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creampie-capital · 2 years

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✦「Killer x Marine! Reader」✦

ɴᴀᴍᴇ║Killer

ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ/ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ║One Piece: Stampede

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ║18,010

「ᴀꜰʟ」 𝟏𝟖+ 「ᴘᴡᴘ」 ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ━━━➤ 「ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ」

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

❝ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ❞

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Do not steal, copy, or repost anywhere. My work is currently on both CREAMPIE_CAPITAL on wattpad and Imtropicalbaby on Quotev. If posted on another account or website, please report and notify me immediately.

Now onto the smut :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"What the-Get that out of your mouth!?"

Before the two could react, you snatched the duo cigars from Smoker's mouth and threw it in the rubbish can.

"(Y/n), no-"

"(Y/n), yes." You retorted and lowered the newspaper you used to hide your appearance. "We're on an island surrounded by pirates for The Pirates Fest and you want to smoke?"

The older male grunted and licked his dry lips. "They're not going to recognize me."

You felt your left eye twitching. Smoker looked exactly like himself except his outfit was different and even then on the left side of his chest were extra cigars.

He even still had his jitte, only having it wrapped in a white bandage attached to his back.

While the Vice Admiral's disguise was rather simple and plain, his subordinate's was much more flashy. Tashigi wore her blue capris and magenta long-sleeve with a pink scarf around her neck.

And the most flashy thing she wore was the large exaggerated pink hat with a yellow puff flowing behind. Not to mention she even had her sword attached to her hip.

"Your disguises are ridiculous. These pirates will be able to recognize you from a mile away." You grumbled under your breath and crossed your arms under your chest. "I knew I should have bought your disguises for you..."

"You should look at yourself first before saying something to us." Smoker answered, provoking you to raise an eyebrow.

"Huh?" You asked with your left eye twitching. You took this infiltration seriously, especially when you were trying to work your way up the ranks.

Being a Vice Admiral was great and all, especially when your subordinates considered your rank just below Veteran Tsuru and Monkey D. Garp.

It was a great accomplishment but many actually believed you didn't deserve it since you weren't a devil fruit user.

You were proficient and Haki enough, but there was clear Bias against you because of your gender than your male counterparts.

Not to mention the jealousy from your peers from how fast you ranked up compared to others.

It didn't matter at the same time since they were nothing to you. You use your position for the well-being of others, and the more accomplishments you have, the more power you earn.

To hide your prominent appearance, well known to the pirates, you adorned a short black-haired wig with a few golden stripes.

Instead of your marine uniform, you wore a red tank top that stopped below your naval. Black leggings covered your bottom and ended at your ankles where red heels protected your feet. And to cover your well know jagged scars on your back and shoulders, a black leather jacket was worn over your arms.

Your crystal fans were skillfully hidden inside your jacket, making you appear rather harmless if it wasn't for the intense gaze in your (e/c) iris'.

"I am the most unrecognizable one, you foolish marine. If it wasn't for Black Cage Hina, you wouldn't have been able to stay in your position due to that mouth." You snapped causing Smoker to get in your face.

"You're one to talk. Being a Vice Admiral but somehow always losing to that mask-wearing supernova from the worst generation. "

His words caused you to gape at him like a fish. "That's funny coming from you. And I wouldn't consider it losing if there is never a winner." You hissed.

Smoker laughed in his throat and leaned back. "I'd consider it losing if I were to be scarred like that by his blades." He said, referring to the markings all over your body, especially the one on the left side of your lip.

A thin slice started at the bottom of your nose and ends at your chin. It was a fairly new injury so you knew the pirates wouldn't recognize you with the new wound.

"Not to mention you wouldn't have even made it to that rank if it wasn't for Fleet Admiral Sakazuki wanting to get in your pants." Smoker stated.

"I should kill you." You mumbled in response before placing a strand of the fake hair behind your ear. "And Fleet Amiral Sakazuki didn't want to suck my titties until after I was promoted to Vice Admiral."

Tashigi let out an awkward laugh at the tension and lowered her newspaper. "Let's not forget why we're here." She said and attempted to change the subject.

The brunet brought up a tan piece of paper with important information on it. "Our main target is the big boss, Festa the "Festival Maker". A big-time pirate from the days of Roger, who we thought died in a sea king accident."

"And this guy too." You added in and handed the female a folded piece of paper. "The man the Navy quarters won't even admit is alive."

The woman unfolded the paper and assessed the bounty picture printed out on it. "Douglas Bullet...The worst escapee from level six at Impel Down..."

Smoker leaned back in his chair and placed two more cigars in his mouth, lighting them unapologetically. "If those two are teamed up, this is clearly no ordinary festival."

Before you could speak the ground suddenly began to shake and pirate ships in the water began to get sucked into a vortex that was forming.

People began to panic and knock into things around them. You had no reaction as Smoker and Tashigi looked around worriedly.

"Don't worry about it." You mumbled and slowly stood up from your sitting position. "It's nothing you need to bother with. Come on, let's see if we can find some information."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"(Y/n), you're getting distracted."

You snapped out of it and quickly wiped the drool that you had salivated. Although you were trying to be serious since there was a lot riding on what you three could come out with, you couldn't help but get distracted at the food stands.

"No, I'm not." You snapped and quickly made your way down the street. Tashigi and Smoker looked at each other before sighing to themselves.

You were typically much scarier than this but when you were at events-like festivals-you were the type to get rather sidetracked. Even reverting to a child-like wonder since as a child you were never able to experience the youthfulness of the world.

The two marine officers followed after your form and listened closely to those around them. You did the same...but couldn't help diverting your attention to the food that smelled absolutely delicious and the jewelry stands that displayed accessories that twinkled like mini stars.

The Vice Admiral had to basically hold you back at certain points when you started to wander off on your own. You couldn't help it, shiny objects always attracted your attention, and that was how you were stuck with Saisei Kurisutarufan, the regenerative crystal fans.

Your attraction to glistening objects was your downfall. Originally you thought they were just crystals in odd shapes, but as soon as you grabbed hold of the weapons, they immediately named you their master and fused themselves to your soul.

Ever since then you were unable to rid yourselves of the fans. They were a part of your soul and always found their way back to you.

"Did you hear that?" Tashigi's voice brought you back from your thoughts as she pulled the three of you into an alley. "It's only a rumor, but it's spread so widely."

You nodded your head and crossed your arms under your chest. "I know. And if we're caught, this could end extremely badly for us."

The white-haired officer nodded his head and inhaled deeply from his two cigarettes that you were quick to snatch and stomp under your heels.

"You disgraceful marine!" The male snapped. "You're worse than Tashigi and she's incredibly absentminded!"

Abruptly you slammed your hands against the older male's mouth and shushed him. "You're gonna blow our cover, you obstinate fool!"

The male flicked your hands off of his face and wiped his mouth as if it was dirty. Tashigi began to speak again, but your attention was seized when something shiny caught your eye.

Moving without thinking you walked down the alley into another street to stop at a stall. The display cases held glimmering ornaments, and even some daggers the color of gold.

You gawked at the gems and brought your purse out, ready to buy the items without really thinking. However, you were quickly pulled out of your fantasy when a cool gust of wind raked through your clothes.

Glancing around you noticed the sun was setting and the sky was becoming visibly dark. Tashigi and Smoker were nowhere to be found, and you couldn't blame them this time since it was indeed you who wandered off first.

"Sh*t." You cursed under your breath and quickly left the stand. You had to find the two officers on this giant island and even though they weren't disguised the best, there were thousands of people here you had to look past to find your partners.

And because you didn't want to deal with the Vice Admiral at night you went and booked a separate hotel away from the two. Blowing air out of your nose like a bull, you continued down the street to make your way to your hotel.

Tashigi knew where your lodging was so if they were really concerned they would meet you there. The hard expression on your face morphed into a sudden grin.

And that meant you could finish exploring the streets to your pleasure without the white-haired male berating you for getting distracted.

And of course, you enjoyed it to your heart's content. Hungrily you devoured the grilled meat (or alternative :p) and churros that you bought from a couple of stands.

You strutted down the streets, the glow of the lights casting upon your skin as you grew closer to your lodging.

"Hey! Do you want to play a game?"

Your attention was diverted to a male calling out to you. It was a rather large stand with tables and chairs surrounding it.

People were sitting around eating and obviously enjoying the delicacies. The one who called out to you appeared to be a tall muscular man with styled brown hair.

He was sitting at a table with another man with black hair. At the table they were sitting at was a giant platter with takoyaki stacked up in a pyramid.

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and stepped closer to their table. "A game?" You sought. "What kind of game?"

The one who called over to you directed one of his hands to the mountain of food. "It's a game sort of like russian roulette. Most of the takoyaki here is normal, with regular filling but there are some that are alternatively filled with wasabi."

You gained a bit of interest from the idea and sat down at their table. "Go on."

"Each of us grabs seven and puts them on our plate. The first one to finish all seven wins. It's a simple game but the wasabi they sell here on Delta Island is crazy spicy."

"And the reward?" You asked.

The black-haired one snorted. "Bragging rights."

"I'm down." You shot back. You were rather competitive, even if there was no true reward. You just liked to say that you won.

"Alright." The brown-haired male cheered. "I'm Delano and he's Tajo. We'll be your competitors on this fine evening."

You couldn't help but snicker at the pirates. Even if you couldn't fight any pirates or you would break your cover, you'll sure as h*ll win a simple competition.

"Greetings to you two. You may call me Enola." You said using your alias.

"Nice to meet you, Enola." The two chimed before fixing their posture and straightening their plates.

"Ready," Delano asked you.

You nodded your head.

"Begin!" Tajo declared.

Using your chopsticks, you skillfully placed seven on your plate before devouring them. The first two were normal, tasting absolutely delicious.

But the third one almost knocked the wind out of you. "Holy sh*t." You choked and coughed aloud. 'They didn't lie when they said this was spicy.'

Delano laughed at you, causing himself to choke on his bite. Tajo shook his head and was already on his fourth one but inhaled deeply at what you assumed was a spicy bite.

It literally didn't really matter if you lost, but you're quite a sore loser regardless of what the competition was about.

You ate a couple more, the three of them being tampered with takoyaki. Your eyes watered from the heat, though you swallowed strenuously and sniffled.

Mama ain't raise no p*ssy b*tch...Well, mama didn't raise you at all, but that's not the point. Stuffing the last one in your mouth, you dropped your chopsticks on your plate in accomplishment.

You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms under your chest in a proud manner while swallowing the last two that were regular.

Delano threw his eating utensil on the table and grabbed a water bottle to chug down the bite in his mouth.

"Wow, I lost to a little girl." Tajo groaned and pushed his plate away from himself. You flared your nose and shook your head.

"I'm twenty-five."

The two males did a double-take and choked on their spit. "Y-You're older than us by two years?" Delano asked as if he was in disbelief.

You snickered at their reactions before standing up and sniffling from the heat that was burning within your mouth.

"Well, pleasure beating you children, but I must be on my way. Have a fine night." You called out at the two males, who waved their hands dejectedly.

While walking down the streets, your mouth still burned, and your head felt fuzzy. The heat from the wasabi was really getting to you now.

Buying a bottle of water, you continued down the path, whereas for some reason, you began to feel uneasy, as if someone was watching you.

Glancing around, no one was paying any attention to your frame. Everyone was too busy with their own matters for you to be the center of attention.

You took another sip of your water, but it didn't seem to be any help at all. In fact, you were beginning to feel worse.

Not only was it just your tongue, but your whole body began to feel hot. Your limbs felt heavy, and you couldn't help but sway.

The bright street lights were hurting your head, yielding you to enter one of the alleys and hold yourself up against the wall since it was so dark and dim.

You couldn't help but pant heavily, your chest rising and falling raggedly. "What...Is wrong with me?" You wheezed out, shaking with most of the strength in your legs, feeling as if they were dissipating.

"Ha, it took longer than expected to work on you."

You swallowed thickly and slowly turned to look over your shoulder to see Delano and Toja making their way down the alley.

"What are you-" Delano didn't let you finish as he grabbed your arm roughly and pulled you close to his body, your water bottle falling to the ground.

"There were drugs in the ones you ate. You didn't think we called you over just for a stupid game, did you?" Toja asked, his hands running up your leg.

"You..." You could barely get the words out from how heavy your tongue felt. "You f*cker's spiked it."

"Don't worry." The brunet mused. "It's nothing bad, just something to put you in the mood and extra sensitive. Plus-" His free hand played with the hem of your leggings. "-they say older women do it better. So why don't we find out~."

You grit your teeth, fury mending into every fiber of your muscles. Tajo's lips could be felt on the side of your neck with Delano's hand attempting to pull down your leggings.

"W-Wait!" You cried, but they didn't listen. Your black jacket was ripped off your torso; a bruise now formed around the side of your throat from the black-haired male.

His hands grasped the hem of your shirt, pulling it upwards while your leggings were being tugged downwards.

With all the strength you could muster, you summoned Saisei Kurisutarufan. The glimmering teal and lemonade pink fans with the black opal handle flew from under your coat and landed in your hands.

You didn't even hesitate in your movement, slicing their throat with the sharp edge of your weapon. They gasped, halting their actions before falling backward and landing on the ground with a loud thud.

A wide slice was made across the skin of their throats and was opened widely. Dark-colored minerals protruded against the cut, with their blood turning into pearl-shaped gems.

You huffed loudly and fell against the wall, barely able to keep your frame on the surface. Your body was burning up to the point where you felt like you were going to melt.

"I never thought I would actually see you here."

Whirling around, you pointed your fans at the end of the alley and glared. "Show yourself!"

There was a moment of silence before you heard footsteps, and a man's figure was illuminated by the glow of the streets.

Your eyes widened at the sight; you were in disbelief. It was your worst enemy, your eternal rival, and the one who you continuously never won over.

The Massacre Soldier, Killer.

If Killer recognized you, then he would most definitely take advantage of your situation and end you right there and there.

He was dressed just as he usually was, only for his light purple jeans and his shirt a dark mulberry purple. The sash around his waist was tan, and his sheaths were still attached to his hips.

The last time you saw him was when he busted your nose and gifted you your most recent scar on your face.

"W-Who are you!?" You asked, still having to keep your cover.

"Do you really think I wouldn't recognize you?" You flinched from his deep voice and cowered slightly when he took long heavy steps to your frame. "I'll always be able to tell it's you, (Y/n)."

You bared your teeth and attempted to slash one of the twin fans across his throat, but you stumbled instead, and the male had to catch you.

You barely had any more strength, the effects of the drug growing stronger the longer it stayed in your system.

One of his muscular arms was wrapped around your waist to hold you upright while the other grasped your discarded jacket.

The heat of his body made you tremble; your mind was so hazy, and your throat so dry. And when you smelled the faintest hint of the sea and cologne on his body, your p*ssy couldn't help but throb because of his manly scent.

"You're so..." You swallowed hard and panted. "Lucky I can't f*cking kill you right now."

The male glanced down at you and tilted his mask-covered face. The wig that was on your head was starting to slide back and reveal your real hair beneath.

Your face was flushed with color; a smoky look was in your eyes with your lips parted. Heavy pants left your lips with a slight trail of drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth.

The sight of your face was already as er*tic as it was. But then, when he looked closely and gazed across your bare shoulders with the straps of your top falling down your biceps, it was almost too enticing.

The bottom of your shirt was pulled up and crumbled at your chest, revealing your bare stomach covered in scars.

Not to mention the hem of your pants was lowered, revealing the thin straps of your undergarment pressing into the skin of your waist.

Your appearance was completely disheveled and troubled. The sight made the male swallow thickly and took a deep breath.

You were the woman from the Marines that he always fought, always went toe to toe with but could never beat. The strongest female he knew, and here you were in an alley, unable to even raise a fist to his face.

You were completely vulnerable, something he had never seen before.

"Let me go, you f*cking oaf." He blinked before glancing down at you and doing as you said. As soon as the support was gone, your legs crumpled, and you fell to your knees, groaning from the pain.

"Whatever happened to the big bad Vice Admiral, huh? The Pirate Killer?" He teased lightly and crossed his large muscular arms over his broad chest.

You grit your teeth at his taunting remarks and weakly hovel to your feet. Snatching the coat from him, you placed the fans back within the inside pockets and leaned against the wall.

"I ate something spiked; moreover, I'm livid, so If you don't get out of my way and leave me be, I'm going to f*cking tear your throat open."

The male shrugged his muscular shoulders and turned his body to show you his back. "That's if you ever get the chance. When I leave, you'll be alone in such a defenseless state." He responded.

"I can handle this myself."

Killer scoffed quietly and turned back to face you. "It wouldn't take much for someone else to find you like this. They'll probably recognize you, kill you maybe, or take advantage of you."

He suddenly leaned down from his height of 6'5 (195 cm) and brought his masked face close to yours. "Do you think these pirates would miss the opportunity to defile and humiliate a female marine? Especially a well-known one of your rank."

"You're notorious, (Y/n)." His low voice saying your name made your p*ssy throb and walls clench. "But if you want me to go, then I'll oblige. I'll wait for another day to kill you; well, that is if someone else doesn't do it for me first."

He pulled away from you and stood to his full height. You glared at his stupid blue and white mask, wanting to smash his f*cking face in.

Swiftly he turned around and began making his way down the alley. The roar of the pirates from the streets grew louder, and because of Killers' words, the panic was beginning to settle in.

You knew he was right; you were in no position to defend yourself. Already had you used the remaining strength on Delano and Toja.

Your hotel was at least a mile or two away from where you were. The masked man was right; you'd never make it back safely.

"W-Wait!" You stuttered and cringed at what you were going to do. You hated needing anything from others, and you especially hated asking for it.

The male halted in his movements and turned his head slightly to face you.

You took a deep breath, scrunching your face up before letting it relax. "I need...Hmph, I need your assistance."

It was absolutely embarrassing, humiliating even to ask the arrogant pirate - who you had been feuding with for years - for help to get back safely.

The blond turned his full body to face you. "I think you can do better than that, (Y/n). The word I'm looking for is 'help'."

"F*cking a**hole!" You cursed under your breath and launched your jacket at him. He caught it swiftly with his left hand but still awaited your 'appropriate' plea for help.

Your lips trembled as you attempted to speak. With all your heart, you loathed asking for help; you despised even saying the word.

Nothing good had ever come from you asking for help, in fact, it was twisted on you, and he used your plea for help as a way to take advantage of you.

Memories from that sullen place never left you. Memories of your desperate pleas for salvation only for it to be your doom.

You were damn sure Killer didn't understand the severity of the word, but he really was using the opportunity to get a one-up on you.

The feelings of your eyes burning from attempting to keep your tears of frustration in brought you back from your thoughts.

Killer just stood still, waiting for you to ask, but you struggled greatly; he could tell. He suddenly pivoted on the balls of his feet and began to walk away.

"K-Killer!" He paused for a moment before continuing out towards the end of the alley to the other side of the street.

"Please..." It was as if the words burnt your tongue and smacked you in the face. "Please help me get back to the hotel."

The male swiftly shifted, stepping closer to you before suddenly gripping your waist and heaving you over onto his right shoulder.

"K-Killer!" You screeched from surprise and had to adjust the wig from falling.

"What? It's the quickest way. Now, which hotel are you staying at?" He asked, his grip on your waist securing you firmly over his collar.

His touch was distracting; the warmth of his fingers made the skin feel as it was being ignited aflame.

"(Y/n). I asked you a question."

You blinked your thick lashes and swallowed the saliva in your mouth. It was a bit embarrassing only because almost everyone knew of your childish interest.

"It's over by the main jewelry stores, Emerald Cove Hotel." You replied, and you felt his shoulders tremble.

He most likely was going to laugh, but he physically had to stop himself. You knew he hated his laugh, especially after the defected SMILE incident.

"Figured as much."

The masked blond began making his way through the less crowded streets to get to your hotel. He was quiet as usual and didn't say anything more after his little comment.

You didn't say anything either; however, that didn't mean your mind wasn't racing with extreme thoughts. His touch was driving you mad, and the heat of his body made goosebumps rise all over your skin.

With every step he took, you could feel your body bounce against his own, and it felt like electricity shooting through your nerves. You had to squeeze your thighs together, and you hoped he wouldn't notice even though your a** was basically right next to his head.

After what felt like forever, the two of you finally arrived at the luxurious lodging. The male didn't even put you down as he entered.

"Which one's your room?" He sought.

"The suite on the top floor." You replied after a moment of gathering your thoughts.

Strutting over to the lift, he entered it and clicked the highest button on the panel. You couldn't help but shift and groan quietly as the drug coursed through your veins.

"We're almost there, just a little longer." He stated, and you only responded with another groan. A minute or two went by until the lift door opened, and a short hallway with a set of double doors at the end came to view.

As he stepped forward to the doors, you spoke up. "The key card is in the pocket on the right side of my leggings." You didn't have the strength to maneuver your arm back and grab it.

But maybe you should have because as soon as his large hand had dipped into your pocket and slid against the thin fabric to grab the card, your hips bucked, and you unconsciously shifted closer to his face.

You could basically feel the heat growing in your lower region, oh so desperate for anything to assist the sensitivity.

Killer unlocked the door to your room and turned on the lights before entering inside, gazing around to take in the appearance. Exactly what he thought your room to be.

Clean, most definitely, but extravagant as well to match your interest in sparkling gems and jewels. He set you down roughly on the couch, causing you to groan and rub the back of your head from hitting the armrest.

"I outta kill you!"

"You outta give me a thank you."

His words caused you to purse your lips and turn your head to avoid his gaze. "Whatever." You whispered under your breath while sitting up.

Your body smelt of sweat and the aroma of food from the festival. You needed a shower, and maybe a cold shower could help surpass this drug or at least cool you down.

Weakly you stood up to your feet and pressed yourself against the wall. "I'm going to shower, so you can leave now." You mumbled as you entered the pristine marble bathroom.

The blonde-haired pirate didn't say anything, simply watching you close the door, and a few moments later, he heard the water running.

He turned to leave, and right as he reached the door handle, he heard a cry from the shower. Without thinking, he ran to the bathroom door.

"(Y/n)?"

The faintest sound of your breathing could be heard; however, it sounded more of what he assumed was heavy panting.

"I'm...I'm fine." You called out hoarsely before clearing your throat. "Can you wait here? You know...till I'm done, just in case anything happens."

The masked man didn't say anything, staring at the white door for a few seconds until he sighed. "Fine." He grumbled and stepped away until he reached the couch.

He set himself down and crossed his leg in a figure four, his arms supporting his body on the bridge of the sofa. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and thought to himself.

What was he even doing here? Not to begin with, he was here helping the female marine that always seemed to get in his and Kid's way, and he was helping her.

The whole situation was a mess, and he should just do what would be most beneficial to him and the Kid Pirates.

He should just kill you now.

Taking you out when you were weak would be perfect when you couldn't fight back. But then again, he didn't like that either. If you couldn't fight back, then what was the point?

If he couldn't cross weapons with you and feel the strength against his blade, then it would be a waste.

The Massacre Soldier was so much in his thoughts that he didn't hear the shower shut off or the bathroom door opening.

When you exited the washroom, you saw the male sitting on your couch, staring at the ceiling. Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you crept over to the light switch and shut it off.

Immediately the room was enveloped in darkness, and it startled the masked man. He jolted in his spot and was about to get up, but your words stopped him.

"Don't move...please."

His instinct was telling him otherwise, that this was a trick or an attack. He should've just killed you already. And to hear you say 'please'- a word you hated to use just as much as 'help'-made him hesitate.

He swallowed thickly and stayed in his spot, but he kept his hands scrunched around his gauntlets by his side. He heard your footsteps approach him slowly, and his heart drummed noisily in his ears.

The anticipation was killing him, and he disliked this, how he was at a disadvantage in the darkness. There was little light, but it came from the window behind him.

Your body came into the line of his sight, causing his gaze to fling to your frame. You met his gaze and stopped walking right in front of his spot on the couch.

With the small amount of light from the window, he could see the wig was off, and your real hair was down, still dripping water.

The only thing protecting your body from him was the thin white towel wrapped around your body. But to his surprise, you let go of the cloth and allowed it to fall to the ground.

Immediately the blond sucked in a breath at the sight. It was something he had never seen before in all the years he had known you.

Your body was bare, nothing shielding his blue orbs from seeing your most private parts. Water droplets dripped down your body, and he couldn't help but follow the trails that led down your stomach.

"What are you-"

"One night."

You had quickly interjected his words and looked deeply at his blue and white mask. Your face was flushed with color, and a frustrated but smokey expression rested on your face.

"I can't deal with this; it's not going away..." You stepped closer to his frame to set his leg down and straddle his lap, your wet limbs on either side of his.

Killer could immediately feel the wetness from your c*nt on his crotch, and it took everything in him not to grab your throat right then and there and just kill you.

You were tempting him like the devil and could possibly only be acting. You could be using this chance to make him vulnerable and finally kill him.

"Please, I'm desperate." You begged and brought your hands down to his own. You fingered the attachments and unlocked his hands from the grey gauntlets.

"I thought I could just do it myself, but it's just getting worse..." Your voice cracked at the end to signify your clear, very emotional standing. "I-I can't go to anyone else."

You gripped his hands and steered them to your waist. As soon as his rough, calloused hands brushed against your skin, you sucked in a breath and shuddered against his body.

He immediately felt that response and willed his own body to not react. His self-control was great, but he was human after all, and everyone falls to their desires at least once in their life.

"So just this once, I beg you to forget your hatred and...please help me."

You brought your face close to his mask in the darkness, and you could hear him breathing laboriously.

"Just this one time?" He asked in a soft voice you've never heard before. It made butterflies erupt in your tummy and dance around.

Instead of replying, you grasped the sides of his mask and removed it gently from his head. You knew the male hated to have others see his face, always sporting the iconic blue and white mask.

But if you were in the darkness where you struggled to see, hopefully, he'll allow you to take it off.

And thankfully, you were right.

His grip on your waist tightened as he now sat maskless in front of someone for the first time since childhood. Even though you couldn't see, he still grew a bit tense and even itched to wear it again.

However, those thoughts slowly began to dissipate when he felt your hot breath against his lips, so close to touching.

"Just for one night." You whispered as softly as he did. "I need you."

Not a moment later did, the blond place his lips against yours and pull your body closer to his chest. Your lips moved in sync sloppily, a desperate action that could only be described as yearning.

One of his arms wrapped around your back and gripped your shoulder. The other reached down and grasped your a** that he had only ever seen in the white pants of your marine uniform.

But now he was touching it, caressing the warm flesh and squeezing it. The action made you gasp against his mouth, allowing for him to enter his own tongue and taste you.

He could taste the takoyaki you ate but also the sweet sugar candy from the multiple stalls in the streets.

His grip tightened as he pushed you harder against his chest. He could feel your hard n*pples through his thin shirt, poking against his skin and begging for attention.

Your hips began to grind against his growing erection, dampening the cloth of his jeans with your liquids of arousal.

The tent in his pants was pushing against your cl*t, which sent sparks running up your abdomen. You couldn't help the breathy moans from escaping your lips.

Everything felt extra sensitive; the littlest of movement sent jolts of pleasure through your veins. You dragged your nails down his chest, pressing into his flesh through the shirt and shuddering against him.

Killer removed his arms from your body and back slightly so he could remove the purple top from his torso.

Immediately your hands found their way to his muscular chest again, trailing against his visible muscles and a few prominent veins.

The blond pirate always had such a beautiful physique, and even the long scar across his left arm and shoulder was attractive.

His hands found their way to your breast, grasping them in his large hands and squeezing.

"Hng~!"

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand while your spine arched slightly. The hardened buds were pressing against his warm palms, hardening your n*pples even more.

Slowly he dropped his hands to your hips and helped you grind against his erection. You closed your eyes, panting as he rolled you harder against him.

One of his hands found its way to the side of your neck, almost in the back, and pressed down. You groaned from the pain and dug your nails into his bare shoulders.

"This is from one of those guys?" He asked knowingly.

You nodded your head slackly. "Yeah."

He pursed his lips before returning his hand to your hip. "I don't like seeing it."

You grinned and rolled your hips against his crotch. "Then do something about it~."

Killer did not have to be told twice as he placed his face in the crook of your neck and licked your soft clean surface.

His lips kissed your skin tenderly, his thumbs caressing your sides as he pressed his hips upwards against your c*nt.

Soft mewls escaped your mouth while you closed your eyes and ran a hand through his soft long blond hair.

The sensation of him sucking felt like a tingling pressure that stung so much it felt good. He covered your throat and shoulders in dark love bites, ranging from pinks to reds, and to purples.

The stinging pain hurt just as much as it felt immeasurable. His name left your lips breathlessly again, seeming as fuel to the male.

That mark left by the boy from the festival was quickly covered by the ones of Killer's. But he wasn't done there; his tender, intimate sucking and kissing steadily shifted to the valley of your breast.

Those large hands of his left your hips only to grasp your breast once again. He gripped them firmly, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh.

These were the breast that pushed up against your shirt and stretched from each fluid movement and strike you made against him when you fought.

For years he had never seen your body in such an exposed and intimate manner. He hated this, but he loved it.

He hated you but damn, was he always attracted to you. From your fighting ability to your unwavering resolve and strong willpower.

You were just his type, but unfortunately, you were a marine, a high-ranking marine known as the Pirate Killer.

The same could be said about you. The attraction was always there, finding his loyalty to his captain endearing and his level-headedness charming.

His deep heavy voice was appealing, and not to mention his physique was arousing. You were an adult, and you couldn't help if you were attracted to someone, but that someone, unfortunately, had to be the man you also hated.

The man you always fought head to head, but no one was ever the winner between the two of you. No matter how many times, neither one of you had come out the victor.

It was such a fate the position you two were in. A Marine Officer and a Worst Generation Pirate who despised each other but also couldn't help but be alluded to one another.

Killer brought his face to your left breast, breathing his hot breath on your areola before taking it in his mouth.

You inhaled deeply, clenching your legs against Killer's thighs as his warm mouth entrapped your sensitive area.

"Oh my~. Don't stop." You hummed airily.

The blond swallowed the saliva in his mouth and sucked on it harshly. His teeth pressed into the buds gingerly as if testing your reaction.

Your hips bucked against him, your fingers grasping strands of his long locks and tugging on them.

His lascivious gaze flickered to meet yours, watching as you observed the way his mouth took in your n*pple and teased it fondly.

"Your breast is sensitive." He stated, his voice coarse and low. "Do you like it when I bite them too?"

You pouted slightly and refused to answer. His question felt like he was teasing, almost mocking you. You weren't normally this sensitive, but the drug was doing something to your body.

The pirate's teeth graze your n*pple again as he began to massage and mold your right breast in his hand.

Subconsciously you pressed your chest harder against his face and panted wearily. You could feel the smirk on his lips against your skin, and he tugged harshly on your hair.

"I didn't ask for you to tease me; I asked for you to f*ck me."

"We'll get there." He mussed, his goatee tickling your breast. "Right now, I'm enjoying these."

He bounced your breast in his hands before he squeezed tightly. His lips displayed a devious smirk when he witnessed how you responded to him.

Back arching and thighs quivering. If you were responding to him just like that, he couldn't wait till he was deep inside your body, f*cking the sh*t out of you.

He leaned down, placing his face in between your breast while his hold on your bust grew tighter. He sucked on your body again, bruising the skin as he pressed your mounds against his face.

Your flesh was hot, almost burning against his skin. They were so soft yet firm against his tan cheeks. Your body smelled so good that he never wanted to forget the scent.

The room was beginning to feel humid, and your two bodies were already sweating. It was beginning to smell like s*x already from your wet c*nt and his pre-c*m that soaked through his undergarment and jeans.

The foreplay was great and all, but he felt like it was time to go farther. More importantly, he wanted to taste the juices that were being secreted because of his touch.

One of his hands inched down to your crotch before slithering his fingers between your slits. He could feel the hot, slick liquid and aimlessly ran his fingers along your c*nt before rubbing your little cl*t.

His mouth entrapped your other n*pple, sucking on it intensely and looking up to you through the darkness.

"I'm going to eat you out and have you begging me for more."

You didn't respond. Instead, you grasped his face and brought it back up so you could kiss him. He stood up swiftly and held your legs around his waist.

He carefully maneuvered himself to the bedroom as you sucked on the flesh of his muscular shoulders and throat.

Killer plopped your body down on the mattress, sliding himself down and grasping the back of your knees.

He wasted no time opening your legs to reveal your sopping wet c*nt that was begging for him.

With the little light from the window in the bedroom, he observed how the slick covered your lower lips and even the inner part of your thighs.

"Stop..." You were panting already. "...F*cking staring at it you oaf."

"Why shouldn't I?" He responded back and dropped to his knees in front of the bed, his hot breath fanning your lower region. "I said I was going to eat you out, didn't I?"

A soft whimper left your lips, hoping for more of his touch. But your hopes were pushed away when he let one of your legs go, his fingers teasingly stroked around your c*nt and refusing to touch any of the more sensitive areas but still giving you a taste of what you could be having.

The tips of his calloused fingers just slightly grazed your cl*t before returning back to the skin around your slits.

Again his fingers trailed along the outside of your folds, not close enough to stimulate your cl*t but close enough to tease you with extreme frustration.

And incredibly frustrated is what you became. You had your brows furrowing with displeasure and your eyes glaring in anger. You huffed audibly, taking a deep breath, and releasing it loudly with a bit of attitude.

"It wouldn't do you any good to act like a brat, either."

Before you had a chance to reply, you felt one of his thick fingers finally reach your folds, pressing right into your entrance. It quickly became coated in your liquids of arousal, and your walls clenched around the tips of his extremities.

More liquids started to secrete from the slight bit more stimulation. If possible, Killer's grin grew ear to ear. His wet fingers now circled your folds almost fondly but still teasingly, smearing the sticky liquids across your lower region.

Instead of a whimper or a huff, you cried out loudly. An audible wail escaped your lips and reverberated within your bedroom.

Your breathing started to become labored, chest rose and fell rapidly at an erratic pace. His fingers continued to press against your entrance slightly before pulling back and playing around with your slits.

The frustration you felt only grew as the male continued to tease you, giving you some sort of stimulation but not enough to please you.

"You're pissing me off." You hissed.

His head slowly shook from side to side as he forced himself not to laugh. While being focused on his frame, you suddenly let out a choked gasp when two of his fingers were pushed into your body and pressed upwards against your bladder.

Your eyes widened, your grasp on the bedsheets beneath you tightening as you fought to close your legs unconsciously.

The one leg he was not holding was pressed against his head, while the other was no match for his tight grip on the back of your knee.

His fingers had stayed still for a moment as he observed the beautiful expression of lust and desperation on your face. Swallowing thickly, you tried to wiggle your hips in an attempt to get more stimulation.

Your action caused Killer to shake his head in a disapproving manner. He clicked his tongue and suddenly pressed his thumb right up against your cl*t.

This drew a shaky breath from your chest as you squirmed with aggravation. His finger pressing against those bundles of nerves was sending little jolts all up to your body and especially through the muscles of your abdomen.

Sweat began to drip off the back of your neck, dampening your hair and slicking your skin. You wanted to almost beg and plead for him to stop this blasphemous teasing and just give you what you want.

But both of you were too stubborn. You didn't like to admit defeat, especially against him, and tell him that you so desperately needed more of him.

The pirate already loved to ridicule and tantalize you more than anything else. Your fights were both physical and verbal. Sometimes he hit the mark on certain things and could have your cold front collapse in front of him.

Killer gradually leaned forward, his mouth entrapping your cl*t as two of his fingers went back to probing your entrance.

"A-Ah~." You hummed, your walls clenching down on emptiness. Your hands flew to his hair, entangling within his long blond locks and snarling it.

He let the flat pad of his tongue lick at your throbbing cl*t; his fingers felt more of your natural lubrication seeping out of your entrance.

You couldn't help but suck in your abdomen and tug harshly on his hair. "S-Sh*t." The word came out breathlessly.

The pirate entrapped your cl*t with his mouth and began to suck harshly. He hollowed his cheeks while swirling his tongue around your sensitive area.

The pressure on those bundles of nerves had mewls leaving your lips and echoing all over the hotel bedroom.

Killer observed your ecstasy-filled expression, watching with extreme interest as your cheeks flared with color and your eyes became glazed.

He could see your stomach rising and falling with every quick sharp breath you made. Suddenly he hummed, letting the vibrations stimulate the sensorial nerves.

It felt like a tingling sensation that was becoming almost too overwhelming. You tugged on his hair and swallowed whatever saliva was in your mouth strenuously.

You were becoming lost in his sweet touch, your mind simply only focusing on his tongue. It was your body moving on its own, grinding harder against his mouth for more, that caught Killer's attention.

He gave your little cl*t a single last lick before his tongue dragged downwards across the rest of your c*nt. The action caused you to shudder and contract your stomach.

His warm tongue maneuvering around his fingers made you flinch from the sensitive sensation. While you were distracted from your tongue, those two fingers that were at your entrance finally pushed in again.

A choked gasp echoed in the room as you squeezed your thigh against his head. His fingers maintained their still position inside you, but that didn't stop your body from clenching down on his extremities.

His lips formed into a coy smile, and you could feel it against your throbbing c*nt. To have the great Pirate Killer writhing beneath him because his actions almost him feel boastful.

Every once in a while, his nose would brush up against your cl*t, causing you to jolt in your spot. Your juices were all over your thighs and dripped down your bottom.

The mess couldn't have been any hotter for the pirate. He pulled his tongue out only for a moment so he could kiss the slick, swallowing it with throaty gulps before returning back to your cl*t.

His plump lips left longing smooches that applied pressure and had your back arching.

Killer had you a f*cking mess. Sweaty, your skin coated in the salty liquid. Aroused, your p*ssy wetter than ever. Desperate, your nails digging into his muscular shoulders and threatening to break the skin.

Once again, his mouth was entrapping your bundle of nerves, howling his cheeks as he sucked again. The pressure had your lower body clench and your hips buck against his face.

Killer's long nimble fingers began to move, pulling out and causing you to clench down even more on his extremities. You didn't want to permit any of him to go at all, even if it was just his fingers.

And because of this, you were extra sensitive to whatever he was doing. Even if it was just him pushing the two digits back inside of you.

A shaky breathless moan left your lips that was soon followed by his name. You were the one extra sensitive and aroused because of the drug, but it was as if it was affecting the blond in some way as well.

He was feeling almost affected, extra excited, and more animated than ever. Blood was rushing all throughout his body, and he almost felt like he was swelling.

His own felt light, and his mind was so hazy. Never before had he ever been so in love with such a sight. It made his heartbeat quicken and warmth surge through his chest.

Killer's fingers gradually worked to thrust at a consistent pace. It was slow at first, allowing for him to feel your clenching velvety walls and witness the way you ground your hips for more stimulation.

He pulled back to swallow the slick that accumulated in his mouth before hollowing his cheeks again and swirling his tongue around your sensitive area. The pressure on those bundles of nerves had mewls leaving your lips and echoing all within the hotel room.

The pirate's misty blue orbs flickered up to look at your face as he moved his free hand to rub soothing circles on your hips.

His touch on your skin was just as desirable as his touch on lower regions. You wanted everything from him. It felt like you were a little spoiled girl who could never have enough.

You wanted it all. You wanted all of him.

The male observed your concupiscence-filled expression, watching with extreme interest as your cheeks flared with color and your eyes became glossy.

"You look so beautiful like that."

Grinding your hips against his face, you shuddered from his words and gazed down at the beautiful male who was relinquishing his thirst with your juices.

His piercing optics was looking at you too, meeting your gaze and locking it. He also wanted you to watch the dirty, sensual action that he was performing on your body.

A little while later, his plump lips pressed against it once again before he turned his head to the side and began to litter your right thigh with kisses as well.

Killer began to suck on your soft supple skin, leaving behind red/purple bruises that stung with pain but tingled with pleasure.

All while, at the same time, he let the pace of his fingers increase and pressed harder against your sensitive areas.

There was this feeling in your lower abdomen; it was pulsating and slowly started to grow stronger, alerting you of your nearing climax. A beautiful release that would fill you with ecstasy and satisfy the burning desire that was ignited beneath your fingertips.

The blond could tell as well by the way you bucked your hips and moaned his name. You were squeezing so tight around his fingers he knew that your aroused body was approaching an org*sm.

One of your hands that were digging its nails into his muscular shoulder trailed down his just as muscular biceps and squeezed.

His hand that had been holding your hips moved your right thigh where he was littering them with love bites, began to intimately trail the tips of his fingers against your sensitive skin.

Your thighs clamped tighter against his head as you squeezed your lower body around him. It was too overwhelming how good Killer was doing.

There was an itch in your throat from the dryness of having constant moans leaving your lips. You were feeling exhausted and drained already, but your body still burned with desire.

Your spine had a small divet in it, slightly arched and off the slab table. Killer breathed a deep breath to inhale the scent of your arousal and lowered himself back on your sensitive nerves.

He hummed, grazing your cl*t slightly with his teeth before resuming to sucking it. He knew you were close, so close.

You were trembling and grinding hard against his face. Your grip was tight on his shoulders, and you were desperately begging for more.

"You taste so f*cking good."

Your hips bucked against his face, your nails breaking past the skin and drawing blood. Killer couldn't help but grin at your reaction.

Such a beautiful woman you were, a complete mess and covered in sweat. Your body was hot, tight around him and the sound of that desperate voice of yours calling his name made him almost lose it.

The feelings you were experiencing were indescribable. All you knew was that everything just felt so good but so overstimulated. You knew you were getting to the end, right at the edge of the cliff, where you'd fall into a pool of blinding pleasure.

And before you knew it, your org*sm hit and flushed all through your body. Surging through your bloodstream and pounding your head with bliss.

"Ah, K-Killer~!" His name spewed out of your mouth melodically, reverberating against your chest and the room.

Your stomach contracted, and the abdominal muscles were tight from how much you sucked in your gut. You clenched as tightly as you could, squeezing his fingers so tightly you thought you might break them.

The hand that was holding his shoulder dropped to his abbs, where you dug your nails into the firm muscles.

Harshly your thighs clasped even more firmly against his head, and you squeezed almost as if you wanted to break his head off.

With your spine arching from your climax, you lay your head back against the bed with your swollen lips parted. The sight itself was astounding for the pirate.

Pure pleasure displayed on your face with your body trembling against him was an image he wished to forever capture in his head.

The pure ecstasy that displayed on your face was something the male just wished he could eat up. He has made you tremble in pain before but to have you quivering, completely vulnerable because of him in a much more intimate manner made his heart skip a beat.

Killer used his thumbs to spread open your slits so he could easily lap up the liquids of your climax. He savored the sweet taste and sticky texture against his tongue.

You were shaking against him, twitching from your oversensitivity. Your eyes felt so heavy, and your body was already exhausted, but you knew this wasn't over.

Not only was the drug still prominent in your system, but you knew this wouldn't be over with just you having an org*sm.

Killer still had to get his d*ck wet and plunge himself inside you. What man could resist the opportunity to do such a thing, especially when it was the woman he was incredibly attracted to?

Steadily the pirate pulled away from your thighs and stood to his full 6'5 (195 cm) height. His large hands unbuttoned his jeans.

He pulled them down along with his undergarment, which freed his member. It sprung up youthfully and tapped against his naval lightly.

Your mouth parted at the sight, and you have to say you were a bit surprised. The energy Killer gave off was arrogance, but his ego was never easily attacked.

He didn't react harshly against insults and rather 'laughed' them off. You always found it a bit strange, but now you know the reason.

Underneath the protection of clothes, he hid something that had your jaw dropped. Killer always had that big d*ck energy for the right reason.

"That look in your eyes." He mused and hummed gutturally. "Can't say that I hate it."

"Shut up, oaf" You hissed.

Instead of reacting to your words, the male suddenly gripped your hips and dragged you closer to the edge of the bed.

His grip rose to your ankles, where he swiftly parted your legs again. His action made you swallow thickly and look up at it his face.

Again, it was incredibly dark, with very little light sweeping in from the window. You could see the lines of his sharp jaw and the smirk on those plump lips of his.

"And you were the one begging me to f*ck you."

You turned your head away In embarrassment and crossed your arms under your chest, your lips forming into a pout.

"Don't say it like that." You whined.

"Why? Because it makes you seem weak?" He teased.

Before you had a chance to reply, one of his hands left your ankles to grasp his c*ck and place it at your entrance.

You could feel the hard tip prodding your hole, and swallowed the saliva that was in your mouth. He rubbed it up and down on your cl*t, smearing your slick along your c*nt.

He continued to do this and refused to enter fully. His action was causing you to tremble and suck in heavy breaths.

"Y-You can't keep doing that..." You stuttered quietly, but the male still heard.

Killer pressed the tip against your entrance, pushing in and allowing for the thick head to enter. However, just as quickly as he was inside, he pulled out and smacked the tip against your cl*t.

Your hips bucked forward, and you whimpered aloud. What a b*stard he was, teasing you when you already had enough trouble as it was controlling your body.

"Stop!"

"I will when you admit you need me again."

Your brows furrowed as you bared your teeth at him. Even if he was helping you with your situation, that didn't mean the rivalry between the two of you suddenly stopped.

He still resented you, and you still despised him.

"I should f*cking kill you now!" You attempted to make your words appear threatening, but they were more breathless than anything.

This caused Killer to smirk and slowly enter the tip in but stop once the head was immersed.

"I'd like to see you try."

You weren't able to reply, only clenching your teeth and feeling as just the tip was stretching your walls.

"Just say it again. One more time, one last time."

Quite pants left your lips as you attempted to wiggle your hips and enter more of himself in you but he grasped the top of your thighs and halted you from any further movement.

You were stuck in a stand hold, and the only way to get out was to do as he said. You had to beg.

"I need you, please."

"Again."

You took a deep breath and grabbed one of his hands to bring it to your mouth. Your lips lightly traced against his calloused fingers before sucking on his index.

And to his surprise, you pulled back only to press his index and ring finger into your mouth. You shoved it back until he reached your throat, where you gagged.

Pulling it back, you both looked at his saliva-colored fingers before making eye contact.

"I need you so bad, Killer."

The pirate swiftly gripped the back of your knees and pressed them into the mattress. Slowly he entered more of himself, pushing inside of your body and becoming swallowed by your tight wet walls.

Your back arched as a loud quivering moan left your lips. His girth was wide, stretching your walls more than they ever had.

Not to mention his length could reach farther than anybody ever had. He wasn't even fully in, but he was already so deep.

Drool dribbled down the corner of your lips as your mind became blank. Immediately you had succumbed to his c*ck.

A dumb lustful expression covered your face, and the male could see the absolutely lewd gaze in your smokey eyes.

His c*ck couldn't help but twitch at the sight. Such a beautiful, strong woman you were, now limp on his d*ck.

A blessing and a curse.

He let your body adjust after a moment so he could relish in the feeling of your warm, velvety walls forming to fit his member.

His fingers dug into your warm flesh and pressed you harder into the mattress. You could feel the strain in your pelvis, but you were in no way going to stop.

After a moment, he rolled his hips outwards before rocking it forward. He plunged himself back in and reached deep into your body.

"N-Ngh~!"

Your head was thrown back as you jolted in your spot. Your hips bucked upwards as you flung your nails to press into his muscular shoulders.

His hips jerked as he quickly gained momentum and rolled his hips continuously. Killer's strength was far beyond human, the both of you knew that.

So when he began his movements of thrusting into you, he was using every muscle of his body to penetrate you deeply and ripple pleasure through your veins.

"Killer~."

His name was moaned breathlessly in such a needy, desperate manner that he had to swallow the saliva in his mouth to control himself.

He had to be careful; he knew you were strong, but you were extremely powerless against him at the moment.

Killer had all the control, he was the one leading the motion, and you could only take it all in.

The male was being clenched down by your inner walls, sucking him in even deeper. The head of his c*ck is just briefly brushing against your cervix.

Your walls that were clenching down on his member fitted tighter around him, allowing you to feel every thick vein that protruded against the skin of his c*ck.

You molded so tightly around him as if your body was trying to keep him inside as much as possible. As if you never wanted to let him go and keep him all to yourself.

The pace of his gloriously rocking hips grew. Every time he rocked his hips forward, he pressed the head of his c*ck against the entrance to your womb.

Killer found that every time he did that, you writhed and cried out loudly. Clawing at his shoulders and telling - no - begging for him not to stop.

The force he used to rock his hips made your body bounce on the mattress; it didn't help that his feet were planted firmly on the ground, which allowed him more stability.

One of his hands had let go of your legs to trail down your stomach. He could see through the dim light of the multiple marks and scars on your skin.

All over, they ranged from shallow to deep, from jagged to clean. He knew a few of them came from him, the perfectly clean sliced ones.

But he had never seen the others before, and there were so many that there was barely any skin that had yet to be marked.

Gingerly he trailed his fingers across the scars, wondering how you came about to have these. What had you done to get to where you are now?

Who did you have to kill to be covered like this? And was it worth it? He didn't know, and although he was curious, his attention had turned back to the throbbing bundle of nerves in your lower region.

His calloused fingertips tenderly brushed against your little cl*t, ensuring an immediate reaction from your body.

"A-Ah~!"

Your hips bucked as you dug your nails into the wounds you had created before. He bled once again; small strings trailed down and smeared against his skin from your palms.

The male had no negative reaction to the wounds; instead, his lips curved upwards into a smug grin, his fingers stroking your sensitive cl*t as he thrust his c*ck within your walls.

He made sure to align his pace with his fingers; every time he had pulled out, he flicked your sensitive bud with his fingers, and every time he was in you, he stroked it accordingly.

This brought about waves of pleasure that caused your already trembling form to be quivering like a startled animal.

That memorable sensation in your lower abdomen returned. A tight pulsating feeling that could only mean one thing.

Your org*sm was arising, your abdomen clenching while you sucked in your stomach. The male could feel the heat wafting off from your body, his grip becoming slightly loose for a second before he fixed it and tightened his hold.

Killer grunted and increased the speed of his thrust. His crotch hit your own as his c*ck began to pound at the entrance to your womb.

Your whole body was trembling as your climax grew closer and closer. Your climax was there at the edge. You could feel it once again, waiting to be released.

And you could tell Killer was close as well, holding off until you had reached your peak first.

His rolling hips increased, slightly sloppy, as he focused more on reaching deep and hitting your sensitive areas.

Suddenly the blond's hand that was holding down one of your legs flew over to your throat, where he was quick to grasp it in his hold.

His palm pressed against your larynx and applied pressure that had wheezes leaving your lips. The low amount of oxygen that made its way to your brain had your mind hazy.

Killer felt an immediate reaction from your lower region. Your body that was already as tight as can be held even tighter onto him than before, causing another low grunt to leave his lips.

He squeezed his hand around your throat, forcing your chin up to the ceiling as he continued his thrust along with his fingers on your cl*t.

The asphyxiation seemed to be exactly what you needed to reach or org*sm. With the overwhelming amount of stimulation flooding through your body, the tight, tingling sensation in your lower abdomen basically released.

"F*ck~." You cursed under your breath, your words slurred and barely audible from his choking.

Your (e/c) eyes rolled slightly in the back of your head as you clamped your thighs tightly around Killer's muscular hips.

You removed your nails from his bloody shoulders to wrap around his neck and pull him down closer to your frame.

You had forced your hips slightly upwards while you sucked in your stomach. Every muscle in your body contracted with your body tensing up.

Your back arched upwards, the divet in your spine fairly visible. Thanks to the blond pirate, you had climaxed a second time, your walls unbearably tight and warm as you came.

The liquids of your org*sm milked his c*ck, the presence of it being seen on his member every time he had pulled out.

You reached the very peak of your ecstasy as it burst and spread all throughout your body. Pleasure rushed throughout your veins as adrenaline would. With eyes rolling back in your head, drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

You saw white with your hearing suddenly zoning in and out; the only thing you could hear was the man's muffled grunts and groans in your ears.

He was hitting the deepest areas of your body while the heat of his skin wafted off onto yours. His large hands held you so close and tight against his.

The creamy white liquid of your org*sm pooled around the base of his c*ck and spread across your folds that were already sopping wet.

Even though you had reached your limit, Killer had yet, but he was so close. He wanted you to c*m first so he could see you so weak and lewd beneath him.

As the pirate continued to thrust sloppily, the liquids of your arousal and climax smeared all over his crotch and dripped down your cheeks.

Because you just had your climax not even a moment later, everything was extra sensitive. You quivered underneath, unable to hold back the deafening cries of pleasure.

Killer could feel you trembling underneath him and knew that it was the perfect time to let himself go.

And not even a moment later did the male suddenly feel that unbearably tight tingling sensation in his abdomen, signifying he had reached the peak of his org*sm.

Ecstacy flowed through his veins as his member twitched within your walls. His pace slowed as he came, his c*ck spurting out thick hot jets of c*m that pooled within your womb.

He painted your insides white as his hands flew to wrap around your body and hold you close to him.

The sensation of his release spilling to you felt ever so warm, like a heating pad atop your abdomen where your womb was.

Killer stayed still for a moment, catching his breath and allowing for himself to relax. His hands slowly released your body, and he swiftly pulled you into his arms.

"What are you-"

"I'm sure you would like a shower." He mumbled and made his way to the bathroom in the darkness. He set you down gently on the seat in the glass shower and turned to leave, but you grabbed his wrist.

"Wait."

You swallowed the saliva in your mouth and turned your head away. "Won't you join me? I mean, you're sweaty too."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

After everything that had taken place earlier, the two of you retired to the bed, where you all lay under the blanket.

Your back was facing the male as you attempted to sleep, but his fingers that were trailing against the scars on your back were distracting.

"Can you not do that!?" You snapped.

"I'm just curious." He replied but didn't stop. "I never knew about these. I didn't think you'd have so many from your battles."

You were silent for a moment before shaking your head. "Battles they are from not. It was much more humiliating, all starting from when I was young. If I never would have found my weapons, I would have never been in this position."

The blond hummed and removed his fingers from your scarred flesh. He leaned on his left elbow and supported his head as he looked at you.

"Well, do tell. We have all night, after all. How did it all happen? How did you get to the position you are in now?"

Your arms slithered under the pillow and gripped it close to your face. You felt so tired and sluggish, but you couldn't fall asleep yet.

Closing your (e/c) orbs slowly, you breathed in deeply before responding to his question.

"When I was a child, maybe around six, my mom was mad at me, so she locked me out of the house that night. She usually did that when my father would make her mad, considering she blamed me for their unhappy marriage. I decided to just take a walk and come back later when she had cooled down."

Your legs pulled upwards to your stomach as if you were trying to curl into a ball.

"I was walking along the shore when the current swept me in. I thought I was going to drown, especially when I hit my head against the inside of a cavern. But I floated upwards and crawled my way out to find myself in a crystal-covered cave. Everything was covered in diamonds, opals, and emeralds."

"Sounds like your kind of place." Killer mused and scratched his blond goatee.

You hummed in reply while nodding your head nonchalantly.

"I remember looking around, amazed by everything, before I felt as if something was pulling me. I looked all around and found these two black cylinders sticking out of a giant crystal. I don't know what it was, but it felt as if it were telling me to grab them, and as a child, I just did whatever. I pulled them out and felt this pounding headache forming. It hurt so much that I dropped the crystals, and they flared open like a fan. A heavy raspy voice whispered its name in my head. Saisei Kurisutarufan, the regenerative crystal fans."

Killer could hear a soft hum and saw a soft glow from your black jacket. The fans must have reacted to hearing their name.

"I had lost consciousness after that, and when I woke up, I was home in my room. My mother came in soon after and yelled at me. A fisherman had found me asleep on the shore and recognized me as their daughter. She was embarrassed because it made her look like a bad parent. And then everything went downhill from there. I cried, my eyes burning with tears, and when they fell from my eyes, they turned into tear-shaped blue diamonds."

Your grip tightened on the pillow.

"My mother couldn't believe it, and she called my father in. They wanted to know how this happened so I told them everything about the cave and the fans. The two tried to look for the cave but it was as if it had completely disappeared. My father tried to grab my fans and sell them but when he touched them, the fingers on his left hand turned to stone. I was the only one able to touch them because they had chosen me...I really wish they didn't."

You blew air out of your nose and rubbed your eyes tiredly.

"Because they couldn't find the cave of jewels or sell my fans, they used what they had, my tears. I remember constantly, day after day my parents would do anything they could to make me weep. Berate me, scold me, hit me. Whatever could make me cry they did it. Eventually, a few years later I wasn't able to cry anymore. Their words had no effect on me anymore since I couldn't feel anything anymore. Suddenly one day...I met someone."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your stomach ached, churning with hunger. It had been a few days since you had been fed as punishment for not crying.

Sluggishly you laid your head against the flat pillow and pulled the thin blanket over your frame. Since you couldn't eat, the only thing you could do was sleep and wait for one of your parents to arrive.

However, it didn't seem like you needed to wait any longer. The front door to the lighthouse was blown apart with a loud bang.

You covered your face as debris flew everywhere and knocked up dust everywhere.

"Is there where you felt it?"

The voice was of someone you didn't recognize. It was a deep voice that had to have belonged to a man.

"Yes, Captain Rin." Someone replied.

When the debris cleared out, footsteps were heard, and you watched a singular man in sailor-ish clothing entering your imprisonment.

A man so very tall stepped forward and kneeled in front of the bars that kept you enclosed. He was tan, his body large and muscular, with multiple scars on his visible skin.

His black hair was slicked back and reached the base of his neck; a few loose strands framed his face.

He wore a black coat over his shoulders, and a blue button-up covered his torso. His legs were covered in black pants, and shiny black boots protected his feet.

Golden guns were strapped to his waist and glinted in the little light there was. The captain looked at you through his piercing black orbs and tilted his head slightly.

"You're such a young child, all locked in a small place like this." He stated while observing your frame.

You didn't say anything, staring at him with a blank expression. It felt difficult to feel much emotion after what your parents had been doing since a young age.

"Doesn't it get lonely all by yourself?" He asked, but you didn't respond to him. You just continued to stare at him as if he were the most uninteresting thing you could have observed.

The captain opened his mouth, ready to speak again, but the loud rumbling of your stomach had gotten his attention.

"Hungry, aren't ya, kiddo?"

Your bottom lip quivered, and he saw that.

The man opened the satchel around his right thigh and pulled out a healthy-looking fruit. "Here." He called out and threw it through the space in between the cell bars.

Quickly you caught it, and you felt your mouth salivating at the smell of the fruit. You didn't want to accept something from a stranger however, you were so hungry.

Without wasting a moment, you devoured the seedless fruit leaving nothing remaining. It barely did anything to satisfy the great hunger that festered within your stomach.

It seemed as though the pirate could tell as well because he grinned and threw you another. You devoured the second one even faster and clutched your stomach tightly.

"I'm...I'm so hungry."

Rin nodded his head. "I bet you are. It doesn't look like anybody takes care of you here."

You licked your lips to savor the sweet taste. "My parents sometimes do." You asserted.

"Ah." He hummed. "A parent shouldn't only 'sometimes' take care of a child. Very irresponsible of them since they leave a starving abandoned child all to herself."

A grin formed on the captain's lips as he slowly stuck his hand through the bars.

"But I can take care of you. You can eat however much you want whenever you want. I can take you away from here, away from this island. Would you like to travel across the sea and visit other countries?"

His offer was tempting, a potential chance of salvation from this abuse. But would Rin be the better choice? You didn't know.

"You'll probably just lock me up too..."

The captain shook his head and waved his hand slightly. "I have a little power that lets me make unbreakable promises. And if that's what you don't want, then I can make sure that it never happens."

Your brows furrowed as you crossed your arms. "How do I know you're telling the truth."

The black-haired male shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "You won't know until you make one with me. All you have to do is say please and ask for help. You can even add in your little conditions too."

"That's it?"

"Of, course."

Slowly you crept forward and kneeled in front of the older man. You swallowed hard and grasped his large hand with two of yours.

"Please help me. I need your help to get out of here to actually live. I don't want to be locked up all the time anymore. I don't want to starve anymore. I don't want to die...I just want to live."

When you finished, the back of your hands began to glow a deep blue hue before disappearing and leaving behind a blue-tinted complex marking.

Swirls and coils covered the skin of your hands up to your wrist. They glowed as if alive and even hummed quietly.

"See, now we're under an oath." He stated before standing up to his feet. Without warning, he gripped the bars and bent them open as if they were taffy.

Rin stood tall and proud, grinning down at your smaller frame while sticking out his hand again. "Now you're free, so won't you join me?"

You didn't even hesitate as you grabbed his hand and he heaved you into his arms, holding you against his broad chest.

He brought you down to the sea and boarded his large extravagant ship on the ocean. There were tons of people all around, curious of who the young girl was that the captain had brought along.

You hid behind his long legs and peeked out curiously.

"Everyone, this is (Y/n), and she is our new crewmate. I hope you treat her like a jewel and take care of her."

Rin looked down at you and grinned brightly.

"This will be your new home and your new family." He turned his head back to face the other pirates. "(Y/n) is fairly hungry, so why don't we prepare a feast for our new member!"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Pirates saved you, but you hunt and kill them now?" The blonde asked.

You slapped a pillow across his face before laying on your back, staring at the ceiling. "I wish he never did."

"Why?"

You turned slightly to face him, and even though you couldn't see his facial features, you could still see those misty blue orbs of his.

"Because he was worse than my parents. He was the devil himself."

A pitiful laugh left your lips as you slowly turned to face the ceiling.

"He gave my parents gems and jewelry so he could have me, and my parents agreed. They didn't want something that was broken and couldn't provide for them anymore. At first, I felt like I was in heaven. The crew was nice to me, telling me stories of their adventures and playing with me. I was fed until I could burst and sleept on a bed as soft as fur...And Rin took over the role of a father and mentor."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Don't lean so close to the edge, your gonna fall."

Your ten-year-old self peered up from the ocean to find the captain making his way over to you. It had been about two years since you joined the Treasure Pirates, and you'd gotten used to things around the ship.

Although you were in a better environment, it was difficult to change your personality. You were still very pessimistic, cold, and aloof.

Everyone tried to make you happy to the best of their ability, and you couldn't say you were ungrateful. The ship was your home, and you lived it to the fullest.

"I can swim if I fall. Can you?"

You asked coolly, causing the older man to flinch. As you stayed on the ship, you found out about something called the devil fruit.

It gave him the power to make unbreakable promises and deals in exchange for his ability to swim.

Rin scratched at the back of his head and laughed awkwardly. "I will throw you overboard by your ankles, miss." He retorted and stopped once he reached your frame.

You pouted slightly before turning your gaze back to the ocean. It was fairly dark out, the moon high in the sky with thousands of twinkling stars accommodating it.

"I didn't think you would be up with how much you drank, old man. You were already passed out a couple of hours after dinner."

The captain placed his large hand on your head and rustled your hair.

"I didn't sense your presence in your room, so I came out looking for you." He declared.

His words made you turn your head away and rest your arms over the railing. You were still somewhat uncomfortable with affection; you still felt like you didn't deserve it.

"Don't worry about me, old man. Your lovers will be upset if they wake up and do not find you by them."

"Hey." The man called out and poked your forehead. "When you grow up, you'll find that having people by your side like that is very beneficial."

"I don't want to be a wh*re like you."

Rin gripped your ankles and held you upside on board. "Don't call me out like that, miss. And I am not a wh*re; I am a professional lover."

You gave the man a deadpan expression.

"That's a wh*re."

The man shook your body up and down, causing you to cover your mouth to hold in your dinner. "I'm gonna puke."

"Hmph." The man flipped you over in mid-air and placed you atop of his broad shoulders. The two of you didn't say anything, just enjoying the sight of the ocean and the sound of roaring waves.

You leaned over and rested your arms upon his head. The man held your calves securely so you didn't fall over into the water.

"Do you like it here with us, (Y/n)?"

"I'd rather die."

Rin grinned.

"You love it~." He teased and reached up to pinch your nose.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"I thought he was my salvation, but you never truly know someone. I would say he changed, but he never really did. All he did was drop the act."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You called for me, Captain?"

Rin looked up from the documents on his desk and placed them down gently. "You're about to be eleven. It's been three years since we took you in and made you part of this crew."

You nodded your head in understanding. "Yes, Captain."

Slowly the very tall male stood up from his seat and reached around to the front of his desk. He leaned back and sat casually across the surface.

"Come here."

You did as told and stepped closer until you were right in front of him.

"Now that you're getting older, you're going to have to start helping out and providing for this crew. We will start training so you can be proficient in your weapons."

"Understood, Captain."

The black-haired man nodded his head before slowly standing to his feet. It was as if he was faster than light in his next movement.

He appeared right in front of you, and a gasp immediately left your lips. You didn't feel anything at first but slowly the pain started to course through your veins.

Looking down with jerking movements, you saw the dagger that you made for his birthday, now embedded deep within your abdomen.

"H-Huh..."

Swiftly he pulled out the weapon and took a step back. Your body staggered, almost falling, but you caught yourself after a moment.

Your hands flew to the wound as it began to bleed. As soon as the crimson liquid left the wound, it turned into blood-red jewels.

Red diamonds, rubies, alexandrites, and red beryls fell to the floor and pooled around your frame. You sucked in a weak breath and fell to one knee.

"R-Rin?"

The man bent down to be squatting in front of your bleeding frame. "I didn't bring you onto this ship just to save you. Word was going around that there was a girl who cried diamonds. I needed you. With your ability, our wealth will increase, and your gems will be used as bargaining chips with the marines."

He placed his hand against your cheek and tightened his grip to bring your face close to his.

"I brought you here to use you. Your only reason for being alive, the only reason we keep you alive, is to be a money bag."

A grin formed on his lips, and it looked just like the ones he usually gave you however, now that you knew the truth, it was more sinister than anything.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Killer was silent for a moment, his mouth parted as if he was going to speak, but he was unable to get the words out. It was tragic your history, and he understood you a lot more than he ever had.

"So...how did you get to where you are now? With the Marines, I mean."

You used a hand to cover your eyes to hold back the tears that wanted to fall.

"After that day, Rin began to instruct me how to fight. Physical strength, agility, proficiency, and weapons training. Everything I know now is because of him. And after that first wound healed, I was called back into his office, only for him to cut into me again. He always did that, waiting until I healed and a scar was left behind."

You gripped one of his hands and brought them to your shoulder so he could feel one of the jagged scars on your body.

"He would let me bleed till I was almost dry, then he would send in the ship's doctor to take care of my injuries. And the crazy thing was, out of his office, where he cut and hurt me, he would act just like he usually did. Like I was his daughter, and he was my father. He still would come out of the middle of the night knowing I was there and would watch the sea with me. He joked around lightly and brought me gifts from his travels or what he stole from others."

You shifted onto your stomach and pulled the pillow close to your face.

"You wouldn't understand how much that f*cked with me. Especially as a child dealing with all of that, I was developmentally stunted. I thought that love was to hurt another and that it was okay to almost kill them. Because at the end of the day, you're still family, right?"

Your eyes closed as you took a deep breath.

"And it continued on for seven years. I was seventeen years old before he did something to me that I could never forgive."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Come here. Closer, (Y/n)."

Wearly you stepped closer to his frame, staring at the clean diamond-encrusted dagger. It was the same one you made him years ago and the same one he continued to hurt you with.

Lazily he lifted your shirt to your naval and revealed your lower abdomen to him. Your brows furrowed as you stared down at him.

He never would cut so low on your abdomen. Yes, he would cut your legs and thighs, but never so low on your gut.

The tip of the dagger touched your skin, and you braced yourself for impact. He pressed in slowly at first before driving it all the way in until the hilt met your skin.

You sucked in a breath and gripped his shoulders, the pain flooding through your system. You were used to the wounds he would inflict, but this felt much worse.

He yanked the dagger out roughly and placed it back against your skin a few inches away. Plunging it just as deep, your hands tightened around his body as you leaned forward.

A cry of pain was stuck in your throat, and the only thing you were able to do was tremble in agony from something that hurt more than usual.

Rin pulled it out unapologetically and let you slump against his body while the jewels trickled down onto the wooden metal floor.

He placed the dagger back in its sheath on his thigh and wrapped his arms around you.

"You're going to be of age soon and no longer a child. You might one day find someone you'll 'love' and want to start a family with."

He spoke those words as if they were poison and held you tighter against him. His head was atop yours while you struggled to breathe upon his chest.

"I don't like the idea of your love going to anybody else but me. I am your father, (Y/n). I am your only family, and it shall stay like that for as long as you live.

The captain kissed your forehead and petted your hair. "So don't be too mad at what I did. You can't blame a father for loving his child so much, right?"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"So, what did you do?"

"I killed him, obviously."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The last body fell on the floor of the ship, crystals and rubies formed around the deep cuts that you had inflicted.

You straightened your form and lowered your arms that were holding Saisei Kurisutarufan. Blood was splattered against your skin and clothes as well as your weapon.

Rin's eyes were wide, his body trembling; however, he could not escape the crystals that were around his frame. It kept him in a place like ice would keep something frozen still.

"(Y/n), think about this. I'm your father, for god's sake!" Rin shouted, but you had no reaction to his words.

Everything he did throughout your life on the ship left you cold and impassive. You felt nothing as you slaughtered every pirate on the ship while leaving the captain for last.

You had spent nine years on this ship, and those nine years you spent with every single one of the crewmates.

They were family but just as guilty for allowing Rin's torture for their own greedy benefits. Stepping closer to his frame to sheathe the fans in their holsters on your thighs and hold onto the sides of the older man's face.

"I know you are my father." You replied coldly and caressed his cheek with your thumb. "Which is why I'm being so merciful."

Rin threw his body against your crystals to get out, but his efforts were futile, and he knew it. Your crystals were unbreakable, and there was nothing he could do against it.

Placing a long kiss on his forehead, you dug your nails into his throat at the same time.

"Ah!" He hissed, his blood breaking past the layer of skin to drip onto your fingers.

"I love you father."

"(Y/n), Wait!"

You placed your hands against the crystals and pushed him over into the water. He screamed, pleading for your help as he quickly submerged in the water.

Even though he was a pirate who sailed across the open seas, he couldn't swim due to losing the ability to after eating his devil fruit.

You weren't able to physically kill him due to the power of your oath, but you were able to use his weakness against him.

He would drown in the ocean, alone, betrayed, and suffocating painfully from the water filling his lungs.

Now that he was dead, the marking disappeared from your hands and officially unbound you from the cage he had put you in.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Shortly after, a Marine ship arrived, and they saw the damage I had done. I told them the names of everyone I had killed, and I assumed they were going to capture me and contain me for the bounty on my head. I had even dropped down to my knees and held my wrist out to be taken away. I didn't have a reason for living; there was nothing I wanted and nobody I needed. But instead of capturing me, Great Staff Officer Tsuru offered me a deal."

You couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"There I was, drenched in the blood of hundreds of pirates and covered in scars, but she was offering to have me work for the Marines. She offered a murderer a place in a powerful organization that was supposed to maintain law and order as well as impose the will and might of the world government."

A trivial laugh echoed from your throat.

"I refused. I'd rather die than be used by authority again. And so Tsuru said she'd kill me then. For the first time in a long time, I remember smiling at her and then doing something I had been unable to do since I was eight years old. I cried, blue and clear diamonds hitting the floor as I bowed my head and exposed my neck for her."

You brought your hands to the back of your neck and rubbed your thumbs over the thin-sliced scar.

"I felt the coolness of a sword against my neck and waited for her to end my life. She dug it in, and I felt the blood seep out of the wound and turn to jewels before they hit the floor. I remember telling her to do it, to get it over with, because I was so tired of being alive in this world. But she pulled the sword out of my neck and threw it to the ground. Instead of killing me, she offered her hand and told me that she would never allow another to use me again so long as she lived."

Killer turned over onto his side to look at you. "And you believed her after being lied to before?"

You shook your head in response.

"No. I told her to go to hell."

Killer cleared his throat and stopped himself from laughing. "Certainly sounds like something you'd say."

You smiled at his words and nodded your head.

"That old woman kicked me over and shook her fist angrily. She yelled at me for wanting to waste my life when there was so much I could do for the greater good. The marines knew of my history, almost everyone did, and Tsuru used that against me. She said I could use the gems I created to finance an organization for children who were like me. Abused, abandoned, and sold into slavery. I could stop others from having to go through what I did. That would be my reason for living."

You didn't say anything for a moment, just breathing deeply from remembering the memories.

"I raised through the ranks quickly, quicker than almost half of the marines. The other soldiers didn't like that and were opposed to my position. People who weren't my subordinates tried in every way to de-rank me or have me fired. But just because I joined the marines didn't mean I wasn't merciless either."

An unapologetic grin formed on your lips.

"I had been a murderer since childhood, and that was never going to stop, and they were lucky I didn't want to lose my position by killing them. But there are other ways of getting even that don't require killing. Not to mention the previous and current Fleet Admiral didn't want to lose me and my work. Monkey D. Garp is seen as 'The Hero of The Marines,' but I was the one who saved countless children from abuse and slavery. My subordinates and I took down pirates after pirates in a very...un-marine-like manner which is why we weren't a favorite to the higher-ups."

You closed your eyes and rested your hands on your stomach.

"And that's where we are today. A Vice Admiral for the Marines, the owner of the world's biggest child salvation program, but still a murderer with blood on her hands."

A yawn left your lips, causing you to turn onto your side and face away from the blond pirate. "I've told you enough, more than I should have, but I don't want your sympathy. In the morning, I wish to see you gone and we'll pretend like this never happened. Deal?"

...

"Deal."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

꧁༒☬𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓾𝓼☬༒꧂

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You're pregnant."

...

"I'm sorry, say that again."

Tsuru hit your face with the paper in her gloved hands and shook her head. "Stop being hard of hearing." She muttered while crossing her arms under her chest.

"You are carrying a child in that womb of yours."

Immediately you fell back on your bed and stared up a the crystal-covered roof of your canopy bed. "No f*cking way."

"You gave me the paper and told me to read it because you wouldn't believe it if you saw it yourself."

Your bottom lip quivered as everything set in. You were going to be a mother to the tiny human that was growing inside of your body.

And the only person, the father, could be the last person you slept with a couple of months ago.

The Massacre Soldier, Killer.

"Oh my god. My baby's father is a pirate."

The papers fell from the old woman's grasp. She stared at the wall, shocked, before flinging her gaze to your face. "What!?" She asked in disbelief.

"I-I-I-" You couldn't get the words out, feeling dread and shame filling your entire body. You felt like a disgrace to the Veteran Marine who stared down at you.

Your eyes watered, and as soon as the liquid escaped your bottom lids, they turned into teardrop-shaped diamonds. "It's not what you think." You whispered, but it only seemed to enrage the grey-haired woman even more.

"W-Were you r*ped!? Taken advantaged of!?" Her hands flung to your shoulders, where she held them in a tight grip. "(Y/n), you can tell me the truth."

You hung your head in shame and covered your face with your hands. The diamond droplets pooled within the palms of your hands, causing you to abruptly stand up and face the wall of windows.

"No! No...It's none of that..." Your words were coming out like a whisper, but the veteran still heard you.

"Then what, (Y/n)?"

You bit into your bottom lip with your teeth and hugged your arms tightly against your chest.

"During my infiltration on Delta Island, I ate some spiked food, and it affected me. I initiated the idea so a pirate and I shared one night together to help me, but I didn't think that I..."

You turned your head slightly to meet the strong gaze of the older woman. "You remember what happened when I was younger. He tore my tubes...and sterilized me..."

Tsuru swallowed thickly before placing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I know, but what's done is done. You are with child, and we're going to have to tell Garp about this." She stated.

"No!" You cried and gripped the woman's hands. "You absolutely cannot."

Monkey D. Garp and Tsuru were your mentors when you first came to the Marines and eventually became your surrogate grandparents.

They helped you accomplish your goals and vouched for you when others complained about your quick promotions.

"(Y/n)." She said your name softly and looked down at you from her 6'8 (204 cm) height.

"You are in no position to be fighting anymore. Since you are pregnant, it means over time, your tubes have healed and mended themselves back together, but that doesn't mean you are safe. Your womb is extremely fragile, and the chance of miscarriage is high."

You released her hand and stepped away. "No." You whispered. "Then let it happen!"

"(Y/n)!" The woman shouted in disbelief.

"I cannot be a mother. I will not be one ever!" You hissed and grabbed the dagger you once gave to Rin from the weapons rack on your wall. "How am I supposed to be a mother when I don't even know what one is!?"

You placed the point against your lower stomach and faced the woman who looked frazzled by the situation.

"I don't even know what love is! How am I supposed to 'love' some creature in my stomach!? I wasn't raised on 'love' properly, and I could never raise this thing correctly! I will only destroy its life as my parents and Rin have done to me!"

Your eyes water which was followed by the blue and clear diamonds that hit the floor. The overwhelming emotions that you were feeling caused your knees to jerk and give out, causing you to fall to the ground.

You didn't remove the sharp dagger from your stomach; in fact, you pressed it harder and pierced your skin, blood being turned into gems that hit the floor with a clink.

The veteran marine swallowed thickly and cautiously kneeled in front of you. "Listen to me, (Y/n)." She said slowly.

You kept your gaze on the ground as you hung your head low from shame. "Why? What can you tell me? Everything I said was right...I'm not fit to be a mother at all. I'd rather kill this thing than bring it into this world just to suffer as I did..."

Tsuru slowly placed her hands around your head and pulled you into her chest. "Think about it, (Y/n). I know you were raised the wrong way and weren't raised like how you should have been, but that doesn't mean you will do the same. You know what's right and wrong; you know what should and shouldn't be done. Garp and I have tried our best to show you what raising a child should have been like."

Her calloused hands raked through your hair softly, careful of your tender head.

"You'll be okay. You can do it. You are not your parents or Rin. You even own and finance a program to help children, so they don't suffer. You find them good homes and also provide funding to the families so they can support the child."

"And remember the most important thing." She tilted your head up to look at her. "You are not alone...I am here for you. Garp and Gion are as well. We'll always be there for you...no matter what, so don't you forget that."

Your grip on the dagger loosened, allowing the woman to grab it from your hold. She threw it on your bed before helping you to your feet.

"Let's go tell the Vice Admiral now. We'll have to figure this situation out and decide the best option for you and your child."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

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unhealthyfanobsession · 2 years

Text

This was so different from any Nessian piece I’ve done, but … what a sexy concept 😉

Nesta bit her tongue and let her eyes take everything in carefully. Feyre screamed and flailed her limbs and pulled out her little thigh sheathed dagger… and found her arms quickly bound up behind her back and a gag in her mouth.

“Dungeon,” the broad-backed figure said on an almost exhausted sounding growl. Nesta wasn’t sure how that was possible. For a man to sound gruff and aggressive and yet … exhausted.

The palest of their captors grinned salaciously, nodding to the leader as he scooped Feyre up. She bit and flailed and cursed the whole way. “Sorry darling, orders are orders.”

Nesta decided there was no danger there. The pirate captain was sniffing out a threat. Hiding her away. They had been kidnapped for ransom and if Nesta just remained quiet, she would likely be treated with dignity.

He turned next to Elain, whose eyes widened and lips parted in the perfect expression of lady like fear. Nesta thought men would paint that expression some day, the perfect image of a damsel in distress.

The man ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, sighing. He turned to two lackeys on his right, “Put this one where we planned to keep them all.” The men nodded, leading Elain gently away. Nesta opened her mouth, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to be separated from Elain, but-

“Oh you can say it, Sweetheart.” The man grinned, dimples pulling out at the edges of his arrogant smile. “I can see how hard you’re trying not to give your defiance away, but it won’t matter. I am better researched than your average rogue.”

Nesta raised her chin, a tiny show of defiance and a question in the same instance. “The Prince of Merchants has three daughters.” The pirate captain raised up one finger, “the wildcat.” He smiled indulgently, nodding towards where Feyre had been dragged off, “don’t worry. My brother will ensure she is treated fairly.” Nesta only glared. “The fawn,” he nodded to where Elain had been lead. “Sweet girl, no one will so much as swear in her ladylike presence, I assure you. We appreciate polite captives here.” Again, Nesta only glared. The pirate lifted his third finger, pointing it loftily in her direction, “and the wolf.”

“Is this the part where you assure me that I too will be safe and untouched?”

“Only if you want to be,” the man shrugged, shoulder muscles rippling under his criminally thin white shirt, which was unbuttoned well beyond propriety. What game, exactly, we’re these ruffians playing at. “You don’t strike me as the safe type, Sweetheart.”

Nesta lifted her chin higher, determined to meet this brute’s gaze head on. “Wolves don’t like cages, Pirate.”

“I prefer privateer,” he grinned. “And from your lips, I prefer my name. Cassian.”

“Dear God,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“I suppose that works as well.”

“My father will very likely only pay for his fawn,” Nesta said abruptly. She didn’t want to play these pirate games any longer.

“I know that,” the man smirked. “Your father will pay a fair random for his fawn. That Lord on the Southern Coast wiith more money than sense will pay more than handsomely for his little wolf.” Nesta would have shot the pirate if she had a gun. “And, honestly, I was thinking I might be able to convince the wildcat to stay on with my crew.”

Nesta laughed. She couldn’t help it. Feyre probably would jump at the chance to work on a pirate - or privateer - boat rather than return to society and make a respectable match.

“Leave my father out of it,” Nesta nodded. “Take us to the Southern Coast. Eris will pay for all three of us if I ask it if him.”

“Awfully confident in your fiancé, Sweetheart.”

“He is a gentleman.” Nesta lifted her skirt and moved to sweep confidently past the pirate captain.

Cassian shot a hand out, wrapping it right around her waist so she crashed against his chest. Nesta’s breath left her body for a second. Warmth and hard muscles seeping in to the front of her body. “He wants you in his bed,” Cassian whispered too close to her ear, breath cascading across her neck. “I’d double his offer if you considered switching sides.”

Nesta let her body go slack, a pathetic little whimper leaving her lips as she feigned a fit of the vapours. Cassian loosened his grip on her, moving gently to set her down.

Once he was no longer clutching her, Nesta pulled back and tightened her hand into a fist.

She connected with his arrogant nose on the first swing.

“Unfortunately for you, sir, I am not a whore to be sold to the highest bidder.”

The pirate gripped his injured face for only half a second, setting the broken bone quickly. His eyes darkened as they settled back on her, and Nesta had a bad feeling she had not solved a problem, but created an even bigger one.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #nesta and cassian #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar #elain archeron #feysand #feyre archeron

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

Text

Love Fuel

Summary: You were Jason’s first love before you broke his heart and rejected him. It’s all your fault that he can’t move on.

Tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, incel behavior, nice guy behavior, self - hatred, threats of non-con, implied non - con, implied masturbation, bullying based on appearance (not reader), deregatory language, kidnapping, misogyny, generalizations, stalking

this is a hot mess but its 1 am and i am tired, ik that incels are bad irl (obviously), but this is fiction and I kinda wanted to explore the dynamic and shit.

Everyone used to call him JJ or The-Big-Jay back in high school. Well, most of the time his classmates weren’t really calling out to him or even talking to him, the names were whispered behind his back, after he had just passed the hallway, or on bad days - right to his face. The jocks, these dumb motherfuckers, would beat him up, mock him for whatever stupid reasons they had chosen to use as an excuse to torment the smaller and weaker. The popular girls would giggle like brainless bimbos as Kyle or Brad or any other football player stole his glasses or continuously punched him in the guts until he threw up all over the floor. Even the nerds, the kids at the bottom of the school hierarchy, messed with Jason from time to time when they wanted to feel the oh - so desired rush of power they so rarely managed to experience.

Looking back, Jason could see why his classmates hated him so much - he was everything that society deemed as wrong and unattractive. He was thin, pale, “scrawny” as the others called him, on the shorter side, and on top of that the teen was terribly shy and introverted, never having the guts to stand up to his bullies or even tell someone about the abuse. The male spent most of his free time at home, playing hours upon hours of video games, watching anime and reading books he was simply too young to understand or look critically at. As he grew older, the man began to view the world as it trully was - a dark, miserable place that ate up sore losers like him. Men were primitive and foolish, which somehow managed to soften their faults. Women, on the other hand, were calculative and manipulative, greedy and sinful. His whole life they had done nothing but reject him when he needed love and support the most. Of course, there were many other reason why the brunette detested the weaker sex. In his eyes women were evil two - faced sluts, showing off their bodies yet acting innocent and hurt once someone finally decided to use them for the only thing they were actually good for.

But you Jason hated the most. You reminded him that no matter how much he hated the outside world, he would always hate himself the most. He had to admit you were pretty, painfully so, with a perfect little body to match your looks and a sweet sugary smile that almost deceived him years ago. As much as the man regretted his weakness, he had fallen right into your trap at the time.

You weren’t the most popular girl, but you had your fair share of friends, all nice and loyal like puppies. You weren’t the smartest either, but unlike the other stupid giggling sluts you always tried to do your best. You were beautiful just like them but you were actually kind to the pathetic bullied kid no one else bothered to acknowledge even existed outside of being a punching bag. You always asked him whether he was alright and often took him to the infirmary when he looked paler and sicker than usual. You talked to him as if he was a normal human being and despite the initial doubt, Jason appreciated it.

It was the last day of your senior year when the teen finally gained the courage to confess. He was shaking the whole time and by the end of his little speech there were small tears in the corner of his eye. You were the first girl the male cared about, the first one to show him kindness, to offer him friendship without asking for something in return. You were the only one who could make him feel deserving of love, worthy of affection. And then you took it all away in a matter of seconds.

“I am sorry, bud.” You had said that day after giving him a half - hearted hug and an apologetic smile, that started to seem more and more like a mocking grin the longer the teen started at you. “I already have a boyfriend, but I am really flattered. I am sure that you will find a lovely girl once you start college.” You had added quickly, cheerfully, rubbing the salt all over his wounds, honey dripping from your plump red lips. He had wanted to kiss them, bruise them, bite them until your stupid lying mouth was filled with blood. Obviously you didn’t have a boyfriend or he would have known by now, he stalked your social media religiously after all. Even if you had one, he probably treated you like shit. And how could you even suggest him finding another woman? As if he wanted any of the stupid money - grabbing sluts out there. As if some of them could replace you.

The boy was too furious to form a proper response besides “Fuck you, bitch”. His cheeks turned red and he didn’t realise that the bitter words had escaped his lips before he could stop them, then his legs took him far away from that shithole of a school. He didn’t manage to see your reaction before running away but it didn’t matter anymore. You were just like the others.

***

That day Jason swore to show you just how small and insignificant you had made him feel. He wanted to see you crumble, cry and beg for forgiveness, desperate for his love but never good enough to get it. The man formed a plan to change himself and come back for you once he had erased each and every trace of his past. The brunette came to terms with his terrible social anxiety and decided that he needed to gain social abilities more than anything. That’s why, as much as he dreamt of working from home as a boring programmer with an even more boring, but flexible working schelude, the male chose to study something that involved a lot more human interactions. The next step was to hit the gym for the first time and get a monthly subscription. It wasn’t hard to see that females nowadays liked brain - dead athletes with defined jawline and cheekbones, toned chests and strong muscled bodies, so if he wanted to impress you, he had to look his best. It wasn’t easy at first - it felt like everyone in the fitness salon had their eyes on his weak frame, laughing and pointing their fingers at his imperfections, but things gradually got better as time went on. The trainings became easier to get through and from time to time they even helped the man forget about his loneliness and nihilism.

Jason soon returned to his old habbit of spending hours looking through your accounts - Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, he knew all of your usernames, each post, every picture and text. He couldn’t believe how much of a desperate attention whore you had become over the years. The male remembered you in your long brown skirts, cozy sweatshirts and pure-white shirts, all the gray buttons closed to the very top, blushing, laughing, smiling like the adorable Goody-two-shoes you were. Now you were smirking seductively in every photo, overconfident and vibrant, flaunting your tits for every man to see and wearing tight little dresses that barelly covered your ass combined with heels so high and sharp they could be used as a weapon. You were such a stupid slut it was disgusting, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking off every single time he saw your pretty little face on the screen. He wanted to cum down your throat so badly it was ridiculous, and even after knowing that you had probably already had hundreds of cocks shoved deep inside your pussy, the brunette still wished to see you split open on his, taking his lenght like a good little cocksleeve.

***

The moment when he could see you again finally came. How many years had passed since graduation - five, ten, fifthteen? It hardly mattered. Jason was successful, at last. The male had his own business that was doing surprisingly well, there were some guys from the gym he could call friends and the best thing, he looked absolutely unrecognizable. There was nothing left of the tiny scrawny kid with quiet voice that everyone stepped over, he was now replaced by a strong capable man, determined to get what was rightfully his and his alone.

It wasn’t hard to find you since the brunette knew everything about you - where your job was, what time you finished, how long it took you to go home and what path you took. You lived alone and worked as a barista in a small local cafe even now that you had finished your studies in your dream faculty. Turns out the princess wasn’t so great and smart after all, having to resort to working a minimal - wage job day and night just to be able to pay her rent. Jason was absolutely delighted though, he loved your stupid dead - end job and your endless struggles to survive in the materialistic world honestly and fairly without selling yourself like a common whore. On one hand the male was happy that you had clung onto your last bit of innocence and on the other your pitiful lifestyle gave him the chance to snatch you away much easier. And that’s exactly what he did.

***

You woke up confused just like he had expected, bombarding him with questions, asking him who he was was, begging him to let you go, to at least explain what’s happening. You were so dumb, but God, you were still so pretty, if not prettier than before. You cried so beautifully when Jason told you you belonged to him now and you cried even more when he slammed his cold rough lips over yours in a deep wet kiss. You whimpered and whined while the male sucked on your lower lip and bit down, good, he wanted it to hurt. The stalker couldn’t wait to be inside you, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists to the floor before tying them up with delicate red rope and tightening it. It wasn’t like the man was scared of you slipping away and hurting him, you were too weak and tiny to stand a chance against his years of power - lifting and muscle - training anyways, he just wanted you to be as uncomfortable and squirmish as possible. Your tormentor wished for you to be in worse pain than he had been during his youthful years, and he knew exactly what to do. Next thing you knew Jason had ripped your dress apart, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in just your plain old panties and bra. Cold shivers ran down your spine when the chilly air hit your naked flesh and you finally realized there wasn’t getting away from this. You had to stay there, limbs bound together, unable to move or fight back, the stranger’s hands caressing your neck before moving dangerously close to your clothed breasts. You felt so sick you were going to throw up for sure if your abductor didn’t step back so you decided to use your last resort.

“Jason, please stop!” You screamed out of the blue, forcing the brunette to freeze instantly at the use of his birth name. You had already called him a pervert and a psycho which didn’t seem to faze him, but the name clearly caught him off guard. This only seemed to prove your theory further - the man really was your former classmate, despite the only similarity between them being the dark distant look in his eyes. “I beg you, don’t hurt me!” You continued, hoping to at least buy yourself more time before the assault took place.

He gulped loudly and stared at your quivering form. The impossible had happened, you had recognized him and now together with fear, there was also pity in your gaze, the one emotion your captor absolutely despised. You used to be the only one who pitied him, and even now that he was bigger, better and stronger than before, you still had the guts to pity him. It drove him insane but any attempt to hurt or touch you was fruitless now - your soft skin was suddenly burning his fingers like hellfire.

“You must be thinking that I am a monster.” Jason started out dryly, chuckling bitterly, humorlessly even. He clenched his fists unconsciously and brought them to the floor in a fit of rage, missing your head by mere inches. Your heart was beating like crazy and you only hoped the mandman couldn’t hear it. “A freak.” The man spat out the word like it was a curse and for a split second his eyes softened before turning into two spinning torches. “Right?” You were sure that if looks could kill, his would have you dead by the end of the night so you quickly nodded your head no.

“You are lying to me again, pretty girl.” The brunette replied feisty, "pretty” rolling off his tongue like an insult. Then he broke into hoarse maniac laugher and lowered his head so his face leveled up with yours, so close you could feel his warm breath on your tear - stained cheek. “When I am done with you, you wouldn’t be so pretty anymore, darling.” Your captor growled and attacked your neck, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. “You will see exaclty how ugly my love is.”

#yandere #yandere oneshot #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut #yandere x you

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silkling · 3 years

Text

Good day, @pastelpaperplanes. It’s me. Again. Here with another fic for your C&M Prowl. This time it’s the Jettwins edition! The fandom needs more jettwins content, so I made some. Fear not, this time it’s just silly fluff and sibling idiocy. Hope y’all like it! Fair warning, this is a long one.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Jetstorm woke up to the smell of something cooking. That in and of itself wasn’t all too odd–Jazz enjoyed cooking, and it was fairly common for the three of them to eat breakfast together in the mornings when their respective jobs didn’t require an earlier start. However, Jazz also had a large sweet tooth, and so did his brother, which meant his breakfasts usually consisted of things like pancakes and waffles and other similar sweetened breakfasts. Jetstorm didn’t mind sweets. He loved a good dessert just as much as Jetfire did, but for his meals, he preferred savory food. Usually, this meant Jazz would have to cook a smaller portion of something like cyber-hen eggs or mecha-hog bacon for him. However, this morning was notable because the food Jetstorm smelled cooking wasn’t sweet. It also seemed milder, somehow, than the strong smell that usually filled the house when Jazz cooked.

Curious, the young bot shifted under the covers, scowling when he realized that Jetfire was once again tangled around him. They both had their own rooms, but the twins would often sleep curled up together if the mood struck. It was comforting to have the familiar weight at his back at night, but in the morning, when he wanted out of bed, it was irritating to have to fight his brother’s unconscious body for freedom. Finally, he succeeded....only to end up throwing himself halfway off the bed, face pressed to the floor and legs tangled in what little blanket Jetfire hadn’t stolen from him. Jetstorm just lay there in defeat for a long moment, then pushed himself up onto his hands and pulled his legs free. He slid fully to the floor, then slowly stood and crept out of his room while Jetfire slept on. As he closed the door, his brother sprawled into the warm spot he had previously occupied, even further rolling himself into the blanket as he did so.

Jetstorm sighed, rolled his eyes and crossing his arms, only to pause as he realized he’d left his visor on his nightstand. He tilted his head, considering for a moment before shrugging and going to follow to smell that had woken him. He stepped out of the hallway that led to the bedrooms, only to pause when he saw who exactly was at the kitchen counter. It wasn’t Jazz. No, it was actually their guest. Prowl stood there, mixing something in a pot over the stove, dressed in a loose sleeping robe that Jetstorm recognized as belonging to their guardian. Ah, that was right. He’d come over the day before to talk with Jazz, and they’d spent so long together that it had been dark by the time Jazz suggested Prowl might as well stay the night.

He still remembered the day they’d met the strange mech. After Prowl had thrown their frisbee that day in the park, and Jazz had seen him, their adoptive father had all but tackled the smaller bot on a hug so tight Jetstorm was still surprised he hadn’t broken anything. They’d stayed like that for a long time, Jazz just whispering things to Prowl is a tearful rasp that Jetfire and he hasn’t been able to hear. His brother had made to interrupt, but then he’d heard the hoarse “I finally found you” from the white mech and it had clicked. This was Prowl. The same Prowl Jazz had told them about (though he’d only ever been able to bring himself to tell the twins about his lost friend on a couple occasions, the topic obviously still painful to their guardian), the same Prowl that Jazz had spent the past several years trying to find. He’d pulled his brother back, hissed a hurried “Do not be interrupting, it be Jazz’s friend Prowl that he be telling us about” at the orange mechling, and his brother had stilled as the realization caught up. After that, they’d all eventually made it back to the house, where Jazz and Prowl had talked for the rest of the day while the twins played in the yard, and though the black and gold mech had left that night, he had also become a somewhat regular guest. Though, sometimes Jazz had to literally drag him here.

“You’re staring.”

Jetstorm startled at the smooth voice, stifling a yelp. He flushed when he realized he’d just been standing there, lost in thought. “I am sorry.” he said after a brief pause. “I was thinking you were Jazz.”

Prowl turned his head to look at the youngling over his shoulder, and Jetstorm was startled to see that the Praxian was without his own visor just as he himself was. “I take it Jazz cooks for you two in the morning?”

Jetstorm nodded, then sniffed at the air and padded over, peering curiously at the food the older mech was preparing. “What you be making?” he asked, curious. “Jazz and Jetfire like sweet breakfast, so we be having that often. But this does not be smelling sweet.”

Prowl paused, frowning. “I know Jazz has a sweet tooth.” he said after a moment. “But would all of you prefer something sweet?” he seemed hesitant, and Jetstorm quickly realized he seemed displeased with the idea. It seemed this bot too preferred a non-sweet breakfast.

“No.” he assured. “They be eating not sweet breakfast as well. I be liking not sweet better for my breakfast. Sweet is for desert, I think.” he explained.

He noticed Prowl’s faint hum and the way his shoulders relaxed. “I see. Then it seems you and I are of the same thought.”

Jetstorm nodded, then stared at the ingredients laid out on the counter. “What you be making? I am not recognizing this.”

“Currently, I am preparing miso. It is a broth traditional to my home, made with a metalli-plant product and energon. I also plan on making rice and some egg roll.”

The youngling perked up at the mention of the last food, head tilting. “How do you be rolling an egg?” he asked, confused.

Prowl blinked, glancing at him. “You prepare the mix, then pour a thin layer of it in a heated pan, and as each layer cooks you roll it on itself, push it to the side of the pan, and add another layer.”

Jetstorm stared, brain struggling to picture his that would work, before he gave up and asked another question. “Can I help? Jazz is be cooking with me sometimes.”

Prowl seemed startled by the question, before he paused and nodded. “...I can take care of the rice. The miso just needs to simmer until it’s served. I can guide you through making the egg roll, if you’d like?”

Jetstorm perked up, beaming at the elder bot. “I be liking that very much!” he said eagerly. “Thank you!”

Prowl blinked slowly, then nodded and gestured at the young bot. “Get a bowl, a whisk, and some cyber-hen eggs.” he instructed, rummaging in the cupboards for rice, he stopped in surprise when he noticed a rice cooker, shaking his head as a small smile twitched at his lips. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was Jazz, after all. He pulled the rice cooker out of the cupboard, then found some rice in the next one over.

Jetstorm, meanwhile, gathered the things as instructed before turning back to the elder mech. “What else I be needing?” he asked

“Sugar, salt, soy sauce, and rice vinegar.”

The youngling gathered those as well, and turned his attention to Prowl once more. By that time, the older bot had set the rice to cook, and turned to focus on his cooking companion. Seeing the littler bot standing eagerly, Prowl restrained a smile. This was odd, but it was also....nice.

He guided Jetstorm through making the mix for the egg roll, letting the youngling do all the work as he kept watch. By the time the bot was almost done cooking the second roll, Jazz and Jetfire trudged into the kitchen, bleary eyed and curious at the smell of food.

Jazz recognized the meal immediately, perking up. “Makin’ yer favorite breakfast, Prowler?” he rumbled, walking past his friend to grab dishes, bumping their shoulders as he did. At his friend’s snort and muttered “obviously” he just chuckled and shook his head. Then he went out to the dining room, Jetfire following with cutlery. Prowl and Jerstorm transferred the food to serving dishware, then brought it out and sat down.

Jetstorm watched as the older ninja sliced the egg rolls, taking a few pieces for himself, then ladling miso into a small bowl and scooping rice onto his plate. The other three followed suit, and Jetstorm was about to spoon some miso into his mouth when he noticed both adults were simply lifting the small bowls to their lips to drink the broth. He blinked, startled, but shrugged it off and followed suit. If that was how it was meant to be consumed, who was he to disagree?

He returned his attention to Prowl as the older bot went to eat a bite of egg role, holding his breath. He blinked, then made an approving hum and took another bite. “Very well done, Jetstorm.” He said softly.

The youngling beamed at the praise, taking a bite of his own portion and humming. This was nice! It was very faintly sweet, but not too much so, and it went well alongside the rest of the breakfast.

“Prowl’s right, Jetstorm.” Jazz grinned at his young charge, “Ya did a fine job this mornin’, mechling.”

“Thank you.” Jetstrom said with a faint, shy grin.

“You be the one who is making the egg?” Jetfire asked, surprised.

“Yes, Prowl be teaching me!” Jetstorm chirped cheerfully, grinning at his brother. “Do you like it, brother? It is not being as sweet as your normal breakfast, but I think it is tasting good.” he hummed, taking another bite.

Jetfire hummed, pausing as he took a bite. “It is tasting good.” he said after a moment of thought. “Is it supposed to be so lumpy?”

At that, Jetstorm winced. While it was true the egg rolls tasted good, they were indeed lumpy and a bit wrinkled. He had struggled with rolling them properly, as each layer was so thin it broke too easily. “No.” he said despondently.

“That doesn’t matter.” Prowl said smoothly. “You did very well. Better than I did the first time I made these. My first attempt wasn’t even edible.” he murmured into a sip of miso.

Jetstrom blinked. “Really? So I is not being too bad at rolling the egg?”

Prowl quirked his lips. “Really. You just need to practice.” he paused as if thinking. “I...would also not mind cooking further meals with you in the future.”

At that, Jetstrom looked positively delighted. “You be hearing that, brother?” he crowed. “I can be cooking with Prowl again!”

Jetfire snorted into his rice. “You be saying that like you be winning something, brother!” he snipped. “Cooking is not being fun! It is so boring it be making me want to sleep!” he complained.

Jetstorm bristled. “That is not being true!” he protested. “And anyway, you be finding anything without action boring!”

Jetfire bristled, looking like he was going to snap something back when Prowl cleared his throat. “Jazz told me you two work during the day?” he said smoothly, redirecting their attention to him.

Jetstorm grinned. “Yes! Jetfire and I are being delivery bots! We are riding are special bike, it is being called Safeguard! We have been the ones who be building it!” he chirped.

“Impressive.” Prowl said, tilting his head.

Jetfire preened under the praise. “It is not always be working right, so we always be having to fix and upgrade it, but one day we will be making it work and then we will be the fastest delivery bots on all of Cybertron!”

“That is only being happening if you can be steering right when you drive!” Jetstrom cut in with a grin.

“I can be steering right! I am not the one who crashed us into the river!” Jetfire snarled in return.

“That time I was only be crashing us because you were being distracting!”

“I was not being! You could not be seeing the road right, brother! Are you being sure you do not need optical correctors?”

“I do not be needing them!” Jetstorm bared his teeth.

(Jazz watched, grinning into his bowl of miso, as Prowl once more redirected the twins from their argument. His old friend asked another carefully constructed question, trying to pull the two younglings into a proper discussion, and he felt something warm and fond settle deep in his chest. He’d missed Prowl something fierce in the years since the little ninja had gone missing, and a part of him was scared he’d never see Prowl again whenever he left his sight. But seeing this, his old friend and one of the most beloved people in his life, interacting so naturally with the little bots he’d adopted and come to love as his own sons...it did him something good. This, right here, was everything he had ever wanted for his future. Eating a nice, home cooked meal with his family, just enjoying a peaceful, easy morning. He knew Prowl would have to leave soon, but if he could have more days like this...he’d be happy. This was good. This was what home was supposed to be.)

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Jetfire set down his gaming console with an irritated grumble. He’d lost. Again. For some reason, he level he was on kept stumping him every time he tried it. He grumbled, flopping into a wide sprawl on his bed and staring at the ceiling of his room, which was decorated with a giant glow in the dark dragon sticker. He was bored. He couldn’t play with Jetstorm; his brother had gone with Jazz to the grocery store. But...Prowl had stayed. Maybe he could see what their adoptive Sire’s old friend was up to?

He slipped out of bed, having gotten properly dressed after breakfast, and padded out of his room. He checked the living room, but found it empty, and then wandered around the house until he saw the older mech in the back yard. He paused, watching him through the window. Prowl shifted into a crouch, hands pulled in against his hips, then shifted his weight slowly to his back foot before moving swiftly to shift his weight forward, leap straight up, and execute a complex twist and kick in the air before landing in a wider, lower crouch, one leg bent and the other straight, almost sitting in the grass, with one arm up by his shoulders and the other remains tucked close to his hips. Jetfire gaped, eyes going wide at the maneuver. It was complex, but Prowl had made it look so smooth and even, his movements natural and easy and Jetfire wanted.

The youngling hurried to the door, opening it and pouncing into the yard with an eager look. “That is being so cool!” he gasped, loud and delighted.

Prowl startled, body going stiff as he jerked to attention and snapped his head towards the smaller mech. “What?” he asked, confused.

“You did the kick and twist, yes? I was being watching you!” Jetfire chirped, practically bouncing in place. “It is being very cool. Do you be thinking you can teach me?” he asked, eyes wide and pleading and oh-so-hopeful.

Prowl faltered, stuttering as he tried to gather his thoughts after being so roughly startled out of his meditative mindset. After a moment, he managed to gather himself, and he straightened to stand fully. He was dressed in a loose tank top and sweatpants he’d borrowed his Jazz, once again wearing his visor, and his feet were bare. He’d come out here to the yard to practice some of his forms while his old friend was shopping. He’d thought Jazz had taken both younglings with him, but apparently the orange twin had stayed behind. He cleared his throat, frowning. “I am not sure.” he said haltingly.

Jetfire blinked, then frowned. “Please?” he asked earnestly. “It be looking fun and cool and I is being wanting to be able to do that too.”

Prowl sighed, crossing his arms and regarding the youngling. “I can’t teach you the maneuver you saw me do. Not yet. It took me training and practice before I could do that. Lots of it.”

Jetfire blinked, then sagged, signing. “I be understanding.” he said quietly. If it really did take that much training, he couldn’t fault the mech for not wanting to teach him.

Prowl paused when he saw how down the mechling looked, and he sighed. “...if you are willing to start with something less exciting, I would be alright with beginning to teach you the basics.” he offered. He didn’t know why he was doing this. Maybe it was because it felt wrong to see the orange youngling so down. Maybe it was because he remembered how he’d enjoyed bonding with Jetstorm that morning, and maybe it was because an old, long-buried part of him remembered how nice it felt to go through the forms with another frame at his side.

Jetfire perked up at the offer, the action almost puppy-ish in the way the little bot visibly brightened and his eyes lit up. “You be meaning it?” he asked eagerly. “You are really being okay with teaching me?”

“As long as you’re prepared for less glamorous lessons in the beginning.” Prowl said, bemused. At Jetfire’s rapid nodding, the ninja’s lips twitched. “First, you need better clothes. We don’t have proper training clothing here, but sweatpants and a tank top will do. Don’t wear your shoes.” he instructed,

Jetfire snapped a salute, then turned on his heel and raced to change. When he returned, he was dressed in his own tank top and sweatpants, and and came to a stop in front of Prowl. He was all but vibrating with his eagerness.

Prowl tilted his head, then nodded. “I want to teach you meditation at some point, as being able to slip your mind into a calm, still state is rather important for later lessons. But for now, I can teach you warm-up stretches and basic stances.” he said.

Jetfire made a face at the mention of meditation. But, he did remember that maneuver earlier. Prowl had looked so peaceful, and so calm and serene, and if that was a result of meditation than Jetfire was willing to give it a go. “Okay!” he chirped, snapping another salute.

Prowl exhaled a brief huff of laughter, then gestured the youngling to his side. “Do as I do. I’m going to guide you through a set of warm-up stretches. It will allow your body to be properly prepare for the real action.” he explained.

Jetfire nodded, then did as Prowl indicated. He watched as the older mech slid his feet into a wider stance, then arched down and to the side, stretching his arms down to touch his ankle and keeping his legs straight. He held that position, then slowly pulled up and repeated the action on the other side. After a brief hesitation, Jetfire copied him.

They spent a while slipping though various stretches, and by the end Jetfire was surprised by how he ached. It was bearable, but his body also was definitely not used to that type of activity. Still, he had to admit, his limbs did feel almost...looser, and he could understand why these stretches would be important before doing something more serious.

Prowl was watching the youngling carefully, and he nodded as he seemed to observe...whatever he was looking for. “Are you ready to continue?”

Jetfire nodded. “Ready!”

“Good. Try to copy me as best you can. I’ll correct you if need be. Right now, I’m going to just show you a few simpler stances.” He explained.

Prowl shifted, then stood with his back straight, feet planted shoulder width apart, hands fisted, and wrists crossed at his front near his hips. Jetfire stared, then mimicked him carefully, brow furrowed.

“This is the ready stance. It’s very easy to slip from this stance into the other basic forms.” he explained. “Hold it as you are. I’ll correct you.”

He slipped out of the stance, then walked forward and paced in a circle around the youngling. At his back, he pressed his palm to Jetfire’s spine. “Straighten further. Posture is important for what I’m teaching you. Poor posture can lead to improper balance, and that can in turn lead to injury.” he said carefully.

Jetfire straightened his spine, waiting until Prowl was in front of him again. The Praxian nodded. “Good. Now copy me again. I’ll show you another.”

He stepped back, slipping into the ready stance, then spun on his right heel 90° to the left, stepping forward with his left foot as he did. His left leg bent, his right remained straight. His left arm raised, elbow bent, to block in font of his face, and his right arm was bent tucked to his hip, hand fisted. Then in one movement, he lowered his blocking arm to bend and tuck at his hip, hand fisting, while his other arm shot out straight into a punch. He held that, then shifted his left foot back, arms relaxing to lover at cross in front of him at his hips until he was once more in the ready stance.

Jetfire watched everything with rapt attention, as as soon as the older bot looked at him he did his best to copy. He slid into the ready stance, about to move when Prowl stopped him.

“Slowly. Keep your back straight all throughout.” Then he stepped back and walked around the youngling to observe him carefully.

Jetfire did his best to copy what he’d seen Prowl do, but even he could tell it wasn’t perfect. The surprising thing was that, every time Prowl noticed a mistake in his stance, he’d put a hand out to halt the youngling, gently correct it, and then let him continue. Jetfire performed the whole maneuver several times, Prowl making corrections every time he did, until finally the Praxian nodded.

“Good.” he said, sounding pleased.

Then he moved to stand next to the youngling. “Together, now.” he encouraged.

And so they did. Jetfire could tell that Prowl’s movements were much more fluid, much more elegant, but at that moment he didn’t care. Pride filled his chest and he grinned as he came to a finish in the ready stance. As soon as he saw Prowl shift out of his own finishing stance and relax, the youngling launched himself at the older mech in a hug.

“Thank you!” he gasped, loud and delighted. This wasn’t as exciting as that twisting air kick, but for once Jetfire didn’t mind the lack of action. He’d found his body challenged all afternoon, his mind having to constantly work to keep track of every inch of his body to keep his form right, and he liked it. “Can you be teaching me more?” he asked eagerly.

Prowl blinked, then relaxed and shifted his arms to awkwardly hug Jetfire back, though the youngling didn’t seem to mind the stiffness of the action. “Not now. Your body needs rest. It’s not used to such activity. But...how about I teach you more the next time I’m here? In the meantime, practice those stretches and that maneuver.”

Jetfire blinked, then beamed. He stepped back, standing another salute and laughing. “Okay!”

At the the youngling’s playful actions, Prowl could only smile and shake his head.

(Jazz watched from the window, his lips pulled into a wide grin. He and Jetstorm had returned a short while before. The blue twin was digging through the kitchen for a snack, and Jazz had come looking for his other son and friend. He’d come to the window just in time to see Prowl step next to Jetfire and see them both shift through what he recognized as one of the first most basic sets of Circuit-Su. The full maneuver was actually much longer, but that was the first part of it. Jazz had watched Prowl perform it countless times in their youth. He watched his son laugh and tackle his old friend, and found his grin growing. He knew he couldn’t stop Prowl from continuing his self-imposed mission, but maybe, just maybe...he could give him a home, and more importantly, a family, to return to. Though, as he watched Jetfire send Prowl a sloppy salute and watched Prowl smile, he realized that maybe the twins were already taking care of that.)

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Dinner had come and gone, and Jazz and Prowl were out in the backyard, talking about...whatever it was they talked about. The Twins were curled up on the bed in Jetstorm’s room, staring at the large glow in the dark nebula painted onto the ceiling.

“Brother?” Jetstorm said quietly. “What you be thinking about Prowl?”

Jetfire was quiet for a moment, before he spoke. “I is liking him. He is not treating us like younglings when he fight, and he is not getting angry when I mess up when he is teaching me.”

Jetstorm nodded. “Yes. He did not be angry when I did not make the egg roll correctly.” he agreed.

Jetfire hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something. Jetstorm couldn’t resist. “Do not be thinking too hard, brother! I am not being sure your processor can handle the strain!” he crowed.

Immediately, Jetfire seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought he’d been stuck on. He rolled to face his brother with a snarl, eyes narrowed. They were both dressed in pajamas, and Jetstorm wasn’t wearing his visor. “Did you just suggest I’m being stupid?” he barked, eyes narrowed.

Jetstorm blinked at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Is it not the truth, brother?” he asked. “You could not even finish one level on your game. You be having to ask me to beat it for you!” he stated, grinning at his twin.

Jetfire growled and tackled his brother. Jetfire yelped, and they rolled and tussled on the bed as they tried to pin each other. “I is not being the one who bought salt when we be needing sugar!” Jetfire barked, briefly rolling on top of his brother.

Jetstorm sputtered, heaving forward and managing to roll them both over. “That is not being my fault! Someone else be putting salt with the sugar, and the bags be looking the same!” he protested. He managed to pin Jetfire, sitting on his brother’s stomach and smirking down at him. “And I am not the one who be spilling soup on Jazz!”

Jetfire hissed up at his brother, bucking underneath him....and sending them both crashing to the floor. Both twins froze, breaths stilling. They were supposed to be asleep. Sure enough, the door opened and Jazz peeked in, they could see Prowl glance though the open door behind him. The Praxian was once again dressed in a borrowed sleeping robe, and neither adult was wearing their visor.

“Really boys?” Jazz deadpanned. “It’s 11:00. Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

The twins shot him identical grins, sheepish and embarrassed, and pulled each other up onto the bed. “Goodnight.” came two voices from the heap of blankets and younglings. Jazz felt himself soften. “Goodnight, boys.” he said warmly. To his surprise, he heard a soft voice behind him speak up. “Sleep well, little ones.” At their sleepy murmurs, he closed the door with a click.

In the bedroom, Jetstorm stared up at the ceiling. “I be liking Prowl.” he said softly. “I do not be wanting him to disappear again.”

At his side, he heard a sleepy grunt of agreement. “Me too. I be hoping we can make him to to stay.”

Jetstorm smiled. Yes, that was what they could do. If they showed Prowl that there was something for him here, maybe he would stay. “Goodnight, brother.”

A yawn. “Goodnight.”

(Outside the door, Jazz stood calmly under Prowl’s probing stare. He was grinning, lazy and pleased, and he knew what his old friend was thinking. Still, he wouldn’t say anything until the Praxian did. Yet, it seemed he wouldn’t, because he only huffed and shook his head, taking one more look at the twin’s door before turning towards the guest bedroom. As he left, Jazz’s grin softened and he glanced at the closed door. Yeah, the twins were growing on Prowl. He just hoped it stuck. He wasn’t ready to lose his friend a second time.)

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In the guest bedroom, Jazz and Prowl both sat on the bed. Jazz had followed his old friend, wanting to have one last talk before he settled down to sleep in his own room. The two mechs sat in silence, Prowl staring out the window at the night sky. On the nightstand, Jazz saw a bundle of gold fabric. It took him a moment, but he remembered where he’d seen it. It was the sash that Yoketron had often worn. Well, that was as good a point as any

“....I know I can’t stop you from continuing your little mission.”

“No. You cannot.”

“Yeah. Figured.” Jazz sighed. “So I won’t. I ain’t sure I can help you either. I’ve looked over all the police information on the case, Prowl. You’ve told me what you know about it, and...well.” he sighed. “To be honest with you, the police don’t know all that much more than you do, mech.”

Prowl exhaled roughly. He’d known his friend had joined the force, and he couldn’t deny a part of him had been hoping for more information in the face of Jazz’s willingness to lend aid. “I suppose I should have expected as much.”

Jazz grimaced. “I’m sorry, Prowl.” He glanced at the old sash. “I know how close you and your Sire were.”

Prowl flinched, looking down at his lap. “Indeed.” he said, voice tight.

“Made me jealous, you know.” Jazz mused. “Seein’ how much ol’ Yoketron would dote on you...sometimes I wished my own Sire and Carrier would be like that. I was more an heir to them than a son, I suppose.” he mused.

Prowl winced. “I...I may have been my Sire’s heir, but...I do not think he would have been angry had I chosen a different path. If things....if things were different.” he admitted, voice quiet and pained.

Jazz smiled sadly. “Y’know, I think you’re right. You were his son first, and his heir second. That’s what made me so jealous.” he chuckled. Then he sighed, leaning back on his hands.

“I got over it right quick though.” he mused.

Prowl looked up, surprised. “You...did?”

“Yep.” he grinned at his friend. “How could I stay jealous when I learned why he cherished you the way he did?”

“What do you mean?” Prowl blinked, now just very confused.

“I learned how easy it is to love you.” Jazz confessed. He pushed himself closer to his friend, gaze fond and adoring.

Prowl stiffened, inhaling sharply. Jazz knew he was remembering their first kiss in the dojo gardens, shared over a handful of gifted flowers and hidden behind leafy bushes. He knew he was remembering the many quick, stolen kisses that followed. Kisses to lips, to cheeks, to foreheads and noses and jaws. They never took it further, then. They were too young, too shy and only just learning of their own intimacies, not yet ready to share that with another.

“Jazz...” Prowl whispered. “I’m not sure...” he trailed off.

Jazz smiled. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea either.” He admitted. “But that don’t mean I’m not willing to try. I think it’s worth it, Prowl. I think you’re worth it.” For a second, he held his breath. Hoping, praying that he didn’t just screw this up forever and that he wasn’t about to lose Prowl again.

Then his friend swallowed, and ducked his head. “I think you’re worth it too.” he whispered. “I want to, Jazz, but there’s so much that could go wrong.”

Jazz paused. “I know.” he said seriously. “What you’re doing is dangerous.” He said.

Prowl let out a shuddering breath. “Then how...?”

“We take it one day at a time, my mech.” Jazz said, leaning in and meeting Prowl’s uncertain gaze.

“One day at a time.” Prowl whispered. “That sounds...reasonable.”

“Good.” Jazz grinned. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Prowl.”

The Praxian let out a breathless laugh. “Then do it.”

And he did.

(That night, two aching souls reconnected. It was a fragile bond, riddled with cracks and insecurities. That sparks that fueled it both burned bright for each other, it was only the uncertainties of the lives the two mechs led that kept the two sparks from fully reaching for one another. That night, two bots relearned their love for each other in a series of kisses, long and soft and sweet. There was passion, but not of the fiery kind, for tonight was not about that. Kisses and whispered words of affection and apology and assurance were exchanged, and slowly, festering cracks began to heal. That night, Jazz and Prowl remembered why they had fallen for each other in the first place, and they fell only further as they exchanged truths and promises from their very sparks. They could not be sure of what was to come, but they could know they would have each other’s strength to borrow whenever they had need of it. That night, Jazz regained a lost love he had only ever hoped for.)

(That night, Prowl began to heal.)

✧

The song for this one represents the relationship between Jazz and Prowl, but also the familial bond building between Prowl and the twins. It’s “Love Can Build a Bridge” by The Judds. Thought it’d be fitting for the relationships and character journeys in this little family unit.

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

at least i have the memory

character: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut with the teeniest, tiniest hint of angst

notes: for @babyybitchhh & inspired by a dm they sent me at exactly 3:58 am <333. uhhhh is this set in the i can take you there universe??? quite possibly. do u need to read that monster before reading this??? absolutely not!!! this also isn’t the scumbag!keigo i’ve been working on ehehe i just kindaaaa banged this out last night in a bit of a frenzy, so!! why is it always keigo + touya at a house party lately????? | title credit: thinking bout you by ariana grande lmaoooo

warnings: 18+, noncon, drugging, implied stepcest

words: 3.3k

synopsis:

“Here, let me,” he’s saying as he takes you from Touya, wrapping a firm arm around your waist and supporting most of your weight as you lean against him heavily. “Go,” he nods in the general direction of the voice still hollering for your niichan. “Duty calls,” he pauses, and the two men share a look before Keigo laughs easily. “Don’t worry, I’ll put her to bed,”

You’re snuggled up on Touya’s lap when things begin to feel off. He’s throwing another one of those stupid parties, with too many people you don’t know crowding the main floor of your house, one of those dumb parties that you’re never allowed to invite any of your friends to, where you’re forced to share your niichan for the night with all of these dumb people.

“Dumb,” you whisper, mumbling the word against your step-brother’s neck.

He hums a little, breath hot on your cheek. “What was that, princess?”

Your head rolls from one side of your neck, and then the other, then back again, a weak imitation of shaking your head. A soft, nondescript noise sounds from the back of his throat and you try to raise your head, to look him in the eye, struggling with the simple motion.

Because no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to keep your head up anymore, whining a little as it falls forward again, forehead resting against Touya’s shoulder. It’s just so heavy; your neck can barely bear the weight any longer, and with a tremendous amount of effort you’re able to loll it back—too far back—or to the side, yet ultimately incapable of holding it up, of holding it straight and steady.

“Oh, I think the princess is sleepy,” Keigo’s singsong voice floats through the air, tickling your ear and making you wriggle. Touya chuckles, sitting up a little straighter as large hands readjust you in his lap.

“Is it bedtime, baby?”

“No,” you mumble, though you’re fairly sure the word just comes out as a petulant sound.

“I think it is,” Touya continues, ignoring your little noises and standing, letting you drop down his body and placing you on the floor gently. You sway a little, vision fading in and out of focus, and try to shake your head again, the motion sluggish and delayed.

Someone calls Touya’s name and he swears softly under his breath, looking towards the voice and then back at you. Trying to blink up at him, your eyelids simply fall shut, your brow furrowing cutely as you work hard to force them back open.

Something isn’t right.

“Goddamn it,” Touya sighs, oblivious to your struggle and raking a hand through his hair. “Princess, hey, look at me,”

I’m trying to, you want to snap at him, frustration bubbling up in your chest as you finally pry your eyes open again, wincing against the bright light of the living room.

Touya starts saying something, but you can’t focus on it, can barely understand him, his voice sounding muffled and distant as you concentrate on purely keeping your eyes open.

No, something definitely isn’t right, but your hazy brain can’t seem to figure out what it is, barely able to form a fucking sentence now, any word you try to speak coming out garbled and near unintelligible.

Keigo’s reaching for you, and you make grabby hands at him, suddenly craving his heat, an abrupt, insatiable need to be close to him blazing through your veins.

Cobalt eyes dart between the two of you, sharp and analytical. You’re nuzzling your face into Keigo’s chest—God, he smells so good—and he’s chuckling a little, thumb rubbing little circles into your hip. Touya makes a soft noise; a coo, you think, though you can’t be bothered to look, too enticed with Keigo to expend the immense amount of energy it takes for you to move any part of your body.

“You sure?”

“Yeah man, it’s no big deal. I’ll tuck her in and stay with her until she passes out—I know the way she gets,”

And as if on fucking cue, you whimper, little fingers tangling in his t-shirt as you pull, trying to get closer. Christ, Keigo could kiss you right here and now for unwittingly playing your part so goddamn well, for fortifying—validating—his plan that much more.

“Poor thing,” he looks down at you, trying to force the shit-eating grin off his face. “She’s exhausted, can barely even stand—Really, I should get her to bed,”

Touya’s teeth nibble at the inner skin of his lip, cerulean eyes studying your face carefully, half hidden in Keigo’s chest, before he finally sighs, shoulders deflating a little.

“Yeah, alright. Thanks, Kei,”

“Don’t mention it,” he responds lightly, waving a hand dismissively. He glances back down at you, golden eyes glittering, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Alright kitty kat, let’s get you to sleep,”

M’not tired, you try to tell him as he scoops you up into his arms, but your tongue feels like a slug in your mouth, heavy and wet and slimy and not doing what you want. Keigo chuckles a little at you, tells you you’re cute, especially when you’re like this, and you want to question him, try to question him, but you tongue barely even moves, only wiggling a little in response.

Something soft, something almost cloudlike is placed under you—no, that’s not right, you’re being placed on something feathery, something fluffy, little hands smoothing down the material as your head falls to the side, rubbing your cheek against it.

“You always get a little catlike when you’re like this, didya know that?”

Keigo’s standing over you now, face partially shrouded as he stares down at you, eyes a pair of shimmering topaz in the darkness. Your forehead crinkles a little, lids falling a bit in a poor attempt to narrow your eyes.

Like what?

The question is fleeting, merely floating through your mind for a moment before you’re captivated by the calloused hands sliding up your bare thighs, legs falling open automatically as you whine a little at the sensation.

More.

The word drifts through your mind slowly, languidly, and you swear you can see it in the air, swirling around Keigo’s head, wavering and wiggling a little. A soft giggle slips from your lips, eyes squinting as you watch the fading word, head foggy and feeling like it’s been stuffed with static. But you’re unable to grasp it; it slips away too easily, just passing by, really, just out of your reach—

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?” Keigo’s asking, a smile on his lips, revealing white teeth that gleam in the pale moonlight spilling through your window, sending shivers skittering across your skin.

It doesn’t sound like he expects an answer, not that you’re in any state of mind to give one either way. His hands have pushed your dress up around your waist now, revealing your panties to him as he kneads your hips mindlessly, fingertips running across your tummy, exploring the supple flesh.

“Just gonna make you a little more comfy, kay? Take this pesky dress off,”

He doesn’t wait for any sort of response as gentle hands curl around the hem, tugging the dress further up your body, a tender palm helping you lift your head a little as he removes the garment completely.

It’s cold, and you whine a little about it as you shiver, wanting to wrap your arms around your torso, but they’re too heavy for you to lift by yourself, whimpering up at Keigo who glares down at you with a sharp smile, mockingly cooing at you.

Honey eyes scan your body once, completely, from head to toe, and he sucks in a sharp gasp through his teeth as his eyes roam.

It’s risky—he knows he should probably fuck you with your dress on, or at least one of those cute, expensive nightgowns Touya always spoils you with, or something—but the adrenaline buzzing through his veins only heightens his senses, makes him feel giddy with the thought of Touya catching him defiling his precious baby sister.

The bed dips as he perches on the edge, palms running over your smooth skin, chills forming in their wake. He snorts to himself, skilled fingers tweaking a peaked nipple, the action causing your nearly shut eyes to open again.

“K-Kei?”

“Yeah, it’s me, baby,” he murmurs.

“You stay?”

“Just for a little,” he promises, eyes glinting in the low light of your bedroom. His gaze glides down your bare chest and to the waistband of your panties; cotton, pink—not that he expected any less—trimmed with lace and adorned with a pattern of blooming roses.

“Aw, these are so cute,” he breathes, a smirk spreading across his lips, his thumb caressing your clit through the thin material.

A little whine escapes your lips, body instinctually arching off the bed, hips involuntarily pushing towards his hand, desperately seeking more.

“Wh-What—You…” you trail off, blinking your heavy eyelids, trying in vain to force them to stay open.

“Just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart,”

And his voice is so low, so soft, makes you want to do anything for him, makes you sure you would do anything for him, anything to get him to continue talking to you in that hypnotic, melodic voice. Eyes finally slipping shut, you give in, and his fingers circling around your swollen clit and playing along your clothed slit feel so good, sending tingling warmth shooting through your veins, a smoldering desire for more encompassing your body.

But then sapphire sears through your mind—burning, blazing, glowing sapphire—and your heavy lids lift again, just enough to make out Keigo’s silhouette.

“Niichan?”

“Shh,” he hushes you as his fingers push the fabric aside, the pads of his fingers swiping along your slit and collecting your wetness, pussy fluttering around nothing eagerly. “Don’t worry about niichan, he’s busy. You want me to make you feel good, don’t you?”

Your head is nodding—slow, jerky movements up and down, up and down—even though you never told it to do that, and you stare up at him with glazed eyes, pupils blown to hell, breathing escaping your parted lips in shallow little puffs.

God, what he’d fucking give for a photo of you like this, quietly berating himself for leaving his phone on the couch downstairs. He’s barely touched you yet and you already look so fucked out, gazing up at him with bliss, adoration, like he hung the moon and painted the stars himself.

Something prods at your hole—a finger, you think, maybe two—and pushes in slowly, Keigo’s dark eyes glued to his actions, huffing out a curse when he reaches the second knuckle.

“Christ, baby, you’re already so fuckin’ wet,” his eyes flick over to your face, taunting smile gracing his lips again. “Were you thinking about this, hmm?” the fingers curl almost vengefully, and you mewl, hips rolling up. “Are you really such a good little slut, like Touya always says you are?”

Humming an affirmative, you whimper out his name, burying your face in the mattress as you pathetically try to fuck yourself on his fingers, grinding against his palm in an almost frantic manner.

He wishes he could take his time with you, wishes he could tease your cute little hole until you’re positively sobbing, cheeks shining with tears and sweat, begging him to just let you cum—you’d look so pretty, he just knows it.

But he doesn’t have the time to daydream—he’s already wasted a bunch of time just staring at you, entranced by the way your lips have been bitten swollen, little tongue peeking out as his fingers curve inside of you, pulling the most adorable moans from deep within your throat, strings of drool dribbling from your mouth, pooling in a small puddle and soaking your bedsheets.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, compliment slipping from his lips seemingly without his knowledge, most of his focus captivated by the way he’s rapidly pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy, his digits gleaming with your slick.

His voice is off, you think. It doesn’t usually sound that soft, that hoarse, does it? Fingers curling scatter your thoughts and your back arches, little pleads falling from your lips. You’re not exactly sure what you’re saying, babbling out a steady stream of words that just sound like smothered nonsense to your ears, but Keigo seems to understand, laughing and nodding.

“You don’t wanna cum on my fingers, songbird?”

No, God no, s’not enough, want more, need more, please, please, more, more, more.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you,” he huffs, but he’s got that smile on, the genuine, easygoing smile, lazy and effortless and so perfect slapped across his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just a little, revealing glossy, sharp white teeth—a more sincere version of the smile you know has broken so many hearts in the past.

Hips are between your thighs now, and you can feel the head of his cock nudging against your hole as large hands force your legs to bend, folding them up on either side of your torso and instructing you to be a good girl, hold yourself open for him.

He didn’t prep you enough—doesn’t technically have the time to, not the way he’d like to, at least, though he’s not sure your greed would’ve let him either way—so it burns a little as your cunt struggles to accommodate his girth, tiny whines escaping your lips.

You’re doing so good, baby, take my cock so well—

The words swirl around in your head, dense and echoing through the space around you, a little pout forming on your lips as you try to place the voice—voices—saying them.

It’s praise you’ve heard before, so many times before, in situations exactly like this one, and your foggy mind has a difficult time telling whether it’s niichan saying them or Keigo. It sounds like both, but…

No, niichan isn’t here. He’s busy, like Kei said.

But the praise, the voices, murmured in the same soft, adoring lilt, makes your stomach churn painfully, something akin to guilt, dark and sour and heavy, taking root deep in the pit of your belly and spreading quickly, beginning to infect the surrounding organs.

The bottoming out of his cock shatters your focus, snuffs out that guilt in an instant, burning it to ash in the fire it ignites, now blazing in your tummy and spreading, higher and higher and higher with each snap of his hips until it rushes through your veins, alighting your entire body as you writhe beneath him, his thrusts working up a steady rhythm.

“One day, I’ll get to fuck you properly,” he grunts, ramming into you hard and fast. “One day, I’ll spend hours eating that sweet lil cunt of yours, one—fuck—one day, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk,” he’s panting now, getting chatty the way he usually does when he’s close, a truth you’re sure of, even though you’re unable to discern how. “You want that, baby? Huh?”

And the whine you emit, high and needy and broken up by his harsh thrusts, is much too loud; he’s positive anyone standing down the hall—maybe even anyone on the top floor of the house in general—would be able to hear you, a fact that only works to inspire him to fuck more of them out of you as his hips gain speed.

It’s stupid—he knows it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s dangerous for the both of you—but he can’t stop, lost all control of his body, his actions, his entire fucking mind, as he pounds you hard enough to shove your whole body up the mattress, basking in the beautiful cries he rips from your throat, mingled with your pitiful attempts at pronouncing his name, coming out in airy little K-Kei’s.

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, tearing through your convulsing body and splitting it in two as your nails dig into the flesh of your shins, fluttering little hole forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth.

He’s praising you, you think, though you can barely hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, your mind gone absolutely numb—everything’s numb, body heavy and boneless as sore fingers unclench from your legs, head hazy and vision fuzzy around the edges.

Your throat feels raw and dry, and you wish you could do something to silence the rough whimpers he’s quite literally fucking out of you, powerless to stop them from leaking out of your lips as your vision whites from excessive pleasure; so much, too much, it hurts, Kei!

But he isn’t paying attention as he grunts in time with his borderline vicious thrusts, breathing rough and erratic as his hands fist in your soft bedsheets—never gripping your hips, always careful not to leave any marks, any evidence of his presence—emitting a low, throaty moan that breaks off into a whine as his hips stutter and then still, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix as his cock pulses, spurting ropes of thick, hot cum and stuffing you full.

He’s panting as he leans down to crush his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, breath hot against your face. You use all of your strength to meet him, mouths slotting together messily, coating your lips in sticky saliva.

He tastes like sunshine—pure sunshine, you’re absolutely sure of it—syrupy sweet like toffee and fiery like spicy cinnamon.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes out a small chuckle, shaking his head a little as he sits back on his heels, gentle fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your limp legs. “And what, exactly, does sunshine taste like, songbird?”

“You,”

“God,” he snorts, rolling his eyes while he uses your panties to tenderly wipe away his cum oozing out of you. “Even high and fucked outta your mind, you still manage to be so goddamn cute—it’s a gift, sweetheart, a talent, it truly is,”

Soft giggles bubble past your lips, a few mumbled words sandwiched between them as he finishes buttoning up his jeans, stuffing your soiled panties in his back pocket. Keigo’s fairly sure you’re talking about how tired you are—you always get giggly like this after he fucks the life out of you—so he hushes you gently, nimble fingers carding through sweaty hair as he pushes it back from your face.

“Rest now, angel,”

“Want you to stay,” you pout, and he frowns for the first time tonight, molars grinding together as he exhales a deep, controlled breath through flared nostrils.

He fucking hates it when you do this, when you ask—sometimes beg—him to stay the night, and he swallows thickly, shaking his head and ignoring the pang that sears through his chest, a feeling he’s come to know intimately.

“You know I can’t,”

“Don’t care, wan’you to,”

“I can’t,” he snaps, and his harsh voice feels like a slap to the face, stinging your flushed cheek. Your nose twitches, bottom lip jutting out as your chin begins to tremble, and he sighs, pushing both hands through his hair. “I can’t,” he repeats, much softer this time, fingertips tracing the lines of your face in a tender caress. “I…Want to. You know I do,”

The confession spills from his lips in hushed whispers, entirely without his consent, and he’s not even sure you heard it.

“Soon? Soon, then?”

And you sound so small, so fragile, it nearly breaks his fucking heart. He doesn’t have it in him to tell you no, not when you’re gazing up at him like that, hope and desperation overflowing in your shining eyes.

You won’t remember a thing come morning, anyway.

“Yeah, songbird, soon,”

“Promise?”

Choking back the acidic bile rising in his throat and eroding the back of his tongue, he nods.

“Promise.”

#takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo #todoroki touya #aaaaah y’all so sorry i just couldn’t resist making him a leeeeettle bit soft <33 #anyway sugar i hope u like it and i hope it makes you smile <33333 #it really isn’t anything special; just a lil something yk???#sending u tons of love!!!!!!#tw drugs #tw stepcest

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chazukekani · 4 years

Text

Previous // Next

Here comes the summary of Code:02 (chapter 2) of Stormbringer. Enjoy!

p.s. Please beware that it was just a summary so some part is skipped.

Recap: The flags were dead.

Adam was walking on the street. He was holding a big bag in front of his body. What's inside were chocolate, hard candy and gummy bear. Adam bought it all for Chuuya because he knew humans need sugar in order to live and to stay happier.

'Good morning!' Adam shouted. He was in a church with a hundred participants. Youth choir was singing hymns and attendants were all wearing black clothings.

It was a funeral, with five coffins placed in the center.

'Chuuya-san, I am here to pick you up,' Adam said.

'Quiet! The funeral is in progress!' Chuuya said impatiently.

'There is some new information about Verlaine,' Adam replied.

Hence, shortly after, Chuuya followed Adam to go somewhere else which was quite far away from the church. Adam asked for Chuuya's permission to override his own command authority. By command authority, Adam explained that this was something written into his system, where he had an order of priority of certain people that he could listen to their commands. The first priority was always following the command of the investigation authority, and the second is Dr. Wollstonecraft. However, Adam wanted Chuuya to be the first priority for now.

Chuuya agreed, and the priority was then alternated, which Adam now called Chuuya as Chuuya-sama. The teen was slightly embarrassed by the new title.

'Can you change the way of how you call me?' asked Chuuya.

'Yes I can. This is just my default,' Adam answered, 'But you will no longer be my first priority.'

'What? That's so annoying. Nevermind then. Don't you have something about Verlaine to tell me?' said Chuuya.

'Yes I do. But may I take a gum before I do that?' Adam said. The robot seemed to like gum very much.

Adam pointed out that Verlaine probably hired a third party to assist him entering Japan. There were only very few illegal smuggling services which were not under the control of the Port Mafia, so it was actually fairly easy to find out which organisation helped Verlaine. Adam said he hacked the database of the police authority, and found the exact personnel who was hired by Verlaine.

'I am glad to know that you can actually do something,' Chuuya mocked.

Apart from hiring people to provide assistance on smuggling, Adam pointed out that Verlaine also asked those people to order three things for him.' The first one is four branches of white birch. Adam explained that there was also a white birch founded in the billiards bar, so he believed that the birch was actually a signature of Verlaine after completing a murder. Hence, there were supposed to have three birches left. Meanwhile, the other two things were entry licences of a car factory and an old fashioned blue colour flip phone.

'I know where he is,' Chuuya acknowledged something, 'Let's go,'

'Where are we going?' Adam asked.

Chuuya didn't answer. He grabbed Adam's final piece of gum, and put it into the mouth. Chuuya blew a bubble from his mouth, and Adam was shocked.

Inside the car factory, there was a teen working. He was grabbed by his manager because he wanted to invite him to have a meal after work. However, the teen was then brought to the meeting room. The teen saw someone.

'Chuuya...' the teen spoke.

'Shirase.' said Chuuya

Chuuya explained himself to Shirase because he knew Shirase was Verlaine's next target. Shirase was the reason why Chuuya joined the Mafia (as recalled from 15 years old). If Shirase was killed, then Chuuya no longer had a reason for staying in the mafia, such that Chuuya could leave with Verlaine.

Chuuya asked Shirase to help him, but Shirase refused because he hated Chuuya, and he did not want to be a bait either. He escaped by riding a bike so Adam and Chuuya chased afterwards. While Shirase was escaping, he was stopped at a police checkpoint.

'Shirase Buichirou! I am going to arrest you for keeping weapons illegally!' A police officer, roughly around his 40s and wearing a dark green outfit, said. Chuuya ran forward because he knew this officer.

'Hey- How are you Chuuya? Did you eat properly?' said the officer, 'You can't grow if you don't eat well.' They chatted as if old friends.

'I suspect you may be the accomplice of Shirase, so please come to the police station with me as well.'

Chuuya suddenly realised that such an arrest was not a coincidence. It was the factory manager who had plotted them.

Adam, Chuuya and Shirase were all in the police station. Apart from Shirase being detained, the rest of two were staying in the investigation room inside the station.

'Chuuya-sama.'

'...'

'Chuuya-sama.'

'what...'

'It's your turn. Our game of '"Discovery of human's uniqueness".'

Chuuya didn't answer.

'Then it's my turn,' Adam said. 'Hmm, I think what's special with humans is, they will be embarrassed by sounds that were made apart from their voice, such as the groans of their stomach.'

'Huh?' Chuuya was confused.

' "Huh" right? Thanks for responding to me,' said Adam.

The game continues.

'Shall we ban gaming next time?' said Chuuya.

'Is this an order?'

'Yes.'

'Understood, I will no longer play the game of "Discovery of human's uniqueness".' Adam answered.

'Why you look super sad...' Chuuya noticed the disappointment on Adam's face.

Chuuya proceeded to ask whether it was possible for Adam to ask for help from his own organisation, but Adam denied this possibility because the EUROPOLE was bound by a regulation of 'non infringing country's sovereignty' when the organisation was founded in the post-war period, so this strategy didn't work.

[Change in perspective] Here was an abandoned area, a piece of land that was forgotten by everyone. Different kinds of garbage was thrown here, regardless of transportation container or corpses. In the middle of this area, was where Dazai lived. He's living in a container, with basic furniture such as a fridge, fan, table, chairs and bed equipped, together with a small light bulb.

Suddenly, someone opened the door of the container.

'You are really living in an interesting place, Dazai-kun,' that person greeted, 'My god, why are you living in this place? To avoid tax or something?'

'I am afraid of you, Verlaine-san,' Dazai replied without a single emotion.

'Lie,' said Verlaine, 'I was trying to kill you two days ago, and you didn't feel anything back then.' Verlaine touched some documents on the desk, and those were the top secret of the mafia.

'Two days ago, I didn't kill you because you promised to give me these documents. I don't think you handed me this because you wanted my spare you right?' said Verlaine.

'It's simple,' Dazai said, 'I just want to see the Mafia burns.'

'Why?'

'I'm fed up,' Dazai looked at Verlaine for a second, 'I found nothing after all,' Dazia then murmured to himself.

'I see, I understand what you mean,' Verlaine, 'thanks for your cooperation, Dazai-kun.'

Verlaine flicked a coin, and boom, it exploded. All the surroundings apart from Dazai's container were blown up and gone, and Verlaine was about to leave

'Where are you going?' Dazai asked.

'You should have known right? To the police station,' Verlaine answered.

Chuuya was called into an investigation room to be questioned by that police officer, his name was Murase. The officer proposed an idea which he could set Shirase free, but in return, Chuuya needed to expose some secrets about the Mafia.

'Are you telling me to betray the Mafia?' said Chuuya.

'Just tell me and I let you and your friend go home,' the police officer was writing his report.

'Give me your pen,' Chuuya said calmly, then wrote 'eat shit' on the signature spot of the report.

Adam was somewhere near Shirase's detention. He hacked into the database of the police authority, and acquired the detaining number of Shirase, and successfully deceived the guards. Adam found Shirase, and was about to bring him away from the police station, but Shirase didn't look happy at all. Adam told Shirase that there was actually no need for him and Chuuya to protect him, but Chuuya wanted to protect him. Adam explained what happened during one year ago and revealed the reason why Chuuya joined the mafia to Shirase because Chuuya wanted to protect him.

Suddenly, when Adam and Shirase were about to leave, the teen said something.

'You... where have your left leg gone?' said Shirase.

Adam realised that the part beneath his left knee was gone, and he immediately fell down.

'Robot investigator is surely a tough job isn't it?' said by a voice.

'Verlaine...'

Adam could not handle the attack from Verlaine because he was using gravity control which made Adam not able to move.

'Don't... don't come near me!' Shirase was horrified.

'Shirase-kun, I have done research on you. You have known Chuuya for the longest in this city. Shirase-kun, please tell me, how was Chuuya when he was a kid?'

'We are... the founding members of The Sheep... and we thought Chuuya was just an orphan. He was the one who spoke to us first: "What's that brick?" Chuuya said that.'

'It was bread, we answered,' Shirase continued, ' "Do you wanna eat that?" I asked, and he said yes. The moment he wanted to move, and fell down and fainted. He was very thin and almost dead by then. Despite there were some members who objected to my idea , I found some food and water for him and brought him back to The Sheep.'

'You are Chuuya's brother right?' Why do you want to kill me? There was no one apart from me saving your brother! Is this how you return your favour?' Shirase yelled at Verlaine, but he didn't say a word.

'I understood, there is no common sense in this world. I am killed because I saved someone. Now, hurry up and kill me,' said Shirase.

Verlaine stepped forward and walked closer to Shirase. Adam calculated, and deduced that there were 168 possibilities, and among all of them, Shirase would be killed either way. It was impossible that the 169th possibility would occur.

Yet, Chuuya was here and kicked Verlaine off horizontally, and that's the 169th possibility.

A fight broke out between the brothers. Chuuya hit Verlaine harshly and violently, which made Adam think it was probably his first time seeing how a person could beat the assassin king that severely. The wall and the surroundings were destroyed by the battle.

'It has been a while since I last saw my blood,' Verlaine's voice sounds dry.

Chuuya aimed for Verlaine's arm, and punched it. He hit the wall as if touching the water surface and broke through it. That was unbelievable, Adam thought. Outside the wall was the car park of the police station, and Chuuya was hit by a car that was coming for him, and there were more cars incoming. Chuuya finally stopped attacking.

'Chuuya! Are you alright!' someone shouted from the back of the car park, it was Murase officer.

'Officer-san...why are you here? Don't come!' Chuuya yelled.

'Finally you are here,' Verlaine whispered.

Verlaine came forward to Murase-officer and grabbed his neck.

'Stop it!' Chuuya shouted, but it was too late. Murase officer was dead. Adam came forward to the body, and found a cross that was made by white birch. Chuuya was holding the body of the officer, and he found something inside the pocket. It was an old-style blue colour flip phone. That was the exact model that Verlaine acquired before he came to Yokohama.

Chuuya realised, the target of Verlaine was always Murase officer, and never was Shirase.

But why?

Code:02 Ended

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs storm bringer #bungou stray dogs storm bringer #bsd storm bringer #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd paul verlaine #bsd dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #paul verlaine #dazai osamu

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horriblyunprepared · 4 years

Text

ED MYTHBUSTING

Eating disorders are NOT contagious! Stop treating them like they are. It’s a mental illness, just like any other...not contagious!

Thin celebrities aren’t The Reason™️ people have eating disorders, although the way thin bodies are presented may cause or contribute to feelings of insecurity or shame about food and the body.

The invention of size 0 and 00 are not The Cause™️ of eating disorders—and they aren’t unrealistic sizes, some people are just small and need those sizes.

That whole idea that we look in the mirror and see a big fat person when we actually look like skeletons?? It’s just not universal, and it’s strange to assume that it would be. I’m sure some people do have that experience, but it’s not universal. My eyes are fine, I can see my body just fine, it’s about feelings—not about what my body actually looks like.

Not everyone with an ED is super skeletal skinny, or white, or female, or able-bodied, or teenaged. Just like everyone else, we come in all shapes, sizes, colors, ages, etc. We aren’t all skeletal, white, teenage girls 🤷🏽‍♀️

For some reason, in all the fiction I’ve seen about EDs, the girl with the ED has divorced parents with whom she has a rocky relationship? Dysfunctional family situations are a big risk factor and can contribute to stress and disordered eating. But everyone has different experiences and, needless to say (I hope) some of us have good relationships with our parents, some of us have parents who aren’t divorced, etc etc. This one feels particularly harmful though, because it kind of implies that it’s the parents’ fault that their child has an eating disorder because they got divorced.... And divorced doesn’t always mean bad! *EDIT* Divorce can also be very good, as it ends marital conflict that can be traumatic to children and can remove children from a toxic and abusive situation. Unfortunately, this doesn’t erase the trauma that happened before the divorce and doesn’t mean that the divorce itself won’t be traumatic either. Children need love, care, and stability—which they can adequately receive from divorced parents, if no abuse is involved, but sometimes this isn’t provided and the trauma can manifest as an eating disorder.

People with anorexia DO actually eat. Sometimes, we even eat normal, balanced, sufficient meals. Which leads me to...

Not all days are bad days, at least not for everyone. I have an eating disorder, but some days I feel totally fine and normal. Just like any other mental illness...it’s not constant uninterrupted anguish.

“Diet culture” is not The Cause™️ of eating disorders, but it may contribute to feelings of shame about food and the body.

Eating disorders are “about” a person’s relationship with food and their body...but they aren’t really ABOUT a persons relationship with food and their body. For some people, it’s about control, or shame, or gender dysphoria, or fear of adulthood, or purity. For some people it’s about a fear of abandonment, fearing that people will leave you and not take care of you unless you’re sick.

Not everyone with EDs hides their body under baggy clothes! Not all of us feel the need or want to cover up.

Like all mental disorders, EATING DISORDERS ARE NOT A LIFESTYLE CHOICE. They’re complex mental disorders, trust me! No one just chooses to starve themselves, force themselves to vomit, eats until it hurts, or exercise till they pass out. These aren’t fun quirky lifestyle choices.

Not all of us “look sick,” you can be a normal weight and still have an ED. This goes back to #5. I’m olive toned and tan which makes my complexion look healthier than the skeletal, white, teen girl you’re expecting—that doesn’t mean I’m doing great.

Getting up to a healthy weight or “looking healthier/better” doesn’t mean someone in recovery is actually doing better. If they were in inpatient care, they likely HAD to gain weight to get out...this doesn’t mean the mental part of this MENTAL ILLNESS is cured.

On the other hand, being thin doesn’t mean someone, even someone with a history of EDs, isn’t doing okay. Again, and I cannot stress this enough, people with EDs come in all different shapes and sizes. Even if someone is “too thin” and in recovery, it doesn’t mean they’re faking, all bodies are different maybe this is normal for them, or maybe they arent at a normal weight for them but they’re really trying to gain weight and get better. Maybe they’ve broken the ED in their brain and are waiting for their body to follow—don’t invalidate their progress by commenting on their size.

Anorexia and Bulimia aren’t the only eating disorders! There’s orthorexia, diabulimia, binge eating disorder, OSFED, etc. No one is worse than another per se, everyone has different experiences, different severity, and no matter what ED someone has it is always deeply painful and everyone deserves help!

Not all eating disorders are connected to or caused by a single traumatic event or by any traumatic event at all. Everyone has different experiences, and some people are just predisposed to develop eating disorders...

If you haven’t guessed by now there is no single Cause™️ of eating disorders. People have different life experiences, different brains, different habits....

People with EDs are not an enemy to people in larger bodies, fat acceptance, body positivity, etc. That would be like saying that people with depression are an enemy to happiness and positivity, and I think we can all agree that that’s not the case. Body positivity is wonderful, and I’m sure there are far more people with EDs than you think who are strong advocates for body positivity or who want to be able to accept the body positive message but aren’t currently capable because of their disorder.

Having an eating disorder doesn’t mean that you just hate food, that you judge others for eating or what they eat, that you fat shame others, etc. I know a lot of people with EDs who LOVE food and are wonderful cooks. Some people with EDs may feel uncomfortable being around people who are eating, but not everyone feels that way. As with any insecurities, people sometimes project their body insecurities onto others—it’s not a great thing to happen, it’s not fun, but it is fairly normal and it doesn’t mean that someone with an ED is necessarily judging other’s food choices or body.

Treatment and recovery are different for everyone—and they should be different for everyone. It’s wrong and dangerous to administer the same treatment to every person with an ED. People with both Type 1 diabetes and an ED (usually, have been misusing insulin to lose weight) need vastly different care than someone with a different condition, and beyond that different people just need different care. No single thing works for everybody, it would be nice if that was the case though!

Please feel free to keep adding, it’s really important to bust these myths, stereotypes, and misconceptions. Just like everybody else, people with EDs are widely varied and diverse and it’s important that we recognize this to make it easier for people to recognize disordered eating and get help.

Feel free to comment on this post. Are there any ED myths I missed that really bug you? Am I wrong?? Let me know!

#ed recovery #ed #eating disorder #pro recovery #anorexia recovery #recovery #anorexia #mia #bulimia #anamia #bonespo #thinspo #not pro just using tags #pro ana #thigh gap #thin #skinny #rexie

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toastedside · 4 years

Text

In Health

Batmom!Reader x Batfamily

Warning: Angst, Angry Tim Drake

Note: I knoooooow it's been a while since I wrote this series and I actually have finished it a while ago. Just figure I want to share the rest. Enjoy!

Masterlist, Previous Chapter

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your eyes travelled constantly to the watch on your wrist. The iced coffee you ordered fifteen minutes ago already half gone. Metropolis was bright and sunny that day, the weather was warm and nice. A welcomed contrast to gloomy Gotham with its perpetual cloud.

The coffee shop Lois had told you about was buzzed with hungry patrons, considering it was almost lunchtime anyway. It was a breath of relief that nobody would recognize you on the first glance, something you had learned fairly quickly since Bruce had publicly claimed you years ago. If you went somewhere with shirts and jeans and nothing shiny, nobody would recognize you that you are Y/N Wayne.

You glanced into your watch again for the millionth time that day. Was the request to meet up too much for them? Were you too harsh on them back in the days? It’s unusual for–

“Hey, oh my god, we’re so sorry. Our meeting last longer than we expected.”

Lois suddenly came into frame. Behind her was a slightly disheveled Clark, eyeing her behind his glasses hesitantly. Something sank at the bottom of you stomach by the sight alone, perhaps you were indeed way too harsh on him.

“It’s alright, I didn’t wait that long anyway,” you mustered a white lie as you gestured them to take a seat across yours. “How’s Jon doing? I miss him coming over on the weekend.”

“He is fine. Clark and I bought him a video game console on his birthday and all he’s been doing was glued his eyes on the TV,” Lois rolled her eyes fondly at the topic of her own son, something you've been doing for years since you are a mother too. “How are the kids?”

“I figure Jon had been talking about his video games with Damian. He asked me if he could buy one just yesterday,” you laughed. “The kids are fine, per usual. Dick and Jason had been a little busy with their job, so they usually only come over on the weekend. Damian tried to woo me into adopt another pet again last week, Cass been practicing ballet a lot lately, and Tim... well... it’s been a little tough for him to fill Bruce’s shoes in the company but he’s doing well so far.”

There was a little shift in the air after you finished. Lois subtly adjusted her seat, silently sent a look towards her husband who looked a little too nervous to be comfortable. It would be funny to see Superman himself squirmed on his seat if the reason behind it didn’t left a bitter aftertaste.

“Lunch?” you swiftly opened the menu book to dissipate the growing tension and gently shoved it into Clark’s lap. “It’s on me.”

The lunch was surprisingly normal and calm, the thought of the dreading event was swept away underneath the nonexistent rug. Lois had been talking about the newest article she was writing about and Clark was obviously waltzed around carefully to not touching the superhero business, and you played your best to ignore it.

“Lois, Clark,” you started as everyone finally finished their lunch and the empty plates were taken away. “I am here to apologize for what I have done... three months ago. And what I might have said.”

There was silence hung in the air as Lois and Clark shared a look together. It was Lois who immediately reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. “Hon, you have nothing to apologize for. We understand, you were–”

“It was still rude and uncalled for, and my circumstance was a mere explanation. Especially to you, Clark,” you rolled your shoulders slightly to face Clark better, eyes fell into the balled fist on his lap. “You were only trying to explain, but I shut you out. I know you lost your best friend too that night and I am so sorry I didn’t try to reach you out sooner.”

“Y/N, it’s–”

“No, no, it’s not.” you breathed shakily. You had prepared your best for this inevitable conversation, but still unaware how painful it could be. “Bruce wouldn’t want me to act that way.”

Silence now had fallen completely and the air had shifted drastically. The only thing that grounded you from withering away and succumb into your own thought was Lois’s thumb gently stroking your wrist. Clark was stunned silent on his seat, the gears on his mind worked twice harder than it usually did in past three months. Nothing had prepared him for this conversation.

“Y/N, I forgive you. I already had long ago. I understand completely, and I would probably act worse if I were in your shoes,” Clark breathed out. All the tension in his shoulders that hinder him in the last forty-five minutes had dissipated into the thin air.

“Thank you,” you lifted your eyes to meet his. Sometimes you forgot how unnaturally blue his eyes were, cold and calculating, even though the corner of his eyes and the smile lines soften it out. It almost reminded you with Bruce. “Can you... can you tell me what happened that night? You were there with him, didn’t you?”

Lois and Clark shared another look, something told you that both knew what you didn’t. “Are you sure you want to hear this now?”

“I need my closure, Clark. And I’d love to know which son of a bitch that take my husband away.”

Clark told you everything in vivid details, the hairs on your shoulders stood in dread by the explanation alone. He talked about the League mission, the warehouse, and the explosion that had killed Bruce and suspected blown his body into unrecognizable tiny bits. By the time he was finished, you were close to tears, and was pleasantly surprised you didn’t weep your heart outs right away in a public place.

“One question,” you wiped the stubborn tears that started to well on your eyes. You mustered a silent thank you as Clark offered his handkerchief. “Was Red Robin there? Was Red Robin called for backup?”

“I can’t remember. What about him?”

You took a sharp breath, the image of Tim weeping on your lap and repeating his apology played inside your mind like a broken movie. “He obsessively investigating his death, saying it was his fault it happened in the first place.”

Lois tighten her grip on your hand and squeezed harder. It wasn’t a secret that your son was bad at letting go and coping with loss, but it had been a huge toll to knew he blamed himself for it. Clark sent you an apologetic look, and you were surprised that you didn’t dread the look.

“It wasn’t his fault. It was supposed to be an easy investigation, an in-and-out mission. Nobody could come prepared for the explosion,” Clark reassured you, although it was addressed more to Tim instead of you. “The machines...”

A sudden rang from Clark’s phone interrupted his words. He watched it rang briefly before let out a dreading, long sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I really need to take this.”

You smiled reassuringly. “Go on.”

Turns out, Lois and Clark had been called for another meeting and had to cut their meeting short. Lois had hugged you tight and drop a promise to come over by weekend for dinner. Clark left a lingering touch on your wrist, his eyes widen as if he had come into a realization he hadn’t before, but he left before he able to muster any single words.

The ride back to Gotham was long and tedious. The traffic had made the trip an hour and half longer than it was necessary, but the sunset at the horizon was a sight for sore eyes. The chance to catch a beautiful sunset was close to zero in Gotham, so you preserved the moment as much as you could. A little part of your soul wished Bruce could witness such sight with you.

You arrived right before dinnertime, the manor was surprisingly quiet, spared for some noises Alfred made in the kitchen as he prepared for dinner. One thing about Wayne household was silent wasn’t a good thing, and one should be suspicious if it happened.

“Where are the others? It’s eerily quiet.” your head popped up in the kitchen. “Alfred, it smells delicious. Are you making Shepherd’s pie again?”

“Miss Y/N, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t surprise me like that anymore,” Alfred deadpanned. “Yes, I am. How was your meeting?”

“It went well. I... I finally get the explanation I deserved,” you sat across the kitchen island, your bag fell into the floor as you did. “Thank you for convincing me into reaching out to him.”

Alfred pressed his lips together into a pleased smile. “You have found your closure, I assumed?”

“I don’t know about that, Alfred,” you admitted. “But it was great to finally know what happened and not left in the dark. Maybe it was a good step for me.”

“I believe so, Miss Y/N.”

“Are those teas for the kids?” you shifted the topic away into a tray full of teacups and biscuits. “Where are they?”

“All of them are cramped together in Batcave, I believe. Master Damian had asked me to brought them some teas.”

“Let me take it to them. You can continue bake your Shepherd’s Pie again.”

Alfred was hesitant, but he nodded away and shoved the tray into your embrace. It had been long overdue for you to step back into the Batcave anyway, figured this would be a great time for you to go back.

You forgot how much you hated the perpetual coldness the Batcave seemed to persistently have, no matter how many efforts everyone had put years ago into make this place warmer and comfortable. The sound of your children bickering with each other filled the cave and it made you smile, for all of its worth, you had always admired your children’s tendency to find things to argue about.

It was until the sound of fist slammed against the table that stopped you in your track and wiped away your smile.

“Stop it, Timbers, stop this fucking bullshit!” Jason’s voice roared, followed with the ear-ripping screeches of bats that had been awoken from their slumber by his roaring voice alone.

“I am telling you the truth!” Tim said heatedly, which was alarming. You quickly hid yourself in the shadows between the costume displays, finding yourself a better spot to watched your children without being known. “Why can’t you believe me?”

“Look at me in the eye and tell me that was not a fucking bullshit!”

“Tim, bud, come on. You need to stop. This isn’t healthy,” Dick’s concerned voice chimed in between the heated stares Jason and Tim exchanged. Your heart sank from that words alone, Tim must had investigating again. “You have us. We can get through this together. But not like this.”

“TT. Drake, you have started to creep me out,” Damian’s equally concerned voice, albeit masked with his usual scowl and sarcasm, piped in. “Also, you look like you hadn’t sleep since you were born.”

“Thanks for the flattery. But listen–”

“Stop it. Stop. Shut your mouth!” Jason yelled again. His finger intimidatingly pointed towards Tim, his eyes filled with rage and frustration. “Have you heard yourself talking?”

“Won’t you all give me a fucking minute to explain myself?” Tim stood from his chair; his fist crumpled together into a ball clenched on his side. It was such an eerie sight to see him so worked up like this. “Cass?”

You saw Cass silently shook her head. She sent Tim an apologetic smile as Tim groaned in frustration.

“Why none of you would just listen to me?”

“Tim, there is no way in hell Bruce is still alive!”

The roar that came from Dick was eerie, but it was his words that split your world into half. You didn’t realize the tray had slipped from your grasp until it clashed with cold floor, your gasp was masked with the loud clang of the tray hitting the floor and the sound of teacups shattered into pieces. All eyes followed towards the sound, and all were surprised to spot their mother was there.

You saw from the corner of your eyes that Dick walked towards you. His shoulders were tensed, his eyebrows furrowed together in frustration and anger. But your eyes fell on Tim whose eyes widen in horror upon realizing that your unknown presence was lurking all these times. You could mentally see the guilt that slowly seeped through his initial shock, the blue in his eyes waver slightly with the swirling guilt. You walked towards Tim, and from the look on his face alone, you wondered if you looked as if you were about to swallow him whole.

“Mom...” Tim croaked.

“Mom, it’s alright. It was nothing.”

“Ma, let’s go upstairs. It’s dinnertime, you never like it when we–”

“Tim.” The firmness on your voice effectively silence your two oldest sons out. Your hands gently placed on Tim’s shoulders as you shut your eyes and counted from one to ten. “Tell me everything.”

“W-what?”

“Tell me everything you know. Tell. Me. Everything.”

“Mom, I don’t think you should see it.”

“He was my husband, Tim. I deserve to know.”

Tim pressed his lips together, his eyes travelled up slowly before he let out a sigh. “Just tell me to stop when it gets too much.”

361 notes · View notes

togglesbloggle · 4 years

Text

How We Decided

The day after tomorrow- that is, February 18, 2021- the Perseverance rover will attempt to land on the surface of Mars. It will enter the planetary atmosphere at an acute angle, giving it as much time as possible to experience drag and slow down from orbital velocities. Because Mars’ air is so thin, and the rover is so heavy, this will fail- in the best case, Perseverance would still be going almost a thousand miles an hour when it impacts the surface. To help save itself, the craft will deploy a parachute of advanced design, seventy feet across and able to withstand supersonic velocities. This, too, will fail. Even with a parachute, there is simply not enough air between Perseverance and the Martian surface to slow it down all the way. So this is where the rockets kick in. Once air resistance slows the rover to a bit less than two hundred miles per hour, the heavy heat shield will be jettisoned, and a system of secondary rockets will fire against the direction of motion until it slows to near-hovering. In a final flourish, the rover will descend from the rocket-boosted frame on coiled springs, until it touches down in the western part of Jezero crater in the northern hemisphere of Mars.

As it happens, Perseverance’s destination was one of the very last things we decided about it- not until the craft itself was fairly thoroughly engineered and designed. Formally, the decision was made by the mission directorate. In practice, they follow the consensus of the scientific community, which in turn hashes things out at a series of open-invitation workshops. Things began with a call for white papers- an open suggestion box, basically. In 2015, the first workshop narrowed things down from thirty serious proposals to eight candidates. In 2017, the second workshop further winnowed the list down to three. And in October of 2018, after three days of presentation, debate, and discussion, the final workshop selected Jezero Crater from these final three candidates using a simple vote of all attendees, and passed on the recommendation to the mission leads.

I haven’t been in the business for very long, so the final workshop was the only one of these where I actually participated. It wasn’t a close vote as such, and I didn’t break any ties, and technically we were just making a strongly worded suggestion. Nonetheless, my vote is one of the reasons why the Rover will be going to Jezero Crater instead of Syrtis Major or Gusev, and I think I’m entitled to feel ownership of this mission choice, just a little bit.

(This is, of course, terrifying.)

Having gone through the experience, there were a few surprises worth noting. The first was how small some of the numbers are here. The conference was not very large: only thirty proposals, debated by just a few hundred attendees. I’ve seen book review contests with more entries, and that are read by a wider audience. Which is to say, this is a situation that was, and is, extremely responsive to individual effort. In that small a room, populated by people that are philosophically committed to changing their minds when they see good evidence or a good argument, one person can stand up and change the future in a very real way.

The second surprise was the attendance requirements. Or rather, the lack thereof. The project is public, paid for by American taxpayers, to whom I am profoundly grateful. And one way the process reflected that public-spiritedness is that this is not a walled garden. A small attendance fee (iirc, $40?), and you’re in. You get a vote, if you want to use it. A few non-scientists even took us up on this; there’s one retiree (a former schoolteacher, I think) that’s attended every major conference I’ve been to in the last few years, and sets up a small table in the back with his home mineral collection just for fun. In practice this open-door policy is limited by the obscurity of the event itself; if you don’t move in research circles, you have to be something of a space exploration superfan to hear about it. Still, as symbols go, you could do worse.

And now that we’re coming up on the day itself, the same kind of public-facing mindset is making me think about why I was persuaded to vote for Jezero Crater, what it means to explore there, and how I’d justify that choice to those of you that made the ongoing discovery of Mars possible in the first place.

If you want to know what Perseverance is like, and what you can reasonably do with it, start with Curiosity- the two are built, more or less, on the same chassis. That means you have a mobile science lab about the size of a Volkswagon Beetle. Add some mechanical improvements (no more wheel punctures!) and a few bells and whistles (microphone! helicopter for some reason!). Trade out some of the scientific instruments- raman spectroscopy instead of a mass spectrometer, for example. And it’s got these:

That, dear reader, is a sample return canister. Not to be returned immediately, alas, but to be returned nonetheless. One of Persevereance’s primary directives is to find interesting rocks, collect them, and leave them in place for a sample return mission in the early 30s. There’s a ton of work we can do in situ, but there’s even more we can do in a clean lab back home; things like isotopic analysis really need a much more controlled environment than you’ll get in the field. And so a major, major consideration is to optimize Perseverance’s landing site for cool rocks that we’d like to take back home.

The other thing that Perseverance is really good at is astrobiology. There’s no such thing as a life sign detector as such, but this rover represents an attempt to approach that ideal: instruments like SHERLOC and SuperCam are adept at finding organic compounds and fine-scale mineralogy and chemistry that might be influenced by microbial metabolism. This is a natural extension of what we’ve been learning so far: Spirit and Opportunity showed us that Mars formed under the influence of liquid water. Curiosity showed us that this was not just wet, but actively habitable: lakes and rivers at a neutral pH under a rich and temperate atmosphere. The next question along this line is the hardest, and the scariest: we know it was habitable, but was it inhabited?

If you’re like me, that question makes you feel weird. Collecting rocks is one thing, but a fossil? The mind rebels. We’ve spent the last two generations of space exploration tempering our expectations, reminding ourselves that the other worlds in our solar system are largely barren and dead, learning again and again how precious life is in the cosmos. It’s hard to get in the mindset of people back in the 40s and 50s who could, somewhat reasonably, imagine that Mars might not just host life but multicellular life, vegetation and robust macroscopic ecosystems. We look back at the science fiction of the era, swarthy soldiers hopping from planet to planet in silver rockets, and laugh at the naivete. A smile at the exuberance of youth, if we’re feeling generous. When we were first beginning, we may have imagined ancient canals on Mars and crystal cities on Venus, but that was when space was a blank canvas for us to paint our fantasies. We’ve learned so much since then, and if it was less fun, at least it was true. We did the hard thing and accepted reality over fantasy. We accept that extraterrestrial environments are hostile to life- cratered, silent, and still. We’re grownups now.

Unless…

Unless.

Imagine that we were born just a bit earlier. Say, three and a half billion years or so. We raise our telescopes to the sky, and we see a sister-planet. Not red, but white and blue, with an atmosphere full of clouds and multiple large bodies of water scattered across its surface, prominent ice caps and snow-capped highlands, rivers tracing their way down to the lowlands in the north. (Maybe the water is all under the ice, not open to the air at the surface; maybe the liquid pools are small and limited to craters, not feeding a large ocean.) Sober scientists might have suggested we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much- after all, the gravity is much lower, there’s no tectonic recycling, and there’s no protective magnetosphere. But is sterility really the default assumption we should be making here? Is ‘we are alone in the cosmos’ really the most sane conclusion to draw from this situation? Is it not worth, perhaps, sending a rover to go see?

We’ve adapted our sensibilities to a dead solar system because in the moment we’re looking, it kind of is. We’re hopeful for the icy moons- and the evidence keeps mounting there as well- but the terrestrial planets are a grim reminder of the fragility and contingency of our own world. The thing is, the more we learn, the more we discover that we’re a bit late to a very, very interesting party. Venus is a hellscape, but it probably didn’t start that way. Mars is a desert, but once it was an oasis. What makes Earth special among the terrestrial worlds isn’t that it developed a temperate climate, but that it kept a temperate climate for more than four billion years. Stability, not habitability, is the party trick that makes us unique in the solar system. And if we’re really committed to being grownups, to accepting what’s real instead of what’s easy, we have to learn that lesson too.

And life does not need four billion years to begin. Not even close.

That brings us to Jezero Crater. The most interesting feature here is a large river delta- based on some clever geology, we’re pretty sure that a large river emptied into the crater during Mars’ wet period. When the rapidly-flowing water hit the still water of Lake Jezero, the loose sediments being carried along the current all fell out of suspension at this place, forming a large pile of detritus at the mouth of the river that accumulated over the lifetime of the system. Even more interesting, check out this geologic map:

See those tiny teal deposits to the right side of the image? Those are also river delta deposits. Which means the thing labeled ‘delta’ on this map isn’t the original extent- it used to be much, much larger, at least twice as wide. Which also means that the outer edge of the ‘delta’ that we see here in this image is actually an erosional surface, and we get a natural cross-section of the thing with the oldest deposits at the bottom and the youngest at the top, just before Mars lost its hydrosphere. By climbing the outer edge, we can move through time across a large fraction of the habitable period.

Here’s another image I’d like you to see:

The crater I’ve been showing you is the small circle in the lower right- color is elevation, covering a span of about 5 km. The black line is the watershed of that river, the region of Mars that channeled water to the delta. In other words, the river delta collects sediments- and potentially, biosignatures- from a region hundreds of kilometers in diameter, and gathers them all in one place, neatly sorted by time.

For this reason, ancient deltas on Earth are a favorite of paleontologists. In addition to being comfortably wet and active itself- plenty of access to biologically important nutrients, fresh supplies of liquid water, and a nice dynamic environment- deltas do the legwork for us. Rather than exploring a huge fraction of the planet with a tiny rover, hoping that we stumble upon an ancient life sign, we can position ourselves at the mouth of the proverbial fire hose and let life come to us.

This does come with some tradeoffs. Most importantly, whatever we find, we won’t know the original geologic setting. If we find an unambiguous fossil of some kind- a microbial mat, perhaps- then we’ll know less than if we’d found it in its original home. And if we don’t find life, then the samples we take will be similarly uncertain. They’ll be defined in time, at least relative to one another, but not in space. In the case of life signs, this is an important caveat, but the bare fact of proving that extraterrestrial life exists is sufficiently monumental that it’s still a secondary concern. But if we’re just talking about geology, that’s a hard thing to lose; that terrifying multi-stage descent isn’t the only risk we’re taking. We’re leaning into the astrobiology mission hard with this one.

And the search for life is, in itself, fraught. That’s putting it mildly. There’s every chance that any evidence that’s even slightly marginal is going to touch off decades of debate, rather than being some kind of slam-dunk. As it should! Life is such a fuzzy concept, and such an important concept, that it should absolutely be held to the highest degree of scrutiny we can muster. This is why it matters that Perseverance includes sample return- in the highly likely case that the findings are disputed, we’ll hopefully have the chance to subject those samples to the highest degrees of scrutiny. So it feels like the right time to go hunting.

On top of that, there’s the ‘evidence of absence’ problem. Strong biosignatures update our priors very hard in the direction of life on Mars. But what is the correct amount of evidence necessary to convince us that Mars never was alive? I’m not sure, but failure to find microbial mats in Jezero probably isn’t enough. So the search for life can succeed, but if it ‘fails’ that doesn’t necessarily teach us much; the best experiments teach you something no matter what, and ideally a commitment this large would meet that standard. This is, more or less, baked into the search for extraterrestrial life, and there aren’t too many ways out from under that problem.

That said, Jezero in particular has some compensation. As I mentioned, we’re collecting a lot of good data regardless; and even without the gologic context, there’s a ton of opportunity to sample different minerals and how they formed, and get a nice broad sample of the Martian surface over time. And, even better, here’s the location of another interesting potential field site, in northeast Syrtis:

Note the proximity to Jezero crater! And Syrtis is also a fantastic candidate for a sample return mission. It has exposed mesas with layered outcrops going all the way back to the earliest days of Mars, and extending (potentially) through many of the most interesting periods. Now, these are not ideal for the search for life, although they’d give us a ton of technical data about surface chemistry and the behavior of the atmosphere during the early, wet periods; it would go a long way towards resolving arguments about the temperature of the early Martian climate, for example, or tracing the early destabilization and loss of the magnetosphere while teaching us loads about the planet’s core.

Those mesas are still pretty far away. Too far, probably, for a sensible rover lifespan to make it all the way there. But there’s a plan- called the ‘Midway’ route, as a nod to the compromise nature of it. See, halfway between Jezero and these mesas, there are a lot of banded rocks that look suspiciously like they’re sourced from the table mesas in Syrtis. And those, we can get to, maybe. If we call a specific deadline on looking for life in Jezero, then we can pivot to Midway and hopefully take a really deep look. So, in the end, we’re going hard for astrobiology research, but we’re not going all-in.

The importance of the search for life is… well, there are a lot of people out there, and we enter the world in a lot of different ways. Most of us agree that the existence of extraterrestrial life would be a Big Deal, and we tend to have a lot of different reasons for that. It’s not a bad subject for a future post or three, in fact. But there’s one thing lurking in the back of my head that’s a non-obvious reason to go looking. This wasn’t discussed at the workshop particularly, but it fed into my vote somewhat. Check the logic of this for me, see if it makes sense:

Worrying about existential risks, we sometimes talk about the ‘great filter’. That is, the mysterious phenomenon which explains the lack of extraterrestrial civilizations reaching out to us. Now, maybe we’re in a zoo or a preserve or something, and intelligences are out there watching after all; maybe the Earth really is the center of the cosmos, because of the simulation hypothesis or the various religious explanations. There’s no real way to know for sure at this point. But consider the space of very real possibilities where the universe actually is material, and actually is mostly barren. Why?

Stepping through the sequence, it might be that abiogenesis is really hard- going from a temperate world to a living one is almost (but not quite) impossible. Maybe there’s some hurdle to clear between genesis and encephalization. Maybe, given encephalization, civilization and tool-use are almost impossible. Or maybe there are many civilizations like ours, and the great filter is ahead of us- it is almost impossible for technological civilizations not to self-destruct or turn in to lotus-eaters before they reach interstellar civilization. There are a lot of possibilities for the filter, and for present purposes we’ll divide them into two categories: those which we would have already passed, and those which are in our future.

And here’s the thing: for each possibility we can exclude from the great filter, all the other possibilities increase commensurately, becoming more likely in our estimation. (Assuming the exclusion is ‘clean’ and doesn’t favor some other possibility, that is.) Given that the silence continues, if we could somehow prove that technological self-destruction isn’t a big risk, that would commensurately increase our guesses about how hard abiogenesis is.

Life on Mars, especially if we could be very sure that it evolved independently of Earth life, would be a strong argument against the difficulty of abiogenesis. One biosphere in the solar system, and nowhere else, might be down to luck. The one biosphere has to be somewhere, right? Two in the solar system, and nowhere else, is a good bit less reasonable. If we find a second genesis on Mars, then we’ve learned that life is not rare. That the hundreds of billions of stars in the Milky Way are likely host to many billions of different living (or at least once-living) worlds.

And as wonderful as that news is, as much as it makes me so happy that I literally had to take a second to cry on my bed for a bit, it also makes the great silence much, much scarier. Today, we can reassure ourselves by saying that life may be rare in the universe. But what if it isn’t? If the cosmos is full of life, but not full of thought, then…

If this is the case, we need to know. We need to know as soon as possible, and we need to know it while we’re engaged in the great project of technological development and moral progress. It’s easy to imagine that this particular mission is one that can be framed in purely positive terms- the joy of discovery, the vastness of truth, the love of how things might be. But I do also have this sense of civilizational fragility, you know? And understanding the risks that we face and the chances we’re taking- that’s not idle curiosity. That’s genuinely urgent.

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Old Timer

Chapter 4 - Together again.

-----------

“Eideard?”

His name tiptoes from your lips in a whispered breath.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging slightly agape and refusing to close, as though the very muscles in your jaw have forgotten how they're supposed to work.

There had once been a thousand things you would have wanted to say to him, if ever given the chance, yet now, in the moment where that chance has actually come about, you find yourself devoid of any words or thoughts.

“You all right there, bonnie?” the maker asks, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile, “Look like you've seen a ghost.”

'A ghost!.... Ha!'

You'd laugh if you didn't think you might faint at any moment. Instead, your mouth opens with the intention to scoff at the dramatic irony of his statement, but what comes out instead is a strangled sob that causes the maker's ears to tilt down in alarm.

“Hey, hey now...” he utters softly, lifting his hand up towards you, his gaze darting to the tears that have begun to roll down your cheeks, “What's this about? Eh? Did old Cruim scare you? Is it your leg?”

Covering your mouth, it’s all you can do to just stare back and shake your head.

As far as Eideard knows, something truly horrific must be happening to you that would warrant the spilling of this many tears. Makers are seldom known to cry, even under the most terrible, unimaginable duress.

Guided by something that's not quite instinct, but stronger than a simple urge to help, to fix, he reaches up to his shoulder until a careful finger hovers gingerly just inches from the skin of your cheek. Then, sucking down a steadying breath, Eideard wills himself to close the distance, hardly daring to inhale again as he sweeps the very tip of his forefinger over your cheekbone and brushes away the wet tear tracks that linger there.

To his utmost dismay, the action only makes you start to cry even harder and he quickly withdraws his hand, worried that he'd somehow managed to hurt you.

He has no idea that by wiping away your tears, he'd unintentionally echoed the very last moments you'd spent with the Eideard from your timeline.

He’d collapsed, laying prone in the soft grass. Your tears had mingled with the blood pooling in his clavicle as you knelt on his chest and wailed, your fists pounding above his heart in the desperate hope that you could bully the fading organ into beating strong and steady once again. You'd gone still however, weeping hopelessly when Eideard's thumb swept gently over your cheek and gathered up the tears there.

The memory is a powerful one, and you have to blink furiously until the blurred image of a dying Eideard is replaced by the very much alive maker staring at you with concern lining his youthful features.

You've seen that expression so often, you never thought you'd miss it so much after you stopped seeing it.

All of a sudden, through no real cognitive decision of your own, you promptly launch yourself sideways along the maker's broad shoulder and collide with his head.

Though reflex tells him to flinch, Eideard forces himself to keep still as thin, delicate arms are slung around his face and a warm body squashes into his cheek shortly after.

He's monumentally glad that he has yet to venture down into the village proper. Standing up here next to the entrance, none of his fellows will be able to make out the rosy flush that has shot up into his ears, should they happen to look.

It isn't as though makers are a species for whom intimacy is a foreign concept, but intimacy outside of social circles is a rare and seldom-witnessed occurrence, whilst intimacy between members of two separate species is all but unheard of.

Despite his uncertainty, Eideard's heart flutters at the thought that he's managed to earn this splendid reward and he momentarily forgets that he's supposed to be worried about you, too distracted by the realisation that he has never known a touch so gentle, yet so fierce at the same time. If he dwells on it for too long, he'll probably grow sad to consider how he's lived his whole life deprived of the sensation of hands pressing indents into his skin.

Of their own accord, his fingertips come to rest on your fragile spine and '...Oh,' he thinks as you bury your face even more firmly against him, '...I could get used to this.'

But when a hitching sob suddenly causes you to jerk beneath his fingers, he springs to attention once more and banishes the desire to push his head urgently into your touch.

“I didn't thank you...”

Eideard freezes at the sound of your voice, trembling and small next to his ear.

“What's that you say?” he swallows.

But it's as though you don't even hear him. From his angle, the maker can't see that your eyes are wide open and staring out towards the village beyond, yet you're completely blind to everything happening around you whilst the same, terrible memory plays cruelly in your mind's eye.

Eideard, laying on the ground, blood trickling from his nose, mouth and even from behind his eyelids, like little rivers running off the face of a mountain. His once pristinely white beard had been so stained with blood, your hands became soaked with it when you clawed your way up his chest, delirious beyond coherency.

“I-I can't remember if I ever thanked you,” you say again in a warbling whisper that causes Eideard's ears to perk up attentively, “For saving us - For... for everything.”

Your slip-up doesn’t even catch his notice, not that you really notice it either, though.

Another sob catches like a rock in your throat and you turn your face away from the village, burying it into a soft, fluffy beard and letting your eyes dampen the old maker's cheek. A cheek that's warm and flushed with colour, a far cry from the cold, pale cheek you remember crying into at the centre of the valley all those long months ago.

Eideard's familiar smell fills your nostrils as you draw a deep inhale through your nose and let yourself bask in the unplaceable scent that reminds you of wood and soil.

You've missed him.

Shit... You've missed him so much.

It's perhaps a blessed thing that you hadn't said that last part out loud and baffled the maker even more than you already have, because not a second later, his throat rumbles with an uncertain chuckle and he says, “S'this how you thank everyone who saves you from a demon? Or am I just a special exception?”

And just like that, the reality of the situation comes flooding back to hit you with the force of a speeding bullet-train, smacking you from your memories and dumping you unceremoniously into Tri Stone once again.

Lurching away from the maker, your eyes snap open and you tear your arms from his face and sputter out a nonsensical string of sounds, earning a bemused grin from Eideard, who twists his head sideways to watch you raise your hands to your face, covering it slowly as rationality cuts through the haze of shock and a horrifying realisation dawns on you.

This is Eideard. But this is not your Eideard. Not yet.

He has no idea that you're thanking him for so much more than he could possibly imagine.

“I-I'm sorry,” you stammer at last, swiping furiously at your eyes, “I just... wanted to thank you for saving me from the stalker. Yeah. B-but, I didn't mean to, uh, hug you like that. I'm... honestly not sure what came over me.”

His expression softens and he quirks his lips into a playful smirk. “Hmm, well, whatever it was, I hope there'll be more.”

'Oh for god's sake.' Mortally embarrassed, you turn away from him and hope that the heat in your cheeks isn't obvious.

For all he knows, you've just draped yourself across his face like a lovesick fool, all because he saved you from a stalker.

But perhaps most mortifying of all, what really disturbs you, is that Eideard – your Eideard, the kindly maker with the disposition of a doting father – is, or rather, used to be a shameless flirt.

An attractive, shameless flirt.

Oh God... You're fairly certain you flirted back.

And it's Eideard...

Your vision starts to swim.

Just then, an enormous fingertip slides beneath your chin and you find yourself helpless to resist as your face is guided back towards him. Red-tinged eyes meet ethereal blue and for one, jarring moment, the stern yet fretful tilt of his golden brows ages the maker's face enough that you catch a glimpse of the old Eideard hidden underneath.

“Hey. Don't you go hiding that pretty face from me,” he rumbles, “I need to know you're all right.”

Your heart does a somersault.

“I'll be fine,” you slur, swaying on his shoulder, “Think I just need to lay down..”

Eideard's bemused expression quickly shifts to alarm when your body goes limp and you begin to tilt sideways, gradually slipping from the maker's broad shoulder. Fortunately for you, Eideard has always been an exceptionally attentive maker, even at this young age, and without missing a beat, he spins his hand around to capture you gently between his fingers.

The motion jerks you back to full consciousness again and you give your head a shake, blinking up into the pale, blue eyes of a highly concerned maker.

“Think it's time I got you to the Shaman,” he suggests.

Sagging heavily against his fingers, you can't help but agree. “I think that's a good idea.”

You wish you could just disappear, save yourself from the mortifying ordeal of knowing that you've been receiving advances from Eideard of all people.

That's... going to take some adjusting to.

Eyeing the village ahead, the maker turns his focus onto the eastern side, where the lights are dimmest and the gaps between each stone hut are frequent and draped in shadow. He hums pensively and begins to walk.

It isn't that he doesn't want his fellow makers to meet you – but he'd prefer to get you to the shaman sooner rather than later and get your leg tended to....

…

And... though he isn't proud to admit it, he wouldn't mind keeping you to himself just a little while longer.

Slowly, steadily, he carries you down the village steps, casting frequent glances down at you to ascertain your condition. Every time, he finds you staring back at him with a spell-bound look in your eyes.

Glowing under the attention, he spares a moment to waggle his brows at you, relishing the squeak that jumps out of your mouth as you hurriedly avert your gaze.

With a warm chuckle, Eideard returns his attention to the walled garden at the far end of the village – and promptly stiffens at the sound of voices calling his name.

“Eideard!”

“You're back!”

He doesn't miss that you turn rigid in his palm, prompting him to lift you a little higher into the air as he shoots you an apologetic glance, slowing his gait just in time to avoid tripping over a trio of tiny, excitable younglings who appear from nowhere and fall into step around him.

“Where've you been!?” a maker boy shouts, and grinning so widely, his cheeks start to turn red. “Did you kill any baddies!?”

Curious, you lean forwards over Eideard's fingers and peer down, only to find yourself biting back the urge to coo out loud at the endearing sight.

The youngling who'd spoken looks as though he'd barely stand a few heads higher than you and he's jogging backwards to avoid Eideard's boots as the older maker continues to advance cautiously down the path. A mess of shocking, copper hair sticks up from the top of his head, though it's clear that at some point, another maker has tried to gather the unruly mess into some semblance of a braid that hangs down to his shoulders and is sloppily tied off with a blue ribbon. The moment your face pokes out from behind Eideard's fingers, the youngling lets out a loud gasp and nearly trips over his own feet, eyes growing round.

“What. Is. That!?” he exclaims, pointing up at you.

“Mind your manners,” the older maker scolds gently, “It's not nice to point. This is my new friend – Oh.” Swivelling his gaze back onto you, he blinks, looking the slightest bit sheepish. “I don't think I ever did catch your name.”

“Huh? Oh, I guess we never really introduced ourselves properly, did we?.” Scratching at the back of your neck, you introduce yourself. “Y/n. My name’s Y/n.”

“Y/n...” he repeats in a dulcet murmur, his attention never leaving you, even as he addresses the boy at his feet, “This is my friend, Y/n, Ulthane.”

The youngling's eyes remain wholly fixed upon you and he utters a small 'oooh' of wonder, standing on the toes of his boots to see you better. And whilst you're just as intrigued with the maker-in-miniature, it's his name that catches your ear.

“Wait... Did you just call him Thane?” you blurt, incredulous.

All of a sudden, another voice pipes up from Eideard's left. “He's not Thane, I am!”

Startled, you glance down to find another maker youngling frowning back up at you and jabbing a finger towards the copper-haired boy. “That's Ulthane. He's my brother.”

With a slow blink, you take in the new youngling as he trots along at Eideard's side.

“No way,” you breathe, letting your jaw drop further and further with each passing second.

Well. It's Thane alright - from the steely eyes that regard you warily, to the walnut-brown hair sticking up from his head like a bird's nest, much akin to his brother's. There's a purple bruise colouring one of his cheekbones, worn proudly, no doubt the mark of accomplishment from a bout of rough-housing with his fellow younglings.

Slowly, with the kind of hesitancy that's fostered from sheer disbelief, you work your lips into a half-smile and utter, “Hi... Thane.”

Flicking his gaze between you and Eideard, Thane fidgets under your stare and drops back a little until he's partially hidden behind the larger maker's boots.

“Ha!” Ulthane jeers, “He's scared!”

In an instant, his brother raises his voice and retorts, “I AM NOT!”

You pick your jaw up and rub tentatively at your forehead, sensing the beginnings of a headache coming on. To think, one day, this boy will turn into the herculean warrior who once bested Death in combat...

“You're pretty,” an airy, feminine voice suddenly pipes up, and you whip your head around and down once again, catching sight of yet another, even younger maker beaming back at you, so small that she's practically jogging to keep up with Eideard's lengthy strides.

“Told you,” the elder in question murmurs smugly, pushing his thumb into your ribs.

Momentarily forgetting about Thane, you flop your jaw around for a few seconds before any sort of thought finally occurs. “Uh... Thanks?” you reply, hastily adding, “Y-you too.”

Pawing her long, blonde hair behind one of her ears, she giggles and ducks behind Eideard and out of sight, though the pitter-patter of her feet mixed between the heavy stomps of his own betray the fact that she's keeping pace close at his heels.

Meanwhile, Thane has finally left the safety of Eideard's shadow and has joined his brother in trying to walk as tall as he can on his toes to see over the older maker's hands, evidently curious about the newcomer in his midst now that your attention has turned elsewhere.

After a moment, he pipes up. “What are you?”

You don't think you'll ever get used to looking down at Thane.

Before you can open your mouth to reply, Ulthane suddenly blurts out a question of his own. “How come you're so small?”

“Um.. well, I -” you attempt, but no sooner do you try to speak than questions begin to take turns flying from their tongues, each fired off far too quickly for you to formulate a single response.

“Are you a maker?”

“Where'd Eideard find you?”

“Where are your tusks?”

“How old are you?”

“Why do you -”

“All right now, you lot. That's enough,” the older maker interjects, coming to a stop at the foot of a staircase that leads up towards the luscious garden you'd seen on your arrival, “I didn't bring Y/n back to the village to be interrogated. Why don't you three wait here while we go and find the shaman, eh?”

Almost instantly, his suggestion is met with a chorus of disappointed moans and objections.

“Aw, but Eideaaaard!” Ulthane whinges, putting a broad grin on your face.

Thane, in the meantime, steps forward to grab Eideard's trouser leg, tugging at it imploringly. “We promise to not ask any more questions!”

You risk a subtle glance up at the maker's face, admittedly curious to find out whether he has always been a pushover, even from an early age. And from the press of his lips and rapidly-tilting brow, it looks as though his resolve is already starting to waver.

“I... I don't mind if they come along,” you suggest at last, earning a delighted gasp from the younglings and a skeptical look from the older giant.

“You sure?” he asks, “Don't want you to be-” Something abruptly tells him that you won't appreciate it if he says 'scared.' So, instead, he mumbles, “- overwhelmed.”

You almost want to laugh aloud. How in the world could you be any more overwhelmed than you already are? You're sitting in a young Eideard's palm, being stared at by a much younger Thane, in a Tri Stone that's twice the size of the one you left.

'Overwhelmed' is a gross understatement.

Instead of voicing that thought however, you simply brush it aside and offer a shrug. “I don't mind,” you say again. And honestly? You really don't mind. There are far more pressing matters weighing on your conscience than a couple of adorable, curious younglings.

Eideard however, still seems hesitant, a direct contrast to the three young makers who, at your words, promptly dart up the steps, with Ulthane in the lead.

��Muria!” he hollars her name boisterously, “You'll never guess what we've found!”

At hearing the confirmation of Muria's presence, your heart soars into your throat but you're quick to rein in your enthusiasm, aware that she, like Eideard, will have no idea who you are.

“We?” you mouth at him, echoing Ulthane's claim.

Eideard's moustache twitches and the corners of his eyes lift up until they're wrinkled with a friendly smile. “Ah, don't mind the boys. They just like to be included.”

Gradually, he begins to take the steps after the youngest maker, watching vigilantly as she struggles to keep up with the brothers, whose legs are far longer than her own.

Sadly, she must have misjudged the distance between herself and one of the steps, because when she leaps up onto it, only half of her boot makes it with her, and there's a heart-lurching second where she begins to tip backwards again, her chubby arms flailing as she tries to propel herself out of losing her balance.

“Careful!” you gasp.

But then, to your relief, Eideard stoops and throws his hand out, halting her fall with the back of his knuckles. “Easy there, Elanya. What’ve I said about looking where you’re going?”

Gently, he pushes her upright once again and she tosses him a bright grin over her shoulder before scampering up the stairs, as though she hadn't almost fallen down them mere seconds ago.

Standing to his full height, the maker watches her all the way up the stairs, releasing a sigh of relief when she arrives at the top with no further incident. Tipping his head down, he's about to begin his own ascent when he catches your eye and hesitates with one foot poised to carry him forward. You're lounging back against his fingers, an elbow balanced on the edge of his thumb and your fist propping up your chin, giving the maker your most knowing stare.

“What?” he asks.

In response, you merely lift your shoulders in a shrug and say, “Oh, nothing. It's just nice to know I'm dealing with a gigantic softie, that's all.” Of course, you've known that all along – but it does provide you some comfort to know that it won't be age that softens Eideard's heart. Evidently, he's always been of a gentler nature than most.

Furrowing his brow doesn't hide the glint of playfulness in his eyes as he begins to take the steps two at a time, shaking his head.

It doesn't escape your notice however, that he never disputes the claim.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Old timer #Eideard #soft boYo!#Reader #g/t #Ulthane #Thane

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away-from-anthills · 3 years

Text

chapter eleven-

It became apparent to Antstar near immediately that Whitetooth and Marblepaw weren’t the only ones in the medicine den.

Next to Whitetooth lay Stripedwing. The gray molly seemed well, but even under the cloak of sleep her face looked troubled. Next to her were four small bundles of fur, one of which Marblepaw was tending to.

“What’s going on?” asked Antstar, his breath so low that he wondered if he was just thinking particularly loud.

“I believe I have told you in the past about the matter concerning Stripedwing’s family tree,” began Whitetooth. “For as far back as I or my late mentor can remember, the litters containing such ancestry are quite weak, and have difficulty surviving illness. You may recall that Rainleap and Stripedwing were born in a litter of four, yet only they survived their kithood.”

Antstar nodded, but worry began to dig under his skin like a short-tempered hare. These were Russetfoot’s children!

“They’ve all caught kitten-cough. It appears the other three in the litter- Runningkit, Rustkit, and Wheatkit- are safe and healthy, and Shadeflower is caring for them. But these four… these four, I worry about.”

Suddenly, Whitetooth and Marblepaw at once pricked their ears and pointed their long snouts towards the entrance, where a figure was standing. She was a calico tabby; half of her fur was an off-white color while her back and face were covered in splotches that were mottled orange and liver. She was a naturally rather demure thing, like a particularly thin workhorse, and her pale green eyes were cradled by thick, dark eyebags that had been tinged reddish from discharge.

It was Houndnose. One of the permanent queens.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, awkwardly walking forth to inspect. Whitetooth leaned toward her, causing her to back up into herself and arch over. “I cannot say they are. I and my apprentice are giving them all the care we can, but we do not know what will happen to them.”

Whitetooth was usually fairly tall, definitely within the upper half of WindClan’s heights. But their head only met Houndnose’s lower neck. She shot one last long glance at the kittens; her glance slowly lingered and met Antstar’s before she trotted away.

“Poor, feeble thing,” Whitetooth said, solemnly shaking their head. “All she wants in the world is to take care of kits and to be a mother. But every litter she’s had…”

Antstar didn’t need Whitetooth to finish the sentence. Houndnose’s first litter had been born two springs ago. But Dustkit was a stillbirth, and Privetkit and Newtkit slowly, agonizingly succumbed to illness. Her second litter the next year was healthier, but didn’t fare better in the long run, as a fox wound up getting them.

Antstar remembered how Shalestar had asked Houndnose if she truly wanted to continue being a queen after all that. But Houndnose was insistent: Queen life was worth all the heartbreak, all the pain; and her third litter would make it, whenever it would be.

“It must be horrible,” Whitetooth said softly, a true sympathy shining in their teal-green eyes. “Having to watch what happened to your own all over again- and not be able to do a single thing about it.”

They turned to inspect Stripedwing and her kits, and upon assuring themself that the molly and her kits were all in a deep slumber, they turned, in that sort of blank way they were so masterful at, to Antstar.

“I have heard about Stoatslink’s… suspicions, yes.”

“Well.” Antstar stepped back, a touch of incredulousness as he shifted his weight from one side to another. “What in StarClan do you suppose we do?”

Whitetooth squinted slightly before wheeling around to sort a stack of herbs near the back of the main chamber. “You are my leader, Antstar. I follow your command, not the other way around.”

Antstar opened his mouth to protest, but Whitetooth turned, their eye lidded with seriousness. “I do not kill my Clanmates, sir. I am simply the agent by which they join StarClan. If you truly think I’m going to kill Stoatslink on my own volition, you are sorely mistaken.”

Kill? Antstar had said nothing about killing. But in a strange sort of way, his mind was already headed there. And then he blurted out: “I don’t want to be the one to do it!”

“Quiet!” Whitetooth hissed, snapping at their leader. For a second, Antstar glimpsed their long white canines that had gifted them their name, and he was there in Sunningrocks all over again, when that flame-pointed ThunderClan tom had threatened him. Whitetooth’s mouth was very small and slight, and looked nearly invisible when it was shut. But inside- when they opened their mouth… it was nearly all teeth. Teeth that had never been dulled by the wear and tear of warriorship. Teeth that were long but with points so small that if they were to bite into something, nobody would notice but the victim, like hypodermic needles.

Antstar’s eyes darted over to the corner of the medicine den, where Marblepaw was curled up, eyes huge and glimmering with the shine of Whitetooth’s canines.

“You are going to wake her-“ -they gestured to Stripedwing, still asleep- “-if you continue, and the Clan will not understand us. And I know from hearing things that Clan cats have no trouble kicking out leaders if they decide they are no longer worthy. Why, it could be happening right now…”

“Right now?” said Antstar. “What do you mean?” “Not here in WindClan.” They tipped their head back cryptically. “I hear of things.”

“But what do we do?” asked Antstar. “What if- StarClan damn you for making me think of it, but- what if we were to kill him?” “Outside,” said Whitetooth, their tail still flicking towards the sleeping mother and her kits. “Now. Marblepaw-“ -they turned to address their apprentice, who was still hunched over from fear- “you watch Stripedwing and her kits.”

They were on the rim above camp now, the moon across the sky staring straight upon them.

“Well, now. What do we do?”

“Well, what does Stoatslink thinks he knows?”

Antstar tried to flicker back memories of all they had learned about the white tom. He was an analytical sort, yes. But he was stubborn, and seemed to fashion himself a genius. Bull-headed. An intelligent bull? Perhaps. But still one that would charge if he saw a red cape.

“He thinks a non-Clan cat killed Sparkthistle and threw her body in the gorge as cover.”

“Good, good.” Whitetooth’s voice slowly blended into a sort of hypnotic charm as it flowed through the air. “That’s exactly what we need. Here’s what I would propose.”

They stood back and tipped their head up and ears back, as if they were disposing of rotting crowfood, and spoke.

“We can make an example of Stoatslink. He is a family-oriented fellow, but has few friends because of his flaws. If he died-“

“What are you getting at? You think we can openly kill him to ‘make an example’? Are you mad?” Whitetooth looked offended, their nose slightly wrinkling with indignance. “Not openly, you shrew-headed fellow! And, personally, I was never saner than I am now. Listen. You know what happens, when Tatteredstar makes a faulty decision?”

Antstar nodded. Recently, there had been Rosefire. But he hadn’t been the only incident. He remembered that at his first Gathering as a warrior, she had announced that an ill-advised attack on a group of kittypets had killed her deputy. There was a sort of shock at it- he had quite liked seeing the fellow in question at Gatherings when he was an apprentice. And even before that, he remembered hearing from WindClan warriors returning from a Gathering- did you hear Tatteredstar didn’t let SkyClan get the herbs they needed, due to their prey dispute? And a bunch of SkyClan cats died because of it? I have no idea why ThunderClan adores her so much…

“Now. What else would happen shortly after?”

Antstar’s mind floundered at first, but as soon as he considered Tatteredstar’s other habits his mind latched onto something. “…They would attack RiverClan, and get Sunningrocks back.”

“Bravo.” Whitetooth drew back slowly, like he was leading Antstar with a carrot on a string. “A stroke of genius, on her part. In styling a common enemy for all her Clan to be directed towards, at once it removes the eyes from her and it unites the Clan together against this new obstacle. So even if the Clan is divided at her decision- they are swiftly united again by this distraction.” “So what you’re saying is-“

“I know the cats who live just beyond our territory. I would not say they are black of heart, but they are desperate. For food, for shelter… they shall do anything to get their claws on that sort of miscellany. I can arrange with them a deal- some of my medicinal herbs for them to kill Stoatslink, and then we shall throw him into the gorge. Solidify the belief he had in a killer outside the Clans- and then send a patrol to deal with the rogues that shall still be at the border.”

They turned away back into the medicine den, hearing Dewkit weakly cry as she began to stir.

“Think upon my words, Antstar, and consider it for now. If need be- I would consider it a necessary sacrifice to keep our Clan together for the oncoming of no-leaf.”

The last days of late summer slipped by, until autumn arrived in a hazy orange mist one day about a week or two later.

WindClan’s territory had always been at her prettiest in the mist- most of all when the sun still was able to shine through and cradle it with light. The sky above was mostly clear, but pale from its dawn youth. The trees, just slightly tinged with dappled shades of ginger, were practically painted gold by the sun’s light. The last morning stars slowly winked away just beyond the horizon, and the ground was so soaked with dew that WindClan cats nearly appeared to be RiverClan.

Antstar, however, had no time to admire newborn leaf-fall. He and Whitetooth, this morning, were on a mission at dawn. He had told Russetfoot he was helping Whitetooth find herbs, as it was important to do before the plants died out.

Russetfoot had accepted, numbly, his forest-green eyes staring mournfully at a small, freshly buried patch of earth that lay just beyond camp, where the last wildflowers of the season had begun to blossom. But Russetfoot had sighed and gone on with it, announcing names for the dawn patrol- mourning, in WindClan, was rarely ever a public affair.

Whitetooth always had a strange way of moving through the grass. It was almost like a swan: their top half remained still, except for the vague movements of the haunches and the flick of the tail; their legs, however, kicked away wildly beneath them. It was at once graceful and off-putting, as Whitetooth tended to be.

They went along, from the dewy grass to the slick, cold asphalt of the Thunderpath just beyond Mothermouth. They were traveling up it, parallel to the road. Antstar felt nervousness nip at his paws- ever since Rainleap’s death, which in truth had been only a season or so ago although to Antstar it had felt like eons, he had always had second thoughts about crossing roads.

And then Whitetooth stopped. They looked one way, then another, and then slunk across the road, Antstar in tow.

They stopped at a small, craggy cave, which resembled a much smaller version of the Moonstone’s cave- but with no tunnel, and no mystic monolith either. Inside, although it was dark, Antstar could see the silhouettes of a small group of rogues. They were all emaciated, and he tried to keep his distance- he could smell the fleas from here, and it appeared at least one of them had mange.

He heard a snarl and two cats caught his attention. One was a large ginger-and-white molly with patchy fur and scars webbing her shoulders, the other a much smaller, underfed little brown tom with a white underbelly.

“So you haven’t found any prey this morning?” asked the ginger-and-white molly, her voice thick with an accent that Antstar couldn’t place.

The smaller tom shook his head. He was visibly shaking, and his ribs were defined enough that Antstar could count nearly all of them.

“You know, Whimbrel, that this is the eighth straight morning-“ “I don’t want to go out to where the Clans are!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse.

“The Clans?” She scoffed. “You’re scared of the Clans?”

Whimbrel nodded. “I didn’t-“

At once the large patched molly leapt onto Whimbrel. He tried to flee, but there was little time before she was on top of him. She beat him around, as a kit would a moss-ball, and then thrust a thick yellow claw right into his eye. Whimbrel let out a wicked screech of pain.

“That’ll teach you,” she said, giving a crooked smile. Her teeth were cracked, and a few were missing altogether. “You’ve got more to worry about than the Clans, rag-pelt.”

Antstar winced. With no medicine, that eye was going to get infected- and it was already out of the question that Whimbrel would ever see in it again.

And then- speak of herbs- Whitetooth stepped forth, their chest puffed with confidence. “Sisters, brothers! May I see the leader of this fine group? I have a proposition I am willing to make.”

Antstar had no idea how much of Whitetooth’s words were laced with sarcasm, if any of them were. Yet some of the rogues seemed to know Whitetooth already, and acknowledged their presence with a nod. Antstar knew that medics were often entangled with connections to cats outside the Clans, and with each other; he didn’t want to press the matter further than that.

A large, muscly black cat came up to them. He had a sort of youthful swagger about him which was only further punctuated by mischievous yellow eyes and a white spot just above his left lip.

‘Name’s Captain.”

Captain? Fancy name, for a rogue, Antstar thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if this cat had once been a kittypet. Whitetooth nodded and bowed slightly in greeting.

“I and my companion here are willing to arrange a deal with you, provided you are capable of upholding our end of the bargain.”

The ginger-and-white molly from before trod up beside Captain, her hazel eyes clouded with suspicion. “They smell like Clan.”

“I am aware,” Captain whispered in her ear. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to Antstar and Whitetooth, his gaze smooth. “What is it?” “I will give you enough herbs to last two moons, as well as a position on the edge of our land,” Whitetooth began. Antstar nodded along, not wanting to interfere- or get too close to the rogues, as he watched a yellow tabby tom pry a fat tick from his shoulder. “…So long as you get rid of this rogue that has been bothering us.”

“And you’re sure you’ll hold up this bargain?” asked Captain, leaning forward with interest.

“Certain.” Whitetooth turned to Antstar. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

For a moment, Antstar’s mind faltered. He thought of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, who loved their father dearly. Their final apprentice assessments were to be held that quarter-moon. If he continued now… they’d have no parents at their warrior ceremony.

But it had to be done.

By God, it had to be done.

He nodded.

As Whitetooth and Captain got into the specifics- he’s a white tom, rather muscular, face like a bull terrier, yellow eyes- Antstar felt his head swirl with excuses. No, he didn’t- wasn’t going to, rather- kill Stoatslink. It wasn’t his fault. These rogues were going to kill someone anyway, right? And someone had to die to unite the Clan. He hadn’t killed Stoatslink; he didn’t kill Sparkthistle. He spoke no lies- he was solely omitting what he had to in order to keep his Clan safe. And in the long run, turning WindClan on these rogues was the right thing to do, to train them, to compel them to fight and band them together.

His mind stopped. He was at no fault, he decided. This was going to happen any other way.

“We’ll get the job done,” assured Captain, giving Whitetooth a gaze that was almost playfully roguish. Antstar wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him. “Meeting, everyone! Meeting!”

The rogues in the den gathered around the black-furred tom, their gazes wary.

“We have a deal with these two generous Clan fellows. I am aware most Clan cats are heartless bastards,” he jested, “but these two have granted us both part of their territory and medicinal herbs.”

“That’ll be great for Whimbrel’s injury here!” half-heartedly said the patched ginger and white molly. Beside her, Whimbrel was trying to wipe the blood from his face, but the more his paw rubbed the uglier the wound became. He tried harder and harder to stop the bleeding, to soothe himself; but in the end he had made a mess of it, giving up entirely as the blood seeped through his fur.

“It will be,” said Captain, flinching with disgust at the rogue’s injury. “However, we must uphold our half of the bargain. They have asked we… deal with… a white rogue who lives on their territory, who goes by the name Stoat.”

“Oh, that bastard!” said an old, thin black molly with long fangs. “Heard of him! Could have sworn he was a Clan cat, though…”

“We follow what they say, Linsky, and we don’t ask questions.” He turned back to the other rogues. “Tonight, we’ll get rid of him, so we don’t worry about having to do it later. If we all gang up on him, we’ll outnumber him. We’ll set up two groups. Towser here-“ -he indicated the patched ginger and white molly- “-will lead the first group, I’ll lead the second- as we are the best fighters after all, especially in my case.”

A large silvery tabby molly in the group rolled her eyes.

“One group will chase, the other will ambush. He’ll stand no chance. Towser, you’ll have Peg and Scamp with you; you’ll chase him down. I’ll lead the ambush group, which will be myself of course, but also Linsky, Garlic, and Whimbrel. I’ll kill the cat, of course, as I have special experience and tact-“

“You don’t,” growled the silvery tabby.

“Peg, you must have forgotten my run in with the ShadowClan patrol a few moons ago. You see, there were five of them, and one-“

“Let us leave,” said Whitetooth. “They’ll take most of it from here. And I have a queen and kits I must care for, especially after poor Mousekit’s death the other day.”

The day seemed to take forever.

Antstar felt like he was going to vomit every time he caught sight of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw. Even though he had mostly trained himself now into accepting that Stoatslink’s sealed fate was fixed, and that he had no true hand in it, his gut disagreed with his brain.

What would be, would be.

He took solace in Whitetooth’s confidence, at least- if that’s what you could call it. Nothing about the pale-furred medic seemed to indicate any sense of wrongness, or even that something different was about to occur that night. Hell, ever since even before Sparkthistle had died, they had looked the same way; acted the same way.

Medics were close to StarClan- and if Whitetooth hadn’t been smote down by StarClan themselves the last time they had visited the Moonstone and trod upon StarClan’s own divine territory, Antstar had to be fine.

Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, meanwhile, seemed to be having a fairly average day. The wound Goldenpaw had received in the massive Sunningrocks battle had nearly healed, although it left a scar that twisted and snaked around her flank and leg like a tangled vine. It had been her first hunting patrol since, as Whitetooth had only released her from their care the other night. She was the only moor runner apprentice, now. Twigpaw had moved on to his tunneler training after he had gotten the basics of hunting and fighting, and Shadeflower’s litter had graduated. Antstar wondered if the small catch she brought- only a small, scrawny whinchat- had to do with the lack of recent training since the injury, or the fact she had no competition she could brag about her catch to.

Coalclaw had been on the hunting patrol also, his face seemingly-permanently twisted into what Antstar could only describe to himself as something between numbness and far-off horror. Rockscratch, who was the one who had dragged the dark gray tabby along, had hoped that a hunting patrol would lift Coalclaw’s spirit and “get him back into a fightin’ mood”, but Coalclaw seemed almost too dazed to catch prey, even missing out on a rather clumsy red grouse that his sister Spiderfoot caught without even having to think about it. At one moment, Coalclaw was able to catch a young hare that had been chased around to him by the other members in the patrol; but as soon as he was told to clamp down on its neck and kill it, he started to cry in an ugly, desperate way, and yet again Spiderfoot had to finish the job for him. It’s only a hare, his patrol members told him, it’s only a hare, they are living but they are our food and they live through us, but he could not stop crying and staring into the crimson of its blood, and eventually Webwhisker had had to bring Coalclaw early, where he resumed his usual position sitting at the edge of camp towards sunset; still as a stone but haunted by something within.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Rockscratch said, with an air of sympathy but also a slight twinge of annoyance, like he was inspecting a tear in a well-loved coat of his. “We have to figure out how to fix it. I quite liked how he used to be.”

Milkpaw, meanwhile, was quite successful as a tunneler. While traditionally, a tunneler’s job was dependent on hearing, a trait Milkpaw lacked, her other senses brought a new understanding to the job. She could not hear, but her eyesight was excellent even in the thick, clammy darkness of the tunnels, and she had a sense of motion in the ground that only the finest tunnelers could really tap into. It was understood that tunnelers had longer training periods than their above-ground counterparts, but tunnelers generally got their warrior names around the time they had learned all of the basics and not when their training had truly finished. A tunneler’s leaning never ends,they reasoned when asked about why, as it was rather silly to everyone else.

That’s what terrified Antstar the most. The warrior ceremony. If Stoatslink really was to die, those two would have neither of their parents at their warrior ceremony. He supposed he knew how it felt to not have any parents to begin with… but to have them, and lose them, was a cruelty Antstar felt like he’d never really comprehend, just as he never had anything to say to Russetfoot’s wild grief about his children slowly beginning to slip away.

He didn’t want to cause that. Goldenpaw and Milkpaw had done nothing wrong. The idea of naming his victim’s children made him sick.

But he reminded himself. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him; it could never be him. The rogues by the Moonstone were going to be a problem. Perhaps some wandering patrol would run into them; even worse, perhaps they would see the medicine cats entering Mothermouth as a threat. They were going to kill some cat eventually. And he didn’t make the deal, nor did he tip them off- that had been Whitetooth. All he had been was there, due to absolutely nothing besides Fate and her wicked talons.

And he couldn’t simply expose Whitetooth, no. Whitetooth was the sole trained medic in WindClan; it would be a few moons before Marblepaw could even think about what her medic name might be. A Clan without a medic would be a death sentence, especially in the coming no-leaf season. And Whitetooth might turn on Antstar, which really wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Besides- as much as he felt wrong for admitting it, as much as he knew Whitetooth was a killer- he only truly felt calm, or perhaps the closest thing he knew to calm, by the white-and-brown cat’s side. There was something about their rich, dark voice; their eyes with pupils nearly always slit like a pocketknife had cut through the teal surface; their silent steps, their confidence. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, no. But it was like they were two souls, bound together by the limbs and thrown over the river; each pushing the other towards a direction only Hell and Heaven knew of.

The day was slow, but the night came quick.

“Stoatslink,” said Antstar as he approached the bullish white tom- he tried to sound confident- “I need to tell you about something. About what you said, regarding… you know.”

Stoatslink said no words, but nodded. At once he understood.

Thought he understood, rather.

“There’s a pack of rogues on the border,” Antstar began, his voice weary and hesitant like the first frost of a season. “I don’t know how many there are. But I am nearly certain they are the ones that may have killed Sparkthistle. You were right, Stoatslink.”

There was a moment of idle hesitation, and Antstar could see Stoatslink’s expression flicker between horror at the suggested reality and a strange, smug sort of pride.

“I’ll kill them,” the white tom grumbled. “I’m run them straight through. Nobody messes with WindClan. By the time I’ll be done with them, you won’t be able to tell they were ever feline.”

Antstar hoped to God and back that Stoatslink’s death would be quick, and that Captain’s group knew what they were doing. He knew he himself couldn’t take the white tom on in a fight- especially not with this attitude.

“That is why I want you, and you alone, to watch over the camp tonight. I hardly expect they’ll attack us. But just in case- I want you to sound the alarm.”

“Only me?” Stoatslink scoffed. His breath smelled like dried hare meat. “But what if they do attack?”

“Then the Clan will know about it,” continued Antstar. “And if the Clan knows about it, they’ll panic.”

“Rightfully so! They-“

“Do you want your daughters to live in fear or not!?!” Antstar yelled in a whisper. He realized he had never felt his voice go harsh like that before- at least, not since he had been a moody kit in the nursery.

But it was effective. Stoatslink backed down. His mouth opened up, as if another word had to escape his snout- and then, sensing he had no argument to speak of, it clicked shut like a music box with no coil left.

“I’ll do what I can, Antstar. And trust me- if they approach, the rogues won’t stand a chance.”

Antstar watched as the white tom sauntered away. He tended to sway about when he walked, like a basset hound; but from the way his shoulder blades perked up Antstar could see the purpose burning in his brain. Then, another white figure approached- Whitetooth, as smooth as ever. Antstar watched as the white cat took Stoatslink aside- or, really, rather just brushed him near, effortlessly; like a breeze guiding leaves. They whispered something in Stoatslink’s ear and threw a few glances.

This was all part of the plan. Whitetooth would convince the ever-bullish Stoatslink that Antstar was being too nice, that Antstar was underestimating him, and rile him up into a fury against these rogues. That way, Stoatslink would charge when he saw them, not caring to alert the Clan in a false belief he could manage on his own- and, therefore, charge into his own death.

It was a simple plan.

It was an awful thing to know.

It had to be done. For WindClan.

Perhaps Whitetooth sensed Antstar’s doubt. For as soon as Stoatslink set off, his vision cloaked in red, they slunk up to their leader and sat next to them, only for a moment whispering something into Antstar’s flattened ear:

“Rest assured, Antstar, this is needed. All of it is. You are doing what you can to keep your clan safe. Elsewise… evil would prosper in your failure.”

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story #FINALLy

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johns-prince · 4 years

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John also had a lovely mix of masculine and feminine physical traits, though this wouldn't become obvious until 1968. When he was on the skinny side (which I loved, sue me) you could tell how beautifully delicate and dainty his bone structure was, way more than Paul's imo. He had those gorgeous long legs and graceful narrow hips that you most commonly find in fashion models. And I love that until at least 1975, he showcased his body beautifully, especially those legs.

Ironically I feel as if people didn't embrace John's femme beauty as well as they did with Paul. I don't know why. Most people seem to prefer him with the more masculine look of 1966. Which was great as well, he was gorgeous but I am a big fan of the 1968 to 1974 run. Btw, note to fanfic writers: please, show John's body some love, I know Paul is stunning but it's kind of exhausting reading 10 pages about how pretty he is and when it comes to my boy John he barely gets a paragraph 😂

Alright, I feel like I’m probably gonna rub a lot of people in this fandom the wrong way with what I’m going to say but this is my blog and you did send this to my inbox so here we go; At the end of the days these are my thoughts and feelings and I might not articulate them very well or I often ramble till I do!

I have my issues, and a complicated relationship with 1968-70s John Lennon. I love John, and thought him healthy and just right in his body type, basically up until 1968, and it’s spotty onward throughout the 70s. To me, John was naturally masculine looking, there’s not exactly an era or year that I could give you like you gave me [Specifically 1966? What about his teddy boy days? All of the early 60s? Hell even throughout the 70s, to me John still was masculine looking to me] He was a bit awkward in his teenhood, but all the boys were, and gradually grew into his adult body. Boy was built and sturdy, naturally thick and strong.

So we’re probably split on this, because while you see the positives in 1968-1974/70s John, I only really see the negatives. You say skinny, I say malnourished and/or sickly. Depressed druggie who was pushing everyone and everything he loved away, and becoming pathetically dependent on an individual like Yoko [and the other vultures during that time who were terrible influences]

George was skinny, John was not well and either starving himself or simply using drugs and alcohol as the basis for his diet. And diets.. don’t even get me started on that, the diets he was on, the unhealthy lifestyle that his wife only seemed to enable and help him get on.

When I look at George, sometimes I get the need to feed him, like an old Mexican mother. When I look at John, who’d lost an unhealthy amount of weight for what it looked like for his body type, I don’t see delicate and dainty bone structure. I see a man who just, he’s not well, something’s wrong.

I’ll give it to you that 1974 New York photoshoot looked very nice, he had muscle again in his arms, though he was still relatively skinny, he didn’t look sickly, or depressed. So I can give you that period during the 70s, I will give you that [hey he was away from Yoko during this no fucking wonder he looked pretty good here] and that shoot was definitely a model moment, wasn’t it? [Not like he didn’t have many of those moments throughout his life]

So there moments in the seventies where I think John doesn’t look half bad? Even relatively fine? Certainly, I’m devastatingly attracted to this man, dear God almighty have mercy on my soul yes I am. So I’ll agree that yeah, there were periods during the 70s in which John seemed to hold himself fairly well, I’d still climb it.

But I’m at least willing to admit that when John started his spiraling, in 1968, that he was Not Okay. And I personally believe he wasn’t all that okay throughout most of the 70s too... Maybe my issue isn’t with him being ‘skinny’ as it is I don’t like the underweight/severely underweight look on John, I just don’t. The incredibly unhealthy way he went about losing weight... Physically frail doesn’t fit him, and it only upsets me whenever I see photos of him that show how thin his legs became or how you can see his ribs, just how wasted away he’d look at times throughout the 70s, up until the last days of his life.

You want a “skinny” or ''skinnier'' John Lennon? A healthy, ‘’skinny/skinnier’’ John Lennon for his body type, is ‘66 and ‘67 in my eyes, and even then it wasn’t a radical change in weight loss; John still looked like John.

And speaking of 1968-1969, or the White Album era; don’t think it isn’t lost on me when I see people making light of John’s unhygienic appearance during the making of the White Album. Boy was depressed and hurting for whatever reason, again, spiraling, and getting lost in Yoko and heroin as a means of escapism and someone to tell him ‘it’s alright it isn’t your fault it’s everyone else’s fault’. Of course he didn’t care much for his personal appearance or hygiene... I will say I appreciate your appreciation for him during that period, instead of getting the whole ‘stinky/smelly rat man.’ Maybe I’m too much of a ‘’stan’’ but I don’t find it very amusing or endearing.

Don’t find me mocking or ‘’teasing’’ Paul’s depressed ass and his appearance during the breakup period/white album era-- but I suppose it’s because Paul actually tried and wasn’t on hard drugs, and had a good wife, so he was able to wear his depression and struggle with alcoholism a bit better, hmm? I don’t like Paul’s beard simply because I know it was the result of his lack of energy, depression, and falling into the drink-- he simply didn’t feel the need nor had the energy to care for himself, so that’s why he let it grow out. I don’t like it because of that, but that’s as much as you’ll get from me.

Anyway... Maybe I just don’t see John as characteristically feminine/effeminate as Paul, although he has his moments of acting and wearing clothes that are campy and elegant or give off a softer appearance, specifically around 1968 and throughout the 70s. But otherwise, I can’t agree, John didn’t have the same mixture, or balance of masculine and feminine traits as Paul-- and if it’s only made obvious during the downfall turning point of The Beatles and John (1968), then I don’t think that really counts as a ‘’lovely’’ mix of masculine and feminine traits for the reasons I mentioned. So I’ve got to disagree. John's always come off as much more masculine, or naturally masculine, both physically and characteristically, to me.

You know maybe it’s just the blogs I interact with, but I feel like it’s the other way around. I know I can sometimes come off as aggressive but at the end of the day I don’t necessarily care what one person thinks or believes, since it’s all relatively subjective to our own ideas of things and biases, etc... I have my thoughts and beliefs and theories and whether people agree or disagree with them on tumblr dot com... Well, what’re you gonna do? Nothing, it’s not my problem.

What I 100% agree on you with is about showing Johnny’s body a bit more love and attention to detail when it comes to writing about him in fanfiction!

There’s his auburn red hair, a darker ginger, which was thick and fun to watch as it lit up like fire when sunlight hit him, and could easily go wavy and curl when left unkempt and natural. The splattered and scattered galaxies of light freckles up and down his arms, his shoulders, his back, even a couple on his face. His aquiline nose, a relatively square jawline and facial structure, thick, heavy eyebrows which really intensify expressions of rage and hurt, almond shaped eyes which are the color of honey-amber when the light hits them just right and outlined with thick, long lashes, blind as a bat without his glasses but can give a mean squint which either helps scare off trouble, or brings it right to him, especially when he’s got thin bitten lips that could pull off a devilishly cheeky smirk or a no-good, charming grin to showcase teeth with the upper front turned slightly in towards each other, gives that imperfection which truly just perfects it-- a face like that of a tragic hero in a Greek Romance, distinctive and handsome. How he just oozed filthy sex and genuine trouble, sweaty leather and smoky dancehalls and rock & roll that crawls up your spine like an orgasm. Hips that could roll like Elvis and strong legs, thick thighs which would make a lovely place to sit. Broad shoulders, strong arms that could easily manage to lift you up and manhandle you in any way he’d like. Big hands, almost like shovels-- beautiful hands, with fingernails usually bitten short and occasionally had black ink or charcoal under them from when he’d be working on art, and rough, callused fingertips from playing guitar till they split and bleed, add a lovely roughness to any gentle touching he might do. A naturally thick midsection, a normal, healthy layer of fat which covers the sinewy just beneath. Any hair is light, light and lightly colored, on his arms and legs and chest. Cute tush, nice butt, a nice boy butt, slightly muscular bubble butt.

Fun facts; he had the largest feet out of all four Beatles. John isn’t circumcised. John and George share the same height. John has a surprisingly long tongue. John’s skin tone may be light, but for comparison, he’s much tanner compared to Paul-- he’s a bit more olive or wheat to his skin tone, and tanned very, very well. John’s cheeks could become easily red though. John liked the scent of citrus to wear-- he was also self conscious about the fact he could easily sweat and so usually wore such colognes or scents, didn’t want to smell bad. He started smelling of witch hazel when with Yoko. Despite his issue with sweating, he didn’t smell bad naturally. John was a true romantic, being an artist outside of being a musician/rock and roller-- he just didn’t like to show it, and growing up in his time, you couldn’t. John’s a swimmer, he loved to swim and loved the ocean.

#questionsquestionsquestions #beatles discussion/discourse #these are my feelings and thoughts and i can't feel bad for them

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

First Dates

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 6,151 Tags: SFW, First dates, Making out, Phone calls, Running, Yoga, Fluff Summary: After California, Aaron and Sophie go on three perfectly imperfect dates. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 1 year-1 year 3 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to A03 or read below! “Jet sweet jet,” Prentiss says as they board the plane after California, and Aaron seconds it; the good thing is it’s only Friday afternoon, so at least they get a head start to the weekend, barring another emergency case—not that he doesn’t have piles of work to do, as usual, but it pleases him to think he might get the chance to see Sophie at some point, in an unofficial capacity.

“You know, 14 is when we start to make our own musical choices. Our cognitive development evolves at that age and we start to form our own cultural identity,” he hears Reid say as he sinks down into his seat, headphones hanging around his neck. He and Sophie must be having a conversation about music, because she nods easily.

“That makes sense, actually,” she says, taking the chair across from him. “I remember being obsessed with Bon Jovi around that age, and I was definitely making decisions with my pants.”

Well that’s an interesting piece of information for her to divulge. Reid blushes a little, and pulls on his headphones. Sophie pops in one earbud, looks up at Aaron, smiles, then looks down at her phone and starts typing.

SC: What?

AH: What, what? he replies.

SC: You’re staring.

AH: Maybe I just think you’re worth staring at.

He feels cheesy for saying it, but she grins.

SC: Sure, okay.

SC: Are you going to do work?

AH: You know me.

SC: That’s a yes.

SC: In case I don’t get to talk to you… will you call me tonight?

AH: Absolutely.

She tucks away her phone, succumbs to her—podcast, he guesses by the slight look of concentration on her face—and he works on his paperwork in relative silence, with the ghost of a smile on his face.

“So what are you up to? What do you do when you get home from traveling?” he asks over the phone that night, after they’ve made a little small talk.

“Well, I put a record on—it’s low, so you probably can’t hear it. Bob Dylan.” She’s right, he can’t hear it, but knowing what she chose makes him smile.

“Bob Dylan, Bon Jovi… Your taste in music isn’t what I would have expected.”

“I’ve always been a little behind the times when it comes to music. I like to be able to rely on my faithful favorites.” She pauses, taking a drink maybe, and he can hear kitchen sounds in the background. “I took a nice, hot bath, opened a bottle of wine. I usually make some kind of comfort food, if I have time to stop at the market.” It’s only 8, so that, along with the kitchen sounds, has him betting she’s whipping something up for herself.

“Mmm, what’s on the menu?”

“It’s a dish my papa always used to make when we were sick. It doesn’t sound great—fagioli su pane tostato, which means beans on toast. It’s white beans cooked in this olive oil broth and then served on sourdough toast rubbed with garlic. It tastes so much better than it sounds.”

“It sounds good when you say it in Italian. Maybe we could make it together, some night.” He hopes he’s not imagining the smile in her voice when she replies.

“I’d like that a lot. So what do you do to unwind after traveling?”

“I have a beer, take a long, hot shower—I have a great shower. Sometimes I freeze meals and I’ll warm something up if I feel like it, but tonight it’s Indian takeout.” He takes a sip of said beer, sprawls out further on the couch.

“Oh, what did you get? Indian food is great, I love chana masala on a comfort food day.”

“Ah, I got butter chicken and samosas. My usual; very unoriginal.”

“Can’t go wrong with a samosa though, yum. What else do you like to do to relax? No offense, but you always seem just as stressed on Mondays as you do on Fridays.” He chuckles at that, can see how that would be true.

“Well I have work to do tonight, but on our free weekends I go for a run in the park instead of my neighborhood, or very rarely, I get to play golf.”

“Hmm, you play golf?” Her tone of voice is low, but light, and he struggles to figure out her intent behind that.

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me…”

“Not teasing, I’m intrigued. I’ve never been golfing or even watched golf before. Mostly I’m trying to visualize you in the little golf outfit, though.” He��s grinning his face off, he’s sure, but he can’t help it; it feels good to flirt with her, to be flirted with by her, openly now. “I run too, or I like kickboxing, Pilates. I don’t always have time to get to the gym anymore, so I do home workouts when I can. Yoga every day.” So, he knows she does yoga, is always packing her yoga blanket when they travel for cases, but left to sit and imagine it for a moment… how she looked on vacation, tiny outfit, bendy body...

“Talk about something to visualize,” he adds, very boldly, he thinks, and she hums down the line. He hopes his flirting affects her the way hers affects him.

“Yeah, we were doing so good there for a minute and now I can’t think of anything but you in a polo and khakis. Must be the wine.”

“Is that something you find sexy? A polo and khakis? That’s practically church attire.”

“Where you’re concerned, there’s not much I don’t find sexy.” He chuckles, runs his hand through his hair—he knows he looks alright, isn’t un attractive or anything, but sexy? She might be overselling it a little bit. “I should probably rein that in. Sorry.”

“No, it’s… I like that you feel that way.” He wants to say, ‘if you find me even one tenth as sexy as I find you, it would be a miracle’, but his self-esteem isn’t quite that low. And his doorbell rings. “My delivery is here, muting you for a second.”

“Should I let you go?” she asks when he returns. He can hear the sound of her spoon clinking against her bowl, assumes she’s getting ready to eat, too.

“No. I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d like to listen to you talk some more.”

“Okay. What do you want to hear about?”

“I’d like to hear more about your band in Chicago. Did you write music?”

“One of the guys in my band wrote the music, I just sang it; didn’t have much to say.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he says honestly, because she is always thoughtful and insightful, so smart.

“Well the Sophie you know now is much more open, if you can imagine that. I used to be very closed off. The team helps; hard to be closed off when you’re around someone 24/7.”

“I’m glad you feel that the BAU has been good for you; you’ve been very good for us. And you said you sing at your friend’s bar sometimes? I might have to crash one of these nights so I can see you in action.” She laughs, a little self conscious.

“It's really nothing. Just a good way to blow off some steam. So how about you? Are you musically inclined or anything?”

“I can play the guitar.” Her spoon clinks against her bowl in the background again, and she swallows a bite.

“Hold on. You play guitar? This is important information.” He chuckles.

“How so?”

“Because it’s hot.”

“Maybe I should amend that: I could play the guitar. I haven’t in probably… five years? So I may be completely horrible.”

“Nope, doesn’t matter. If you still own a guitar, you can keep the hotness.”

They both eat, chatting in between bites, and they’ve been on the phone for two hours when she starts yawning. He suddenly has a brilliant idea.

“Do you want to meet up and go for a run tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, I would really like that,” she says, sounding a little more awake. “Is it a date? Or just two people hanging out that want to see each other naked?” He laughs out loud.

“You want to see me naked? I thought you wanted to see me in khakis.”

“Yes, I want to see you naked; I thought that much was clear when I tried undressing you the other day. I want to see both.”

“It’s a date, then. If you want it to be. I was still working on a plan...”

“No plan necessary. I’m easy to please: I just want to see you, in running clothes or golf clothes or no clothes.”

“I’ll text you the address. Meet me there at 7?”

“It’s a date.” The next morning, he is sitting in his car at the park, and he looks up from his phone to see Sophie walking toward him, impossibly beautiful for 7 AM. Her hair is pulled back in a thick, wavy ponytail, face clear of makeup and looking radiant, softly smiling, and he swears his heart skips a beat.

Isn’t it a little too soon for beat skipping? This is only their first date, after all.

“Good morning,” she says, leaning in his window. She looks around the parking lot, which is fairly secluded at this time of the morning. “How are you?”

“A little tired, but good,” he replies and her smile grows brighter. “You?”

“I’m good. Probably shouldn’t have kept you up so late talking. You need your beauty sleep.” She reaches out to brush a hand over the hair at his temple, and he closes his eyes for a moment, content.

“Well you obviously don’t. How do you look like that at 7 AM?”

“This?” she asks, gesturing to her face and body, as if he needed a reason to look. She is fit and perky in black leggings and a University of Chicago t-shirt, and he mentally hopes that she’s not faster than him, or her ass is going to be very distracting. “Just rolled out of bed and came down. Nothing special about this.”

“I beg to differ.” She leans back in, arms crossed casually, smiles again.

“Well you’re sweet. Hey, have you ever run into someone from work here?” He scans the lot as if her question caused one of their coworkers to materialize out of thin air, then realizes he’s being silly.

“No, I haven’t so far. Why do you ask?” Ducking her head, she looks a little shy, though the corners of her lips are turned up.

“I was just wondering if I’ll get to kiss you today.”

There goes his heart, skipping beats again.

He leans forward, a hand on her cheek, and presses his mouth to hers, slow and soft. He’d almost forgotten how nice it is to kiss someone who likes you—the shared breath, the soft smack of lips, the reluctance to break the kiss—and he touches her chin as they separate. When she opens her eyes, they look dreamy, and he preens a little at causing that reaction.

“Okay, yeah. That’s nice.” He huffs a laugh and she steps away from the car, giving him space to exit. “Ready to run?”

“Was kind of hoping to kiss some more,” he teases, but he climbs out of the car and locks up.

They keep pace together well, chatting easily about their plans for the day, and Sophie points out every dog they pass, which is so endearing his face almost hurts from smiling.

“What is it?” she asks as he shakes his head, laughs, when they pass a corgi puppy that is, admittedly, adorable.

“You’re cute, that’s all. It’s nice to see joy on your face when our lives are usually surrounded by darkness.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to see it on yours, too.” She reaches out to touch his cheek, and he presses against it.

As far as dates go, this one is off to a beautiful start.

“That was fun. I enjoyed spending the morning with you,” she says as they walk back to their cars. He is a little winded, and she isn’t. It’s not entirely fair.

“I agree, it was fun. It’s nice to have a running partner.”

“Is that all I am?” she asks with an innocent expression, and he shakes his head.

“Absolutely not.” He leans in for a quick, sweet kiss that feels as natural as the slower, more passionate kisses they’ve shared, and they both pull back smiling. “Are you hungry?”

“We just ran 4 miles, I’m starving. What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a very casual diner around the corner that makes great breakfast; I’m sure they won’t mind all your sweat,” he teases, gesturing to her shirt. He’s sweatier by far, which makes it so funny, and she laughs.

“Rude, but I’m in. Lead the way.”

The diner is a favorite of his, somewhere he goes every Saturday he runs in the park. He’s a very habit-driven person, and it wouldn’t feel right to leave without stopping by; that he gets to bring Sophie is just the icing on the cake.

“Do you usually get the same thing when you come here, or are you adventurous?” she asks, looking over the menu.

“I am not adventurous. I get a western omelette with mushrooms, potatoes on the side, almost religiously.” She smiles at him over the menu, and he wonders if she likes that quality, or if he’s one wrong comment away from being seen as an old man and not ‘boyfriend material’. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling self conscious about his age, where she’s concerned.

“When I find something I like I am also not adventurous. I stick with what I know.”

“Hi there. You have a friend today, Mr. Hotchner.” He smiles at the voice of his favorite waitress, though he wishes she wouldn’t have made him sound like he’s friendless any other time. She stands between his chair and Sophie’s, grinning.

“Yes Julia, this is Miss Cortes.” Sophie reaches out her hand with a warm smile.

“Sophie, if you like. Nice to meet you, Julia. This guy comes here a lot, huh?”

“Oh yes, he’s one of my favorite regulars: Kind, patient, and easy to please.”

“Great qualities in a man,” Sophie jokes, and he’s never heard Julia laugh so hard. She tends to have that effect on people, he thinks. “I feel special, then, being invited to your spot,” she says, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm fairly certain you’re the first person he’s ever brought, so you must be special, hon.” Julia gives her a wink, and he’d be embarrassed but… she’s right. And he didn’t invite her here lightly. Sharing this place means something to him. “So I know your fella wants the western with mushrooms, potatoes on the side, OJ with his coffee. How about you, sweetie?”

“Oh, um,” Sophie begins, and it looks like she’s blushing at the whole ‘fella’ thing. It’s too cute. “Mixed grill please, with cheddar, and I’ll have orange juice too. Thank you.”

When Julia walks away, Sophie crosses her arms on the table, looks at him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just… enjoying myself. Being with you.” She reaches out a hand, and he takes it, smiling softly. They don’t move until Julia comes back with their plates and they need to make room.

“This has been the most fun date I’ve ever been on. I don’t want it to end,” she says as they walk back to the parking lot, bellies full of food.

“But?”

“But I know inviting you back to my place wouldn’t be a great idea yet. Well, it would be a great idea, but I know that taking it slow is important. And I can’t promise I wouldn’t get handsy again.”

“Taking it slow is important,” he agrees, and he leans down to kiss her, warm, lingering, “but maybe we could get handsy after our second date.”

“Mmm. I’m content with just kissing if you keep kissing me like that. Touching will just be a bonus.” They kiss more, easy, casual kisses that make them both smile. “So you want to go on another date with me?” she asks as they approach her car.

“Absolutely. I really like you.” He takes her hands in his, squeezes them. “Like you said before, I think it was something I’ve been trying not to feel for a while.”

“I think there’s a lot you try not to feel. I’m glad you’re willing to give me a chance.” They kiss again, and it feels like goodbye. “Are you sure you can’t go to the farmers’ market with me?” He’d love to, but he has to do some extra work to make up for last night and this morning.

“Yeah, I wish I could. Next week, for sure.”

“Okay, that sounds good. I’ll let you go—for the record, I don’t want to,” she says, and she takes a step back, so their arms are stretched further.

“Neither do I. I’ll call you later,” he promises, and he drops her hands, walks away.

When he looks back, she’s looking at him too, soft, and she waves goodbye.

He’s officially a goner.

“Did you have a good time at the farmers’ market?” he asks later, when they speak on the phone that evening.

“Oh yeah, great haul. I just hope I get to eat it all before we inevitably get called to leave town. I should freeze stuff like you. There was music, too, and so many dogs. How was your day?”

“It was good, productive.” She chuckles softly.

“Sounds like a blast.”

“I had my fun with you, this morning. And now.”

“Aw. That makes me happy. I had fun too. And I love talking on the phone with you. It’s my favorite part of the day.” He can hear the water running in the background. “What are you doing now?”

“Are you sure you want to hear? It’s very sexy.” She hums, thoughtful.

“Then yes, absolutely I want to hear.”

“I’m folding laundry.”

“I know you said that as a joke, but I can find a way to make it arousing. It’s a gift I have, apparently, where you’re concerned.” It’s his turn to hum down the line.

“Really? Tell me more.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m thinking of your arms flexing as you fold. Thick, careful fingers. The look on your face when you concentrate. Then, of course, it’s your clothes, so I’ll think of you putting them on… taking them off. See? Laundry is now sexy. It’s a talent.”

“That is impressive. What are you doing?”

“I’m prepping my fruit and veggies for the week. I got some flowers, so I’ll put them in a vase. Then maybe watch a movie.”

“Okay, that just sounds sweet.”

“Well I am sweet, Mr. Hotchner,” she says innocently, and he grins.

“Of course you are. What movie?”

“I think Bringing Up Baby. It always makes me laugh.”

“That’s Cary Grant, right?”

“Yes, I love Cary Grant—so tall, dark, handsome… I guess I have a type.”

They discuss movies some more, their favorite classics, her favorite actors. The night is winding down, though, and he has more work to do.

“Are you going to run tomorrow?” he asks when it’s clear the conversation will be ending soon.

“I think you wore me out today, so probably just some yoga in the park. You could come with me; have you ever done yoga?”

“No, but I’d be happy to try. What time?”

“Let’s say 8? I’ll send you the address to the park I like, and then I can treat you to breakfast at my spot.”

“Oh, so it’s a date, then,” he says, leading, and she laughs softly.

“Yes, it’s a date. I have a mat you can use, so just bring yourself and some water and I’ll take care of the rest.” “So this is called Cat Pose - just think Halloween cartoon cat,” Sophie explains the following morning, from her hands and knees, rounding her back so she looks just like the image she mentioned. “When you alternate with Cow Pose, it’s the best stretch, like waking up late on a Sunday morning and stretching in the sun coming through the curtains.”

It’s a great thought, makes him imagine Sophie sprawled across his bed, brown skin, dark hair, soft lips, smooth legs…

“Aaron?” He blinks at the sound of his name, turns to face her, and she’s smiling softly. “Thought I lost you for a sec. Next is Downward Facing Dog, so straighten your knees and send your butt up to the sky.” He watches as she does it, legs looking long and lean and strong, and he tries to replicate it as best as he can. “You’re doing really good for a beginner. This pose in particular usually sucks for a while.” She comes out of her pose, stands in front of him and presses her hands to his back. “Flat back, if you can, or bend your knees a little; I’m not trying to get sexy, I swear.” He laughs indulgently, and she steps back onto her mat with a grin.

They shift into some standing poses after a moment, Sophie checking in on him with a soft expression, and he is feeling it in his muscles by the time they drop into Plank.

“Almost done. Is it harder than you thought?” she asks, looking absolutely effortless as she supports herself on her hands, and he has to huff a laugh.

“It is, actually,” he admits, his arms quaking a bit. “People who do yoga have my utmost respect.” She lifts one arm, wraps it around her back, and she’s got to be just showing off now. She’s barely sweating.

“Yeah it takes more strength than people usually think. It’s not just all about being bendy and zen. Lower down slowly, no belly flop. Then turn onto your back, arms and legs out—this is the best part.” She closes her eyes, sighs deeply, and he can see how this would be her favorite. His entire body is sore, and before today he would have considered himself in good shape.

They rest and breathe, and when she finally sits up for a swig of water, he does the same. “You thought I wore you out yesterday? I won’t have trouble sleeping for a week,” he teases, and she bites her lip, smiles.

“Good. Maybe I can talk you into this more often. It’s fun.” He nods, panting a little from guzzling his water.

“Fun for you to make an old man suffer, that is.” She swats at his arm, and she stands, offering him a hand and helping him to his feet; they roll up the mats, take them back to her car, and head down the block to her café of choice.

It’s definitely a little more upscale than his diner, but still comfortable—they aren’t out of place in their activewear, and the woman seating them greets Sophie by name.

“So they can absolutely make you a western omelette,” Sophie says when they open their menus, “but if you trust me, I can make a suggestion.”

“I’ll take your suggestion. Let’s see how well you know me,” he offers as a challenge, and she smiles, something adorable that scrunches her nose.

“Oh, it’s a deal. You’ll love your breakfast so much you’ll weep, Aaron, I promise you.” She scans the menu again, and by the time the server comes around to take their orders, she confidently names dishes he didn’t even bother to look at. He wants to be surprised.

She gets a breakfast quesadilla for herself, which he steals a bite of, and the dish she ordered for him is a mess of potatoes and ham and eggs and cheese and veggies that he polishes off so quickly it’s almost embarrassing.

Then there are carrot cake pancakes to share, so sweet they’re almost dessert, and when she offers him the last piece she presents it on her fork, looks him over seriously when he leans in and takes the bite. It’s been all fun and easy laughter all morning, but he’s suddenly warm in a way that has nothing to do with the exercise and everything to do with the company, and he thinks she feels it too.

She pays, tips very well, and they hold hands when they walk back to the park; she leans in, presses her nose to his shoulder, and sighs when they’re about halfway there.

“I could get used to this,” she murmurs, and he looks down into her warm brown eyes and nods his agreement.

“So could I. Maybe we could make it a thing,” he offers, and her returning smile is brilliant.

“Yeah, I would like that.” They get to her car, and he crowds her up against it, kisses her deeply; she licks her bottom lip when they pull apart, and it’s gorgeous, feels a little indulgent for the park.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our dates this weekend, I would like to take you somewhere in the evening, this week, if we can.” He knows it’s old fashioned, but he wants her to know he’s serious about them, and he feels like drinks or dinner set the tone he’s looking for. She nods her head.

“Sure, okay. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” They kiss again, a little sweeter, this time, since there are families present, and when he steps away from her, she looks a little dazed. “Just remember, you promised me handsy, and if you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to deliver.” He smirks a bit.

“Message received.” His next kiss is just a light, barely there brush of lips, and she smiles when it breaks. “Call me later, if you want. I’ll just be doing work.”

“Okay. Thanks for doing yoga with me,” she murmurs, and he touches her chin.

“Thanks for breakfast. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” she repeats, and she turns around to open her car door, forgets that it’s locked. She bows her head like she’s embarrassed, but he can only laugh. She is so god damn adorable. They see each other again on Tuesday night.

AH: Done kind of early today. Was thinking about going to get a drink.

SC: A drink sounds nice. Do you want company?

AH: When it’s you? Always.

AH: Can we go to your friend's bar?

SC: Of course. There’s open mic tonight, if that’s what you’re getting at.

AH: That’s what I’m getting at.

SC: 717 Carson St, 7:30? - it looks shady, but it’s not, I promise.

AH: A glowing review.

SC: 😋

“You look so good,” is the first thing out of her mouth when he approaches her table, and it makes him laugh, duck his head. She is always so quick to dish out compliments, and while he’s not used to thinking of himself as attractive, hasn’t had a reason to in a while, it does make him feel good.

“Uh, thank you,” he says, trying not to be awkward about it. “You look beautiful, as always.” She does, too, so gorgeous in a tight white sweater and tighter back jeans—she’s too gorgeous for him by far, but he’s certainly not complaining.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and she stretches up on her toes to kiss him softly on the mouth; he thinks the chances of anyone they know coming to this shady looking bar called Lloyd’s, unprompted, are pretty slim to none, so he encourages her kisses. “Mmm. Do you want to come up to the bar with me? My friend Ben is working, I wanted to introduce you to him.”

“Sure, of course.” She takes his hand, and they each order a beer, and he is introduced to Ben, the bartender, Monty, the guitar player, and Racquel, the manager, all of whom are very kind and appear pleased to meet him; apparently, Sophie has mentioned him once or twice. It’s so endearing.

They sit down, talk a little, order another round of beers, and when it’s Sophie’s turn to sing, she sighs lightly, shoots him a shy smile.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” she says, pressing her lips to his, and she heads up to the stage.

“Give it up for Lloyd’s favorite rock balladeer, Sophie Cortes!” That seems, to Aaron, much more official than just blowing off some steam, and he’s prepared to find out that she severely underestimated her talent; what he’s not prepared for, however, is how incredibly beautiful she looks and sounds when she sings a slow, romantic Bon Jovi song, earning applause from a group of regulars who are clearly familiar with her singing.

She waves at them, blushing a little, and when she comes back to him, he pulls her close for a tender kiss.

“You are amazing. What are you doing at the FBI? You should be selling out stadiums, or something.” She laughs.

“I don’t know about that, Aaron, but thank you. It’s something I love to do, but it’s not a career.” They sit, but he scoots his chair closer to her than before. “You know how it is when you’re a kid; people tell you you can be anything you want to be when you grow up, and then you grow up, and things change. But I’ll always have Lloyd’s, so… it works.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her again; her fingers brush over the back of this head, and she hums against his lips.

“Can’t believe I’m dating someone who’s practically famous,” he teases when they separate, and she rolls her eyes, blushes.

“Enough, or I’ll make Monty give you his guitar so we can see what you can do.”

“Okay, point taken,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender, and they laugh and talk for a while, until they both remember it’s a work night and they need to head out.

“Where did you park? I’ll walk you to your car,” he says, hand on her back, and she gestures down the street.

“I’m only two blocks away, I walked.” She must see surprise and discomfort in his eyes, because she takes his other hand. “If anyone tries to mess with me, you know they’ll regret it. I'll be fine.”

“I know, but still. I’d feel better if you let me drive you.”

“Well, I’ll never turn you down,” she says sweetly, pulling him down for a kiss, and he gets her into the car, closes the door for her. In a couple of minutes, they are parked in front of her large brown stone building, and they both unbuckle their seat belts, turn to face each other.

“I like Lloyd’s,” he tells her while they sit companionably; it’s clear neither is ready for the night to end. “Everyone is so nice; it definitely feels like a place you’d go.

“Thank you, I think,” she says with a playful smile. He smiles too, feeling great after such a good date, and he leans over for a kiss. Sophie lengthens it, brushing fingers through his hair, and her eyes have that dreamy quality again when they break apart. “Mmm. Can I come over there?” She sets a hand gently on his thigh, and he nods, pushes back his seat to give her more room.

She settles comfortably in his lap, hands on his shoulders, and he brings her to him for a long, steamy kiss. They make out for several minutes, get handsy, as she mentioned before, before she pulls back with a soft sigh. “Can I tell you something?” she asks, pressing her forehead against his.

“Anything. Always.”

“I’ve thought about this—making out in your car—quite a few times. The first time was the night we went out for my birthday.”

“I really enjoyed myself that night.”

“Me too. I was so happy you came out, and stayed out. And when I told you I loved you, there was so much left unsaid… I hoped you knew.” He smooths his hand over her cheek, his thumb over her bottom lip, and she shivers. “Then you took me home, and you helped me with my shoes, and when you kissed me on my head, I thought: maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way I do. And then we never mentioned it, and nothing ever happened, so I thought maybe I was imagining everything.”

“You weren’t imagining anything. I felt it too.”

“Good,” she murmurs, taking his face in her hands, and they kiss hot, slow. “I think you’re so incredible.”

“I think you’re incredible, too.” He smooths his hands up her back, pressing her closer, and she rolls her hips slowly against him, earning a groan. “Sophie,” he sighs, clutching her. She feels so good, smells so good, it’s almost intoxicating.

“I know,” she breathes, and she looks up at him, eyes serious, chest heaving. “Do you want to come up with me?” He is about to answer with an emphatic yes when someone knocks hard on the window; Sophie starts, bumps her head, and he rubs it with his hand, rolls down the window.

It’s a police officer, because of course it is, and they both wince. He is young, a little cocky, Aaron can tell just by looking at him. Great.

“Good evening. I’d ask what you folks are doing out here, but I think it’s a bit obvious,” he drawls, looking slowly over Sophie’s body where she sits in his lap. “Hiding from your wife, or…?”

“No, sir, we are not,” she answers, clearly a little perturbed but keeping her cool. “We were just about to go inside.”

“That’s good; we like to discourage lewd behavior on our streets, which I’m sure you can understand.” Aaron bristles at that himself.

“Lewd behavior? With all due respect, we were only kissing, and we were about to go inside, like she said. Are you going to attempt to cite us for this?” The officer looks them over thoughtfully, takes out his flashlight.

“Let’s start with some identification.” Sophie sighs, makes to climb off his lap, but he stops her with a hand on her hip.

The situation is uncomfortable enough, but if she vacates his lap… it will only become more awkward for everyone. She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh, slides her driver’s license out of her pocket and hands it to the officer.

“Can she get in the glove box for mine?” he asks, trying to remain respectful even though he instantly hates this man. He nods, and Sophie reaches over, opens the glove box, and pulls out his FBI credentials. She flips it open in front of his flashlight, and he blanches, steps back.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t—I wasn’t.” He looks up, nervous. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, sir.”

“You were just doing your job,” Aaron says gently, despite the fact that this is just, so embarrassing. “Are we going to be cited?” To his credit, the kid looks like he’s going to wet his pants. It’s a little funny.

“No, sir, of course not. I—thank you for your cooperation. You two enjoy the rest of your night.” He all but runs back to his squad car, and when he drives away, Aaron and Sophie both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she says through fits of giggles, and she leans against him for a hug. “This has to be the worst date you’ve ever been on, right?” He exhales, shakes his head in amusement.

“No. I’d take what just happened a thousand times over if I could relive the rest of tonight.” Her face softens, and she presses her lips softly against his, squeezes his shoulder.

“You are some type of man,” she says when she pulls back, and she looks him over like she wants to devour him. His lap situation had subsided, but apparently not for long. “I think we should probably just call it a night, don’t you?” she asks gently. “I’m thinking we should take that unmistakable sign for what it is.” He nods, because even though the prospect of going upstairs is a very sweet one, the decision may have been a little premature.

“I agree; but just know, more than anything, that I don’t want this evening to end.”

“I know, me neither. But we do have work in the morning; you can call me tomorrow night, though, if you want. I would really like that.”

“It’s a date,” he teases, and they kiss softly a couple of times before she slides back into the passenger’s seat, heads out the door.

He exhales deeply when she’s out of his sight.

#aaron hotchner/original female character #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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