you nearly moaned when there are very pressing matters here. “Well, I am not Liya, yes, but excuse me! That doesn’t make me fake, I am very real, and I already told you that I don’t know” You mumble in your best annoyed tone. “Then who the fuck is supposed to know? Me?” He points his hand toward him. Oh, how he is getting on your nerves. How he makes your blood boil for no good reason.

You get to your feet so fast that the blanket falls down, and you ignore it completely. “Yes maybe, How the fuck am I supposed to know what’s happening when I literally thought you were a fucking psychopath who kidnapped me. I walked out into a storm and nearly died. Why on the hell do you think I know what’s happening?” You’re never going to be okay after this night. There’s so much happening that fucks up with your mind. He strides toward you, looking pissed beyond recovery. “You are the one who woke up in my bed. Not the other way around and Jesus, I just want to know where the hell my girlfriend is''

“I really wish I knew where she is, but I don’t.” Shouting and shouting again. “Maybe she is in my place considering that I am here for some fucked up reason and in some fucked up way” That is an idea pop up in your mind from nowhere. Doesn’t even sound logical nor practical but somehow, he looks intrigued. “Yes. Yes. That must be it. I don’t know how either but... doesn’t matter. C’mon we are going.” He turns around before you could even process his words. Turns back for a moment, says. “And stop saying the word ‘Fuck’ so many times”. You barely manage to grab the fallen blanket before he ushers you out of his apartment.

…………………………………………………......................................

His car is sleek. Comfortable. Innovative. Screams wealth. You are currently sitting on the comfy passenger seat feeling dumbfounded, staring at a hospital building where your apartment should be. You have entered the address correctly on to the GPS navigator of this sophisticated car, at the very moment you were buckled up. He has driven you here after following those instructions to the point. Well, you can never rely on technology all the time. That’s the reason he left to check if any mistake happened and to know if someone could point you toward your student apartment center. Where his girlfriend or Liya is.

You straighten on your seat when you see him finally leaving the hospital building. Not so surprisingly, scowling. “Well? What did they say?” You perk up the moment he opens the driver’s side door. He didn't answer until he was back in his seat. Drenched. Raises the heat of the heater and only then turns toward you. “Are you sure you gave me the right address?” He arches one of his black eyebrows. “Yes. It’s not like that I would forget the address of the place I almost lived for a year” You’re getting annoyed again. He has a knack for making you irritated. “So, then you must have lived in a hospital” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before continuing in a serious voice. “Because there is no apartment center anywhere near here.” He circles his forefinger points downward to emphasize his point. You gape at him in disbelief. “There must be a mistake then. I know my address and where I live. Maybe, your GPS is broken and leads us to the wrong place.” You make your point. Scoff leaves his plump lips. “NGS” He mumbles. “What?” You’re not sure what he is talking about. He points toward the infotainment system. “NG system, and it works fucking well.” He seethes through his teeth. That’s a new word.

“Yeah whatever, I didn’t lie about my address and, no, I did not fucking forget it either” You’re raising your voice now making him clench his jaw.

“Then do you really fucking live in a hospital? You know how this sounds right? You woke up in my apartment. Looks exactly like my girlfriend. Said you aren’t her and you probably are not. Then gave me a fake address…” You nearly slap him across the face at the rage you feel inside at his words as you scream through top of your lungs. “I didn’t fucking lie to you fucking asshole. What the hell would I get by lying to you?” That is a very valid question, but he somehow answers you with a very unrelated question.

“What did you call me?”

“Ass hole. A fucking inconsiderate asshole” You shout within a heartbeat.

“Stop shouting you….” He grits his teeth to stop whatever name he was about to call you. Makes your blood boil. “You stop shouting. Stop acting like this is all my fault when I’m at a damn loss as much as you are. I wanna go home too and…” Fortunately it isn’t him who interrupted your ranting this time, or you will have become a real murderer. It’s a bus, stopping at the bus halt, a few steps ahead. You sigh heavily, giving up fighting. You’re too tired for this. Let your head fall on to the headrest as you take the sight of the bus, and the people disembark. A public bus in the color of black. You let your eyes fall into the license plate for no specific reason. Squint your eyes when you see it’s in English characters. In the color of red.

See now, your knowledge about your surroundings are bad. Really bad to the point you’ll never know how to find your way back home if you ever go to an unknown territory even inside your university. Quite similar to now. Still, you know they don’t use English characters in the license plate. You know that’s not the order of the numbers and characters either. It feels oddly unfamiliar.

You dart your eyes towards the vehicles passing by. Each and every one of them has a similar license plate. Unfamiliar. Odd. Something is wrong.

“Why are the license plate characters in English? And in red? Why not white?” You didn’t really mean to ask those questions. But it’s already out. So, you turn to him. He looks confused like he should at such a question. “What? Well how do I know? That’s how it always was. I guess.” He shrugs. Annoyed. “Please focus will you?” Reminds you of the situation at hand. But you simply can’t. Eyes following every passing vehicle.

“How ignorant you can be” You say before a surprise yelp leaves your mouth when he snatches the phone- Liya’s phone- from your hand. You don’t even realize you brought it with you. You look in disbelief when he types something on it before he shows it in your face. “See”. You are looking at a result page saying, ‘Vehicle registration plates of South Korea’. Goes to images. Shows you dozens of images of license plates. All similar to the ones you saw. “Happy? Then will you just..” He puts the phone away. Keep saying something that doesn’t reach your ears. Wrong. Something is really wrong.

You grab his hand tightly. Surprises him but ignores that. “Gimme the phone.” You demand, feeling like you’re floating. In a bad way. And he complies without question. Gives you the phone unlocked. Cautiously watching you. You start frantically dialing Key’s number. You put the call on the speaker while he looks at you intensely. You both stare at the phone screen in anticipation, only for it to fail even before it is connected. You don’t know who groans. He or You? You dial her number again. And then again and again. The same result occurs every time, disappointing you to a point of crying. So, you dial Chan’s number even though he is the last person you want to talk to right now. Then the same thing happens. It failed. Why? Why can’t you reach them? Why is everything so familiar but unfamiliar?

You sense that he is about to speak when you disrupt him through your clenched teeth. “No. I didn’t get the number wrong. It’s the right one” You’re getting distressed again. You feel like you are about to throw up. None of these shits make sense. First you woke up in a stranger’s bed. Found out you have an identical doppelganger. Your apartment got replaced by a hospital. You fucking can’t reach your friends. The license plate registrations have changed overnight. You almost throw the phone away when he takes it from your hand. You let him as you peer out of the window, trying to breathe. Calm down. Eyes following every vehicle that passed you. Falling at every building. Every person. Trying to find something familiar. You can’t. Even the car brands look unfamiliar.

“What type of car is this?” You turn your head to find him already staring at you. Breathing is getting heavy again. You’re scared, for something you can’t explain. You expect him to be difficult and ask questions. Surprisingly he answers. He is being careful. You might look like a second away from dropping dead. “E.W” He says prudently.

“Is it a popular brand? Luxury?” You straighten your back, bending slightly toward him. You want him to say no. He almost laughs at your question. “Popular? Lady this cost me a fucking fortune and you ask me it’s popular? And doesn’t it scream luxury?”

“I’ve never heard about it” You mumble to yourself. This is fine. It can be that you're an idiot.

Nothing is fine.

“You’ve never heard of ‘Élite’, and you called me ignorant” He huffs. Exhausted. You’re not really listening to him now. Your eyes are back on the road. Nothing seems familiar. No vehicle, building, and wait, what was his or Liya’s phone brand. You look at the phone. Nope. You don’t recognize it either. It’s possible there can be hundreds of brands you don’t recognize. But he is wealthy isn’t he? It’s not like he will use some unbranded mobile. Your voice is trembling again, your brain failing to stop panicking when you hold the phone higher. “What brand is this from” Your questions really must sound stupid. You really do understand why he looks at you like that.

“QS?” He rubs the bridge of his nose while you’re visibly shaking now. “Wait don’t tell me you don’t know that either” He says again as he takes you in. “Hey! Hey! You okay?” You really don’t hear him speaking to you. It’s becoming blurry again. You don’t even feel his hands on you. Don’t realize you are speaking either. “I don’t recognize any of these. Cars, phones, literally anything… I… I c…can’t reach my friends.” You don’t believe yourself. Don’t believe what your brain says that is happening. But in the end, this should be a nightmare or else you are not in your world. Everything you know doesn’t exist. They all are something unfamiliar. Nothing seems familiar.

…………………………………………………......................................

You have a very vague memory of your journey back to his apartment. It’s still raining but the gloomy daylight peeks through the curtains, creating monstrous shadows on the rug beneath you. He is sitting next to you on his couch like earlier. You don’t know what you said to him. Only know that you vented hysterically at him saying one thing. “This is not my world. I don’t know how or why but this is not. Where am I?” You said so many other things as well. Just to prove your point. How things are unfamiliar. Liya looks just like you. Your apartment. Being unable to reach your friends, because they don’t exist. Your mystery appearance on his bed. Disappearance of his girlfriend. Still, however, he doesn’t believe you. Of course, he doesn’t. Only said yes okay alright to make you calm down. Now you’re calmed down. Breathing steady while sitting here next to him. Still feel like you’re in a dream. But find yourself asking millions of questions from him. Reassurance to you and evidence to him.

Who is the president of South Korea? What is the biggest boy band in South Korea? Does he know Taylor Swift? What about Justin Bieber? What is the highest mountain in the world? Has he ever heard the song Despacito? Instagram? TikTok? Each and everything that comes to your mind.

The only answer that matches with yours is Mount Everest.

Even after that he is denying when he falls his head back on the headrest. Tired. Frustrated. Confused. Just like you and you mimic his actions. Sighing heavily. In the end you can breathe again. You don’t believe this either. Or you do believe this. Or you’re too tired to deal with this anymore. So, you’ll just accept.

“I don’t know how to prove that.” You say as you turn your head to look at him. Your word slurs. His eyes are closed. “I don’t know how to believe that.” He says without opening his eyes. His words don't slurs. You close yours as well. You feel safe enough to do that with him now. Just know he had enough time to do anything if he wanted to. Besides, you believe that you’re in a place where he is the only person you know. This isn’t a dream. You had pinched your arm earlier. Hard. It hurt like a bitch. Tried staring at your fingers. Were able to count them just fine. This is very real and he is the only one you know. Then again, you don’t even know his name.

“What’s your name?” You no longer can fight for your defense. Hence, the change of the subject. You miss the way his lips stretch into an amusing but weary smile since all you see is black.

“Jimin. Park Jimin”.

#bts #bts imagines #networkbangtan #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #jimin #jimin scenarios #jimin smut #park jimin #bts reader insert #jimin fanfic #bts au #jimin fic #bts series #bts ×reader

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neverendingford · 1 year

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#reading the staff announcement just feels gross.#I despise being pushed to market to others and I despise being marketed to. I can live without tumblr. I will continue to find new places #there's always somewhere new to learn. somewhere new to follow artists and somewhere new to keep up with current events #the moment we turn into products is the moment I'm fucking out of here. idgaf about whether your app development is profitable #literally not my problem. crying and saying “don't you see? we have to turn you into a product or we'll shut down” doesn't help #then perish. I give a shit about myself. that's it. everything else comes second to that. that's what the people on tumblr taught me #I learned self care here. and if taking care of myself means logging out and never coming back then that's what I'll do #I'll set my queue to something like 5/day and then just fuck off to something else. I'll pick up a new hobby or watch some shows #and I'll find something else to do with my life besides get pushed things that I hate.#maybe tumblr is harder to use. because it requires you to do the fucking work yourself. it doesn't dice feed you #corporate bullshit makes me want to leave and go start a new minecraft server and never come back to this website #idk. I hate the whole situation. I want to leave and never look back.#if things get worse I will go back to living under my rock. I've learned a lot here but I can move on #I don't have a reach. I don't pay artists. I don't really participate. you will genuinely be fine without me.#maybe I make a difference to the few people who follow me. but I can make just as much of a difference to other people other places #maybe I mean a lot to you. I can mean just as much to someone elsewhere. maybe I like it here. maybe I can like it somewhere else too

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artemish · 5 months

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Sous chef: part 2 | opla!Sanji x fem!Reader

word count: 3.8k

genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers

warnings: brief anxiety mention

summary: following their late night kitchen heart to heart, things become more complicated when the other Strawhats take notice…

a/n: thankful for the support for the last part! ♥️

Continuing my low key self indulgent series hehe.. 🤭 It took me longer than I wanted to write this next part but I was determined and here we are lol 😅

taglist 💕 @vespidphoenix @dark-academia-slut

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

“Nami, we are just friends.”

I stated this as matter-of-factly as I could.

“Right, and Zoro likes tea with his lunch instead of beer. Cut the shit, y/n.”

Our sweet navigator hadn’t budged from the spot she was judging me from.

Her eyes were determined to pierce through my shield, but I held fast. I flapped my arms up, exasperated by the fact that she kept pushing.

“Look, I couldn’t sleep so I came to the kitchen, I fell really hard and Sanji helped me feel better, that’s all.”

She smirked, “Oh, I’m sure he did.”

“No,” I scoffed in disgust, “not like that. He was also awake, taking note of our supplies, before I came in, got knocked by the swell, and he patched me up. Then we were talking for some time, and I guess we were both more tired than I thought. Just fell asleep, right then and there.”

“Look,” she said, standing up, placing her hands on her hips, “as much as I love him, I would love him even more if I didn’t have him flirting my way. So if he’s into you now, well that makes me a very happy woman who can finally navigate this boat in peace. That being said, I would still like to know what’s going on between you-“

“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, “and there never will be.”

I didn’t intend to come off so aggressively and I saw her step back when she heard the anger in my voice.

“Sorry,” I breathed, “didn’t mean to get worked up like that.”

But she took no notice of my apology and pointed at me saying, “Does this have to do with the thing you still won’t tell me about? Is that what’s been holding you back?”

I rubbed my forehead with my hand, “yeah, it is.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms, as her frustration reached its peak.

“You know,” she said, this time with a knowing smirk, “secrets come out. They always do. With time and through fate, they always come out. I mean just look at me. I thought I had it all worked out, thought I could keep my secrets to myself.

“But what Luffy taught me, what this whole crew taught me, is that you shouldn’t have to carry your burdens alone. Secrets are better shared with those who can share the load.”

“I know, Nami,” I sighed, “but I can’t tell you, nor the crew, least of all Sanji. You know how he gets.”

“You know you can trust us, but you still don’t want to tell us? Why?”

“I can’t answer that.”

She looked up at the ceiling, as if asking the gods for help, but of course she got no reply.

“I’m not going to get anywhere with you on this, am I?” she sighed. I shook my head.

She paced about the room as I sat back down on my futon, bringing my knees up to my face. She sat down next to me, letting out a big sigh as she did.

“I’m sorry, Nami, but I promise when the time is right I’ll tell you.”

She glared back at me and looked like she was about to say something, but was cut off from a voice outside our door.

“Nami, have you seen y/n around? I’m trying to- oh. You’re here”

Sanji stood in our doorway, looking a bit flustered but still managing to flash us a wide grin.

“Morning ladies, you’re both looking as lovely as a golden sunrise on a calm sea.”

Nami and I rolled our eyes in unison.

“Morning Sanji, had a good sleep did we?” Nami poked, and I felt my cheeks flush red.

“It was good,” he sighed, “until the chill set in and I realised I was alone in the kitchen.”

“Oh,” she said, “were you with someone last night?”

I could have strangled her right then.

“What, oh no, I was ugh, counting beans and I must’ve dozed off. Didn’t realise I wasn’t in my cabin, you know with the others, yeah.”

“Counting… beans?” I could see her fighting every urge to cackle at his pathetic explanation.

“Ugh, yeah,” he stumbled through his words again, “the beans in the barrel. Coffee beans, green beans, soy beans-“

“Well, you should borrow a blanket or a shawl next time to stay warm, in case you fall asleep again. Y/n has a spare one, you should ask her for it.”

I shoved her shoulder and saw her biting down hard on her lip.

“I might,” he said, looking at me then, “as long as I know she’s keeping warm too.”

I couldn’t take this back and forth any longer, and I couldn’t stand the sight of him in the doorway, looking like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for a bone.

“Sanji,” I said finally, “hi, hello, good morning. Why are you here?”

“Oh well, madam, I was actually looking for you.”

“Me? Why were you looking for me?”

“Well, I’m taking you up on that offer, since breakfast is a big one today.”

“Offer? What offer?”

“You being my sous chef, remember?”

Shit, I thought, I’d forgot, I’m screwed!

“Oh of course, yes, just let me ugh change into something more chef-like. Yeah.”

“Alright, my swan, I’ll start prepping while you get ready.”

He flashed us both a grin and walked back to the kitchen, completely missing Nami’s face of pure joy.

It was as if what she had just witnessed between us was better than any treasure she could ever imagine to find in all the four seas and no amount of berry could be used to describe how much she enjoyed that.

Nami stretched out on my futon, exhaling loudly. She rested her head on my lap, and stared wistfully up at the ceiling. I was numb to her and everything around me.

I felt like I was losing my mind.

Ever since we met him at the Baratie, she noticed how he would go that little bit further with me, how his hugs lingered longer, and how his words were kinder.

And she had constantly reminded me of this fact.

“Even if I never get to know all your secrets,” she said quietly, “at least I can hold this one against you. You know, he only cuts your carrots into heart shapes, when he makes us soup.”

“Really?”, I lied, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Can you even cook?” she asked after another silent moment had passed between us.

I looked down at her. She knew what I was going to say.

“No.”

I changed into some black slacks and a t-shirt, and headed over to the kitchen.

The room was alive with the sounds of rashers of bacon sizzling intensely on the pan, the crackling of flames within the stone oven and the soft, rhythmic thumping of metal on wood. Smoke rose from the stove and the oven, hanging in the air and carrying the sweet scent of bread, the earthy aroma of mushrooms, butter and thyme, and salted meat to every corner of the room.

Sanji had his back to me as he sliced through potatoes in halves then quarters and then smaller still, probably for hash browns.

He moved the knife intently, with a ferocity that seemed barely human, and yet the potato pieces did not come out mangled or broken as one would expect from such intensity, but instead in perfect little cubes, each evenly portioned to form the hash shapes. To say I was intimidated was an understatement.

“Doesn’t really look like you need my help here.” I had moved back towards the doorway unconsciously, perhaps hoping I could get out unscathed.

“On the contrary, y/n,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m swamped this morning and your help would be invaluable.”

I couldn’t let him see how deeply underprepared I was, or how concerning it was that I had gotten this far in life without ever making a real meal or that I lacked any and every culinary skill there was. But it was too late now.

“Oh, ugh, are you sure? I mean you look like-“

“Grab that apron over there and come over.” He pointed to an apron hanging near the doorframe, without looking back at me, and continued to make his way slicing through various other vegetables he was adding to the meal. I begrudgingly put it on.

“Can you please crack those eggs over there into that bowl?”

He pointed to a large silver bowl that was on the counter, right of where he was dealing with the vegetables and meats.

“We’re going to make omelettes and everything else will go with them. We have to get as much as we can from this batter since we also have to eat, not just Luffy, so don’t worry about adding an egg or two extra.”

He smiled, and I melted like butter in a pan at the sight of him.

I stood beside him and stared down at the eggs in the carton, and at the other cartons stacked against the wall.

It was then that I felt my palms tingle and swell with moisture, as I tried to move my hand to pick up an egg. In an instant, I felt my throat dry up, and I felt a rising surge of heat from within me flush over my cheeks, and panic pulse through my chest.

Thump, thump, thump, THUMP.

The sound of my own heartbeat flooded my ears and nothing else.

My breath quickened and I became acutely aware of it. I tried to take in air in small, quick breaths. I didn’t even notice that Sanji had stopped cooking and had turned me to face him, holding my shoulders and calling my name.

“Y/n, are you alright? Can you hear me? Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n.”

But I couldn’t hear him. My vision blurred over, as my eyelids flickered sporadically. He stopped calling out to me, perhaps realising that it was no use in this state, but continued to hold me steady, rubbing my arms as he did.

My mouth still gaped wide, trying to take in breath but as he held me, my breathing began to even out.

Gods, I thought, this is what I panic about?

“Sanji,” I felt my mind returning, “Sanji. Oh, my gods, Sanji, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, “don’t apologise. Are you okay?”

He stepped back, keeping one arm on me still, and reached for a glass of water. I faced the floor, too quickly perhaps. My head felt hollow.

“I should’ve told you upfront,” I began, “that I don’t know how to cook, that I’ve never learnt or tried, or rather had the patience to. I’ve just survived on the cooking of others. I shouldn’t have offered to be your sous chef last night, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Woah, hey, it’s alright, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, oh my gods. The truth is… I’m terrified.”

I could see a slight smirk appear on his face as he listened to me.

“Of me or of cooking?,’ he chuckled, “and please, don’t say me.”

“What if I said both?” I said, sheepishly.

“Well, then I’d say you have nothing to be afraid of and I can teach you how to handle both.”

I felt my breath catch again as butterflies began to flutter and whirl violently around inside me, and I thought about how he could probably use my face to light the pan again with the heat that radiated off my red cheeks.

“Sanji, stop that, I-I really know nothing about cooking. I don’t even know what to do with these eggs.” That seemed to get a genuinely worried reaction out of him, as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“You don’t know how to crack an egg?”

“Oh, I didn’t even know that's what you wanted me to do with them.”

“How else would you make an omelette? How else… would they get in the bowl?”

I was silent. He inhaled deeply as he studied me with those sparkling blue eyes. A moment of realisation seemed to seize him then, as he guided me to the bench and sat me down.

He handed me the glass of water, made a motion with his hand for me to drink, and as I tipped the cooling swell down my throat he said, “I’m sorry if I made you anxious. I didn’t know you couldn’t cook, m’lady.

“Please, if you’re not comfortable, don’t feel like you have to stay here or like I’m forcing you to be here, it’s alright really, but just know that… well I do like your company all the same.”

Before I could speak, he put his hand up to gesture to wait, stepped away quickly to grab the bacon and mushroom mix in the pan off the stove, and put out the flames from the oven before coming back to squat down on his haunches in front of me, holding the bench to keep him steady.

He must’ve noticed how big my eyes looked staring at him.

He reached out his free hand hesitantly but I took it in both my hands, perhaps a little too eagerly, as he wobbled from being surprised by my grip.

“Sorry,” I said, helping him balance, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because, well, I was embarrassed. You’re such an incredible cook and everything you make is so brilliant and delicious, I just couldn’t say no to you last night. But I feel like an idiot now, I should’ve just told you.”

I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks turn pink as I spoke. I fidgeted nervously with his hand, feeling the coarseness of his fingertips and how soft his palms were in comparison.

“You know,” he began, “if you wanted to learn, all you had to do was ask, madam. But tell me, how’d you survive without cooking anything then?”

“I mostly ate whole foods,” I said, “things like bread, all sorts of bread, fruits, wheels of cheese and dried meats, things I knew would keep or could be eaten quickly. And if I had a pot, anything I could just chuck in with a bit of salt and pepper. Better to survive on that then nothing at all.”

He smiled a soft smile and brought his other hand to where our hands were and pulled me up to stand as he did. I had to look up as he said, “Well today I’m going to teach you how to crack an egg, and maybe make an omelette.”

I sat on a stool to face him, opposite to where he was cooking on the benchtop.

“Now watch carefully,” he said, “you hold the egg like this.”

He took the egg in his right hand, the bowl in his left.

“Crack it against the rim of the bowl, so that the break is clean.” With a deft hand, he tapped it firmly against the bowl, and split the shell with his fingers so the yoke fell out perfectly into the silver crater below. He made it look so easy.

“Now you,” he said, beckoning me to come to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

I stood in front of the bowl and eggs and he stood behind me. Taking my hands, he guided my left to hold the bowl and my right to hold the egg.

“Hold the bowl firm now,” he said and I nodded in reply. “Keep the egg sideways in your hand, so it’ll make a clean break in the shell.”

His mouth was so close to my ear as he leaned in and whispered his instructions, I felt the heat of his breath against my neck.

Goosebumps rose and trickled all across my body as I felt the strength of his hands against mine. Holding the top of my hand, he moved my arm to make the action.I suppose it made sense for a chef to have as firm a grip as he did, but I hadn’t thought about it before. And I also hadn’t thought about how that grip was making me feel.

“And now we just tap it firmly but still with power on that edge.”

As he brought my hand with the egg down to crack against the bowl, I was more aware of how good it felt to be touched by him, and that his face was only inches away from mine, and the goosebumps, and how if I just turned to the right, just a little…

CRACK!

The egg split and I jolted a little, as he guided my hand over the bowl and let the yoke fall out to mix in with the previous yoke.

“You’ve done it, madam, you’ve officially cracked an egg.”

I nudged him with my elbow as he laughed, and I hoped he didn’t see me blush.

He showed me how to whisk then, when we had cracked the amount he needed, and when to add the rest of the ingredients. He showed me how to butter the pan, told me oil was good too, showed me how to pour, and wait and flip, and how to watch the colour, how to make sure it didn’t burn.

He broke off a small bit, let me taste it, and I remembered tasting his finger a little too.

At the very end he showed me how to serve the dish and make it look beautiful.

“Almost as beautiful as you” he said, which forced me to bury the urges I felt even deeper down or I would’ve abandoned my oath right then and there.

I took it all in as best as I could but I found that I had made the most effort to memorise his touch, his breath, his smile, his sparkling eyes as they looked at me, and how it felt to be guided by those hands knowing I couldn’t guide them the way I wanted to. Or where I wanted.

By that time, everyone else had made their way to the kitchen and we seated ourselves around the bench. Usopp told tales of his daring adventures while Luffy reacted with wows and shouts of awe, and Zorro sat silently eating as much as Luffy it seemed. Nami gave me a wry smile as she sat between Sanji and me.

“Well done, sous chef,” she whispered, and I glanced up at Sanji to see if he heard her. He met my eyes with a grin.

“I hope you all enjoyed your omelettes this morning,” he said cheerfully, “you have the lovely y/n to thank for them today, I was merely her assistant.”

Luffy gaped, “you made this y/n?”

“Yes but-” I began, but he raised his goblet and said, “A toast to the best omelettes I have ever eaten in my life and the best cooks in the East Blue!”

Everyone raised the mugs in agreement and cheered and drank and laughed, and I could only blush and think how lucky I was to find this crew, even if it may only be for a short while longer.

* * *

I found Zoro on the lower deck, napping against the mast, as I made my way down to mop the deck. With one hand placed on his hilt and the other behind his neck, he slouched lazily, unbothered, as I began on the floor in front of him.

“So you like the waiter huh?” He said after I had been at it for some time.

He didn’t open his eyes.

I stopped and leaned on the mop. “I just asked him to teach me how to cook, that's all.”

“I don’t know what you see in him.”

“There’s nothing there, I just-”

He let out a loud “ha” sound and opened his eyes.

“Here I thought you were gonna stay low, keep your guard up and stay on until you needed to, like you told me in Shellstown, but now you're drooling in your soup over the waiter, who’s so eager to serve. So much for that plan of yours.”

I gripped the mop handle so hard I thought it would splinter into my hand.

I moved close to him so that my words came across as a whispered growl. “You know nothing.”

“I know that I risked my ass to bring you with us,” he growled back, “and that keeping you with us is an even greater risk. I know that if the others knew you were a swordsman, a hunted one at that, they’d ask more questions than was good for them or you. And I know I’m the only one you can trust out here and the only one who can help you track that Baroque works shithead before he gets you too. So please, don’t try to bullshit me.”

He was still slumped lazily against the mast but his eyes betrayed no sign of weakness. I crouched down so that I was eye level with him, holding the mop to steady myself.

“You don’t think I can keep my own feelings in check?”

“I’m not trying to piss you off, y/n,” he said, his demeanour unchanged, “but I can’t be quiet either. You said to call you out if I saw you get distracted.”

“He’s not a distraction.”

“But he won’t be safe either way.”

“Why are you so concerned all of a sudden,” I scowled, “it’s not like you give a shit about him. You two are such best friends, aren’t you?”

Zorro made a groan of frustration as he got up, his swords clinking against each other like bells. I rose to meet his eyes, still clinging to my mop.

“You swore to me that nothing would get in the way of you avenging what you lost and that you would lose nothing and no one else on your path. I swore that I would help you see it through to the end.” He clinked his swords as he rested his hand on top of the hilts. “So I’m warning you now,” he continued solemnly, “if you’re not more careful, you may keep that oath but lose something after all.”

He held my gaze for a moment, his eyes a fiery dark amber in the sunlight, before walking away slowly and down into the bowels of the ship.

My heart pounded in my ears.

My hands ached from where I had strangled the wooden mop handle.

As Zoro walked out of my view, I looked up to the balcony on the mid deck above and saw Sanji standing there, brooding it seemed.

No… watching me.

Swirling grey tendrils of smoke coiled in the air as he pulled a long breath and puffed out.

The glow of his cigarette reflected like fiery embers in the darkness of his glare.

#opla sanji #opla sanji x fem!reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #opla x reader #first person pov #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #opla #one piece sanji #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #getting back in my writing groove with this one 🫡

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emo-batboy · 1 year

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Battinson and Food

He’s vegetarian and I will hear none of your crap

Depression meals, so many depression meals

I already made a post of his greatest hits here but here's three more:

A whole tub of apple sauce

Instant grits mixed with a hot chocolate packet

And a bowl of croutons

Some meals have actually graduated from the “Depression Meal” category to “Whenever I Can Sneak It Out of the Kitchen” status (because Alfred is appalled every time)

Dick, with the invincible, titanium-lined stomach of a 9yo, doesn’t know why Bruce makes them, but he loves taking bites of Bruce’s weird concoctions.

His favorites so far are:

Cream cheese and jelly sandwich

Spoonfuls of peanut butter (with chocolate chips, that was his idea)

And frozen garlic bread

Diner Food is King. (This is New Jersey. What did you expect?) His go-to order is two eggs over easy, well-done rye toast, grits with syrup and butter, and a fruit cup with no melons from the 24-hour place two blocks east. Hasn’t changed since he was five. Never will.

Bruce can cook food that is edible. Edible.

Like if he tries to make Italian, he can successfully cook the pasta. He can make a basic sauce. He can even plate it.

The tomato sauce is crunchy in some places, yes, but it’s fine :) and it is edible

but Bruce has NEVER succeeded in a baking endeavor, and it positively devastates him every single time

“Baking is science! I love science! I’m great at science. So why didn’t the cake rise when I did everything on the recipe?!” “You need to make it with love-“ “That wasn’t on the ingredients list, Alfred!”

He can handle spice surprisingly well. It’s not like he could avoid it while training all over the world, so he ended up building a tolerance, but his eyes still go unbelievably red every time.

He really fucks with bagels (I mean, what self-respecting Gothamite doesn’t) and he has a very specific bagel order for every possible mood from the great place downtown

The workers at Bagel Kingdom know which moods correspond with which order, and they have a designated spreadsheet taped to the back of the counter so they can work accordingly.

They know he’s barely hanging in there when he gets a toasted blueberry bagel with no butter.

He’s having a good day when he gets a plain bagel sandwich with tomato, provolone, two fried eggs, and hot sauce. In that order. That’s the shit

When he’s stressed, he gets a pumpernickel bagel with strawberry cream cheese to cheer himself up.

The workers of Bagel Kingdom will NOT let you disrespect his bagel.

Bruce almost burnt the tower down when he tried to cook a toaster waffle in the microwave while running on 40 hours without sleep, and he just kept cooking it because it wasn’t crisping for some reason

Alfred needs to force him to eat all the time

(It is definitely because Bruce suffers from disordered eating.)

There was one period of time in which Bruce went days without food, and Alfred (lovingly) threatened to send him to in-patient if he didn’t eat

Bruce said that those gross, mushy, lukewarm blueberries were the only thing he’d tolerate when he was struggling, so blueberries became their indicator: if Bruce can’t stomach blueberries, he goes to in-patient.

He’s gone twice, and Bruce was very mad each time, but he still uses healing methods that he was taught in there so it couldn’t have been that bad.

(He’s also friends with some of the nurses now. He, Denise, and Kayleigh have a group chat.)

Dick once convinced him to test taste different kinds of olive oil to learn the difference between regular and extra virgin. It was absolutely disgusting, and he ended up puking an hour later. Alfred now puts child locks on the kitchen cabinets.

The first time Bruce ever makes a meal that doesn’t look horrid is when he spends two weeks practicing Romani dishes for Dick the month after he adopts him.

He has since perfected three different recipes:

Stuffed peppers

Goulash

Cabbage rolls

(Keep in mind Dick is not vegetarian like Bruce.)

He tried making almond cake like 80 times (which is more like a biscuit but still a baked good) but could never do it right so Alfred makes them instead.

At dinner time, Dick always eats off Bruce’s plate more than his own. Alfred has chastised him several times, but Bruce only encourages him more. He thinks it’s cute. And so does the general public when they attend dinner parties.

One of Bruce's favorite memories of his parents is when he had a bad dream in the middle of the night so Thomas and Martha drove him out to the nearest diner to have a chocolate milkshake at 3 am.

Now, after patrol, if Bruce saw something traumatic or something that reminded him of his parents’ death, he’ll go to that same 24-hour diner and sit for a bit with a chocolate milkshake.

He continues this tradition after Dick becomes Robin. (Even if it took months for Bruce to even consider the idea of letting Dick near harm’s way.)

No matter how hard he tries to keep Dick away from the gruesome stuff, he can’t stop everything. They get milkshakes a lot more than Bruce would like.

But eventually, it turns into a treat whenever Dick does well in school or needs a pick-me-up.

And when they add Jason to the mix, they introduce him to the tradition as well.

They know everything will be okay when they have chocolate milkshakes together.

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perseephoneee · 9 months

Note

Pls write about damon salvatore x y/n going skiing

ski cabin (damon salvatore x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 10 of ficmas!

warnings: damon, smut (i censor it so you can skip!): fingering, blood-sharing, unprotected vamp sex

a/n: i tried writing smut. might be a failure. might not. i have no clue. i just work here. also i wrote this while watching the matrix and eating homemade nachos

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Once upon a time, your life resembled a sense of normalcy. And then you met the Salvatores. Vampire brothers who seemed to attract trouble no matter where they went, and somehow, they had clung themselves to your life. You would love to blame Elena for this. Still, truthfully, you also had a fascination with their propensity for idiocracy and probably landed in this situation alone. The situation? Being a target for whatever big bad it was this week.

It was decided that people should split up to minimize their chances of being caught. Unfortunately, you ended up with Damon Salvatore. Damon was the oldest of the Salvatore brothers and the most annoying. He was morally grey, somewhat self-serving, and handsome in a way that should be illegal. Sometimes, you thought he might be fond of you, but then he'd say something sarcastic and mean, and you'd remember why you loathed being around him. Since everyone split up, you and Damon opted to go to one of the nearby mountains, ending up at some ski lodge that some families would use more for vacation than for hiding. It was snowy, and the ice bit your cheeks as the wind tried to push you back aggressively. You sighed in relief when you finally got to the resort lodge and could breathe warm air. Annoyingly, Damon was barely frazzled.

"We should ski," Damon said to you. You brushed your fingers through your hair, trying to get snow out as you glared at him.

"I don't ski."

"Quitters talk," Damon sighed, taking in his surroundings. "Besides, what else is there to do? Besides each other." He whispered that last part to you, that stupid half-smirk on his face. You slapped him in the arm. He was a compulsive flirt at the worst of times. He also loved to ignore you when you expressed disagreement with what he said. So, he rented skis (he had no money, so you guessed compulsion) and forced you to suit up. You tried biting him when he attempted to help you, but you think that only added fuel to his fire. Waddling outside was even worse, as you relied on him most of the time. Looking at the snow-capped hills made fear grip your heart. You wished that the enemy would just kill you already. "Why do you look like you're going to throw up?"

"I don't like this."

"It's fun. We could be brooding in a cabin like my brother, but instead, we're in the great outdoors," Damon laughed. You tried shifting on your skis but felt your knees lock up. "Seriously, what's your problem?"

"I like having control over whether my body is going to eat shit or not."

"You and your control," Damon grumbled. "Y/N, learn to live a little." Shockingly, Damon was weirdly patient with you as he showed you the basics of skiing. He even helped you down the bunny slopes with minimal teasing. He taught you how to pizza, and when you felt yourself start to slip, he'd grab you and hold you upright. It was one of the few times where you weren't sniping at each other the whole time and instead actually having fun. Your body was exhausted when you returned to the lodge, and you were thankful to take off all the warm and heavy gear. Unsurprisingly, Damon immediately got himself a glass of bourbon. You got a hot chocolate and enjoyed picking the whipped cream off with your finger and licking it off. While you enjoyed your dessert, Damon went to find an available room in the lodge. He came back a few minutes later with a devilish smirk on his face.

"I don't like that look," you mumbled, sipping more hot cocoa.

"Guess what, princess? The only room left is a single bed," Damon fell next to you on the couch, throwing his arm around you against your protests. "Guess we'll be sleeping together after all."

"You're ruining my quality hot cocoa time," you hissed, pulling away from his arm. He just laughed, as he never took your threats that seriously. Why should he? You were human. He was a vampire. It was an unfair fight.

You hadn't packed much when you ran, so you just tossed your backpack in the corner of your room when you got there. It was a queen-sized bed, at least, with an ensuite bathroom and winter cabin appeal. There wasn't a couch, just a scratchy-looking chair. You could sleep on the floor.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," Damon said behind you, almost scaring you half to death.

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking," Damon muttered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine at his proximity. He went to the lounge on the bed, laying back against the pillows, every bit emulating Adonis with how he wrapped his arms around the back as his face caught the light streaming through the window. Sometimes, you wondered whether Damon's favorite form of torture was just being the object of desire that was unattainable. Yes, he drove you up a wall, but you weren't stupid. He could be loyal when he wanted, and his body alone was sculpted by some vain artist who wished to achieve perfection. You could see his arm muscles, the sunlight dancing across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his lips. His eyes were the color of the sky reflected on the snow, a dangerous blue. Like a wolf just waiting for its prey to slow enough to make its bite. "Admiring the view?" he purred, turning to look at you.

"Admiring a view, not necessarily you." You stepped closer into the room, removing the scarf and jacket around your neck. You kicked off your boots, leaving you in just your sweater and jeans. You pretended not to notice him watching your movements. There was a desk against the wall; you sat at the chair and faced Damon, curling your legs up under you.

"You're scared of me," Damon said, turning back to face the window.

"Am not," you huffed.

"You think I'm gonna bite you?"

"Yes," you answer plainly. Frankly, you had yet to learn where you stood with Damon. Sometimes, he treated you like garbage; other times, you thought he would give up everything to protect you.

"Come here," Damon sat up, moving to the end of the bed. You look at him with confusion. He huffs in frustration, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him. You fall against the pillows with a yelp, glaring at the vampire as he sits back next to you. "I would never hurt you."

"You're not always the nicest," you mumble. "Sometimes I can't tell."

"Y/N, look at me," Damon grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. "I'm damaged goods, but don't think that I would agree to hide out here with you if I didn't care. I do care. A lot." He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his touch gentler than expected. "The best thing about returning to Mystic Falls was meeting you."

Damon was never a subtle person, and he doesn't try to be one now as he leans down and kisses you. His hand cups your face, tilting your head back so he can deepen the kiss. You let out a sigh of contentment, which just fuels him further. He tasted like bourbon, and you found you enjoyed it.

*smut!!! proceed only if you want to*

Your hand found its way to his hip, fisting the fabric as he moved to be above you. He was assertive but not rough, and it was something you appreciated. His hand dipped under your sweater, feeling its way to your waist and under your breasts. You let out a gasp as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving nips and kisses and, most likely, many marks. Your hand flew up to his hair, gripping the raven locks and causing him to growl.

"You drive me crazy," he mumbled, helping you pull your sweater over your head. He kissed you again, his hand running over the smooth skin of your stomach. He pulled away when you shrank back, hesitant. "You're beautiful, don't worry." He dropped down, kissing over the expanse of your belly, helping you feel more comfortable. He kissed his way up to your bra, for once looking unsure. You gave him a smile as you sat up, reaching behind to unhook your bra and toss it aside. Damon wasted no time planting kisses and licks over, under, and in between your breasts. The moan you let out was embarrassing, but Damon was just encouraged. He came back up to your lips, his fingers still playing with your nipples.

"I see you like my mouth now," Damon whispered.

"I hate you," you kissed his jaw, leaving bites down his neck. It was your turn to smirk when he became the one making noises. Your hands ran under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his shoulders. He sat back to remove it, and you spent a second admiring his figure. The both of you feeling impatient, you pulled off both your pants, so you were left in your underwear. Damon flicked the waistband of your grey panties with a bow in the middle.

"Cute."

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Only to girls I like."

You rolled your eyes, smiling at the boy as his hands ran up your thighs. You pulled him down for a scorching kiss, already addicted to his lips on your own. One of his hands ran between your thighs, lightly touching your clothed center. You hissed into his mouth, and he only smirked.

"Can I remove these?" Damon asked, looking at you. You nodded, shirking them so you were completely bare. You felt so vulnerable and yet comfortable in his presence. You sighed in pleasure when his finger found your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make you crazy. When he entered you with his fingers, his thumb replacing the gentle motions on your clit, you let out a moan that was almost pornographic. You buried your head in his neck as he pumped his fingers in and out. If his touch was this heavenly, you weren't sure you were capable of learning what else he could do. You moved your hand to his briefs, but he nipped your jaw as a warning. "No touching." He removed his hand, leaving you feeling empty and disappointed. You were about to deliver a sarcastic retort. Still, it died on your tongue as he removed the last piece of clothing, and you were faced with his better-than-average member. Damon grabbed your calves, pulling you farther down the bed and situating himself between your thighs. He kissed you hard, lining himself up before pushing in slowly. The stretch was a lot, but the pleasure overrode it as you felt your head drop back in a moan.

"Fuck," you swore, wrapping yourself around him as he started to move. He fit you in a way you hadn't experienced before, and you weren't sure who you'd become when he left you empty.

"I should've done this sooner," Damon groaned, kissing your neck and shoulder. He let out a hiss of pleasure when your nails scraped across his shoulder blades. He pulled out, sitting back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap. He helped you sit back down on him before you had time to complain about the temporary emptiness. His hands grabbed your thighs, helping you bounce on him. Both of you moaned, and your head fell back as you fell into a rhythm.

"The sight of you coming apart on my cock, tits bouncing, is the best thing I've seen in my life," Damon smirked, leaning forward and attaching himself to one of your tits. You had no clever retort, nothing to match the sense of euphoria you were experiencing. You noticed the veins under Damon's eyes and used your thumb to brush them gently.

"You can bite," you whisper, eyes widening at the dark overtaking his eyes, but you aren't scared. He didn't go for your neck like you thought; no, he sunk his fangs into the top of your tits. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other reaching between your legs to circle your clit. It was so much pain and pleasure at once that you raced towards a finish you had been nearing for a while. You came with a shout, head falling onto Damon's neck. He came after you, fangs detaching and a growl leaving his lips.

*end of smut*

You separated, falling to rest next to Damon. He pulled you into his side, biting his wrist and touching your lips. You accepted the blood hesitantly, letting it coat your throat before pulling away. He kissed the top of your head, one of the most domestic things you had ever experienced.

"Damon," you whispered, tracing his chest with your fingertip. He looked at you in question. "I would be open to being yours." You see a boyish smile on his face, something that makes him look the age he was turned and not the age he is now.

"I think that can be arranged," he said, kissing you again.

The next day, he took you skiing again, but you kissed at the bottom of the slope this time.

#damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore imagine #ian somerhalder #tvdu #tvd #vampire diaries #the vampire diaries #my writing #ficmas 2023 #12 days of ficmas

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fuumiku · 6 months

Text

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS . It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

#Dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi au #marcille donato #chilchuck tims #marchil #marchil march 2024 #The way i could have had this out at lunch hour but brainrotted too hard #Content making or daydreaming it’s an all-marchil economy over here #So much half-foot magic hcs lately i love it sm #Sketch dump

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warblogs17282 · 3 months

Text

Another argument I don't understand from the helluva boss 'critical' crowd is the 'they're uwufying/coddling Stolas' argument.

I've most likely covered this in the 'both sides fucked up' post I've made before but I want to challenge the claim more head on this time.

Like Stolas is a character with multiple flaws that he needs to work on and has been brought to the forefront quite a bit, a few examples of these are the alcoholism (rehab has been stated to exist in hell twice now, so that's most likely gonna become a plot point at some point in the show), the subconscious racism/classism (the harvest moon festival is a major example of that), we know Blitz is in the right when he calls Stolas out for it in apology tour in the first few minutes of the episode because that's literally the point, how is Stolas supposed to just magically undo 25 years of the learned racism/classism starting from as early as we know, 10 years old, that shit takes time, Stolas is not at that point where he's self aware enough to realise how much he hurt Blitz with those behaviours, with the self aware part being stated in the description of the apology tour video. They explicitly brought attention to Stolas' flaws regarding the racism/classism thing so it'd be shit writing for Vivzie to not bring it attention again in the near future, they've established it as a flaw Stolas has so he's gonna have to learn to undo that during the show.

Also, in the trailer there's a line that very much tells us that Stolas is gonna have to face and learn from his problems face on. 'You never loved mother, and you don't love me, you love him.' The wording on it makes it very clear it's being spoken to Stolas, and as much as Stolas tries to give Octavia a normal life as Stolas loves Octavia so much, it just gave Octavia all the reason to believe that Stolas never loved Stella and her, because all Octavia knows up at this point is that Stolas cheated on Stella with a to her, random imp, which in her viewpoint, would confirm that the love was never there for Stella and her, leading to her villainising Stolas because of it. Octavia knows none of the abuse Stella inflicted upon Stolas. Plus, as much as Stolas tries to be an active part of Octavia's life as a father, he still fails at it. The main proof of this being in seeing stars, the phone call where Stolas was getting really intense arguing with Stella, pushing Octavia to the sideline as a result. 'Why does he hate her more than he loves me.' This scene just shows truly how Octavia feels about Stolas right now, and it plays in perfectly to the line in the trailer, so while that scene does show Octavia that Stolas does care about him, she still doesn't really sense much of the love Stolas has for Octavia, with most of it in Octavia's prespective getting replaced by Stolas being forgetful about her needs and such, instead getting caught up in his own problems too much to tend to Octavia's needs, which deeply hurts Octavia inside. Just like Loona said, Stolas just messes up, Octavia can't really see that a whole lot yet however. 'You know I haven't taught you spells like this yet.' This line just really shows that Stolas keeps getting caught up in his own things that again, Octavia's needs get put on the sideline or just forgotten about until it's too late, which hurts her deeply. It shows that the things that Octavia should've been taught at that point hasn't been taught to her yet for that reason, the arrangement with Blitz and the messy divorce to be specific.

These two reasons are proof that the argument that they're gonna keep coddling Stolas and that he's not gonna learn from his character flaws and just stay the same way he is currently, is entirely bullshit.

I wrote much more about that than I expected, man I take helluva boss much more seriously than I thought, guess it just resonates with me.

For anyone seeing this now, Vivzie just basically confirmed that Stolas' flaws will be addressed

'Everything we are noticing about the plot that hasn’t been addressed, will be. Just BE PATIENT'

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #blitzø #stoliz #stolitz #helluva boss apology tour #apology tour #octavia goetia #helluva octavia #loona helluva boss

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intheshadowsbehindyou · 10 months

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Okay, got a weird one for ya~ So I have ASD, meaning I can sometimes react oddly to social things, or actions. One of these is that whenever I see seggs scenes in movies, I start laughing. Like seggs in movies, even if it’s not meant to be funny, is just HILARIOUS to me. Sometimes I even explain between laughter why it’s so hilarious, like “Oh my gods WHAT IS THAT NOISE??? MY GUY, you a tractor or some sh!t??? HA!”. Would you be willing to take a request for mercs having movie night, only for their crush to start wheezing and laughing so hard they can barely speak at the seggs scene in the movie?

The TF2 Mercs with somebody who thinks actors acting sex in movies is understandably hilarious

WARNING: sex!!!! (Funny)

Scout:

- Confused at first. Jeremy’s the type of person to taunt the characters and make clever quips during the whole movie to make you laugh. Nothing comes close to your laughter at this sex scene though. Suddenly he picks up on it and begins laughing too. Your reaction is kind of understandable. It seems to be a very forced and over the top performance.

- “Holyyy shit, I wanted to be an actor as a kid, but i’m not one for those frickin theater kid losers. Kinda glad I didn’t go through with it, now.” Typical scout acting like a highschool bully. You can tell he was the type of sportsy jock to shove nerds into lockers. He takes great pleasure in roasting the people on screen with you.

- Overall a solid 9/10 experience. One point taken away because he’s a massive prick and goes way too over the top with his cruel jokes sometimes. You have to lightly slap the side of his arm at one point because he’s somehow coming up with new slurs for hollywood goers that don’t even exist in the english dictionary to begin with.

—————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- Ayo?

- Lifts his helmet up and looks at you for a second. “What’s so funny, private?” He asks, and but of course you’re laughing so hard you fall onto his chest and cling to him. Your laughter is very much appreciated nonetheless. Seeing somebody he loves so happy is causing butterflies in his stomach. Even if he doesn’t quite understand it. Laughter is a beautiful and positive thing.

- He’s a very aged man, and surviving WW2 gave him a lot of life experience. Essentially convinced that sex jokes are somehow crude. But let’s be honest, this is soldier we’re talking about here. He never keeps his word and although he tries to keep a straight face, his younger self comes through and he has to let out an unholy burst of laughter in response to hearing the girl’s performance upon getting her titties gripped. Congrats on cracking his US Army General persona.

—————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- Too drunk to even process why you’re laughing for a spilt second but then it suddenly dawns on him you might be reacting this way because your brain chemistry is different than his. Demoman is more of an explosives chemist guy, but he’s somewhat taught that people act differently due to neurological function. Chemicals, brain shit, and whatever the hell else. He’s too tired to remember. He begins wondering what would happen if brain chemicals were flammable. That would be quite unfortunate. Fortunate for him though.

- You fall onto his lap laughing and that’s what knocks him out of his incoherent descent down the stupid idiot rabbit hole. He puts his hand in your hair and smiles warmly. Dazed, and barely even awake. He even chuckles a little with you despite his exhaustion. Movie nights always seem to get him tired because it’s usually at the end of a hard work day.

- “I can show you a time more embarrassin, tho. In the morning.” He flirts. Knowing full well he’ll have such a bad hang over, he won’t even consider getting his ass up to kiss you. You glare at him, and you wonder just how the hell a sex scene in a movie out of all things can get him horny. The look in his eye doesn’t lie though. Wow, he sets some pretty low standards for porn. Also, you’re really scared what he means by more embarrassing.

————————————————————————-

Engineer:

- He looks away during the entire sex scene and that’s essentially what makes you laugh even harder. His southern upbringing is honestly borderline sad. The idea that he can be “impure” for witnessing such “sacred” acts. Even when somebody’s pretending for a movie. You make fun of him and he’s just sitting there grumpily shielding his eyes with his gloved hand. It’s not even an explicit scene.

- Suppressing something doesn’t help, and everybody knows that quite well. He looks between his fingers to see if the scene has ended yet. Maybe just a peak wouldn’t hurt? He’s an adult after all! ARGH! NO! He covers his eyes again… Okay maybe just another peak. He thinks your humor is just juvenile and there’s nothing wrong with that in his opinion. it’s always admirable when somebody decides to maintain their innocence. There is absolutely no judgment from him.

- Over time he gets more used to watching stuff like this with you, but he never laughs. He acts like a deer in headlights the entire time. Overall, if you act like the quote on quote “way you shouldn’t” then I assure you he’ll be understanding and keep an open mind.

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Heavy:

- Laughing at a sex scene? Eh. He doesn’t care what you laugh at or why. He finds plenty of stuff like that funny but ceases to laugh sometimes. He can laugh for certain, but for some reason there are moments where he doesn’t act accordingly and laugh at a joke. Perhaps you two are the same in that regard?

- Stares blankly at the screen the entire time despite finding hilarity in your response to the poor performance. He’s internally laughing on the inside but it just won’t come out of his mouth. As a result he’s kind of offended at his brain for failing him once again. You stop for a second and wonder if he’s annoyed, but then he turns and says “Sometimes Heavy laughs on the inside and he doesn’t know why.” His expression lacks emotion as always. “That’s fine.” You say, shrugging. This finally gets a response out of him and he looks to the ground and frowns.

- He feels frustrated and kind of guilty he can’t emote like he used to as a kid. This type of deadpan behavior moreso comes from his traumatic life. He’s unconsciously taught himself to stay stoic. Even when he’s supposed to be having fun with you. You lean on his arm to rest assure him you struggle with it differently. In verbose, he’s not mad at you. He becomes angry at himself.

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Pyro:

- You’re laughing so hard that they find your behavior adorable. They find you quite stunning in this moment and immediately hug you to fulfill that random need for physical contact. He can’t help it! You’re just so cute when you laugh! You’re like a small kitten to them. Fuck the stupid movie. Both their eyes are on you right now and they don’t want them to be anywhere else.

- They are baby talking you, and calling you petnames. This sudden shift in Pyro’s behavior makes you laugh more due to the absurdity of their cute aggression. Who the hell finds their crush laughing at a sex scene to be attractive? Apparently Pyro. Pyro’s not really one to pay attention during scenes like this anyway so they find it quite easy to do so. It’s always just pointless filler to appease the horny people. Not to mention sort of setting unrealistic expectations. (Yes, Pyro is smart enough to know this. They are smart enough to run a company, therefore smart enough to harshly critique the movie industry.)

- It is absolutely nothing but sunshine and rainbows to them when you’re happy. It’s lighting up the fiery flame in their heart to see you so satisfied. The scenes are absolutely embarrassing as shit and Pyro hates them, but they’d be glad to show you more bad movies and eat candy while basking in their favorite sound: your happiness. Everything is better with someone you love.

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Sniper:

- Um.. Is this guy even alive right now? Hellooooo? Sniper? He isn’t reacting to anything at all and you have no clue what’s happening behind those sunglasses of his. Why’s he wearing them inside, anyway? He claims it’s because the TV hurts his eyes but he’s so timid that, that has to be a lie. You’re laughing your ass off, meanwhile this guy’s brain is in outer space or some shit.

- In fact you get kind of concerned and stop laughing. “Mundy?” You ask. Your concern grows when he doesn’t move. Then his head sloooowly cocks to the side to look at you. There are some big exasperated/disappointed dad vibes coming from this man. “You can’t be serious, you actually find this funny?” He asks. He’s just messing with you of course and it’s obvious his behavior isn’t meant to be taken seriously.

- “Yeah!” You respond, laughing even more as he rubs his own temples and leans his face on his own hand. The way he’s responding like he’s in love with an idiot is kind of funny. Behind that rough exterior of his is somebody whose actually quite relieved you’re enjoying this in the first place. He often thinks his own company is quite boring.

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Medic:

- Actually immediately starts laughing too. He’s had sexual encounters before and knows how procreation works. (Not to mention the behavior of women.) Girls in movies like this are depicted as so two dimensional he knows full well the people who made this movie must’ve never spoken to an actual woman before. Reminder TF2 takes place in the late 60s so these are some very stupid ass corny romance films.

- He laughs so hard he actually starts coughing. Holy shit. How is this man not dying at this point? He’s screaming something you’re certain is insults in german at the TV. But even if you speak the language it’s not like you can understand between his fits of chaotic laughter. He’s so queer that romance movies make him short circuit.

- “Well actually you see; realistically she has a very high chance of getting pregnant now because he didn’t use a condom. Even know they said they don’t want a kid. Not to mention!; He didn’t use any lube which can be quite painful. Surprised there wasn’t a doctor’s visit after this.” He goes on and on about how stupid and corny this shit is and you can’t really blame him. Although now you have to sit there for hours and listen to him ramble.

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Spy:

- Visibly offended you’d laugh at such a beautiful display. Sex to him is like an art piece. Intertwining bodies and becoming one with your other half/halves. Puts his hand to his chest and glares at you with disgust. You don’t care of course, Spy is a drama queen and always has been. His judgmental expression wasn’t because of your strange behavior, in fact. In any other situation he just wouldn’t care if you acted differently than most people. But he draws the line when you laugh at GORGEOUS SEX. How dare you!!!?? For shame! FOR SHAME!

- “Rest assured, Intimacy can be more than this. I can make you feel pleasure that these two on screen could only dream about if you keep an open mind.” Of course Spy turns this into something horny. He looks rather serious about this and points his cigarette to the closet. Unbeknownst to anybody but you, Spy has a museum’s worth of sex toys in that thing. The offer immediately made you stop laughing. “Oh.” You say.

- Spy is satisfied with your red face and timid attitude towards the question. He watches you and takes a huge drag of his cigarette. “Hmm?” He raises both eyebrows and pouts, mockingly. Like a wolf who cornered a lamb.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #medic x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader

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